Raven Inkwell Gets Spiked
Spike Gets Raven Inkwelled
The light side of the bit caught the sunlight, coinage refracting a blinding beam into Spike's green eyes. Spike stopped walking. He wasn't a foal or a fool anymore to keep going forward while blinded only to find himself broadsided by something--a sofa, a quill, raven or inkwell, whatever. He blinked and pocketed the currency into his upper vest pocket, pausing until he could see again before he dared move.
"Spike!" The grating sound of monotonous manufactured efficiency reached his ears, resounding against the castle's columns and its marble halls. But his eyes did not open.
"Chancellor Spike: what is the meaning of this filly-dallying?" It was Raven Inkwell, Princess Celes--Former Princess Celestia's unicorn aide and confidante, who had stayed on in government until Spike and the new Princess could become settled. Her spittle was striking him. (An assumption of closed-eye Spike's, but a good one. If it was not spittle, then Raven was spritzing water at him with a novelty device or splashing from a quick thrust from an open glass...and while those could be possibilities, they weren't likely since Raven, unlike several of Spike's notorious friends, was not a fan of pranks, and she was a stickler for protocol, which demanded nopony sip while strolling through the castle on non-Festival days lest one's drink become upended.)
Raven was Spike's instructor for his new position--the second-most important in Equestria--that of being the hoof of, or in Spike's case--the claw of its ruler, "Princess" Twilight Sparkle. Spike, the dragon, had been Twilight's assistant for years before she ascended to rule Equestria. But, years ago, he filled in for her administratively for a single day and had made a mountain of a mess. Everypony agreed it was prudent for him to have additional training beyond even the Princess's transitional period. And so Raven of the old administration remained, even though her boss, Princess Celestia, had flown away.
Raven often reminded Spike of his failures contrasted to her skills. He might be famous in the neighboring Crystal Empire, which he had saved from destruction multiple times, but here in Equestria, his reputation was far lower than her carefully cultivated stature.
Years ago, when Celestia had occasionally abandoned the castle to defeat horrors threatening Equestria, Raven had ruled in her stead so well that nopony even realized Celestia had been gone. When Spike filled in for Twilight Sparkle, he had caused a water leak, incensed friendship delegates, and had come within a snoutslength of destroying the Grand Equestria Pony Summit. Even now, far removed from the aftermath, he rarely received invitations for high-society events.
Although Spike needed all the help he could get in transitioning to his new position, he couldn't help but notice Raven's "help" was rudely and reluctantly provided. The mare had little intention of retiring, but Spike couldn't prove that.
Raven filled Spike's days with meetings, shuffling him from the nose end of Canterlot to its tail. He had barely seen Princess Twilight Sparkle in days. Meanwhile, Raven hobnobbed, providing the Princess everything and ignoring Spike except to provide criticism after Spike had "learned by experience what not to do."
Spike usually forgot his questions, and when he remembered, Raven deflected him to Raven's Rules of Order, a two thousand three hundred and eleven page hoofwritten tome (without an index) that she had compiled at the previous Princess's request. Spike was used to research since he had assisted Twilight Sparkle on innumerable projects, but Raven's Rules were not only disorganized and lacking an index, but they also were written in the worst unicorn-authored script ever scrawled. It was as if Raven had intentionally scribbled everything in minute slanted smudged letters. He'd confronted her about it.
"By writing small, dear Spikey wikey," she started, much as Spike's old crush, the fashionista pony Rarity, had often spoken kindly to him. He'd flushed. No one else called him that, and Raven wasn't stating it in a nice way, but he couldn't object to Raven Inkwell calling him that since everyone knew Rarity said it to him often. Maybe he could distinguish the relationships... but rumors might return to Rarity that he was pining for her again and she'd be offended and wouldn't want to see him and he hadn't been able to find anycreature who he loved other than her. He must have a chance with her...
Raven continued. "The tome would have been 4,000 or 6,000 pages if it was not written in miniature. My economy of writing has saved Equestria great sums."
Spike had snorted. Raven's saved sums wasted even greater time-productivity since he had to visually crawl through the work, pausing to squint and decipher words that barely clarified even under inspection by his trusty magnifying glass.
Spike often wrote down questions, since he wasn't a fool unable to adapt to challenging situations, but it was often impolite to slowly scribe in public. Spike was the first dragon-Chancellor. Most Chancellors had been unicorns, and although he wrote as fast as Earth ponies signed with their mouths, and certainly fast enough for Twilight before she had become a Princess, he would never write as fast and clear as a unicorn who could magically levitate a quill, controlling its inkflow.
