Apropos of the Sinners

by SpitFlame

Part IV – Chapter II – The Woodlot Contract

As for the "misadventures" which I promised to describe in their proper place, I will look at one in particular. This one involved Bronze Pocket and the woodlot over in Appleloosa, and how he managed to sell it with the utmost wit. This all kicked off when the coachpony whom Cluster hired informed Bronze that his son did not, in fact, head over to Appleloosa, but to Baltimare. When asked why, the coachpony replied that he did not know. Before we delve into this chapter, allow me to recount an incumbent and didactic conversation shared between Bronze and Cluster, roughly a month ago, shortly after Cluster arrived in Ponyville.

It was about nine o'clock in the morning. Cluster was currently taking residence in Bronze's house (this was only a day before he rented out his own house, so he was sojourning with his father). Sandy, the servant, came upstairs to his room with the usual daily question, "Will you be pleased to have tea in your room, or will you come downstairs?" Cluster came downstairs, looking almost tranquil, though there was in him, in his words and gestures, something scattered and hasty, as it were—likely pertaining to the upcoming Summer Sun Celebration. He greeted his father, and then, without waiting for Bronze to reply, announced that he was heading out, and that he would only return very late. The old stallion listened to this announcement with no sign of surprise, and quite indecently forgot to pay his son any farewells. Instead he suddenly got into a great flutter, having just remembered some urgent business of his own.

"Ah, you! What a fellow!" said Bronze. "Couldn't have told me yesterday you were heading out... well, no matter, we'll settle it now. Do me a great favour, stop off at Appleloosa. The train passes by there frequently, and you'd go and return in less than twenty-four hours."

"I can't," replied Cluster. "I have to go to Town Hall, and I'll be there all day today."

"You'll make it in no time, but turn off Appleloosa. What'll it cost you to placate your father! If I wasn't kept here by my own business, I'd have shot over there and back myself long ago, because the deal there is an urgent and special one, but now isn't the time for me. There's a woodlot there, see, two parcels on waste lands. The Corkscrews, the old earth pony and his son, both merchants in hiding, are offering only twenty thousand for it, to cut the timber, and just last year a buyer turned up who offered twenty-five thousand, but he wasn't a local, that's the catch. Worse is that my competitor, Bang Mang, is all prudent and trying to win this woodlot over me, like it's some legal matter. He doesn't want me to make any money!"

"Write to a friend of yours; have them settle it."

"Cluster, I'm asking you because I trust you the most. You're reliable, and you won't lie to make a profit. None of the ponies I know have any eye for business, unlike me. The buyer offering twenty-five thousand is pure gold, I'd hand him fifty thousand bits for safekeeping, without receipt, but he has no eye at all. And he's a learned pony, just think of it! He looks nice and dresses in a congenial way, but he's a scoundrel in character, that's the trouble for us: he lies, that's the catch. Sometimes he lies so much you wonder, why's he doing it? Two years ago he lied that his wife was dead and that he'd already married another one, and, imagine, not a word of it was true: his wife never died, she's still alive and beats him once every week. So we've got to find out whether he's lying now, too, or really wants to buy and is offering twenty-five thousand."

"But there's no use sending me; I don't have an eye either."

"No, no, you'll do fine, because I'm going to tell you the signs. I've dealt with this fellow way back—his name's Ruddy Muff, by the way. You see, you have to watch his beard; he has an ugly little beard. If he strokes his beard and he looks angry—good, it means he's telling the truth. But if his beard shakes and he chuckles to himself—no good, he's out for swindling, the cheating rascal. Never watch his eyes; you can't tell anything from his eyes. They're lazy, murky, look like they're made of water—but watch his beard. If you manage, write to me, 'He's not lying.' Insist on twenty-four thousand; you can knock off a thousand to put him at ease, but not more. Think: from twenty to twenty-four, it's a difference of four thousand. Well, will you go or not?"

"Spare me, would you? I don't have any time."

