Apropos of the Sinners

by SpitFlame

Part VI – Chapter IV – At the Former Tavern

It was officially dusk by the time Nova reached the coachpony station. Luckily Baltimare was a bit closer to Ponyville than FIllydelphia, so the trip took about five hours instead of the previous five-and-a-half. He had badgered the coachpony, hastening him along, offering more bits than was necessary. The coachpony, who at first was all indignant, happily accepted and even took off especially fast when Nova promised him an extra tip.

The swiftness of the ride had refreshed Nova. The air was cool; by the time he arrived it was well past midnight, and big stars shone in the sky. But Nova was troubled, very troubled, and though many things now tormented his soul, at this moment his whole being yearned for her, for his queen, to whom he was flying in order to look at her for the last time.

I will say just one thing: his heart did not argue even for a moment. I will also say that, having thought it over during the ride, this jealous pony no longer felt the least jealousy towards this new rival who had sprung up from nowhere, this "officer." If some other stallion appeared, he would at once have become jealous, and would perhaps have drenched his hooves with blood; but towards this other one, "her first," he felt no jealous hatred as he flew along to the city, not even any hostility.

"This is beyond dispute, this is his right and hers; this is her first love, which in years she had not forgotten; so she has loved only him for all this time and I... what am I doing here? Why am I here, and what for? Step aside, Nova, make way! And what am I now? It's all finished now, even without the officer, even if he hadn't come at all, it would still be finished..."

It was with these words and resolve that the carriage came rattling into Baltimare.

"Here I come!" cried Nova. "Everything involving she and I took place at this tavern, so she must be here!" He paid the exhausted coachpony an extra ten to reign in right up to the high porch of the tavern. Nova jumped from the carriage just as the innkeeper, who was in fact on his way to bed, peered out from the porch, curious who could have driven up like that.

"Is it you, Bore Hoof?" asked Nova.

The innkeeper bent forward, peered, and ran headlong down the steps, and rushed up to his guest in servile rapture.

"My dear Nova Steel! Do we meet again?"

This Bore Hoof was a thickset and robust stallion of short height, with a somewhat flabby face, a stern and implacable appearance, especially with those down on their luck, but endowed with the ability to change his expression to one of the utmost servility whenever he smelled profit. He went about dressed in an old apron, had quite a bit of money, but constantly dreamed of a higher role. He had more than half of the lower-class citizens within that district of the city in his clutches; it seemed like everypony was in debt to him. He rented land from the landowners, and had also bought some himself, and the peasants worked this land for him in return for their debts, which they could never pay back.

He was a widower and had three grown-up daughters. One was already a widow and lived with him with her two little ones, his granddaughters, working for him as a charmare. Another of his peasant daughters was married to an official, who had risen from being a petty clerk, and one could see on the wall in one of the rooms in the inn, among family photographs, also a miniature photograph of this little official in his uniform and official ornaments. The two young daughters, on feast days or when going visiting, would put on dresses of fashionable cut, but the very next morning, as on any other day, they would get up at dawn, sweep the rooms with birch brooms, take the garbage out, dirtying themselves up.

Despite the thousands he had already made, Bore Hoof took great pleasure in fleecing a lodger on a spree, and, recalling that only a few months ago he had profited from Nova in one day, during his spree with Bouquet, to the tune of many bits, he now greeted him joyfully and eagerly, scenting his prey again just by the way Nova ran up to the porch.

"My dear Nova Steel, will you be our guest again?"

"Wait, Bore Hoof," began Nova, "first things first: where is she?"

"Bouquet Rose you mean?" The innkeeper understood at once, peering alertly into Nova's face. "She's here, too... staying..."

"With whom? You must tell me!"

"Some visitors passing through, sir. One is an official, must be a Germane from the way he talks, it was him who sent for her; the other one is a friend of his, or a fellow traveler, who can tell? They're both in civilian clothes."

"Clothes? They're wearing clothes?"

"Right. A couple of shirts with loosened collars. She's wearing a blouse with a little necktie."

"What, are they on a spree? Are they rich?"

"Spree, nothing! They're small fry, Nova Steel."

"Small? And the others?"

"They're from town, I think, two gentlecolts. They were on their way somewhere and stopped here. One of them, the young one, is a merchant, only I forget his name. The other one is a Prench fellow, I suppose you know him: the clerk, Rapière. He was in Ponyville before, and now he's going around with this young merchant."

"And that's all?"