An interviewee for a position at the castle had bolted when Spike spent minutes ascribing notes and ideas on what to ask Raven for interview process improvements. The more Spike had written, the more nervously the interviewee had twisted. Maybe the lost applicant was not a huge loss since good employees were usually confident... but Spike had also held up an inspection at the central hay processing facility, and he'd agitated a negotiating functionary from Griffonia who wanted "more squawking, less scribing". Although the griffin may have just been complaining to put Spike diplomatically on the wrong hoof (rather, a claw in his case), the griffin still had a point. Spike wouldn't want to attend a meeting where the other side dawdled to respond because it was scribbling notes.
"You're late for a very important date," Raven continued.
"Hello-" Spike began.
"No time to say hello!" She bopped his nose with her floating pen. Ink spilled from its reservoir, splattering Spike's face. "Goodbye!" She hoof-bopped him on the back of his head. He was a dragon and could take physical abuse better than ponies could--but Raven was taking advantage.
Spike kept his eyes shut. When he felt his optics had recovered, Spike opened his eyes, took a deep breath, and continued his sojourn, running.
Spike arrived late at the currency redesign meeting. The representatives,(except one who was asleep) whether they were clad in suits and bow-ties and representing multicultural Manehatten, or were donning straw hats like those from earth-pony-majority Appleloosa, all stared at him.
A donkey spat into her spittoon. "This what the hoity-toity Canterlottian Princess thinks of the Currency Redesign Commission? Sendin' a late lackey?"
There was grumbling around the table.
"My apologies, fair delegates." Spike spread his arms. "I am doing my best to honor you all. Several hours were set aside for this meeting."
"Ya' missed introductions." A yellow pony with an apple cutie mark tossed his orange mane, winking at Spike.
"He missed them; he don't get to know who we are." The donkey harrumphed.
"Don't be a jackass." The yellow pony sighed.
"I'm a jenny, not a jack. And 'ass' is an insultingly *backwoods* archaic way to refer to my species. We're donkeys or, in long form for educated creatures--asinuses." The donkey put her hooves on the table, leaning over it to spit at the yellow pony.
The yellow pony ignored the donkey and the short-falling spittle while smiling at Spike. "I'm Braeburn by the way. I don' think we met, but you've pro'bly heard of me from my cousin Applejack. I'm representin' Appleloosa."
The donkey was not accepting Braeburn's deflection. "Not gonna apologize... you apple-brained flatlander? Eee-Haw! How you like that? Eee-Haw! You toy pony!"
Silence. Sweat beaded across Spike's brow. He didn't know what the second insult meant, but it had swiped the smile off Braeburn's face. A "Toy Pony" was a derogatory term referring to a small pony who avoided manual labor and who instead spent time playing rather than contributing to pony society. Dilettante ponies in Manehatten or Canterlot might accept the appellation, but few proud working ponies would abide it.
Braeburn bit his lower lip, and the donkey grinned, then sat back on her haunches.
The Manehatten delegate whispered something to the Canterlot delegate, a pink-maned white-bodied pony, who nodded, then affixed the donkey with a devastating stare.
"How about we... move past this," Spike said.
The donkey hee-hawed, then grinned at the others encircling the table. "Chancellor Raven Inkwell wouldn't have been late. But I guess we can push through and hope we can enjoy some years of prosperity before the current ruling group burns everything to the ground."
"It's just currency," Braeburn muttered.
"Currency that has for too long only reflected the visage of a 'pony' princess." The donkey spat out the pony word like a piece of hay--which in fact landed on the table. "Equestria must broaden its horizons and recognize all of its...." The subsequent word was hard for her to say, "citizens."
The Canterlot delegate tittered a laugh. "May as well include a Buffalo..." To illustrate, she illustrated buffalo-shaped air images with her hooves.
The donkey snorted, "your jest demeans donkey-kind! The Buffalo are independent; not even part of Equestria. Are there even Buffalo citizens who strayed from their herd? Doubtful! Maybe ten. Twenty-three--who knows. Who cares? Donkeys, however, account for two point three percent of Equestria's population!" (Spike wasn't sure of the precise count, but there were at least twelve Buffalo citizens of Equestria who he had met at a naturalization function.)
"But we've never had anypony on currency other than Celestia." The Manehatten delegate objected. "Our main focus should be on the buildings or city to place on the backside of the currency."
"Ponyville obviously." Mayor Mare of Ponyville, home to most of Princess Twilight's heroic friends, the Elements of Harmony, suggested.
"Princess Twilight hails from Canterlot, however." The Canterlot delegate pointed out, posing grandiosely while she posited. "And herein she does also rule. Canterlot is the center of Ponykind."
"But Ponyville is where the Princess learned how Friendship is Magic--Friendship which she and her friends have used to defend Equestria--and where her School of Friendship with all the races is located!" Mayor Mare said.
"Precisely why the coin's facade needs a donkey!" the donkey added.