"Pah! Do it for your father, I won't forget it! You have no hearts, any of you, that's what! Will a single day make a difference? Where are you off to—Town Hall? Your Town Hall won't fall apart in a day. I'd send Airglow, but she's no use in these matters, and besides, she's too young. It's because you're an intelligent pony—don't I know that? You're not a timber dealer, but you have a spectacular eye. The only thing is to see whether old Muff is talking seriously or not. Watch his beard, I tell you: if his beard doesn't shake, it's serious."

"So you're pushing me to this Appleloosa, are you?" said Cluster with a malicious air.

Bronze did not perceive the malice, but he did catch the sentiment. "You'll go then, you'll go? I'll scribble a note for you right now!"

"No, I haven't decided anything. On second thought, no, I'm not going. Goodbye." Cluster left at once.

"Pah! So be it!" cried Bronze, glaring back at his son. Half an hour later and the crazy old fool locked himself in his room.

* * *

And now we continue in the present. Bronze boarded the Ponyville train heading off to Appleloosa, for at last he found the time to take care of the deal himself. On the way, however, he wandered about the aisle, then would sit down and groan to himself, in some sort of trembling anticipation. True, he intended to speak to Ruddy Muff and his beard, but he also wanted to do something about the cursed Bang Mang and his muddling of this whole business.

To add, his face had healed considerably. Only two tiny white patches were under his left eye. The swelling had mostly retracted, leaving his skin back to its usual bagginess.

Upon arrival in Appleloosa, Bronze was beaming with quite the anticipation that he was at last about to finish and have done "all these business affairs"—he nevertheless trembled in agitation. What would happen in his absence? What if today Nova decided to pull off another stunt?

"I must get back, I must get back by this evening," Bronze told himself, as he jolted along.

First of all, he was late, having written that he would arrive at nine in the morning, but now it was half-past ten o'clock. Second, he did not find Ruddy Muff at home, and so asked around, and at last was pointed to a barn. He walked along the scorching planes of Appleloosa, past the sandy sidewalks and heaps of barrels and carriages in the many alleyways.

He indeed spotted Ruddy Muff exiting a barnyard, a little's way behind a short picket fence that ran across this particular area of agriculture. Tilting back his cowboy hat (he had bought one earlier at a venue), Bronze strode forward.

"How's it been, old Muff!" laughed Bronze, rushing up to him. "I know, I know—I deserve that look. Apologies. My servants kept me back, asking me to fix a chair for them, and that delayed me. I know, it's no good excuse. Well, so to it!"

Ruddy Muff looked at him, and even seemed frightened for a second. He was not old yet, but short and lean, with a very oblong face, and a long, thin, reddish beard. It was a habit of his to go on examining the physiognomy of other ponies with terrible hatred, reflecting some kind of latent jealousy in their looks. And above all, it was unbearably vexing to him that Bronze should be standing there with an urgent business.

He beckoned for a second, then retreated back into the barnyard, with Bronze behind him. Inside, by a stack of hay, stood a single table holding a tallow candle. The kettle had gone out; there was also a tray with cups, an empty bottle of cognac, an almost empty bottle of rum, and some crusts of white bread.

"So does my woodlot still hold sway over you?" inquired Bronze at once, pausing at the table.

Ruddy Muff nodded, yet he grew hot in the face and began stroking his beard.

"Twenty-five, right?" cried Bronze. "How about a little negotiating, eh?"

"No, you'd better not," Ruddy Muff finally pronounced, "I am in no mood to negotiate." He pulled even harder on his beard.

So he's not swindling, thought Bronze. "Mercy upon us, look at that!" he exclaimed, snatching the rum bottle and peering inside. "This looks to be in exquisite condition. May I...?"

"No, you'd better not," Muff repeated his phrase, grinding his teeth. "It's twenty-five and literally not a copper more. But if you get caught..."

"Wh-at!" said Bronze, putting on a display of feigned confusion.

Muff put on affronted airs. "Do not get caught is what I mean. Do not get caught, stay low."

"Get 'caught'? Doing what? Doing a perfectly legal transaction?"

"That's a lie!" Muff suddenly rapped out firmly and calmly.

