I looked when Vinyl Scratch glanced behind us. The guards had started examining another pony’s suitcases. She said softly, "Street word is Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, the bride, is a stuck-up prig."
That wasn't my first clue that something deadly and right-knackered was a'hoof in Canterlot, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Minutes before, I'd been on the train fiddling with my iSing Too, a somewhat more bulky enchanted black opal than my original iSing, that could display the names of songs on the luminescent blue and gold specked upper surface. It held an amazing two hundred songs, which made the costly upgrade essential. It required a unicorn to cast a recording spell and to splash it with magic almost daily, but these days neither requests were too costly for me to fulfill.
I'd graduated in spring, #2 in my class, but, thanks to #1's bout of laryngitis compounded by disabling shyness, I'd become valedictorian. My chosen profession was all about facing and pleasing crowds. My speech talked about setting goals for success in life and how that mirrored a pony's search for aesthetic perfection. I'm not sure if anypony got my point that perfection was an unforgiving master that you ought avoid and that doing what was right for you and other ponies was more important. I'd got to play dueling turntables at prom with Vinyl Scratch, who now called herself DJ Pon3, so, if nopony had got my speech, maybe some day they'd figure it out and remember. It didn't bother me.
I'd traveled that summer, mostly shuttling between Manehatten and Baltimare, looking for and finding gigs. Sure, I was trotting in Vinyl Scratch's dust, but she always put in a good word. Or rather, she'd mutely present my business card when she headlined a club. I hadn't found my groove, yet, but I made up for it with stamina. Club owners hired me for opening sets to play slow dance and ambient as friends met, chatted, noshed, then swayed a bit on the floor. I'd return for Luna's Watch, the 2AM to dawn set, accepting the baton from the headliner to keep the energy fizzing and popping with unexpected drops and eclectic breaks until I sent spent ponies home with the sun. Mum and Dad had taught me to nap at weird hours growing up so I could help out on cleaning jobs at night or in the early morning. Sleeping anywhere instantly helped me bridge the evening gap and breeze through the final grueling set.
I'd created a rep.
As for bits, I did well enough to help mum and dad so they no longer need to take overnight work.
Which brings me to autumn and back to the train into Canterlot. Vinyl Scratch had sent me a dragon telegram to be here today without fail. A scroll sealed with red wax appeared before my nose in a puff of green fire while I was spinning two records to match tempos. I juggled it in my wings, tossing it in the air, scratching a record. The audience roared, thinking it was planned. It read, "Canterlot. Tomorrow. Drop everything."
The wheels clattered rhythmically against the rails, which got me humming The City of New Horseleans. The train thankfully stopped screeching, as it had on the many curves on the mountain. We'd entered the final straightaway into the station. I'd starred the wrong songs and looked up from the iSing's tiny lettering, exasperated. I sat at the rear of the carriage facing forward, which is how I saw when a transparent red membrane swept through the wall at me.
I jumped, a-flutter before my brain really registered what I'd seen, flying backwards into the rear wall of the carriage, bouncing off and colliding with the conductor. We fell together hooves and feathers tangled against the luggage stall.
The spell, for what else could it be, passed through me with the disconcerting feeling that somepony had looked into my soul and found the darkness hidden there. I shuddered, stumbling back into the inter-carriage door, disengaging from the middle-aged brown stallion with a neatly trimmed black ear-to-ear beard.
He put his glasses back on. "Sorry ma'am."
"I-I— What was that?"
"You were so intent on what you were reading, I didn't interrupt you. That's a shield spell around Canterlot. I should have warned you."
"No worries. I don't remember that from last time I visited."
"The royal constabulary discovered credible threats against the crown a few weeks ago. Just a precaution, they say. Had a griffon last week whose crest burst into flames."
"Bloody Tartarus! That'd've been a sight."
"The smoke stunk." He waved a hoof in front of his nose and we both laughed. "Had to air out the coach. Can I help you unload your luggage, ma'am?"
"Crikey, yes mate."
I had my four-wheel van lodged in the freight carriage at the end of the train. It required unstrapping the rims from the hold-downs. He helped me hitch up, too, and I flipped him a gold bit from my purse. I found Vinyl Scratch waiting on the trackside platform as I pulled, despite it being 10 p.m., prime time for a DJ. The air was cool, though it smelled of oil and steam. She smiled, her head moving side to side, chin out, to a moderate prance, something I'd bet was either slow house or trap in her 'phones.
She magicked them down her neck and we hugged. Despite the dark lit only by gas lamps, she wore her trademark red mirror shades.
She nodded appreciatively as she circled my van. It was really only a fancy steamer trunk on wheels, a pony-length long, two wide, and two high. I could fit inside, snuggly, but it held my total kit and all my vinyl on custom rubberized shelves with netting. The outside was painted in white enamel, peppered with my cutie mark puppet hearts and clouds at the roofline. At the rear was painted an enormous pink hair bow over a caricature of my face; the bow had become a signature look for my shows since I often became too sweaty if I didn't put my mane up. It also emphasized I was a mare. Stallion DJs dominated the eastern scene and I was determined to differentiate myself.