"Both sides could be the front or the back or both at the same time," Spike wondered. "How do you tell which is which?"
"Oh dear," The Canterlot delegate gently shook her head. "Chancellor, you know our current coinage has a light side and a dark, do you not?"
"Yeah," Spike nodded. He understood the theory but it didn't make sense. The "light" side, the front, bore Celestia's shining visage. The back, or "dark" side, Canterlot. But it wasn't any darker than the light--either side could just as easily catch the sunlight or, on a flip, come up on top.
"A thousand years ago, Luna, the Princess of the Night's visage was engraved on the dark side...it was removed after the Nightmare Moon incident." The Canterlot delegate shuddered at remembrance of the dark entity's history of terror--a time in which the demonic Nightmare Moon had seized control of Luna's personality and threatened to cover the land in eternal night. " And replaced with a picture of Canterlot, but the naming convention remained. The coin's front celebrates Celestia--the light, so the back must celebrate the dark."
"It must?" Spike asked.
"It's also darker. Inherently." The donkey added.
"...I have noticed a slight shade." The Canterlot delegate considered the point. "But it's not consistent."
"It's there." The donkey pushed two coins to the center of the table, one flipped to each side.
Ponies around the table squabbled.
"Okay!" Spike changed the subject, silencing the squabble. "But Celestia won't be on the coin any more."
Delegates hissed, others sucked in breath, most likely preparing to vent it out in shouts.
"Princess Celestia's continuing position on our bits remains to be determined." The Canterlot delegate gave a thin smile. "Although Canterlot could be persuaded to remove the abdicated Princess Celestia, retaining her visage will provide a sense of stability to our populace, which has undergone great changes over the past...chaotic and strange transitional years."
"Ya got that right!" Braeburn shouted. Several delegates' heads bobbed in agreement.
The donkey spat out more hay. "You don't got anything right, Fleur de Lis. You don't even got a right to be here."
The Canterlot delegate flushed. "I beg your pardon?"
"Yer just a butt keeping your boyfriend's seat warm."
Fleur de Lis spoke with an edge to her words. "Minister of the Exchequer Fancy Pants cannot represent Canterlot on this exquisitely important issue as he is associated with the government ministry rather than with the city of Canterlot, so I, a leading Canterlotian citizen, was asked by the Princess," she stressed her source of authority, "to assume the position."
"..." The donkey blinked. Then her retort came to her. "Hee-Haw! Just like every weekend you 'assume the position' for Fancy Pants and your twenty other stallionfriends--"
The delegates descended to shouting and blows might have been thrown--several glasses were smashed--but Spike's voice rose above the crowd: "Who will present their proposals?"
Conflict forgotten when presented with important political opportunity, voices called "Me!", coupled also with a distinct, "I will," from Canterlot, and a "Buck you," from the donkey.
Spike sorted through the mess of ideas, noting leading options:
* The donkey suggested a grinning donkey head on the light side and a collection of Equestria's great cities on the dark.
* Braeburn's traditionalist group suggested retaining Celestia on the coinage's "light" side and placing Twilight on the "dark". Going into more detail than was appropriate, Braeburn suggested the illustration might commemorate Twilight's nighttime 'light' bucking of the 'deadbeat Donkey' who had refused to move from in front of the Canterlot to Whinnyapolis train carrying medical supplies that were being sent to cure the Whinnyapolitan Flu. Blows from the donkey representative were nearly landed on Braeburn, so Spike omitted details of that proposal's illustration.
* A pro-Twilight group led by Mayor Mare of Ponyville sought the Princess' visage on the light side and Ponyville on the dark. Other groups expressed limited support but had issues with the dark side's depiction--most wanted Canterlot for reasons stated by the Canterlot delegate. Manehatten was supported by a few since it was a place where all Equestrian pony types--Earth, Pegasi, and Unicorn came together.
After only a few more disputes and hours, Spike closed the meeting. Although he had managed some educational victories, he'd still only determined names for four of the sixteen representatives, and most of those were ponies he'd already known. His first meeting of the day had ended, and he was already exhausted.
Spike popped a gem down his gullet to sate a growing stomach, then looked at a looming clock, high on the wall. He wasn't going to make his next meeting on time. After this meeting had descended into shouting separate side caucuses and Spike declared they would meet again in a few weeks to vote on the leading proposals but that he really must move on to his next appointment, that donkey had buttonholed him, intentionally delaying him with quizzes on details about whether he, who couldn't even control a meeting or arrive on time, really was Princess Twilight's Chancellor. She almost certainly had ulterior motives. She asked what Twilight's favorite color was (violet), what she liked most to eat (hayburgers), amid more probing and inappropriate questions, some of which he deflected to preserve Princess Twilight's privacy. He hoped he'd deflected enough to save Twilight and him some trouble later even though he probably hadn't.
