Immortality? : A Grumpy Goat <tail>

by De Writer

Immortality? : A Grumpy Goat <tail>

IMMORTALITY?
A Grumpy Goat *tail*
by
De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

© 2014 by Glen Ten-Eyck

7865 words

The somewhat scraggly and a good bit overweight brown pony stood on my carpet and said petulanty, “Why ain't you got something comfy for me to sit on? Ain't fair. No way to, like, get customers.”

I leaned back in my easy chair. My bare goat like skull, with glowing snake-like eyes, curled horns, fangs and an ever-burning candle between the horns, floated above my invisible body.

I retorted acidly, “I don't recall inviting you here. I was reading quietly, out front, when you barged up and said that I gotta do something for you.

“That is fine, in itself. Doing things for ponies too lazy or dumb to do those things for themselves is my business.

“The problem here is simple. For fifteen minutes, all that you have done is complain about how I am treating you.”

I glamor spelled gryphon talons where my forehooves would be, if I had a real body. I aimed a talon at him. “You have not even told me your name.

“To be blunt, if I am a poor host, it is because I presently have a rotten guest.

“What is that you want me to do for you, exactly? My business is seeing that you get what it is that you have set out in a contract. That is all.”

“I wants to be immortal. I don't want to never die. That clear enough for a goat to grasp?”

I nodded, making the candle flame bob and the shadows all about the front chamber of my cave to bob and weave. “That was admirably clear and succinctly, if rudely put. Shall we draw it up?"

“The terms are simple. Once you sign, you pay in advance. 1000 golden bits in exchange for living as long as Equestria remains a habitable world. Refund due to your heirs, as spelled out in the contract, should you die before then.”

He curled a lip. I pointed a claw at him as he was about to spit on my carpet. He choked on the loogy instead of spitting it out. “That was a vile trick! I could'a choked on that!”

“Spitting on my carpet isn't precisely nice, either! That just put the price up! 1200 golden bits or just walk away from here and trust Ponyville General Horsepital to take care of you!”

Suddenly he broke down. “Dratted Doctors! I was there. They says I gots a bad heart and gonna die. I don't wanna die!”

I shrugged. “Few do. It happens to be something that I don't have to worry about a whole lot.

“Now listen to this and listen closely. Immortality is NOT possible. Everything will die eventually. What I CAN do is give you a VERY LONG life. A life to match Celestia or Luna in length from now onward. If that is good enough, we can do business. If it is not, we can't.

“It is that simple.”

“You really can do that?”

I tartly replied, “Unlike you, Mister Sawnax, I am not in the habit of saying that I can do something if I can't deliver.”

Sawnax stomped a hoof in irritation. “If you knowed who a am, why'd you make a fuss about it?”

I snorted, “It is called courtesy. You are really short on it! Just like the loads of timbers going out of your yard. Short counted almost every time.”

“That ain't true! Even Houser buyin' from me, and they doesn't get pickier than him!”

A fleshless skull, floating in the air should not be able to grin. It can. Aren't glamor spells wonderful?

I chuckled as I replied, “You actually do stock excellent quality timbers. That is why I instructed Houser to bring a constable with him when he picked up the timbers for my cave door. The constable blocked all of your efforts to interrupt the count. Load was six timbers short. You had to bring the load up to invoice.

“Houser STILL brings a constable along when he picks up timbers. So do all the other Ponyville builders, now.”

Sawnax almost snarled. It was delightful to see. If he were to die, I would not spit on his grave. The moisture might cause something to grow.

“YOU was behind that? No wonder no pony likes goats! That stunt is cost me hundreds of timbers.”

I waived a claw casually as I replied, “Timbers that were not yours. Shorting the invoices was and is theft.

“That, however, is not why you are here. As much fun as this conversation is, I would rather get to the point of your visit. Your 1200 golden bits is far more fascinating to me than listening to you pretend to be honest.

“Let us clear the air. You want to live until either Celestia or Luna dies or this world ends. That is what I can deliver. It is what I have. True immortality, living forever, is impossible. Not even the universe will last that long.”

“Well then do it, goat! Make me live fer ages.”

Mildly surprised, I asked, “Are you sure that is all? No conditions on it?”

Sawnax stopped like he'd run into a wall. “What do you mean? If I lives, I lives. Mind stay sharp and all that. I gets to enjoy life. A REAL LONG life.”

I nodded, the candle between the horns of my skull bobbing. “Fair enough. I am going to put in a suicide exclusion, though. You will be able to end your own life without any refund being due or paid.”

I reached over and pulled a writing kit to bridge across the arms of the easy chair. I handed Sawnax a copy of the cover page after filling in the fee and a few other items. I required him to initial all of the boxes. It was a legal boiler plate covering the basics of all of my contracts. I stacked it on top of two more copies of the boiler plate.