"A lie?" Bronze spoke almost breathlessly. "If you please, old Muff, you are very mistaken."

"I don't please to know you, only the woodlot," said Muff. "Bang Mang has already caught whiff of your dealings, he's latched on good and tight. You can't sell two parcels below thirty, it's not allowed for."

"But yes I can! What? I can do that! Says who?"

"A l-lie!" Muff rapped out again. "You're smart enough to know the laws here."

"Pah! You're a dyer!" cried Bronze glumly.

Ruddy Muff was stroking his beard solemnly. "No," he said, "you contracted this woodlot and turned out to be a cheat. You're a cheat, sir!"

"You lying swine!" cried Bronze in a voice not his own, in response to Muff stroking his beard and slyly narrowing his eyes. "Do you want the woodlot or not?"

"I do, yes, that I do," said Muff. "But you can't get caught by Bang Mang, or else I too am in the hanger, because he's trying to get you arrested. Well, don't you know?"

Bronze stood dumbfounded, as it were, but suddenly a new and wicked idea came to him. He started muttering to himself, pacing back and forth. Muff sat watching him and chuckled.

"Bang Mang is here, in Appleloosa," Muff let out, as if it were a casual observation.

"He is?" exclaimed Bronze, coming to his senses; he studied the features on Ruddy Muff's face, and especially his beard, very intently for a whole ten seconds. True, this did make some modicum of sense, even if he wondered why Bang Mang would bother coming there personally. "Hmm, alright," he concluded. "Where exactly?"

Ruddy Muff informed him at once that although he had been staying with Bang Mang at first (much to Bronze's surprise), he was now staying in a forester's cottage, as he was buying timber there, too. At Bronze's urgent request to take him to his competitor, stressing that "it would save me, so to speak," Ruddy Muff agreed, after some demur, to conduct him to this cottage on the other side of town.

"We will go there," said Muff, "but there is another matter I ought to show you, because it's equally important, and it will be to your liking."

And Ruddy Muff pulled from who knows where a piece of paper with a wall of tiny text on it. At the very bottom the signature "G.C." appeared. He handed it over to Bronze, though he was pale, and a terrible caution, amounting almost to despair, was on his contorted face. This was mainly expressed in his eyes. He lowered his gaze at once, and dragged himself, staggering and smiling a forlorn smile, over to the front entrance of the barn.

"This is what I was expecting!" cried Bronze, after having read the note. "It was bound to happen."

Indeed, what he had read was a more-or-less anonymous note describing Bang Mang's dealings, how he underpaid his employees, and possessed private information on all of them to prevent any brave soul from complaining to the authorities. In short: Bang Mang was a filthy blackmailer. It mentioned that he was hiding his personal journal somewhere in his cottage.

But who would write to Bronze Pocket like this? Was somepony seeking justice through a most depraved and unjust catalyst like Bronze? Had it really gotten that bad? As the narrator I obviously know the answers to all these questions, and so I say: yes, this was all very true.

"That's what you know? 'It was bound to happen'? Oho!" said Ruddy Muff in a nasally voice.

"But who is this G.C. character?" inquired Bronze. "Ah, exactly this! See, this is my ammunition, this is my anchor, so to speak." There ensued in Bronze a sort of stir, a deep excitement. "Well, let's go."

"But, unluckily, we will have to march over there right now," cautioned Muff.

Bronze agreed, of course, and along the way he started talking about his plans in regards to the woodlot, nervously and excitedly asking the advice of Muff. However, while Muff listened to him along the way, he gave little advice. It was only after arriving at the cottage did he say, "But be careful, Bronze, don't upset him too much, or else he'll blow his own lid. His daughter passed away recently, and he's very angry right now. Speak carefully and slowly." His beard wiggled at these words.

Before moving over to the next chapter, allow me to bear upon you a very brief and, dare I say, fleeting lecture on pricing strategies.