Minister of the Exchequer, Fancy Pants, smiled at Spike as Spike skidded to a halt on the polished marble floors of the Mint. Spike slid a few hoof-lengths, and Fancy Pants' eyes followed the dragon from right to left as Spike continued his gradual slide into a door. As Spike collided with the door's wood and gold frame, Fancy Pants' smile dropped to an aggressively neutral expression. Spike staggered back, then shook his head and looked at Fancy Pants.
"Shall we?" Fancy Pants asked.
"I'm real sorry Minister Fancy Pants--" Spike started.
Fancy Pants smiled kindly at Spike, then gently jerked his head toward the mint's imposing doors.
"I didn't want to be an hour and a half late but matters beyond my control--" Spike continued.
"Think nothing of it. I live to serve." Fancy Pants smiled again. He had a way about him that put ponies--and at least one dragon--at ease. "But of course, let's have an efficient tour."
Fancy Pants nodded his head at its yellow halberd-holding guardpony who silently bobbed his head in acknowledgement, then pulled the door open.
Two hours later, Spike and Fancy Pants emerged with Fancy Pants begging Spike's pardon that he needed to change for a function where he would be meeting Fleur and a number of other ponies.
Spike, dazed by the details, let him go and commiserated to the guard. "Guess there's more to currency than a pony would think, right?"
The guard blinked at him, then stared, intent.
"You can't talk on duty?"
Frowning, the guard tilted his head.
"Special rules for the mint? Weird," Spike said.
The guard clopped his left forehoof against the marble. Front side, full stomp, tap tap tap.
"What?" Spike asked.
The guard reached into an unbuttoned breast pocket and extracted a card, which he offered to Spike.
Spike read:
"I am deaf-mute. I can read lips and under certain permitted circumstances, write, but I must be alert. Writing is discouraged during solo duty. If you understand Hoofcode, then we may converse. Please return this card when done."
"Ooooh," Spike nodded. Then he placed the card back into the guard's pocket. "I'm sorry. I don't speak Hoofcode. Twilight always said it would be useful to learn, but I don't really have the best tools." Spike flexed his claws.
The guard smiled, politely.
"Anyway, I better be on my way. Sorry again."
The guard caught a sigh halfway, but ultimately, he smiled, which was a requirement of his duty, as Spike departed.
The Next Day
The door to Twilight Sparkle's audience chamber was shut, but Spike could hear laughter behind it--the laughter of Twilight Sparkle and the former chancellor--Raven Inkwell. Then the door opened and Spike heard Twilight's voice: "I see why you were indispensable! You know just what's needed. Thank you so much for being at my side and for training Spike!"
Raven nodded, sneering at Spike as she passed. "He's doing fair. Teaching will take time, but he will be acceptable... eventually."
"I'll just have to do the most I can to enjoy your expertise while I have you." Twilight hugged Raven goodbye and turned to Spike. "How was your day?", she asked.
The Day After That
Spike refused to accede to Raven's schedule.
"My goal--" he pep-talked himself, adjusting clothing while looking into a mirror. "Is to balance learning with being available to help at Twilight's side. Raven's not going to replace me!"
Determined, he slammed his claws down on his dresser in front of the mirror, impaling correspondence, which then needed to be gingerly shaken off. And so, a punctured letter from Smolder, a crumpled invoice, and a lightly-poked and likely-outdated schedule detailing Twilight's daily activities fluttered into the trash. Also loosened by jostling and its darning, the contents of his vest pocket tumbled and rolled across the floor.
Spike walked to his door, getting an early start on the day, but the door stuck on something--the bit that had been in his vest pocket. He had intended to investigate it more after completing his tasks. Now, the bit was holding back his door. He grabbed it, again examining its "light" front with Celestia's proud form, then its "dark" back bearing a nighttime view of the capital, Canterlot.
Fancy Pants had educated him about why it had its shape--the mint's presses were designed for circles. Spike learned about its weight, why cutting its girth in half would devalue it and make it less sturdy. He also learned about counterfeiters, gold shavers who took parts off the bit, boiled the leavings and combined them into new gold.
But Fancy Pants hadn't been able to explain why when Spike looked at a coin it seemed like Celestia's side was brighter, shining even. Some of Spike's acquaintances had been temporarily blinded when sunlight caught the bit just right. When he thought hard about it, that always happened when the coin reflected off Celestia's clear ridges, never from Canterlot's.
Fancy Pants assured Spike that although the rumor was poppycock, if it had any truth, it must be due to the complexity of the etching and the smoothness of Celestia's mien compared to Canterlot's many lines. Spike was not satisfied. The myth had become a reality for him although Fancy Pants suggested a collective hallucination and rambled about theories from a recent psychological symposium, clarifying nothing for Spike.