I took a blank page and started to fill in what Sawnax had told me. Live to the death of either Celestia or Luna, or until the world ends. His mind to remain sharp and unimpeded. He was to be able to eat whatever he wanted or engage in any activity that his body was capable of without shortening the specified lifespan.

I finished up with the suicide exclusion clause.

Sawnax carefully read it through. I took two more sheets, stacked them under the contract, and offered him a pen.

His brow clouded. “What? No signin' in blood or any of that?” he snorted contemptuously. He did sign though.

I snickered. “You want to do it that way? We can. If you want. All sorts of Dark Ritual.

“It won't mean anything, but I can put on a show for you, if you want it. 20 gold bits fee for it, though. I don't do much of anything for free.”

I peeled the top sheets off their stacks and folded them together. The top one was the boiler plate that he had already seen and gone through. I placed the set into an envelope. I did not have to fill out cover sheets for the other two. They were already done. Contagion spells are lovely for making lots of copies of something. I put the other two sets in envelopes too.

Sawnax reached for an envelope. I sank the gryphon claws into his foreleg just above the hoof, where it would hurt. “Sawnax, I have not yet been paid. No money, no deal. No contract in your hooves to try faking payment with a forged receipt either.”

He stomped off down the trail to Ponyville.

Really, I figured that he would not be back. I mean, Sawnax was well known for many things. Unfortunately. Cheat. Liar. Busy body. Pain in the ass (apologies to my donkey friends out there). Miser so cheap that any copper bit that left his hooves had Celestia and Luna's portraits pressed out!

I sat back outside in the sun. Left my skull inside. Don't need an Ever-Burning Candle if you have good light. Reading is my favorite pass-time. As it happens, being read to is popular too. My guests came out of the back chamber of my cave, where they had gone when Sawnax came up the trail, and sat where they could hear well.

It is easy to see where I am, even without the skull (which really is/was mine when I was alive). The book floating there with pages turning is sort of a give away. The voice coming out of empty air is another clue.

My guests were the Litch King and a lovely pure black mare named Coalsmoke. Her cutie mark is a sort of hourglass that is bright orange-red. It is a fair warning. She is a semi-regular customer as well as a frequent visitor.

The Litch King is the supernatural being who made me what I am. He appears as the skeleton of an Alicorn. I was shaped by his sense of humor and a printer's mistake. (For details, read A Bad Day For Grumpy Goat.)

My copy of the NECRONOMIPONY: Necromancy made Easy: a manual for beginners in the Art (Non-Equine University Press, For academic study only) had two important magical diagrams called Pentacles swapped. The error was covered and corrected in an Errata Sheet in the back of the book. I missed the Error sheet.

The Litch King did not. When I proved willing to listen, instead of trying to bully a creature that can and does literally raise the dead, he talked to me. He showed me the flaws in my plan for necromantic revenge and suggested a better way.

A spirit body would be invisible, not subject to decay and would answer to my will directly. I could find it easily because he would leave the skull, which I could take on and off of it, like a hat, sort of.

I agreed. He did it. To me. The swapped pentacles were the ones to keep the operator (me) safe and the Work
pentacle. No points for guessing which one I was in, due to that printer's mistake. Thing is, it has worked out really well. We have become buddies of a sort. He has free and unlimited access to my cave and has always been an excellent guest.

We were just getting well into Daring Do and Compass of Discord, when Coalsmoke said, “There is somepony on the trail, down there by your spring, Grumpy!”

The Litch King observed, “Sawnax. He is hauling a small cart.”

Both of them muttered. Coalsmoke, under her breath. The Litch King, not having breath, just muttered. They went for the back chamber of the cave and shut the door. Just as they had during Sawnax's earlier visit.

He toiled up the slope and left the cart blocking my door.

He thrust a clipboard and pen at me. “Here is your dratted 1200 golden bits! Sign here for full payment and gimme my contract!”

“No. I have not counted it. Push-around bullying is how you shorted ponies before.”

He stirred a hoof through the coins. “You can see it there. That all you needs, goat! Sign!”

“What part of NO is unclear? No count, no receipt. No receipt, no contact. You may haul away your garbage.”

Incredulous and indignant, he demanded, “You turns down my gold after requiring it?”

“If you do not permit me to count it, yes. No deal. Go away!”

He promptly dumped the cart, spilling gold on the ground and into my cave. “There! You is done took delivery! Sign or I sues!”

“No. Clean up the mess that you have made and leave or let me count it first.”

“This is calling me a liar!”

“I do believe that is the first time that we have agreed on anything since you arrived the first time!”

Sawnax had that just ran into a brick wall look, all of a sudden. I worked my way around the cart and stepped into my cave. I returned with a stiff broom and sweeping pan.

Sawnax watched incredulously as I swept up the first pan of golden bits and dumped it back into the cart. Almost in a panic, now that his bluffs had been called, he whined, “You ain't countin' it!”

