The Runaway Bodyguard

by scifipony

Chapter 4 — On the Lamb

I knelt beside Woodcutter. He lay unconscious, tongue lolling out! I put my cheek near his nose.

I felt puffs, and smelled his breath. He liked his cider.

Not dead. Thank Celestia, not that the corrupt alicorn had anything to do with him being alive!

I looked down the grade and up. Rustling maple leaves and broad trunks hid the happenstance from all judging eyes.

Not only was I a runaway, I had now committed an assault to-boot. Heart pounding, I found he weighed more than a pony weight as I dragged him into the cover of the trees and laid him flat on grass and pink-flowered clover. I heard hoof falls.

I leapt, snatched up the bowler in my mouth like an earth pony, and hid in the shade of a big tree, hunkered down at the height of the spring grass.

When the pair of gossiping farm mares were well passed, I spat out the salty tasting hat. I looked at my victim. Still breathing. Still unconscious. Unlikely to die. As they said in pony-boxing, glass jaw. Fine-boned earth ponies were fragile. Unicorns more so.

I reached over and pulled up a mouthful of the very green grass I sat in. I smelled a mowed-lawn smell as I chewed, contemplating.

Hmmm. Sweeter than lemon grass. Tasty!

I examined the bowler. His blue denim shirt really did match my smudged culottes. I opened his saddle bags and found a wallet. I pulled out twenty silver, the equivalent of the gold he'd caused me to be cheated out of.

I really needed his shirt. Having his rope made sense, too.

Did I need to add thief to my resumé?

Perhaps not. I reached into my saddle bags, grabbed a pen and tore out a page. I horn-wrote an apology and an IOU, and signed it Aurora Midnight EoGH. I emptied his purse, gaining five more silver and six copper. Proper Step would reimburse his friend. Maybe. With him, who knew? I shrugged.

When I shoved the note into his saddle bag, he groaned. I jumped back as if burned, looking alternately at the flap as it settled over my note and at his face. He frowned, moved his jaw a bit, mumbled and shifted onto his side with a sigh.

I waited...

He grumbled as I undid his string tie and pulled the button-down shirt from under him, but he still didn't wake. I changed into it, navigating buttons that were on the opposite side than on mares' clothing. Why different? I shook my head. It fit in a blousy albeit masculine fashion but tightly about the withers. I tossed the tie in a saddlebag and popped the bowler on my head, repositioning my bun to hide it. I looped the rope around my left (lighter) saddle bag, adjusted my tail into a colt-bun (more of a tube shape then a flower shape), and scooted.

No way would Trotter let a runaway join her wagon train.

That meant getting to the train depot as fast as pony-possible, while avoiding being seen with a likely hue and cry already in progress in town.

What could go wrong?

Galloping downhill proved easier than up. That Seaborne Road ran outside Sire's Hollow rather than through it worked to my advantage. Ponies that took the by-pass weren't townsponies. The road went straight for a league and I could see ahead despite persistent haze. I had to make myself scarce in the slow-to-leaf-out trees a few times, hunkering down in shadows. I had an illusion spell copied into a notebook, one that I sensed I could get right with further study, but now was neither the time nor the place to try and again fail at an invisibility spell visibly.

Later, a constable came trotting up. I jumped a fence; there were no trees in this section. I rushed to an abandoned thresher and made as if working on it.

The brown stallion wore a blue Prance hat, one of those that looked like a small cake box with a duckbill brim. In my peripheral vision, I saw a blue uniform and cape. The clouds were gone. I caught a flash off copper epaulets or a badge. Certainly, he had seen me hop the fence.

I used the rope as if measuring a curved bit of slightly rusty metal as I heard his hooves come to a halt. My heart beat faster. Had I thoroughly hidden the green streaks in my colt-bun? Was he staring at my clothed flank? Felt like an hour me of sweating, measuring, and jotting into my notebook. Okay, probably a minute.