If the answer wasn't to be uncovered at the Mint, then maybe the truth would be in a book, but Spike didn't have time for reading anything other than the terrible Rules. He needed to reassert his position as Chancellor before the former one stole the position away. Spike put the bit back into a pocket.
And so, Spike, who was already late for a meeting with rock farmers, instead sauntered into Twilight's morning audience, approaching the throne.
Raven huffed at Spike's presence and metaphorically slithered closer to Twilight.
Twilight noticed Spike after Raven whispered into her ear. She brightened, leaned forward on her throne and greeted Spike who returned the warm greeting with a wide smile, faltering a bit though when he saw the eyebrow-furrowed Raven whispering almost certainly evil words to her.
"That does need doing!" Twilight nodded, drawing back into her throne, farther from Spike. "And Spike is the best pony... for that job." From time to time, when Twilight was distracted, she referred to Spike as a pony--but that had stopped after Equestria welcomed a dazzling array of foreign creatures to the School of Friendship--she'd been more careful about nomenclature. But now that they'd been separated, Twilight had forgotten--grown careless about him. And Spike noted a glinting grin in Raven's eyes. The former Chancellor also realized the possibilities implicated by Twilight's mistake.
Spike, however, couldn't object to a task that was uniquely suited for his skills.
"Could it--maybe, wait?" He tried to object.
"Not at all." Raven shook her head. "The gem wards are getting dangerously low and require replacement--"
"Why weren't they replaced before?" Twilight furrowed her brow.
"It was noted on Spike's activities list, but so much training has been required that he must have--through little fault of his own--been unable to complete the task. Even though it slipped his mind, he can address it now that he apparently has had some time open up," Raven said.
"Couldn't I do it later today?" Spike asked.
"Did you need to see me about something during this precise moment?" Twilight cocked her head in question.
"Well, yeah--um. Not really, but--" Spike said.
"Then now is a perfect time to address the issue. And Spike," Raven added. "How did the meeting with the rock farmers go? Did something happen to make it end so soon?"
"Ahhh..." Spike hadn't prepared an excuse.
A chastened Spike found himself sent on a gem-related errand, and his apologies were sent via guardpony to the rock farmers.
Spike later heard that Limestone Pie and the other rock farmers had raised several rocky criticisms at his expense. But the craggy ponies would probably have complained even if he hadn't ditched their meeting. Although he was in a position of power and (probably) respect, ponies (according to Raven's book) traditionally complained--a lot--about the Chancellor, who was a net to catch criticism that would otherwise be leveled at the Princess. 'Oh, the Princess didn't deny you a meeting; her unreasonable Chancellor did,' was how gripes usually went, though a way must exist to circumvent those problems since Raven had remained reasonably popular.
Spike was certain Raven must have invented this make-work task in case she ever needed to send Spike away from crucial bonding time with Twilight. If Spike stayed away much longer, Twilight would forget about his value like an old, devalued bit, and she would beg Raven to stay on for another few months, a year, two, three, five, forever? Spike shook his head. Forever wouldn't--couldn't happen. Ponies didn't live forever, just alicorns. And dragons usually outlived ponies. But... Spike's eyes narrowed. What was stopping Raven from ascending to become an alicorn? There were already rumors that she could detach her horn, or (less interestingly) that she had a twin. Others said she had the strength of an Earth pony! At least those were the rumors that Spike's well-connected but not-quite-reliable friend Pinkie Pie had told him. Still, he'd (wisely) corroborated the tale with his more serious friend Starlight, who'd rolled her eyes and said: "Yeah, I've heard that bu--" and then she'd teleported away to deal with an emergency at her School of Friendship.
So, Spike wasn't going to complete the gem task. At least he wasn't gonna do it Raven's way. He wasn't going to be her pawn any longer.
He flapped his wings fast, traveling to Ponyville's premier bed and breakfast, the newly re-opened Lyra's Lounge, and he found her there.
"Smolder!" Spike knocked on the door of his friend who, conveniently for him, was visiting friends in Ponyville according to the now-perforated and trashed correspondence they'd exchanged. That said, he still wasn't clear precisely why she was in town since she had obligations as the recently elevated Chancellor of the Dragon Lands, but her presence suited his purposes. And she was, he supposed, his foreign counterpart. Thus, like the exquisitely manipulative chancellor Goal Posts, who he'd read about in a streaky footnote on a crumpled page of Raven's Rules, he was going to change the rules of the "game" by making use of his friend-resource!
Clawsteps inside the room clattered, followed by a yawn and a gravelly shout. "I'm comin', I'm comin."