“The way that you have been behaving, old scoundrel, I did not think that you wanted me to. No count, no deal. Your bits. I am giving them back.”

“This here is unfair. I can't even see you!”

That gave me an idea that even I would count as wicked. So I did it. Glamors are easy to cast. He could see a body where I was, now. A body, as in a half rotted, lots of bones showing, zombie corpse. From his sudden look of horror, I gathered that it had the desired effect.

Innocently, I asked, “What? You can see something where I am, just as you asked. Now, let me get this counted.”

I began the process of making stacks out of the spilled bits. Amazingly, Sawnax did not even want to touch the stacks after watching the zombie-like, corruption leaking, body handle the gold. I had smaller bags. Each hundred went into one and was tied snugly.

It took a bit to count the bits (joke there). When I was done, sitting next to bulging bags and unbagged stacks, I pointed with a decayed looking hoof.

“Only 950 bits here, Sawnax, old cheat. No wonder you tried to bully me into signing.”

He swallowed hard and twisted his face angrily. Fishing in his saddlebag, he produced a heavy sack. He tossed it at my feet. “Here! And be damned to you!”

“If it ever becomes possible for me to die, I most certainly am!” I replied casually, starting to stack the new supply of coins.

Two more bags joined the heap. I waived a hoof, trailing tiny chunks of rot, at the remaining stacks. “Still two bits short, Sawnax. You must really WANT to die!”

Pausing and appearing to brighten up considerably, I added, “If that IS the case, I can certainly speed it up!” I lifted a hoof in his direction, a look of anticipation on my skull.

He brought out the last two, sourly commenting, “Can't blame me for trying.”

Taking the last two bits and bagging the final hundred, I replied, “Wrong. I can blame you for trying. I do, in fact.

“However, this does complete our deal.” I moved the bags inside my cave's door and got Sawnax his contract.

He very ostentatiously opened the envelope and checked the pages to be sure that I was not pulling a Sawnax on HIM.

I wasn't. I am a lot of things. Evil, absolutely. Necromancer, correct. Honest, that too. I earn my bits. Even Sawnax's.

Speaking of whom, he was trying to push past me into my cave.

As I blocked him with a foreleg apparently full of maggots and rot, I inquired, “Where are you going?”

He looked at me as if I were a simpleton. “We gots to do the dark rituals and shit to fulfill this here contract.”

“No, YOU don't. I do. I have everything that I need to do it. I not only don't NEED you, I don't WANT you there.”

“But I gots to make my dark bargain with the evil ones!”

I actually laughed. “No, you don't. I do. Your contract is with ME. Come to think, though, your contract DOES have a suicide exemption - - “

I paused and then brightened up, “Actually, do come in! If you do, I can keep your gold, because I have warned you. That makes you being there a suicide! What I have to do is call up the Litch King! A very dangerous Working indeed! If you are there, he will certainly destroy you AND I am blameless. Your money will be mine!”

I will give Sawnax this. He stopped. He thought. “I do get the immortality? No tricks?”

I sighed in exasperation. “Yes. You get what is specified in the contract. You will live the span stated. Your mind will stay sharp. You will be able to eat what you want and enjoy what you wish within the ability of your body to perform.”

Sawnax nodded sourly. “Expected more, you know. Dark deals and magical diagrams. Special candles and all of that stuff.”

I agreed, “Lots of my customers do. The repeat customers know what to expect. If you WANT that stuff, showmanship is twenty bits plus expenses.”

“I ain't payin' no more. Be careful with that stuff until my contract is took care of. Then screw up all you want!” With that cheerful parting shot, Sawnax took off down the trail.

The Litch King and Coalsmoke came out of the back chamber.

The Litch King said cheerfully, “I did overhear what you said about me, Grumpy!”

As we all three snickered, Coalsmoke chuckled, “He was right though. Calling you up can be dangerous. Just look at poor Grumpy. You did that to him over a simple mistake that was not even his fault.”

I finished my giggle fit and handed the Litch King a copy of Sawnax's contract. He flipped right past the cover page. He knows that boiler plate by heart. As he started to read, his fleshless skull began to show, first amusement, then hilarity.

He put down the papers to hold his ribs as he rolled on the cave floor, laughing. “He really signed THAT!? Oh, my! We are going to have so much fun!”

I nodded happily. “I know, Clarence. He even insisted on most of it. I can't wait to see what happens!”

It is very little known, but the Litch King does have a first name. He is Clarence. Try to summon him by it and he WILL destroy you. His name is reserved for his few friends.

Coalsmoke retrieved the document from the cave floor. And began her own giggle fit. She settled to serious first. “You know, Grumpy, I am glad that I took the time to talk to you and ask your advice before we did anything.

“It has been a tremendous help.”

