Chapter 26: 57 Channels (And Nothin' On)
“Hello the house! Is there anyone home, I’d like to speak to Seeker, please.”
Zak, Kylara and their mother froze, their eyes going wide as they looked toward an equally shocked and surprised Rowan and Romy. Lynn Harding shot a glance toward the front yard, hidden by the bulk of the house and then looked over to Arnold’s place. A tall, hedge covered fence blocked both a direct view of the other house and as well as whoever it was that was calling out for Seeker.
Thinking quickly, Lynn took three quick steps and scooped up the furry form of Romy Pedersen in her arms. Romy gave a small squeak of surprise as she was carried back into the house, the rest of the ponies following closely behind. Just as Lynn slid open the sliding door leading into the extension they heard the strange voice call out again.
“Coming on in. I’m John Cummins, with Global TV,” Cummins said, as he opened the fence gate and stepped into a large yard. Straight ahead of him, a hand poured cement sidewalk led toward the back door of the house. A branching of the sidewalk led toward a large garage, whose large doors opened up into a grassy laneway behind the house. Even as Cummins debated which way to go, the sound of a hammer on metal in a steady rhythm told him that the garage was were he was going to find people.
“Hello,” Cummins said, in a loud voice yet again, as he knocked on the door. “Anyone there?”
Arnold paused, his hammer raised at the top of its stroke. Undaunted that men had shod horses for centuries he was determined to find something that had eluded all those metalworkers of times past. If his son was going to be a pony, then by Vulcan, Hephaestus and Eitri, his son was going to have the best damn horseshoes he could make.
To that end, he and Billy had spent the past few hours working on potential shoes for him to wear. Some had been interesting, some were complete failures and some, like the set that had retractable spikes, had wound up being just plain comical. Billy had put up with the various prototypes with good humour, and was now looking through an old farming magazine Ernie had left lying around one day, in the hope that inspiration would strike.
Another loud knock sounded on the door, just as Arnold had decided to start hammering again. Setting down his hammer he frowned and called out, “Who is it?”
“John Cummins. I’m with Global TV,” Cummins said, through the door and cocking his head toward the neighboring house as he heard a sliding door open and close. “I’d like to speak with you for a few minutes.”
“Uh, just hang on a second,” Arnold said, as his mind shifted into high gear, and he looked from where his son was looking up in surprise to the shop around them.
The garage was a large, open, rectangular space with various pieces of equipment, parts, and workbenches arrayed around the walls. The center was intentionally kept empty so that cars could be driven, or more often pushed into the garage. Arnold was also a firm believer that a messy shop was a dangerous shop, so there was a minimum of clutter and chaos. Which meant that there nowhere for his son to hide his pony form from the reporter.
“Just tell him to go away, Dad,” Billy whispered to his father, as he also looked around for a place to hide. Without power, the garage was instead lit by an overhead skylight through which brilliant sunlight poured. That same sunlight had been the cause earlier of what Billy had called a “sun coma,” but now all it did was highlight the colours in his tail.
“Can’t,” Arnold whispered back. “He’ll know something’s up. Damn. Damn. Wait. I’ve got an idea, lie down behind me. Curl up, keep your head down and your hooves in close to your body.”
“Okay,” Billy said, lying down on the shop floor and curling into a half ball. His father then grabbed his jacket off a hook and draped it over Billy. As Arnold had expected the jacket covered most but not all of his son, and it was obvious that there was some sort of four legged creature underneath the old windbreaker.
“Let your tail stay sticking out,” Arnold whispered, before he called out to the door. “Come on in.”
“Hello,” Cummins said, entering the garage. He blinked for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the light and shadows in the building, before focusing his vision on the powerfully built man in front of him.
“What can I do for you?” Arnold asked, setting down his hammer on the workbench, and doing his best not to look down at his jacket covered son. He took his first good look at the reporter. Cummins was an older man, well into late middle age with a pointed nose and eyes that seemed to flit about, taking in everything around him in seconds.
“I’m looking for Seeker,” Cummins said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ve already interviewed most of your department’s members and I’d like to speak with them and get their viewpoint on what happened at the dam. Is she around?” The “she” was a shot in the dark that had a fifty-fifty chance of being right and Cummins watched Arnold’s face carefully for any reaction.
“There’s no one by that name here,” Arnold said, after a pause.
Gotcha! Cummins thought, his ready senses having picked up on the big man’s quick inhale of breath and the slight widening of the eyes. To anyone else, those tiny expressions would have been insignificant, but for someone who had made a living out of dragging information out of reluctant professional liars, they screamed “I’ve got a secret!”