The door opened to reveal the orange scaly coloration of Smolder. "Hey, Spike," she said, "didn't expect you to drop by. At this hour anyway. Thought you slept in?"
"Yeah," Spike acknowledged. "I used to. But, the Chancellorship..."
"Yeah. Congrats again." Smolder blinked sleep out of her eyes.
"I wish our meeting was under better circumstances," Spike started, "I'm gonna--Smolder. I'm sorry--I'm gonna ask for a favor."
Smolder snorted out a smoke cloud. "How long's it gonna take? I've got a lunch date...meeting." She flushed and lowered her head to an apparent nonchalant study of her fingernails. "But since I'm up... I've got more hours than I expected." She yawned and wiped sandy accretions out of her right eye while blinking other accumulations out of her left.
Spike explained what he had to do.
"Weird task for a pony Chancellor," Smolder noted.
"It's a responsibility that a dragon can best accomplish."
"I dunno... Sounds like smokework."
"Smokework?" Spike, raised by ponies, had missed out on dragonisms.
"Stuff you pass on to somedragon because you don't want to do it and you want to keep the dragon busy. Like you'd send the lowest ranking dragon on for hazing."
"No, no, no." Spike shook his head.
"Meh," Smolder shrugged. "I'm no pony expert and I'm doing this as a friendship favor...in return for another one later, of course," she grinned. "So it's all silver to me."
After having worked things out, Smolder flew off on her mission.
Spike returned to the hall to find Twilight and her meeting with...Spike forgot what Twilight was supposed to be doing. Her schedule changed a lot. Twilight edited it as new fancies and petitions reached her and when Twilight wasn't editing, Raven aggressively cut and sliced and diced it, red update ink bleeding and pooling. Updates were carried to Spike by otherwise-idle royal guards but it didn't make sense to squintingly decipher the mostly-illegible and almost certainly soon-to-be obsolete scrawls unless he needed to locate Twilight and his own schedule was packed too tight for him to do that. But Smolder was completing Spike's tasks today. He could join Twilight!
When Spike returned, the audience chamber door was locked and guarded. The guards did not immediately throw it open for Spike.
"--strict orders the Princess is not to be disturbed."
"Did she tell you?" Spike asked. "Or, was it our former Chancellor?" He made air quotes on the word 'former'.
The guards were silent.
"Ugh," Spike snorted. "Let me in. I outrank Raven."
"But-" The guards started.
"Who runs things here?"
"Princess Twilight."
"Other than her?"
"Raven Inkwell." One guard said.
"You." The other inclined his head.
"Open the bucking door." Spike growled, smoke brimming at his nostrils.
The guards shared a glance. "We can't."
Spike's eyes grew wide and his cheeks filled. His developing tantrum could end in smoke and flame. But before that happened, a bell rang and the guards snapped to attention, pulling open the doors. Spike swallowed his smoke. Before him, the chamber was nearly empty, filled only with Princess Twilight, former Chancellor Raven Inkwell, and that donkey from the currency meeting.
"Thank you again for sharing your detailed thoughts!" Twilight said brightly.
The donkey harrumphed. "Appreciation for holding this meeting." Then she strode away, head held high, snorting when she passed Spike. When she was out the door, Spike slipped past her, and the door closed.
"Spike?" Twilight noted his presence. "You finished your task?"
"It's under control." Spike's voice twinged with anger. "I delegated."
"But you were asked to complete the task--" Raven started.
"If there's one thing I've learned from Raven," Spike said, "it's delegation."
"Ah," Twilight nodded. "That's good."
"But what I want to know," Spike added, his anger still strong. "Is why I, the Royal Chancellor, was barred from this audience chamber!"
Twilight frowned and furrowed her brow. "You're always welcome--" she started.
"Raven!" Spike shouted at the former Chancellor, who smiled a smug grin with accompanying sly eyes.
"I had thought it best, Princess, if you had uninterrupted time, so I phrased the guards' orders broadly, with obvious exceptions for emergencies. There was no reason to suspect Spike would return so soon."
Raven turned to Spike. "Is there an emergency? Was there any particular reason for delegating the task? What prompted your quick return?"
"... Nothing. I-I wanted to be here in case Twilight needed me." Spike choked back smoke and flame and anger.
Twilight smiled, magnanimously. "It's fine, Spike. Raven has been a great help. But Spike," she frowned. "I'm worried about you. Are you all right?"
"What do you mean?" Spike blinked.
"I've had reports from the currency meeting that you--allegedly--caused several arguments. These complaints, originating from multiple sources, reference insulted delegates."
"That bucking donkey...", Spike thought some words he knew it would be best not to express. And although he could righteously deny being the source of the insults, the mere fact that heated disagreements had taken place would do little to rebuild his reputation as a competent, diligent, and proper Chancellor. If Raven wasn't present at the moment, he may have been able to recover some dignity, but since she was looming like a pendulum, it was inevitable that she would speak up with the wrong words and nothing Spike could say would help.