Still chuckling, I asked, “Glad to hear it, Coalsmoke. You are one of the few ponies welcome in my cave. Not simply because you are lovely, either. You are among the few who have treated me with respect. I appreciate that.

“By the Bye, how is husband number six doing?”

Sobered only a little, she replied, “He was not feeling well yesterday. Wheezing a bit. They put him in Ponyville General for overnight observation.”

I asked with casual interest, “Did you break out the Widow's hats, veils and scarves yet?”

Seriously, Coalsmoke replied, “No, Grumpy. I never do that. Only after I get the news of one passing away do I get out mourning things.”

Clarence nodded sagely. “That is wise, Coalsmoke, my dear. You go about your chosen way of life with great professionalism.”

She nodded courteously, one pro accepting the compliment of another.

I just asked, “Back to Daring Do and the Compass of Discord or shall we put our heads together on the Sawnax thing?”

Clarence said firmly, “Leave that to me. I promise that you will find it amusing. Reading for fun is not a common thing for me. Daring Do it is.”

Coalsmoke agreed, so we went back out into the afternoon sun and I reopened the book.

The rest of the afternoon was quiet except for my reading. I really like the Daring Do stories and can get a bit carried away by her adventures! So do my friends! Reading is fun! Reading with friends is even more so!

The next morning as I was sweeping the front ledge, I saw a pus green pony on the trail. One that I knew. A lawyer. Absolutely one whose soul already belonged to Clarence. I leaned in my doorway, already glamored to a rotting, maggot infested zombie. With Mortimer there was no point in wasting time with courtesy.

He stepped onto my nice clean ledge, fouling it with his mere presence. “Grumpeter Goat, I represent Sawnax, who is demanding his full refund plus indemnity.”

I replied acidly, “Mortimer Mollycoddle, I represent myself and I have just one question. Is Sawnax alive and is his mind clear?”

Drawing himself up, Mortimer replied haughtily, “He could hardly make the demand if he was not.”

“Then Claim refused. His contract specifies that he will live. It specifies that his mind shall remain intact. It specifies that he shall be able to enjoy those things and activities that he was at the time of signing.”

Frowning, his lip curled, Mortimer retorted, “He got a broken hind leg! That violates the agreement!”

Mildly, because I now knew the situation, I replied, “How did he break it?”

“Sawnax used to be a steeple chase champion. He tried to run a steeple chase and fell! By his understanding of the contract, he should have been able to recapture his old crown.”

“Wrong. As ALWAYS, Mortimer. He might have “understood” that but it is NOT what he signed! He was to be able to do and enjoy WHAT HE ALREADY COULD AT SIGNING. Trying to do something outside of his abilities at signing is not covered.”

I gave him my best, maggot leaking smile as I inquired, “Do you really want to take this farrago of nonsense before Judge Coldheart? I would love to!”

“But my client is in great pain and confined to a mobility cart!”

“Please learn to read, Mortician.” (Mortimer hates that nickname.) I lounged in the door and pointed out, “Neither pain or suffering is covered in any way.

“Speaking of ways, the path to Failure and Ponyville is right there. Please leave.” I pointed to the path.

I went inside to get a mop and bucket. I was still scrubbing compulsively at the portion of the ledge where Mortimer had been, when far more welcome company arrived.

Coalsmoke, properly dressed for mourning, in a black hat, veil and shawl, stepped onto my ledge. I took one look and asked, “What did he die of?”

Whistling softly but cheerfully for a moment, Coalsmoke replied, “Doctor's error. He was allergic to some common antibiotics. They administered the correct antibiotic. The doctor himself swabbed the injection site and administered the antibiotic.”

I really perked up my non-existent ears. “This must be good. If it was the right antibiotic, what happened?”

Grinning like a bandit finding a cache of diamonds, Coalsmoke replied, “It was the swab! He cleaned the site with an antibiotic swab!”

Clarence stuck his skull around the door and said, “I would have expected you to be tied up with insurance matters for the whole day!”

Coalsmoke did a little skippy-happy dance. “When the Ponyville General Horspital's agent saw the label of the swab and the chart cover with its warning label he caved on the spot! He called my insurance agent and I got my whole settlement package! Double indemnity!”

Clarence nodded vigorously, his long horn catching flashes of sunlight as he did. “Good! Now, let's see, Daring Do was just about to confront the Compass Bearer ~ ~” He handed me the book.

As we were settling in to begin the reading circle, Coalsmoke asked, “I met Mortician Mollycoddle while I was on the way up. What was that about?”

I grinned and realized that I was still wearing the glamor that I had set for Mort's visit. I was about to change it when Coalsmoke stopped me. “Don't change it, Grumpy. It's kind of cute.”

I told them about Mort's visit and Sawnx's leg.

Absolutely radiating innocence, Clarence observed, “You will never guess who is using a mobility cart that was last used by a victim of severe running boils. It is an absolute mystery how it was improperly cleaned.”