"That's all."

"Stop, listen, Bore Hoof, now tell me the most important thing: what about her, how is she?"

"She just arrived, and now she's sitting with them."

"Happy? Laughing?"

"No, she doesn't seem to be laughing much. She's sitting there quite bored; she was combing the merchant's mane."

"The officer's, or...?"

"He's no young pony, and no officer either, not at all; no, sir, not him but this merchant... he claimed to have known Bronze Pocket... I just can't remember his name."

"Merchant? Hmm..." Nova thought for a few seconds. "Cold Leg?"

"Exactly—Cold Leg."

"Good, I'll see for myself. Are they playing cards?"

"They played for a bit, then they stopped and had something to drink. The official ordered brandies."

"Stop, Bore Hoof, stop, my dear soul, I'll see for myself. Now answer the most important thing: the institute mares... I mean, the girls, are they around?"

"There's been no word of them lately, Nova Steel, but you can send for them. They'll come."

"Send for them, do send for them!" cried Nova. "And you can wake up the girls like the other time, Hazel Blossom especially, and Pearl, too. Eight hundred bits for the chorus!"

"For that money I'll wake up the whole neighborhood, though they've probably all dropped off by now, given this time of night. Are they really worth such pampering, our girls, I mean? To lay out so much for such coarseness and crudeness? It all stinks, you know. Why spend so much? I'll wake up my daughters for you for nothing, they just went to bed, but I mean, I'll kick them in the backside and make them sing for you. Last time you gave the peasants champagne to drink, ah!"

Bore Hoof had no call to feel sorry for Nova: he himself had hidden half a dozen bottles of brandies and liqueurs from him last time, and had picked up several bits from under the table and clutched them tightly.

"I ran through more than two thousand that time, do you remember, Bore Hoof?"

"You did, my good sir, how could I forget? You must have left five thousand here."

"So, I've come with as much again, see?" And Nova took out his saddlebag and held it right under the innkeeper's nose. "Now listen and understand: I want you to open up your cellar and bring everything—wine, appetizers, caviar, and candies—send everything upstairs at once. This case that I have with me here, it's an antique crossbow, it should go upstairs as well. And above all, the girls, the girls, especially Hazel Blossom..."

He turned back to the cart and paid the coachpony what he was owed. The coachpony flew off, completely satisfied with his payment.

"Now, Bore Hoof, take me in quietly," said Nova, "and let me first have a look at them all, so that they don't notice me. Where are they? In the back room?"

Bore Hoof looked warily at Nova, but at once obediently did as he was told: he carefully led him to the front hall, and himself went into the first large room, adjacent to the one in which the guests were sitting, and removed the candles. Then he quietly led Nova in and put him in the corner, in the darkness, from where he could freely watch the company without being seen by them. Nova did not have to search for long: he saw her, and his heart began to pound, his head swam.

She was sitting at the end of the table, in an armchair, indeed wearing a light blouse, and next to her, on a sofa, sat Cold Leg; she was holding him by the hoof and seemed to be laughing, and he, without looking at her, was saying something loudly, apparently irritably, to Rapière, who sat across the table from Bouquet. Rapière was laughing very much at something. He sat on the sofa, and next to the sofa, on a chair by the wall, was some other stranger.

The one on the sofa sat casually, smoking a pipe, and it flashed through Nova that he was a sort of disagreeable, plump stallion, somewhat fat, who seemed to be angry about something. His companion, the other stranger, appeared to Nova to be exceedingly tall; but he could make out nothing else. His breath failed him. Unable to stand there any longer, he huffed, and with his long, quick strides, he walked straight into the back room and up to the table.

"Ah!" Bouquet yelped in fear, noticing him first.

"Gentlecolts," he began loudly, almost shouting, but stammering at each word, "it's... it's nothing! Don't be afraid," he exclaimed, "it's really nothing." He turned to Bouquet, who was leaning towards Cold Leg in her armchair, firmly clutching his shoulder. "I... am traveling, too. I'll stay till morning. Gentlecolts, may a passing traveler stay with you... till morning? Only till morning, in this same room..."

These final words he addressed to the fat little stallion with the pipe, who was sitting on the sofa. The latter imposingly removed the pipe from his lips and said sternly, "Herr"— he began in Germane, but quickly corrected himself —"sir, this is a private gathering. There are other rooms."

"It's you, Nova Steel. What's the matter?" said Cold Leg suddenly, giving a conceited little grin. "Come on, sit down with us."