"Have you seen—?"

I lowered my voice and said, "Nope. Workin' here."

"I see."

He sighed. I listened to his hooves scuffing pavers heading north. I measured more. I measured more. I measured...

I glanced and didn't see anypony.

I sighted up the road; no constable. Maybe he'd taken the northern cutoff. I could see the town clock. Already mid-afternoon. I hadn't heard the train. The tracks crossed Seaborne south of the southern cutoff, so I'd for-sure hear or see it, haze or no.

The next train would arrive soon.

I trotted past Clover Road, but saw nopony. Thankful for small miracles, I pushed my luck rushing up Southcut Avenue. Insects buzzed as the air warmed. I did see ponies, none I recognized, one levitating a white suitcase—a mare, dressed plainly but nicely with a bit of lace. Considering nopony need to wear anything, doing so made a statement. They were probably relatives of a merchant, or friends that had stayed a fortnight, now headed home.

I trotted toward the station.

I knew the stationmaster. A small wine-colored fellow with a yellow mane and beard. Proper Step insisted on my "Going on Holiday" at the beginning of each season and we'd taken the train each time to places like Manehatten. Each time, the stationmaster had insisted on chatting me up, talking about how the train worked and the "amazing" things I'd see. He'd also given me a lollipop each time, even last time despite my now looking like a yearling filly. Funny how I couldn't remember my parents faces, but through repetition I remembered the danger of being recognized.

The stationmaster sold the tickets.

Trotting slowly behind the passengers, I scanned for the other Sire's Hollow constable. We had two, though I'd met neither. The train depot was the most obvious route a runaway could take to be quickly too far away to find; it's why I'd avoided the idea. All that had to happen was for somepony to notice I'd taken a train and I'd be quickly traced. Grin Having employed pegasi, after all.

The stations on a train line were known. I'd be forced to wait at each depot for a known time if I transferred, thus be seen by an increasing number of witnesses who might report what I did. My odds got better depending on the number of available trains at each destination after I switched to another train, and then another, but the odds were... not in my favor if I got spotted boarding the first one.

I had no choice. I had to gamble.

I saw the lacy mare. She had settled on to a bench at the end of the platform, her ticket sticking out of a book. The white-maned white unicorn faced me before I spoke; I looked away from her amber eyes. Intuition told me that Shy was the pony who could get my needed result.

"M-M-ma'am." I squared my jaw, lowered my voice, spoke in a whisper, and made it sound like I had laryngitis. I looked into my saddle bag and reached with my magic as I said, "Might you help me please?" I levitated out my remaining gold coin. I coughed. "Could you please buy me a ticket?"

"Young sir, I certainly can." She had a Dodge Junction accent. The merchant that ran the candy store had moved from there years ago. As a nosey candy-loving foal, I'd asked. "Which one?"

"Next one, please." Cough.

"Will do."

I cleared my throat. "Much obliged, Ma'am."

"I'm certain," she said and trotted to the window.

I looked up. Her stallion partners studied me. Between the work clothes, the working class bowler, and the smudged denim, I guess I didn't look immediately like a filly. The three unicorns decided I wasn't dangerous, or interesting. One opened a newspaper; the other two looked over his shoulder.

I looked around nonchalantly, trying not to look shifty. I listened for the approach of new hoofs on the gravel leading to the platform. Horseshoes on wood planks approached.

The white unicorn said, "Here we go. The passenger cars were booked, but there was a coach open. You gave me a gold bit, so I guess you knew that."

A ticket and one silver and eleven copper levitated in her golden aura. She dropped them into my blue-green one. Way less change than I expected. I felt my face warm up. I rapidly looked down.

"Thank you, ma'am," I said with forced sincerity.

"You have a fine day, now."

"I will," I squeaked.

I did have my ticket, so I wasn't going to complain about a five-silver train ride costing nineteen—and I didn't want to make a scene. It was worth it not to encounter the stationmaster, in any case. Moreover, I heard a distant chugging sound. A curved line of billowing smoke approached beyond a tree-covered hill.