Giggling fit to burst, I found our place. Reading a well written story together with good friends is an excellent way to pass the time.

The next day, Coalsmoke was absent. That was expected. She had a funeral to attend. That of her latest and now late husband.

Neither Clarence or I wanted to read until she could get free to be here. Our Daring Do book was almost at the end of the adventure and we did not want her to miss it.

A pony in white robes with a golden stole and funny tall hat was toiling up the trail. Clarence absolutely lit up with delight. “A Celestian High Priest! I haven't been exorcised in ages! This should be more fun than almost anything!”

I did brighten up. Clarence was right. Not even Celestia likes the Celestian Church! She publishes regular articles and holds news conferences to denounce them. You would think that being denounced by the very one that they claim to worship would finish them. If you think so, you don't know ponies very well.

The priest stopped short at the sight before him as he came to my ledge. I had adopted the maggoty zombie glamor and Clarence just stayed himself, a skeletal alicorn, the Litch King.

High Priest Hortimer drew himself up and dipped an aspergil into a container of blessed water. He cast a sprinkle of the water at us. I just let him. The stuff is harmless.

He lit a Holy Candle and took out his book of Holy Truth. He began to intone parts of the text, chiming a gold looking bell as he finished each part. He ended by demanding, “IN CELESTIA'S HOLY NAME, BEGONE, SPIRITS OF EVIL!”

The Litch King looked sadly at me and said, “Oh dear. We have been exorcised, Grumpy. Whatever shall we do? Somehow I don't feel like leaving.”

I looked back at him. “I know what you mean, your Majesty. I was hoping for a real exorcism. Something with some muscle to it, not that toothless, weak jawed thing. It wasn't strong enough to suck.”

I invited, “Hortimer, old pony, quit trying that worthless religious garbage and come to the point of your visit.”

Exasperated, Hortimer drew himself up to his full height and stared down his nose at me. “Brother Sawnax has not only a broken leg, necessitating a mobility cart, he has begun to develop vile boils all over his rump! You must remove the curse at once.”

I looked blankly at High Priest Hortimer. “I could not do that if I wanted to! You yourself, using pure quotations from the Holy Truth of Celestia, have proved that I cannot do any such thing as cast an evil spell or lift one. It is all lies and deceptions. You said so yourself.

“Besides that, I did no such curse at all. Sawnax and I have a contract. I will not and have not violated it.”

I, of course, failed to mention entirely that Sawnax's comfort was not covered in the contract. Somehow, I also forgot to mention that Clarence HAD messed with Sawnax and might do more yet. Best place to hide some things is in plain sight. And the Litch King was right there, bones and all. Being studiously ignored by the High Priest.

Hortimer seemed to think that Clarence was a prop or an illusion. That had amusing possibilities. Hortimer beat me to it.

The High Priest stepped boldly forward, now that the ledge was exorcised, and tapped Clarence, the very real Litch King, on the horn. Clarence, hissing like a thousand damned snakes in a boiling kettle and unable to die, snapped at Hortimer's extended forehoof and slapped him with a bony wing.

The impact knocked the High Priest off his feet, his Miter of Office flying from his head, revealed Hortimer's bald spot. His forelock wig was comically dangling from his horn about half way up. His priestly robe had scorched tooth marks in the foreleg.

Clarence said, in a voice like an avalanche of stones hitting a frozen lake, “You may thank your host, Grumpy Goat, that I have not violated his hospitality by destroying you.”

The fleshless alicorn skull grinned as he added, “That protection does not extend beyond his front ledge. However, as a favor to HIM, I will do no thing to you. This time.”

Whistling tunelessly, I took note of the permission to really mess with Hortimer. Me NOT being the Litch King and all.

I stuck in a hoof, though. “Low Priest, ol pony, I do have a contract with Sawnax, as I mentioned. As a sign of my good faith in this, I am going to tell you how to deal with his present problem. It really was Sawnax's own fault that he broke his leg. It has to heal and it will, with time.

“The boils are not a curse. They are the result of simple rotten housekeeping at Ponyville General. The last user of the mobility cart had the boils and it was not properly cleaned. The boils all have to be lanced, drained, cleaned and dressed. The mobility cart just needs proper cleaning. That's it. No curse from me at all.

“Now take your funny hat, silly wig and the rest. Go. While you still can.”

He got.

Only a little later, who should come skipping up the trail but Coalsmoke. Still properly attired for mourning but wearing the biggest smile. She greeted us with a cheery, “Hi, Grumpy! How are you, Clarence? Guess what happened at the funeral today! We had barely planted him and who should show but the doctor and HIS insurance agent! They had a really generous offer for an out of court malpractice and no publicity agreement!”

She stopped, looked at our expressions and grinned hugely. “Give, guys. I passed Hortimer on the way up and he only called me a whorse! You really got to him somehow.”