"Good evening, er, night, my dear... and priceless fellow! I've always respected you," Nova joyfully and impetuously responded, holding his hoof out to him at once across the table.

"Ouch! What a grip!" laughed Cold Leg.

"He always shakes hooves like that, always," said Bouquet gaily, still with a timid smile, seeming suddenly convinced by the looks of Nova that he was not going to start a brawl, but peering at him with terrible curiosity and still uneasily. There was something in him that struck her greatly, and she had not at all expected that he would come in like that and speak at such a moment.

"Good evening, sir," said Rapière sweetly. Nova rushed over to him as well.

"Good, you're here, too! Gentlecolts, gentlecolts, I..." He turned again to the one with the pipe, evidently taking him to be the most important pony present. "My apologies, but I'm Nova Steel. I didn't get your names."

"The one with the pipe is Alabaster," cut in Cold leg, "and the tall one... we call him the bodyguard."

"I came flying here, Mr. Alabaster," Nova went on more quickly, in a respectable voice, "I wanted to spend my last day and my last hour in this room, this very room, where I once adored... my queen! Forgive me, sir!" he cried frantically. "I came flying, and I made a vow. Oh, don't be afraid, it's my last night. Let us drink for peace, Alabaster! Wine will be served presently... I brought this." Suddenly, for some reason, he pulled off his saddlebag. "Allow me, sir, I want music, noise, racket, everything just as before. And on my last night I will commemorate the day of my joy, the day justice was served!"

He was almost breathless; there was much that he wanted to say, but only odd exclamations flew out. The pipe-wielding Alabaster gazed motionlessly at him, at his stacks of money, gazed at Bouquet, and was clearly taken aback by it all.

"If my königin permits..." he started to say.

"What's a 'königin,' a guideline or what?" Bouquet suddenly interrupted. "It makes me laugh the way you all talk. Sit down, Nova, what're you talking about? Don't scare me, please. You aren't going to scare me, are you? If you aren't, then I'm glad to see you..."

"Me? Scare you?" cried Nova, throwing up a hoof. "Oh, pass me by, go your way... I won't... hinder... y-you..." And suddenly, quite unexpectedly for everypony, he flung himself down on a chair and started crying, his head turned away to the opposite wall, and his arms firmly grasping the back of the chair as though embracing it.

"Now, now, is that any way to behave?" reproached Bouquet, biting her lip. "That's just how he used to be when he came visiting me—he'd start talking, and I wouldn't understand a thing. Then once he began crying just like that, and now again—shame on you! What are you crying for? As if you had anything to cry about!" she suddenly added mysteriously, emphasizing her words with a sort of irritation.

"I... I'm not crying. Well... good evening!" He turned around instantly on his chair and suddenly laughed through the tears, not his abrupt, wooden laugh, but a sort of long, nervous, inaudible, and shaking laugh.

"What, again? Come on, cheer up, cheer up!" Bouquet urged him. "I'm very glad you came, Nova, you hear that? I'm really glad. I want him to sit here with us," she added imperiously, as if addressing everypony, though her words were obviously aimed at the fat pony sitting on the sofa. "I want it, I want it! And if he leaves, I'll leave, too, that's that!" she said with flashing eyes.

"Whatever my queen pleases is the law!" said Alabaster, gallantly kissing Bouquet's hoof. "You, sir, I ask to join our company!" he addressed Nova courteously.

Nova jumped up a little again, obviously intending to break once more into a tirade, but something else came out. "Let's drink, my good sir!" He stopped short suddenly instead of making a speech. Everypony laughed.

"Sweet Celestia! I thought he was going to start talking again," exclaimed Bouquet nervously. "Listen, Nova," she added insistently, "don't jump up anymore, and it's lovely that you've brought more to drink. I'll drink some myself, though I can't stand liqueur. It's great that you've come here yourself, it's been such a bore. Are you on a spree again, or what? But please put that saddlebag away! Where did you get so much?"

At that same moment, the innkeeper brought an open bottle of champagne on a tray, with glasses. Nova seized the bottle, but was so confused that he forgot what to do with it. Cold Leg finally took it from him and began pouring.