“Where would I find her?” Cummins pushed, also noting that Arnold had not corrected him on the mystery woman’s gender. His mind also ran down the list of the members of the local fire department and there was only one female name to be found. An instinct told him though, that the fire department's members would have been acting very differently if Seeker was Jessica Harkins.
“Look, I really don’t think she wants to talk to you,” Arnold said, his protective instincts rising to the fore, “And if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”
“I promise that I will be respectful and only use what she gives me permission to,” Cummins said, holding up a hand in placation before he frowned and noticed something a little off. “Hey, what’s that?”
“What’s what?” Arnold asked, as he followed the line of Cummin’s gaze to where Billy’s tail was sticking out from under his jacket. “Oh, that’s just my dog. He likes to sleep like that.”
“That’s a strange colour for a dog,” Cummins said, tilting his head at the large yellow tail with its broad orange streak. “I mean really strange.”
“Well, he’s pretty strange himself,” Arnold said, a smile touching his lips, “but I love him anyway.” The tail wagged a few times and Cummins pulled himself back to what was truly important.
“So, where did you say I could find Seeker again?” Cummins asked, trying to prompt Arnold into revealing something else. “If she doesn’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. But I think I should hear that from her directly.”
“I don’t think so,” Arnold fired back, smile evaporating like mountain mist before a noonday sun. “I think you need to leave. Now.”
“Last I heard there was a free press,” Cummins said back, just as fast. “I’m allowed to ask questions. It’s my duty to ask questions, and as a public servant, you need to answer them.”
“I’m an employee of the Village of Brightly,” Arnold said, putting down the hammer whose grip was becoming all too pleasant to hold. “When my boss tells me I have to answer questions from a pushy reporter, I will. Not before.”
“The public has a right to know,” Cummins said, indignant. “All of you are hiding who this Seeker is for some reason. Wait, is Seeker in some sort of relationship with your chief? Who just happens to be the mayor? Is that it? Are they someone who wasn’t supposed to be there, and that’s why you’re all covering it up?”
Arnold’s mind had gone blank for a moment or two under the verbal assault from Cummins, but only for a moment as he found his mental footing again and yelled back, “You need to leave right damn NOW! This is private property. MY private property. Now get out before I throw you out.”
“Fine, I’m leaving,” Cummins said, taking a step back towards the door. “But I’m on the right track. I know I am. You people think you can hide your little back alley relationships in your little backwoods town, but mark my words. The truth will always come out, and it’s my job to make sure it does.”
“GET OUT!” Arnold roared, taking a step forward. Cummins needed no more urging, and turning he walked out the door with quick steps. He didn’t stop his moving until he made it back to the waiting truck at the top of the block.
“How’d it go?” the driver asked, as Cummins slammed the door of the beat up pickup behind him.
“Good, really good,” Cummins said, a sly smile on his face. “I found some answers to my questions. Let’s just sit here for a couple minutes more, and I just might get another question answered.”
“No problem,” the driver said, chuckling as he leaned back in his seat. “You’re paying the bills after all.” The two sat in silence until not five minutes later, when the bulky form of Arnold Kye could be clearly seen jogging across the street to another house.
“Gotcha,” Cummins said, pointing toward the house whose yard Kye had just entered. “Whose house is that?”
“Told ya already,” the driver said, his smile that of someone demonstrating his local superiority. “That’s where the witch lives. Jean Pedersen.”
“Okay, I’ve seen enough,” Cummins said, letting out a breath of deep satisfaction. “Let’s swing over to the hotel. Hopefully the power is back on by now.”
As the driver started the truck and they began to drive over the pot-holed old pavement, two things twigged at Cummins mind, even through the satisfaction of knowing he was hot on the tail of some local corruption. First, why had Kye been working on horseshoes? There had been at least a dozen scattered over the workbench. Kye was an auto mechanic and sometimes machinist, not a farrier. Second, why was the dog quote from “The Adventure of Silver Blaze” running through his head?
Deep underground, Luna looked around herself in satisfaction. She’d only been on this side of the mirror for less than a day, but already she had managed to carve herself a decent work area. True, the initial going had been hard. Twilight’s suggestion of sending through an enchanted gem to blast open a small hole in anything that might be blocking the portal had been prudent.
Transforming into a breezie had been both necessary and serendipitous. Her small size had been just small enough to safely emerge from the portal and begin her work. Her first challenge had been to clear the actual boulder that she had emerged into the middle of. Her second challenge had been to get Twilight to heal her after Luna’s magic had touched off an explosion of flammable gas that had seeped into the pocket where she was.
“Luna, are you crazy?” Twilight had protested when Luna insisted on going back. “I just finished bandaging you up and you want to go back? What is Celestia going to say?”