I had to grin. “Clarence gave me permission to play all that I want to with Hortimer. I don't think that he has figured it out yet. He will, soon enough.”

Clarence, faking disappointment horribly, said, “Grumpy told on the boils thing. He will be all healed at no charge to him, courtesy of Ponyville General.” Brightening, he went on, “Of course, lancing and draining that many boils will hurt like ~ ~ well, my place!”

I added, “Sawnax loves to sue ponies. He is having a Mobility Cart ramp installed at the Celestian church. He is cutting a corner, like always. It is just a little steep because that is cheap.”

Clarence added thoughtfully, “Did you know that a really big swarm of hornets has just nested in the bell tower of the Celestian church? I think that they might find out all about it at next Celesday service, when they ring the noon bell.”

He looked expectantly at me. I filled in, “Hortimer will not get a single sting in the panic. Can't say the same for Sawnax. You promised not to do anything to Hortimer this time.

“Pity about all of that poison oak and poison ivy that they still have been too cheap to pay me to clear up for them.”

Grinning so widely that I was afraid that her head would fall off, Coalsmoke handed me our book and said, “Daring Do was just about to escape with the Compass of Discord. I think that we have light enough to finish up today!”

Coalsmoke was right. The sun was setting in a welter of gold, purple and reds as we came to the end. Appropriate. End of the book, end of the day.

Coalsmoke was sniffling at the tragic death of Withers, whose valiant self sacrifice allowed Daring Do to get away with the priceless Compass of Discord.

Clarence was chortling at the whole gory scene as the last of the Discordians were defeated.

I, personally, being more than a little on the greedy side, was delighted that the treasure was in proper hooves, regardless.

That is what is so great about the Daring Do tales. There is something for almost every taste to take away and feel good about.

The next few days, there was relative peace at my cave. I had a few little 100 bit contracts for small things. I refused a small gang of burglars who wanted me to make them invisible by night so that they could ply their trade in safety.

The list of things that I don't like is pretty long but those who rob or steal are right at the top of the list.

I was surprised when Clarence, whose memory goes back to creation, literally, suggested that we tip off Romaine, the Ponyville Prancer cub reporter about the Celestian church for Celesday (SUNday to anypony else) service. He remembered her from Nightmare Night at Caramel Treat's Sweets and rather liked her.*(for details, read Grumpy Goat's Nightmare Night!)* I know that he has slipped her several stories since then.

Coalsmoke brought us the SUNday late special edition detailing the Celestian church disaster!

Attempting to ring the church's bell had caused a swarm of hornets nested in the steeple to dive into the congregation. The resulting panic left several unconscious ponies near trampled in the church. They alone had no stings!

Sawnax got a big spread of pictures by himself. Fleeing with the rest of the congregation, he got stung twenty or more times on forelegs and neck. The mobility cart ramp was too steep and he lost control, careening through a hedge laced with poison oak and poison ivy, he hit a family on their way to a picnic in the park and overset, banging up his good hind leg in the process.

The family was not hurt, beyond a few bruises, but their picnic basket and contents were ruined. Among the pictures were some of the fallen Sawnax rummaging the wrecked basket and scarfing sandwiches.

The entire collection of Celestian priests got out without a sting. They fled through a back door, overgrown with the new ivy. Poison ivy, that is. They might as well have painted themselves with the itch causing, blister raising, oils.

To cap the disaster, some ponies working in the church kitchen fled and left a stove burning. The resulting fire was a Special Procedures 23 - Toxic smoke requiring evacuation and decontamination of the downwind area.

As Romaine observed, in print, it was not as bad as the Ponyville Elementary School disaster of years ago, which Sawnax was also involved in. *(for details read Caramel Treat's Lunch!)*

We kept finding more and more to giggle over as we read Romaine's excellent prose. She got almost the entire Special Edition because she “just happened to be on the scene as the disaster unfolded.” With her camera!

As a side note, the fire spread through all of the ornamental shrubbery and the up the walls of all the Celestian buildings. All of the poison oak and poison ivy infestation was burned out, along with destroying all of the structures involved.

Clarence and I gave a High Hoof to each other! Frankly, it went even better than we had hoped. Not one pony killed or even seriously injured but LOTS OF PAIN in lots of butts, and elsewhere, of course.

We both gave Coalsmoke a hug of congratulations. Her enthusiastic return hugs made the whole enterprise worthwhile.

The next day, we were sitting out in the sun, looking over the Ponyville Books and More listings to pick out our next Daring Do book.

We could hear them even before we saw them. It was a regular parade coming up the trail. Coalsmoke grinned as she caught sight of them. She offered, “Grumpy, you should get that trail paved! I would bet that Clarence could give you a special deal on good intentions to do it with!”