"Another bottle, another!" Nova cried to the innkeeper, and, forgetting to clink glasses with the Germane sir who he had just so solemnly invited to drink for peace, suddenly drained his whole glass by himself, without waiting for anypony else. His whole face suddenly changed. Instead of the solemn and tragic expression he was wearing when he entered, something childlike, as it were, appeared in him. He seemed suddenly to have humbled and diminished himself. He looked timidly and joyfully at everypony, giggling nervously and frequently, with the grateful look of a guilty dog that has been patted and let in again. He seemed to have forgotten everything and looked at everypony around him admiringly, with a childish smile. He looked at Bouquet, laughing continually, and moved his chair up next to her armchair.

Gradually he made out the two Germane stallions, though he could make little sense of them. Alabaster struck him by his bearing, his Germane accent, and, above all, his pipe. Well, what of it? It's good that he smokes a pipe, Nova contemplated. Alabaster's nearly fifty-year old face, somewhat flabby, with an upwardly bent snout, under which appeared a pair of the thinnest little pointed moustaches, dyed and insolent, so far had not aroused the least question in Nova. Even his stupidly brushed mane, which was brushed aside at his temples, did not particularly strike him.

As for the other one sitting by the wall, the tall bodyguard, who was younger than Alabaster on the sofa, he was looking impudently and defiantly at the whole company, listening with silent disdain to the general conversation; he, in turn, struck Nova only by his great height, terribly disproportionate to Alabaster sitting on the sofa. Very tall indeed, flashed through Nova's head. It also flashed in him that this tall pony was most likely the friend and henchpony of the pony with the pipe, "his bodyguard," so to speak, and that Alabaster of course gave orders to his bodyguard.

But all this, too, seemed terribly good and indisputable to Nova. All rivalry had ceased in him. He did not yet understand anything about Bouquet and the mysterious tone of some of her phrases; he only understood, trembling with his whole heart, that she had treated him tenderly, that she had "forgiven" him and sat him down next to her. He was beside himself with joy seeing her take a sip from her glass. Suddenly, however, the silence of the company seemed to strike him, and he began looking around at everypony, his eyes expecting something

"Why are we just sitting here, why don't we get something started, gentlecolts?" his grinning eyes seemed to say.

"It's him, he keeps telling lies, and we keep laughing," Cold Leg suddenly began, as if guessing Nova's thought, and he pointed at Rapière.

Nova swiftly fixed his eyes on Cold Leg and then at once on Rapière.

"Lies?" he burst into his abrupt, wooden laughter, at once becoming happy about something. "Ha, ha!"

"Yeah. He maintains that twenty years ago our entire cavalry allegedly married Germane mares; but that's awful nonsense, isn't it?"

"Germane mares?" Nova chimed in, now decidedly happy.

Cold Leg well understood Nova's relations with Bouquet; he had also guessed about Alabaster; but all that did not interest him very much, and perhaps did not interest him at all: what interested him most was the eccentric Rapière. He had turned up there with Rapière by chance, and met the Germanes for the first time in his life there at the inn. As for Bouquet, he had known her previously and once even visited her with somepony; she had not liked him then. But now she kept glancing at him very tenderly; before Nova arrived she had even caressed him, but he remained somehow insensible. He was a young stallion, somewhere in his mid twenties, stylishly dressed, with a very haughty yet good-looking face. And set in that face were a pair of lovely light blue eyes, with an intelligent and sometimes deep expression. Generally, he was very original, even whimsical, though always arrogant.

"I've been taking him around with me for four days now," he went on, drawing the words out a little, lazily, as it were, but quite naturally. "I know he took part in the scandal over at that auction in Ponyville. But now he keeps telling such lies that I'm ashamed to be with him. I'm taking him back..."

"The Prenchie says many impossible things," Alabaster observed to Rapière.

"But I was married to a Germane lady myself, sir," Rapière giggled in reply.

"And did you also serve in the cavalry? You were talking about the cavalry. But you're no soldier," Cold Leg immediately mixed in.

"No, indeed, he's no soldier! Ha, ha!" cried Nova, who was listening greedily and quickly shifting his questioning glance to each speaker in turn, as if he expected to hear who knows what from each of them.

"No, you see, sir"— Rapière turned to him —"I mean, sir, that those young Germane mares... pretty mares, sir... as soon as they'd danced..." But he giggled.

"The sir is a scoundrel!" the tall one on the chair, the supposed "bodyguard," suddenly growled. All that caught Nova's eye was his enormous greased collar. Generally, the clothing of both ponies was rather grimy.

"So it's 'scoundrel' now! Why's he calling names?" Bouquet suddenly became angry.