Bronze Pocket was being accused of predatory pricing. This is the term given to the act of setting either a product or service at an extremely low price, with the intention of driving out competitors by artificially raising new barriers to entry. That is to say, if you lower your price, then it stands to reason that your competitors must do the same, unless they offer a special quality which justifies their higher price. Because of this, most ponies cannot sustain the cost of lowering their prices too drastically, and so are forced out of business. Because predatory pricing is officially considered to be anti-competition and therefore can lead to monopolies, the Equestrian government set down some antitrust laws to allay those worries. In our case, the lowest Bronze could legally set the price of his woodlot to was thirty thousand.

Obviously, predatory pricing pays off only if the surviving predator can then raise prices enough to recover the previous losses, making enough extra profit thereafter to justify the risks. These risks are not small.

* * *

It was awfully inconvenient for Bronze that Bang Mang had come to Appleloosa. He wondered for a moment if Bang Mang had predicted his coming to the town, and, more specifically, his chosen date to sell the woodlot. It was almost as if he followed him there simply to press charges, and truth be told, it would not be unfounded: it truly was against market regulations to sell two parcels at less than thirty thousand, but because this transaction was being accomplished by the side, that is, under ponies' noses, nopony would suspect anything overtly suspect. To add, the law enforcement was not particularly attentive around these parts. And, to add even more, it was now discovered that Bang Mang was a potential criminal, of a far more nefarious sort.

Bronze would not let him get away with this, one way or the other. On deciding what to do, he became very pleased with himself. When the old stallion was pleased, he always became effusive, but this time he restrained himself, as it were. For instance, he did not say a single word about anything in regards to Ponyville, nor his children, to either Muff or Bang Mang. He even seemed to be running out of things to say, but it did not matter—now it was time to confront reality.

To note, Muff had left and gone his own way, not intending to make heads or tails of this whole scenario, unknowingly placing his trust in Bronze's intuition. And how right he was to do so.

I'll needle his heart, that's what! thought Bronze gleefully. After walking so much in these fields, he believed that he was owed a little compensation, that is, a moral one.

He knocked on the door rapidly, with his short, almost nervous-like knocks, and in a few seconds it was opened to reveal a pony Bronze had never set eyes on before. This was a mare, decently dressed, a bit on the young side, but without any of that expected youthful naivety on her face.

She gave him a quiet and taciturn look, to which Bronze replied courteously, "May I have the honour to come in, madame?"

"Mr. Mang wasn't expecting anypony," she rapped out, condescendingly yet seriously enough.

"No, see, I'm Bronze Pocket, a landowner and money-lender from the outskirts of Ponyville. You must be...?"

Some hitherto unseen light flickered in this mare's eyes, and she said in an undertone, "I see, you're here on official business. I'm Glossy Coat."

"No, no, no, this isn't anything official," said Bronze. "I'm here for 'legal' matters. Heh, heh."

She admitted him inside. He found his worn-looking competitor sitting on a couch. He rarely spoke to anypony, not that it mattered, because his business was largely handled by third parties those days. The mare who attended Bronze was the daughter of a cousin of his.

I know why you're here in Appleloosa, flashed through Bronze's vindictive mind. You want to throw a wrench in my gears, eh? To ruin me, eh? Let's see about that. And this here is Glossy Coat—"G.C.", eh? You've gotten careless in who you trust, Mr. Mang.

Bang Mang, some would observe, had the look of a pony who had been permanently frightened by something too great for his mind to sustain. He trembled with wickedness and spite. He was severe and taciturn even with this servant of a mare. When Bronze entered Bang Mang got up from his couch and stood solemnly and sternly, and Bronze felt at once that he was examining him thoroughly as he approached. Bronze was also struck by the face of Bang Mang, which had become extremely swollen recently: his lower lip, which had always been thick, now looked like a kind of drooping pancake. His face was withered and sunken, and tainted with an unnatural shade of yellow. He was, for all intents and purposes, on death's bed, from some sort of incurable disease.

He motioned Bronze to sit in a chair near the couch, and, with painful groans, showing his painful exertions, slowly lowered himself back onto the couch facing Bronze.

But where was the journal? Bronze subtly darted his eyes about, and at last chided himself for not seeing it right away: his journal was right there, in the open, on his desk.