"Um. Okay. ... Fine," he said. "I'll... keep that in mind." He studied the floor, then changed the topic. "I'd like to--I'm gonna--I can help with your appointments."
Raven distracted. "You mentioned you delegated the gem task. Who is completing it?"
Spike snorted smoke. Twilight noted the discharge with a raised eyebrow.
"Smolder's helping."
"I see." Raven nodded. "Congratulations. I hope you made a prudent decision, although it is a bit odd to delegate a task to a Chancellor-equivalent of a foreign country, but what matters are the results.... and that no negative diplomatic incident has been inadvertently created," she shrugged. "Now, Twilight?" Raven levitated a schedule of activities.
"Oh yes." Twilight's eyes widened.
"It's time for the... personal activities, and sleep."
"Of course." Twilight rose from her throne.
"You're not receiving anyone else?" Spike asked.
"That was the last petitioner for the morning," Twilight said. "I'll be glad to have you at my side this evening, Spike!"
Raven ushered Twilight aside, breaking the Princess's eye contact with Spike so the conversation could not naturally continue. Then, Twilight and Raven were gone.
Spike stared after them.
In the evening, Spike found the door guarded by nopony and bearing a simple "Knock for entry" sign in Raven Inkwell's writing but scribed much clearer than her smudged Rules.
A messenger-guard holding a violet package with a tied-on card impressed with a smaller-than-usual bivalve hoof reached the door, and placed a key in its lock. The door opened, then he handed a familiar-looking interior door guard a package, saluted, left, and the door slammed shut.
Spike headed to the door and he probably would have caught it before it shut, but he hesitated when he heard the flapping of wings. Over his shoulder, he glimpsed a scowling Smolder hauling a burgeoning sack.
"Took most of the flaming day, but I got it done!" She tossed the sack at Spike's feet. "How you like them gems?"
"Thanks Smolder, I owe you!" Spike rushed over and jumped up to hug her. She deftly extricated herself from him, alighting him gently.
"Yeah... whatever... you know I'll expect that favor sometime." Smolder turned and took off.
Lifting the gem sack over his shoulder, Spike stiffened, walked to the doors, and knocked. And waited. And knocked again. And waited again.
"Ridiculous!" Shouting, he banged on the doors. He huffed and smoke gathered in his nostrils and cheeks and... he let it subside. It was difficult to replace large heavy wooden doors. Twilight would not be pleased to have a hole burned in them. Spike didn't know where the key-bearing messenger-guard had gone, so he sought out another. "Hey! You got a key to the throne room?"
"No, Chancellor." The guard, obviously leadership quality, recognized Spike's authority!
"Who does?"
"I do not know, Chancellor."
"Then find out! This could be an emergency. They aren't opening the door when I knock."
"Is there not an exterior door guard?"
"No!"
"Is there an interior guard?"
"How should I kno--yes, I saw one."
"I will sound the alarm." The guard rushed off.
"Twilight could be in trouble!" Spike called after him, then abandoned the gem sack and took to flight, throwing himself against a hinged castle window until it gave and he was able to squeeze outside. Once beyond the glass, he fluttered up outside the throne room's stained glass halls going higher and higher until he reached a point where, due to isolated welds of stained glass, crashing through it would do the least damage. At the windows' apex, he blew flame, concentrating heat until it melted apart welds and shattered the windows. As soon as he was able, he chased the clattering, collapsing glass inside.
Beneath, Twilight sensed the falling glass and activated a protective bubble, encompassing her, Raven Inkwell, and Fancy Pants, the Minister of the Exchequer. Spike landed beside them to find that nothing particularly nefarious had occurred.
Twilight deactivated her protective bubble. "Spike! What's wrong?" Her face creased with worry.
"I thought you were in peril--"
"Why?"
The door at the end of the hall opened with a click. Five guards rushed in, overwhelming the one interior guard, who moved to defend the Princess.
"STAND DOWN!" Twilight ordered, projecting a ear-shattering projection of the Royal Canterlot voice.
The guards stopped, mere moments from drawing blood from the interior guard.
"What in Celestia's name is happening?" Twilight demanded.
"I-" Spike started. "I couldn't get into the throne room. I knocked and threw myself against it. Since there were no guards outside, I raised the alarm.
"Guard," Twilight asked the interior door guard. "Did you hear anything?"
The guard, frowning, shook his head. And he looked at his hooves. Deafness might preclude hearing noise, but it did not preclude sensing vibrations. The ground, however, shifted from stone to heavy carpet, and from heavy carpet to a plush stand adjacent to the Princess--muffling any motion made from the far distance of the doors to her Hall.