"Wait, wait, what he said before is interesting," interjected Cold Leg, getting excited himself. "Did you get married in Germane, or what?"

Alabaster became imposingly silent. He started to chew on his pipe. The ensuing conversation continued on in such a ridiculous fashion for another two minutes. Rapière babbled onward, making many dubious claims, something or other about his wife leaving him for another Prench stallion, then more laughter from Cold Leg. Nova and Bouquet laughed as well.

"Listen, listen!" Cold Leg was really bubbling over. "Even if he's lying—and he lies all the time—he's lying for our entertainment. That's not bad, is it? You know, sometimes I love this guy. He's awfully bad, but in a natural, endearing way. Don't you think? Other ponies are bad for some reason, to get some profit from it, but he just does it naturally. For instance, he claims (he was arguing about it yesterday all the while we were traveling) that Princess Celestia wrote about him in her personal archives. But is that even possible? Her archives were completed well over a hundred years ago, so the dates don't fit at all. He couldn't have been written about. He really couldn't, could he?"

It was hard to conceive why Cold Leg was so excited, but his excitement was genuine. Nova entered wholeheartedly into his interests. "Well, that's a story to tell!" he cried with a loud laugh.

"What time is it?" Alabaster addressed his companion with a bored look. The latter shrugged his shoulders in reply: neither of them had been carrying a watch.

"Why not talk? Let other ponies talk, too. You mean if you're bored, no pony should talk?" Bouquet roused herself again, apparently provoking him on purpose. For the first time, as it were, something unbefitting flashed through Nova's mind. This time Alabaster replied with obvious irritation.

"Ms. Bouquet, I do not contradict, I do not say anything."

"Alright then, sheesh!" said Bouquet. She suddenly started to speak in a lower voice, as if changing her mind. "Eh, enough, I don't want to listen, I thought there would be some fun in it."

Nova, thrown into a flutter, stopped laughing at once. The bodyguard rose from his seat and, with the haughty look of a pony bored by company unsuited to him, began pacing from one corner to the other, face almost downcast.

"Look at him pacing!" Bouquet glanced at him contemptuously. Nova began to worry; besides, he noticed that Alabaster kept glancing at him irritably.

"Sir," said Nova, "let us drink, sir! And the other one, too: let's drink to you lot." In a second he moved three glasses together and poured champagne.

"To your health, Mr. Alabaster, I drink to your health!" exclaimed Nova.

"That is very nice, let us drink," said Alabaster gravely and benevolently, taking his glass.

"And the other guy, what's his name? Hey, Excellency, take a glass!" Nova fussed.

"Call him Rookie," prompted Alabaster.

Rookie—the "bodyguard"—came swinging up to the table and, standing, accepted his glass.

"To your health, gentlecolts! Hurray!" shouted Nova, raising his glass.

They all drank. Nova seized the bottle.

"Pour some for us," said Bouquet. "I'll drink to your health."

"Hit me," said Cold Leg, clanging his glass on the table.

"I wouldn't mind either, sirs... to our dear health," Rapière joined in, giggling.

"Everypony, everypony!" cried Nova. "Innkeeper, another bottle!"

Three more bottles were brought, paid by Nova himself. He poured.

"To Nova," said Bouquet warmly, finishing her glass in one gulp.

"To me!" laughed Nova.

Everypony drank except for Alabaster and Rookie.

"And us?" pronounced Alabaster.

"Don't be foolish, we saved the best for last," suddenly escaped from Nova.

"Sir!" both Germane stallions shouted threateningly, turning on Nova in anger. Rookie especially was boiling.

"Stop it! No fighting! There are to be no fights!" cried Bouquet commandingly and stamped her hoof on the floor. Her face was flushed, her eyes gleaming. The glass she had just drunk was having its effect on her.

Nova got terribly frightened. "Ah, please forgive me! It was my fault, I'll stop. Alabaster, Rookie, I'll stop..."

"You keep quiet at least, sit down," snarled Bouquet at him with spiteful vexation.

They all sat down, they all fell silent, they all looked at one another.

"Gentlecolts, I'm the cause of everything!" Nova began again, grasping nothing from Bouquet's exclamations. "Why are we all sitting here? What shall we do... for fun? What's for fun?"

"We haven't been having that much fun to begin with," mumbled Cold Leg.

"Why not a little game of cards like before, sirs?" tittered Rapière. "Something like baccarat, perhaps?"

"Baccarat? Splendid!" Nova picked up. "If only they..."