The stationmaster opened his door. I looked away and stood near a post, my ears swiveling to track his specific steps. He headed for where the locomotive would stop. I loitered toward where the caboose would stop, if there was one.

Wheels screeched against the rails and steam puffed as the train swiftly entered the station, then slowed to a stop, steaming and puffing loudly. I coughed for real inhaling the coal smoke. A conductor swiftly opened the door to the last car. It sported apple-red wood siding that read Applewood and Fillydelphia Railway. The balding blue earth pony had dyed-black hair in his mane and tail. He wore a black vest with a pocket watch hanging from a silver chain. I waved my ticket at him.

He glanced at it, looked both ways along the platform, and noted the other passengers had headed for the front of the train. He faced me with pleasant bright blue eyes and took my ticket. After a glance, he began walking, as earth ponies were wont to do, on three legs instead of four as he held it up. His name tag read "Rambler".

He said, "I'll show you your compartment, straight away."

"Compartment?"

The interior of the train was... fancy. Lots of dark reddish wood, probably cherry, well polished, with brass appointments. I saw plush fabric, likely red velvet, with black and gold trim. I noted the dainty yet masculine little bud vases mounted between the lighting sconces, each with a seasonal daffodil in a little squirt of water. Daffodils lasted one day, so that meant they were fresh.

"A roomette, young sir."

"Roomette?"

"A small sleeper compartment. The middle coach has general seating so you can socialize with the other passengers. The second car is the dining car. Or you can request a menu. Your meals and drinks are included with your ticket. Welcome to the Canterlot Express."

"Canterlot Express?"

Rambler stopped after leading me half way down a corridor of shut doors, all with frosted glass etched with flowers and hearts. "I assume you are traveling on business, young sir?"

"I am," I quickly said, barely remembering to keep my voice low.

He opened a door into an area the size of a large closet or a small pantry. It sported a small sofa, a rotate-out table, and a fold-out chair, and a microscopic privy closet. He demonstrated how to pull down the sleeper. Enough room for two, if they liked cozy. He added, "The train arrives in Canterlot at 11:42 am. We begin the ascent of the mountain after we pass Ponyville Depot at 10:55 am. The scenery is exquisite. I recommend it. Did you have any luggage up front?"

"No." The train jerked. I heard the locomotive begin huffing, heard the screech as the drive wheels momentarily lost traction then worked against inertia in a totally physical non-magical sense.

Going to Canterlot?

"You look tired. May I bring you some hot water to wash up?"

"And a snack?" I asked, stomach growling, suddenly smiling.

"Of course! An apple and a caramel hay stick?"

"Please." Plat du jour pour les petits garçons. An apple and a candy; I guess he believed the young part of young sir. I turned to my saddle bag and gave him a silver, a good tip, in exchange for my punched ticket and he left.

The ticket read Canterlot Express. The sleeping compartment and meals explained the nineteen bits. I found a schedule on the back of the door. The last east coast stop was Sire's Hollow, starting in Manehatten, stops in Fillydelphia and Baltimare. What I had wanted was in the other direction, but Canterlot worked. All the other trains were locals that would give Proper Step closer places to search first. If he didn't guess I might've squirreled away high value bits for long distance travel, I could definitely make this work.

I didn't want to be in Canterlot anywhere close to my avowed enemy, the princess, but too late now.

Rambler brought me that basin of hot water, which was porcelain with a rose pattern. Everything had a gilt Applewood and Fillydelphia locomotive logo. It came with a matching towel and sage soap, the snacks on a silver tray etched with same patterns, and a copy of PONY magazine as well as this morning's Manehatten Times. Both showed an A&FR stamp in red ink.

The Times headline blared, "GANG QUEEN PIN ACQUITTED!"

I stayed in my room and skimmed the newspaper.

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