To make things perfectly weird, the leader of the parade was not using the trail. Derpy was flying, low and slow, so that the others could follow. She landed on the ledge without hesitation and carefully opened her mail pouch. Ceremoniously she handed me a letter. The envelope had a well known seal. Almost every pony or horse in Equestria has seen it. Darn few have seen or handled an ORIGINAL ROYAL SEAL of the Twin Thrones of Equestria.

I did not have time to open it just then.

The clowns arrived to put on their show!

Celestian High Priest Hortimer was almost unrecognizable under the mass of bandages and itch relief creme. The remainder of the priesthood were too. It was obvious that the treatment was not helping all that much. Which suited me right down to the ground.

There was Sawnax in his mobility cart, being pushed by two husky ponies. He had a cast on one hind leg and thick bandages on the other. His rump was swollen and covered with plasters where boils had been drained. Both forelegs and his neck were covered with the lumps of hornet stings. Covering almost all of stings and swellings were the rashes and running sores of the poison oak and poison ivy.

There was another group in formal mourning attire. They were accompanied by Mortimer “Mortician” Mollycoddle, D.E.L. (Doctor of Equestrian Law), who was looking sour.

The one who seemed out of place was wearing the uniform of the Ponyville Fire Department.

The act was led off by Hortimer demanding, “You must heal us of this vile result of your Necromancy! Your evil burned down our church!”

“Hortimer, ol pony! Necromancy is against the Law! Magic, in general, is not. Be clear. How could I cast any spell against you? A Pure and Honest Heart is absolute protection from all the influences of the Evil One. As if evil has some one simple spring outside of themselves and ponies are innocent of harboring rot in their minds.

“You are a personal and perfect refutation of your own claim.”

Hortimer gesticulated at his fellow priests. “We are grievously afflicted by your evil magics and Necromancies!”

My fleshless skull, which should have been expressionless managed to convey complete confusion. “What evil magic, Horty, ol pony? You knew that your church was infested with poison oak and poison ivy. Every reader of the Prancer knows it too. The news went public on Nightmare Night.

“You and your fellow con artists ran through a known hazard and got a case of poison oak. That is your definition of evil magic and necromancy? You do a stupid thing and therefore it is some EVIL GOAT'S fault? Wow.”

As I was shaking my head, I noticed that we had company. Just down the hill, Romaine was snapping away with her camera and taking notes. Clarence managed to utterly fail at looking innocent.

The stallion in the PFD uniform spoke up, handing me a document as he did so, “Grumpy Goat, Sir, the Battalion Chief wanted you to have this to defend yourself from baseless charges like the ones just made. This is the formal investigation report on the fire and surrounding events.

“The entire thing, including their rashes, was caused by their negligence. The details, including all of the ordinances relating to publicly accessible buildings that were violated is here.”

Hortimer looked horrified. “How could you say that this disaster is our fault? We were victims! Just look at us!”

Coalsmoke said acidly, “Look at you? Why? You have always been so ugly that the bandages are an improvement! And you are still ugly!”

That brought a reaction from one of the group in mourning clothes. “You and that damned goat murdered my dad!” He was pointing dramatically. He waved a copy of Coalsmoke's contract with me and yelled, “Here is the proof! Dad found this and made a secret copy!”

Coalsmoke looked utterly pained as she replied, “How is that proof of anything? Secret copy? Just go to the Ponyville Hall of Records in the City Hall. There is a publicly registered copy there for anyone to look up. Grumpy's Contracts are ALL publicly registered.”

I was even more surprised when Mort spoke up. “I do represent the heirs of Clyde S. Dale, but this part of the case is baseless and I have so advised them. You are correct. They are due a substantial sum from his will.”

Coalsmoke nodded emphatically. “They are. They are getting over half of it. The insurances were formally changed to my name and they knew it. I have copies of the acknowledgements.”

Mort nodded. ”I am aware of the issues. I have advised them not to sue on the insurances. Their waivers are clear.”

One of the ones in phony mourning demanded, “Whose side are you on? We hired you!”

Mort, imperturbably replied, “Yours. Coalsmoke is an expert at these things. I have examined your case and hers. She is taking care of you through the will. She has made no effort to cut you out.

“This will come as no surprise to you, but Mister Dale was terminally ill, with a failing heart. His sudden death was probably a mercy.”

“So, dad was dying, we all knew that! We takes all that insurance money that she is stealing from us! She done nothing for it!”

Mort told him bluntly, “I have told you that I am on your side. This advice is as direct as it can be. If you try to sue her, you will waste what you are going to get from the will and wind up owing her a large indemnity. That is a simple fact.”

I was taken aback. Mort the Mortician was an HONEST LAWYER? The world was capsizing!

That was when Sawnax spoke up in a pitiable tone, “That there stuff is all well and good, but what about me? I gots the same rashes and all that Hortimer and the other priests got and was stung besides! I got TWO bad hind legs now, too!