"I know why you're here, Mr. Pocket," the old pony, having finally seated himself, said slowly, distinctly, and sternly.

Bronze gave a start, then all at once began speaking quickly, nervously yet decidedly in a calculated manner. He wanted to put on the erroneous impression that he was a stallion at the end of his rope, facing ruin and looking for a way out. Bang Mang bought into it instantly, though his face remained unchanged and cold as a statue's.

"The most honourable Bang Mang," he cried, "it's my most reverent duty, as a fellow statespony, that it has all been for naught. See, there I was, meeting my partner, Ruddy Muff, the ol' whisker-chaser, heh! I was selling my woodlot for a whole thirty thousand, imagine it. I was going to sell it for twenty-five, but I just couldn't resist the money! This is in Appleloosa, of course—I'm speaking about my woodlot in Appleloosa. I drew up the papers, ready to be signed, and have the remainder of my assets pulled from these lands. But here comes last minute and that Muff fellow just bails on me, saying he found a new seller, offering a whopping three parcels for only twenty-nine thousand. Now I have no buyer. I was dumbstruck, and so, most honourable Bang Mang, you should take over these claims for me."

"Excuse me, Mr. Pocket, but I don't engage in that kind of business," declared Bang Mang in the most resolute and cheerless tone.

"But what am I to do?" murmured Bronze, with a pale smile. "I tell you this because you can profit from it, you can have the woodlot for cheap, is what I mean. All the rest here are loggerheads, but not you, not you! Fate is a grisly thing, Bang Mang! Realism, Bang Mang, realism! We must think objectively and look at our self-interest."

Bronze stared fixedly at the old pony, and suddenly noticed a slight movement on his face.

"You see, Mr. Pocket, if it's not you then it's not my line," said the old pony slowly. "The woodlot here, in Appleloosa, is impossible. There would be courts, lawyers, all kinds of trouble!"

"But—"

"As I said, Mr. Pocket, I don't engage in 'that' kind of business," interrupted Bang Mang firmly, as if in conclusion, seeming content to stay put and not budge.

"Well, sir..." Bronze inclined his head, and he burst into his insolent little laugh. "Seems like I'll have to sell my other two parcels back in Vanhoover. A shame, really, that I couldn't get both Vanhoover and Appleloosa."

Suddenly all of that coldness and bad attitude from Bang Mang disappeared, and in its stead a new bout of anger bubbled over. Whether it was the rapturous look of Bronze, the foolish convictions of his "other" woodlot, or whatever else—I cannot say what precisely prompted the old pony at the time, but when Bronze stood mockingly before him, putting out his senseless exclamations—at that moment Bang Mang looked upon him with boundless spite.

"You have another two parcels of land?" he interrupted Bronze. "Where?"

"I just told you: in Vanhoover. Oh, you wouldn't believe how desperate ponies are there for my woodlot. I'm selling it for cheap."

"How cheap?" Bang Mang bubbled over with even more anger.

"Well, for now it's all supply and demand, like how they teach you in economics. If the demand exceeds the supply, but there is too much competition, then I can give myself the liberty of lowering the price. This is a most lofty deed, one might say... I cherish the most honourable feelings."

"But how cheap are you selling!" spat Bang Mang.

"Ch-ea-p!" drawled Bronze, smiling. "Of course, that transaction will only take place next week, so for now I'll be staying in Appleloosa. If you don't want to take my reigns, then it looks like I'll have to sell the woodlot here for as high as thirty-five."

Bang Mang, livid with spite, turned to his relation and gave orders to get the carriage ready, then to Bronze, "You... you... mongrel! I don't want to see a hair of you! You won't even be allowed in my yard! Go, out!"

He did not get to finish his threat, but no matter: Bronze was already hightailing out of there. He could hardly contain his crackling laughter, his giddiness, carrying within his saddlebag Bang Mang's journal, having swiped if on the fly at the end of their conversation.

Oh, how clever I am! rang incessantly in his mind.