"Spät, sir," said Alabaster, though reluctantly.

"True," agreed Rookie.

"Huh? What does that word mean?" asked Bouquet.

"It means 'late.' The hour is late," he explained.

"For them it's always late, always some excuse!" yelled Bouquet in vexation. "They're bored sitting here, so they want everypony to be bored, too. Before you came, Nova, they just sat there saying nothing, puffing themselves up in front of me..."

"Fine, fine!" huffed Alabaster. "It'll be as you say. Ah... well... ahem, I'm ready," he concluded, turning to Nova.

"Begin, my good sir!" Nova picked up, snatching a pile of bits from his saddlebag and laying it on the table. "I want to lose a lot to you, sir. Take the cards. Make the bank!"

"We should get cards from the innkeeper," said Alabaster gravely and emphatically.

"From the innkeeper? Very good, let them be from the innkeeper, that's fine. Hey, innkeeper! Cards!" Nova called out.

The innkeeper brought an unopened deck of cards and announced to Nova that the girls were already gathering, and that the feast he had requested was still being prepared.

Here Rapière suddenly touched his shoulder.

"Give me five bits," he whispered to Nova. "I'd like to chance a little baccarat, too!"

"Wonderful! Splendid! Here, take ten!" He gave him the bits. "And if you lose, come again, I'll provide more..."

The deck was opened and the cards were prepared in orderly fashion. Alabaster looked much more amiable, almost friendly. He lit up a new pipe and prepared to deal; there was even a sort of solemn look on his face.

"Take seats, sir," announced Rookie.

"No, I won't play," said Cold Leg. "I've already lost to this game before. It's stupid."

"How much are we betting?" asked Nova, getting excited.

"That depends," said Alabaster, "maybe a hundred, maybe two, but anymore than five hundred and we'd surely be directed to a casino."

"Ah, I can't go to any casinos now, I'm blacklisted!"

"Be that as it may..."

They began to play. Rapière immediately lost his ten bits. Nova won the first round.

"Twenty-five!" he cried.

"Another bit, a little stake, a simple little stake," muttered Rapière, wanting very much to stay in the game.

"Lost!" cried Nova. "Double on the seven!"

The double was lost, too.

"Stop!" said Cold Leg all of a sudden.

Time was passing slowly. The game continued with some sort of unexpected distress.

"Double! Double!" Nova kept doubling his stakes, and every time he doubled a card, it lost. "Double!" he roared again.

"You've lost four hundred, sir. Will you stake more?" inquired Alabaster softly.

"What, four hundred already! Here's another stack! The whole thing on the double!" Nova pulled another stack of bits from his depleting saddlebag and set it down on the table.

But Cold Leg suddenly reached over and covered it with his hoof. "Enough!" he said in a ringing voice.

"What do you mean?" Nova stared at him.

"You've had enough! I won't let you play anymore!"

"Why?"

"Because."

"Er... 'because' what?"

"Just because. Seeing you throw away all that money is seriously starting to piss me off."

Nova looked at him in amazement.

"Quit, Nova. Maybe he's right; you've lost a lot as it is," said Bouquet, too, with a strange note in her voice. Both Germane ponies rose from their seats, looking terribly offended. Alabaster especially was furious.

"Are you joking?" said Rookie, looking sternly at Cold Leg.

"How dare you do that!" cried Alabaster. "You're a spineless buffoon!"

"Wanna say that to my face, you fat bastard!" yelled Cold Leg, heaving himself up, glaring straight at Alabaster.

"Stop, don't you dare shout!" Bouquet raised her voice.

Nova looked at each of them in turn; then something in Bouquet's face suddenly struck him, and at the same moment something quite new flashed through his mind.

"Bouquet Rose!" Alabaster, all flushed with defiance, began speaking, when Nova suddenly came up to him and slapped him on the shoulder.

"A word with you, Excellency," he said.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Let's step into the other room, over there; I have some nice news for you, the best news, you'll be pleased to hear it."

The fat little pony was surprised and looked warily at Nova. However, considering that Cold Leg was ready to throw the cards in his face and was looking down on him, and in that moment he wanted to get away for a bit, he agreed at once, but on the firm condition that Rookie also come with them.

"The bodyguard? Let him come, we need him, too! He must come, in point of fact!" exclaimed Nova. "Let's go!"

"Where are you going?" asked Bouquet anxiously.

"We'll be back in a moment," replied Nova.