“Nothing,” Luna said, readying herself to go back through the portal. “Not if you don’t tell her. No, it is not fair of me to ask you to hide something from my sister. I leave it to your discretion what, and what not, to tell my sister. I will face whatever she has to say upon my return.”
“Fine,” Twilight grumbled, as she levitated over a tiny, breezie-sized necklace over to Luna. “At least wear this.”
“What is it?” Luna asked, looking at the bauble. “I can feel your magic on it Twilight, but not what it does.”
“It will keep good air around all the time,” Twilight said, lowering the necklace carefully past Luna’s antenna. “It will also put up a shield if you touch off another gas pocket.”
“Thank you, dear Twilight,” Luna said, hugging the purple alicorn. “This will be of immense help.”
“Oh…” Twilight said, returning the hug before taking a step back. “I… I won’t tell Celestia anything for now. But if she asks me what’s going on, or if you come back exploded twice, all bets are off.”
“I can ask nothing more of you,” Luna said, turning to the portal again. “You are a good friend, thank you.”
A short chapter here, because first off, I'm still rebuilding my life. I've been working on getting a new home, car and job all in one go. Second, and more importantly, this was where I wanted to stop the previous chapter when life intervened. So, instead of a long chapter you get a normal sized one and a short one.
My Patreon will re-open October 1st. Which is when.... I will remember to finish my afterwords BEFORE I hit the "Publish" button.
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Yetch, nothing more repulsive than a muckraker. Even politicians need to at least convince someone to like them, but this sort of fool seems content to vomit bile without a care 'till the cows come home.
Hopefully we get to see him drive himself nuts looking for a conspiracy that doesn't exist?
I've been sitting around trying to think of something profound and uplifting to say regarding your situation, but I fail to think of anything that meets my own high standards. Or isn't hopelessly trite and/or purple. So I wish you all the luck in the world, and I thank you for your story and your optimism.
What quote would that be?
Yes, lets piss off people in a small, tight-knit community. That's going to do wonders in getting people to open up to you and won't totally mark you as 'that asshole we avoid' within a day or so.
This reporter is used to big-city reporting, isn't he?
I do't know why but i keep expecting some sort of pokemon refrence like with poyta,blitzle, or mudbray
It’s good to see you and your story back.
Sherlock Homes quote about what the dog did at night. They dog did not do anything (Bark or growl) It was how he figured out the dog was friendly with the intruder.
Ha! Someone I can hate :D Cummins is all the things Wilcox is not! But seriously, the public doesn't really have the right to know anymore than they already do if someone wants their privacy.
Arnold needs to look into hoofsneakers. Yes, they are a thing
Also, side note: Shouldn't it be Brian Cummins?
Glad to see things are looking up.
9149205
Had to change the name to avoid any potential copyright issues.
9149333
It's now a tale of two John. Which is arguable much more awesome!
I hope they run this unscrupulous reporter out of town. Hopefully he makes a fool of himself before the truth comes out and get led on one wild goose chase.
Honestly, Mr Cummins seems to lack a sense of scale. It's a rather small town and his evidence for a conspiracy existing is that someone unidentified apparently helped with an emergency situation and nobody wants to tell him who.
Even if he finds some nepotism or some other scam, it's going to be purely local and small-town scale - and the only hope for it being a big story is to ride the human-interest story, which will either tend to drown it out or be last weeks news by the time he puts his story together.
He'd be better off with a conspiracy-theory blog.
Shoeing? An important concern to be sure, especially if they're going to keep heaving around heavy loads like that. luckily, if you go far enough in the internet you can find just about anything. such as a fellow who has the most fascinating dreams. like an account of Apple Bloom's first trip to the local farrier.
img00.deviantart.net/d635/i/2017/085/8/4/if_the_shoe_fits_by_baron_engel-db3lj9l.jpg
Rather reminded me of an appointment with my dentist. Who knew so much went into shoeing a pony?
Reasonably certain that should be hyphenated.
9148984
If there's anyone who deserves a plot bombing by a pegasus, it's this douche. Hopefully some unicorn magic will take care of any recordings at a distance leaving him with no evidence.
As for one of the ponies pretending to be a dog, I forgot how small they are. If cornered, they could always go with the big watery eyes to appeal to the reporter's sense of morality... or knock 'em out with dawwabities.
Hnnng! My heart!
9150894
Baron Engel's work is always interesting.
Interesting way to quote Sherlock Holmes without quoting Sherlock Holmes.
9194349
Just my way of trying to encourage folks to read one of the giants of fiction...
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(Our dog goes barking bonkers when a stranger comes through the door)