For a whole five hours afterwards Bang Mang was shaking all over with spite, to the point where his illness might have worsened. It didn't help that, at the end of those five hours, it become known to him that he was bamboozled. I shall describe that event at once.

* * *

Ruddy Muff was in the barnyard by himself again; he was preparing a fire to boil the kettle. That was when Bronze returned, rushing in all with animation.

"Here, here, sign the contract!" he cried in a frenzy, pulling out the paper from his saddlebag. "And here, a quill. Well? Sign it, you damn swine!"

Muff stared dumbly at him, but he suddenly started chuckling long yet quietly to himself, in conjunction with the funny wagging of his beard.

"But I already bought a woodlot," he said.

"Pah! Swine that you are!" said Bronze. "Just sign it, I'm selling for twenty-four. I took care of Bang Mang."

"R-ea-lly?" Muff pursed his lips. "Since when?"

"Since 'when'? Pah! He really has lost his head!"

"I mean... since right now?"

"Yes. Speaking of which," shouted Bronze, as if some thought had struck him, "you may ask, 'Why the hurry?' Payback, my friend. Hot, hot time serves the sweetest payback, and I aim to cherish it. I want to see the look on his face. First, you sign the cursed paper; then, we go to the meet up point, talk to the contractor, show him this paper, and strike the deal. Then my remaining assets will be removed—should take no more than a few hours. If Bang Mang were here he'd jump in at once and sue me!"

After a bit more questioning, they ventured way over to the woodlot. That is, not the woodlot itself, but the location where any transaction agreements would be conducted. The place I am speaking of was situated in the midst of ploughed fields, near a water-course that had been converted into a filthy pool. Except for a few willows, and two or three birch-trees, there was not a tree around for at least a mile. There were a few huts, huddled up against more huts, their roofs covered with rotting thatch. A single gazebo was in the middle, a large one, with a boarded roof. As for the assets to be removed, there were only a select few: two tractors, a set of metal tools, and some imported materials, such as glass or the like.

Bronze brought the contract signed by Ruddy Muff, had the officials read it, and finally the orders were given to dispatch the assets, which, once leaving that vicinity, would no longer be the property of Bronze. Now, officially, the woodlot belonged to Muff. And in the next few hours, the area was cleared, and Bronze could head home with no worries, if not for two things left to execute. First, he found the nearest lit stove and all but hurled the contract into it, turning it into ash forever. This left him feeling more satisfied than ever before.

As to the question of, "Won't Bang Mang be suing once he returns?" Bronze gleefully replied, "With all that's been patched together, shipped off, and accomplished, it could take up to twelve months, or more, to establish court proceedings, while before, if catching me in the act, I would be neck-deep in trouble this very day. And even if he does catch me, it won't matter."

"Because I have this," Bronze ventured to say, on point of the second thing to execute; he pulled out the journal and flipped through several pages, each containing damning information of not only Bang Mang's employees, but best of all, of Bang Mang himself. "I have to hand this in to the local police station."

He went there himself, explained the situation, had them read the journal, and for a final measure called in Glossy Coat, who indeed confirmed everything. It was a done deal.

On the way back, Bronze asked Ruddy Muff, "Say, why did you need the woodlot in the first place?"

"Why? Well, because... because..." stammered Ruddy Muff, going red in the face, and he started brandishing his hoof at Bronze, as if in a rage. "What's it to you? Because I want to move some family in, and I need... well, 'because'... because nothing!"

Bronze gave him an odd look, yet shrugged regardless.

For the sake of closure, I will say that Bang Mang did indeed return. While on the train ride, he turned over in his head many of these recent "facts" which had been presented to him, prodding their authenticity, making sure everything added up. And, when it finally hit him that he had been swindled, he went cold in the legs and immediately turned back. The first thing he was greeted with was the next locomotive departing Appleloosa, and Bronze sticking his head out the window, casting a taunting glare at him, crying out, "Adios, mon ami! Thank you for the time well spent! Ha, ha!" And a minute or two after that, a pair of guards waiting for him at the foot of the station. The next day it was learned that Bang Mang received ten years in the hanger.