"DJ F.M.?" Vinyl Scratch asked.
"DJ Flopsy Mopsy doesn't really roll off the tongue. I've new business cards."
"I like it," she said.
"You're downright loquacious tonight."
She snorted and led the way through the Canterlot Terminus Station. She wasn't mute. She only spoke to her close friends, and then only as much as necessary lest it ruin the "vibe." I often thought her first language was music and that the translation to Equestrian proved difficult.
Royal guard in armor, their manes threaded through their helmets, met us at the exit. They toted spears. A white pegasus with a pink mane and magenta eyes—who reminded me too much of Princess Celestia's carriage guards I'd seen killed by Princess Nightmare Moon when she'd ambushed her—asked to examine my van.
I opened the doors. As the soldier peered in, I tapped Vinyl Scratch and pointed. "I borrowed the flood lights, volcano pits, and gem globes from DJ Bellwether. I'll need speakers for anything other than a small venue."
The guard closed the double doors and lent a hoof to help me hitch back up.
"There'll be plenty of speakers. Central-planning asked for a party for guests that weren't the peerage or family."
Peerage? Odd. "Everypony else?"
"Everypony else." I looked when Vinyl Scratch glanced behind us. The guards had started examining another pony’s suitcases. She continued softly, "Street word is Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, the bride, is a stuck-up prig."
"Wait, what? I'm doing a royal wedding?"
Vinyl Scratch lowered her shades, giving me a magenta look like what rock were you under?
"Who's headlining?"
Vinyl Scratch just shook her head in obvious disbelief.
"Shag me."
Though she slid her headphones on, she muttered, "Never lose your Trottingham accent or attitude."
Well then! Pulling out of my gigs with Flights of Fancy and Tumbledown of Manehatten might well pay off big. Equestrians weren't as gobsmacked by royals as an average trotter was about the subject, but a royal wedding would bring out the tabloids, music reporters, and celebrity rags. If I got half the publicity some blokes managed in the Trottingham newspapers Mum and Dad got by pegasus mail, I might even find bookings in Trottingham City clubs. Except for the clubs and beach parties in the south of Prance, no other venues showed you had arrived.
At the end of Alicorn Way, we turned right toward the Strand. The imposing Canterlot bailey wall ran behind the university on the right. To the left were the high rent stores of Canterlot, displaying fancy dresses on ponyquins, bling jewelry behind thick glass, and luxury carriages spinning on magical turntables with candy-apple enamel work. The Bank of Equestria soared four stories in pure white marble—though, in the gaslight, the worn stairs did show some black hoof stains. Nopony ought forget the peerage and monied class dominated this part of Canterlot.
Trotting out of a portcullis, with a nod from the two guards stationed with spears at parade rest, came a familiar taupe mare with a full black mane and a signature pink bowtie around her neck. She toted a pink-striped black resin case large enough for another pony to lay inside. It held her double bass, which she carried bouncing balanced on her back as if it were as light as a basket of feathers. Earth ponies! She hung her head low. I'd have thought she was simply exhausted except for her downturned ears.
I recognized Vinyl Scratch's flat-mate and called out. "Octavia!"
Her ears perked and she trotted to catch up to us. I didn't know what relationship Vinyl Scratch had with the mare since she had moved into her home. They seemed musically incompatible. Octavia Melody was five years her senior, with an eastern patrician accent I couldn't place. Maybe Horseshoe Bayside Village or Sire's Hollow? They seemed to be pals, though, so I hadn't inquired. Yet.
Vinyl Scratch smiled but kept bobbing to her tunes so I greeted the classical music mare. "S'up? That's what Vinyl Scratch would say."
She momentarily smiled, sighed, then said, "Real horse apples."
I didn't think such words could pass her prim upper-crust lips. "How so?"
"I was not the only pony to see it. It will be splashed all over the periodicals tomorrow, so... I guess I can say. I was packing up after Princess Mi Amore Cadenza's wedding shower with the mares of the peerage. I walked by the function hall where Princess Celestia was running a last rehearsal for the ceremony tomorrow. Oh, Sweet Celestia!"
Vinyl Scratch stopped and slid back her phones. "What happened?"
Octavia's ears flopped down. "I might have been surprised enough to faint outright, had I not heard the gossip from Fiddlehead. She had been watering at a cafe where Twilight Sparkle and her friends were having some fancy umbrella drinks. She overheard Twilight casting aspersions on her brother's bride, like the princess was acting like a spoiled prat and disrespecting ponies behind their back. Her friends were having none of it, though. Twilight left in a huff."
To me, Vinyl Scratch said, "Her brother is Shining Armor, the captain of the royal guard."
"Never bad to have a family member marry into a royal family." Prince Consort Shining Armor, anypony?
Octavia continued, her voice lower. "As I walked by the rehearsal, Twilight Sparkle had just entered. She stalked up to Princess Mi Amore Cadenza and called her 'Evil!'" The mare began fanning herself, despite the chill evening air and the precarious perch of her instrument. "I ran."