“I thunk you said that I could do whatever I done before. It break my leg trying. Then they was the boils. I gets that took care of but they still hurts until they heals!

“I is in a lot of pain!”

I knelt in front of the mobility cart to face him eye to eye socket. “You dictated most of what is in the contract, Sawnax. You wanted to live a very long life. You wanted your mind to stay sharp. You wanted to be able to do and enjoy what you could at the time that we signed.”

I sighed. “You are getting all of that. Immortal is NOT invulnerable. It has one advantage in this case. When you heal, you will be just like when you started. It will just take time. Sadly, one of the things that you enjoyed was and is swiping lunches and otherwise cheating. Banged up, dazed and dumped out of that cart, you found sandwiches that were not yours. Scarfed them up, too.

“All inside the contract.”

He turned misery laden eyes to me and asked, “What can I do abouts this? It ain't none of it workin' out like I thought.

“It hurts.”

Said it before. I am honest. Evil but honest. He did actually ask for advice. “You only have three things that you can do here, Sawnax.

“First, you can simply let the contract run. If you do, you will have the least trouble if you do your level best to be a good pony, living a good and honest life. You will have good times and bad. That's life. A long one.

“Second, you can simply repudiate the contract and take the lifespan that you are given, free to do or be whatever you want. You will probably live longer if you follow the advice of your doctors. You lose your money paid but that is all.

“Third, you can commit suicide. You still lose your money but you are out of the whole suffering thing.

“Experience talking here, immortality is not all fun and games.”

He nodded and said softly, “I needs to think.”

I simply backed away. As I did, I saw the pony in the PFD uniform talking to Hortimer. He had a paper. When I heard, “But surely, as a church, we are exempt!”

The PFD pony politely replied, “I am afraid not, Sir. You maintained a nuisance and failed to either report it or let the city know what efforts you were taking to eradicate the nuisance.

“Under both ordinance and Kingdom law that makes you responsible for all costs connected to it. We have decontamination efforts under way at seven residences and five businesses that were downwind and contaminated by the smoke from the burning poisonous plants.”

Hortimer pointed dramatically at me and exclaimed, “He must pay it! He cursed us with those diabolical plants! It is his fault!”

“Me? You mean that if cash is on the line, I am mightier than the Goddess that you worship?”

“Do not blaspheme! Of course Celestia's Power is greater than your mere diabolic dabbling!”

I laughed as he was trapped by his own reflexive arguments. “So, it is your responsibility after all! Celestia must be gravely disappointed in you for trying to shift the blame!”

His horrified expression was almost reward enough. Almost. I had to add it. “You did not need me to clear up the poison oak and poison ivy after all! Celestia's Holy Fire has removed it all!”

That did it. Delightful.

Sawnax said, “That was sharp, Mister Grumpy. I probably gots no right to ask it but if I repudiates the contract, would you do me one favor? You is getting to keep a lot of gold.”

“What favor is that, Sawnax?”

“Can you, like, speed up my healing some? This is a real misery.”

“I can do that, Sawnax, but I will lay a heavy one on you for it. You must stay honest and not cheat anypony, horse or goat until you are healed.”

Clarence had his wings up and his teeth were chattering as he giggled.

Derpy tugged at my foreleg. “Mister Grumpy, about the letter, will there be a reply? It is post paid by their Highnesses.”

With Clarence, the Litch King and Coalsmoke looking over my shoulder I opened the letter.

“To Grumpy Goat: Hail and well met!

We, your Princesses, have heard rumor of you practicing unlawful Necromancy. We have looked deeply into the matter and have found no evidence of such criminal activity. The casting of Glamors and other such magics is perfectly legal.

Further, we have found that you have honestly registered all of your contracts, which appear to be in the form of bets that certain events will happen within set time frames. You hold the stakes and, if you win, keep the coin.

It is a remarkable coincidence that ALL of your contracted events have happened as spelled out. Always through some routine or other natural means.

With your consent, we should like to visit your cave to discuss a few such “bets.”

Yours, Celestia Yours, Luna.

As Derpy flew away with my reply, Clarence and Coalsmoke both suffered major giggles.

--THE END--

Author's Note:

EVERY society has an underside. Those on the bottom rungs of the social ladder. Not even MLP is free of it, though the show is careful not to display it.
My stories are built around that premise and are the View From the BOTTOM. We see the discriminated against, the nut cases and general lower class things.
OR you can regard my stories as Alternate Universe tales. EITHER ONE WORKS.

Comments

[LostFaith]

nice

[De Writer]

6378906
Vengeful Spirit: Thank you for your kind words about IMMORTALITY?
In my original text the letter WAS Italicized. This site does not like my formatting in Open Office.
Thank you for pointing that out. I will fix it at once.
I do appreciate pointing out such things. I try to get them done properly but things like this can and do slip through the old woodwork!