Vinyl Scratch said, drolly, "The pink princess is a prig."
"Vinyl Scratch!"
Vinyl said, "I know Twilight Sparkle. I trust her. She's saved Equestria twice!"
I knew this for a fact because I'd attended both events, "up close and personal" as native Equestrian speakers liked to say.
Vinyl continued burning dangerously through her monthly word quota. "I've heard stuck-up things about Cadenza before, who's never held down a job other than foal-sitter, so I'm sure our favorite librarian isn't thrilled about her brother's choice."
"But... 'evil'?"
Vinyl Scratch shrugged. She slid her 'phones back on and continued walking before she said, "Not our problem."
"That it is not," Octavia said as she kept up.
Part of me felt thrilled that I'd heard first-hoof royal gossip. That was the Trottingham foal in me. I, too, knew Twilight Sparkle, albeit peripherally. Besides her being the librarian at Golden Oak Library. I'd been unlucky enough to witness Nightmare Moon attack Princess Celestia, and I'd been in the library packing up my turntables while Twilight Sparkle and her friends discussed rescuing Princess Celestia. I'd seen what Twilight did to Nightmare Moon because a rejuvenated Princess Luna had hidden out near my turntables at the party to celebrate her return to Equestria. Twilight had transformed a murderous evil monster wanting to conquer Equestria into a sweet shy ingénue who wouldn't speak and danced demurely in a corner. Then there was Discord. I'd dealt with him directly, been turned inside out by him, and had worked hard to keep ponies out of his demented path. Despite overwhelming magic, Twilight Sparkle had tamed the monster and transformed him back into a marble statue.
I'd put my money on the purple mare's instincts any day. But, like Vinyl Scratch had said, not my bloody problem.
Ahead was my bloody problem.
We trotted to the end of Castle Way. The trees and lawns of Palisades Park lay off to the left. The Strand that fronted the park was hopping with ponies chatting in sidewalk cafes and walking between late night restaurants. Strobing lights beamed out of Club Hoofing It two blocks down. What worried and horrified me lay off to the right, and we walked over a bridge into it.
And kept walking.
And walking...
The heavy block-brick bailey wall curved to the left into the south wing of castle at one of its tallest points. A balcony jutted out below three blue circular stained glass windows. Lights within limed impressionist designs of gold stars through clouds, a grey-green crescent moon, and a yellow sun. This was were Princess Celestia gave public addresses. Below lay a circular parade ground surrounded by tall pillar-like towers connected by a flyway. At the very south edge lay a partially-constructed covered stage. Somepony had already painted the completed walls white with hearts and dancing mares.
We kept walking and walking and walking to reach it. Entire hoofball stadiums were smaller than this. It could fit most of the ponies of Canterlot.
I was going to headline a stadium?
"Cor. Shag me!" I blinked, brought up short by my own words, and said, "Great, I'm cursing like Dad. I don't think my lights are going to be enough."
"You think?" Vinyl Scratch said as I walked to the travertine fence at the edge of the cliffs above the Ponyville plain. The Canterlot Cataracts rushed over the edge to my right and left. I could see the sparkling lights of Ponyville in the distance.
I took a deep breath as a strong breeze from the west of the castle blew my ropy fringe across my eyes. I lifted it with a hoof and looked up. I could see a soft red glow of the spell shield, and, beyond that, a magnificent cloudless night sky. I panned my gaze back toward the parade grounds. "There aren't as many stars above as ponies that could dance here. I've never worked a venue this big. Nopony has." Facing Discord hadn't made my stomach flutter as it did now.
Vinyl Scratch said, "First time for everything. First kiss. First big venue."
I hadn't had that first kiss, but I read Filly and Teen PONY avidly. I'd be ready. As for a big venue...
Octavia said, "It's called The Promenade."
Vinyl Scratch continued. "Twilight Sparkle ran central planning. And hit trouble with Cadenza. Pinkie Pie took flack, too. Pink princess demanded she exclude everypony but the peerage; Pinkie wouldn't have that. Pinkie tried assigning me the common-pony party, insisting she could DJ the peerage." Vinyl circled her ear with a hoof. "Buzz! Not happening. You've built a high-energy late night rep. You're perfect."
"I don't do perfect. And it's not late night. And it's big."
"Pinkie booked The Night Electrical, a unicorn lighting FX group I recommended. You'll have an assistant and roadies to handle setup, tear down, and crowd control. You won't let any pony down. I trained you. I trust you."
"Don't know if I trust me."
Vinyl Scratch flicked her tail like a whip against my flank. Shocked, I fluttered into the air. As I looked down at her, she added, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. It pays very well."
Octavia said, "It is a royal wedding, after all." She grinned widely and shook her flank, causing her coin purse to jangle. Her double bass still didn't move. Show off.
Thoughts of a mountain of bits did not soothe the bad feeling in my gut, but it didn't suck.
More Dame Flopsy. This is sure to be good. Looking forward to seeing how she deals with the swarm.