"Wait a moment--" Spike at last recognized the yellow-coated guard. "This guard is deaf!"
"What?" Twilight asked.
Raven blinked. "Oh. My new initiative--I had not expected. He's one of the newer guards."
"What do you mean?" Spike asked. Raven certainly had not made a mistake--she was very deliberate about everypony she selected. She knew whom she scheduled for duties that brought them close to the Princess.
"We have no guards at the door's exterior so that we, under proclamation of Princess Twilight," Raven inclined her head toward her liege. "can better redirect them to defend Equestrian citizens from natural threats. This Castle, as we all know, is quite safe since it it protected by the Princess's powerful magical wards... and friendship." Raven added the last as an afterthought.
Twilight blinked away Raven's dissembling and repeated Spike's assertion as a question: "This guard is deaf?"
"Must have been effectively deafened." Raven "corrected". "Spike must have knocked when the guard was adjacent to you, delivering the gifted hayburgers."
"I see," Twilight said.
"One interior guard is too few, it appears," Raven elaborated. "We must require at least one pony positioned exterior to the throne room, or we should return to a minimum of two guards within the interior so this door is never left unponied."
"Of course," Twilight nodded. Then, she ordered: "Guards: two of you please remain here and watch the door, one inside, one out. Messiur Educated," she indicated the deaf guard, "you are relieved for the night, but you are not in trouble. Please report to your commander."
Twilight's orders were carried out.
Spike, ashamed, approached Twilight's left side, the less traditionally powerful side of a ruler--Celestia had been right-hoofed and naturally favored her right so that traditionally valuable placement had remained important despite Twilight's ambidexterity. Spike would have preferred Twilight's right but Raven already murmuring at Twilight's right ear.
Cleaning ponies entered the room to sweep up the glass Spike had shattered.
The meeting Spike had interrupted concerned what Twilight was going to do with the coinage, how she was would replace the bits' imagery to reflect her reign. Raven had brought Spike's sparse notes from his Committee meeting, along with supplemental materials that Spike knew she had prepared solely to make him look incompetent.
Raven wanted Twilight on the front of the coin, as had been done with Celestia before and for Cadance with her Crystal Empire currency. Celestia and Luna would then be on the coin's back to recognize the work they had done for Equestria.
But Twilight noted the donkey's petition and tasty gift. She, wiping ketchup off her muzzle, was strongly considering placing a small donkey, earth pony, pegasus, and unicorn along with Celestia and Luna on the coin's back to symbolize past leadership and harmony. The donkey had wanted to be on the coin's front, but compromise was needed; no matter how delicious they were, she couldn't be bribed with hayburgers, even if they were her favorite number four combos with medium hay fries. And Twilight's face should grace the coin's front--Celestia had set the precedent.
"But maybe that's too cluttered." Twilight second-thought her concept. "Still, Raven... Spike: Wild Ess, who provided us this tasty gift," Twilight munched on a hayburger, splattering its mustard, "raises a good point about inclusiveness."
When Twilight got like this, evaluating merits, she either waffled endlessly or reduced everything to a thousand-point list. At least Spike now knew the donkey's name. She certainly had a wild enough attitude to match her moniker.
"But the reason I called you here, Fancy Pants, is that I wanted to discuss the bigger issue. I've been wondering about different-sized denominations of currency. At least 0.8 percent of our population are either blind or effectively blind, even with corrective lenses, and the number has been mysteriously rising in the past year. We really need to look into that..." She trailed off, problems being tallied in her evaluating mind.
"The currency?" Raven set her back onto the main subject.
"Of course." Twilight blinked. "If currency denominations are variably sized, then everypony could, without looking, determine merely by touch whether a certain bit is worth a different amount. A revolutionary concept! Time would be saved."
"Time is already saved since all bits are worth the same amount." Raven shared a nervous glance with Fancy Pants.
"But if we have different denominations then we could carry less bits; the weight savings would be worthwhile!" Twilight added, then immediately shifted her thought. "Or, we could get really inventive and punch holes in our currency like the kirin, and then if someone needs to make change, thatpony could slice out a segment."
Spike interrupted with something he had learned at the mint. "Twilight. If our currency has different weights, every change-taking location will need very accurate weights and measures."
"Not a problem. The average pony still saves time! Since there are more average ponies than vendors, this is a net societal benefit!"
Spike shook his head. "What if... I just learned this recently from Fancy Pants," he nodded toward the Exchequer, "but if we punch holes in our currency, what happens if it falls apart? Do change-takers calculate how much gold is in the broken pieces?"
Fancy Pants nodded in agreement. "While I did not discuss that precise point with Chancellor Spike," Fancy Pants added, "his statement accurately distills concepts we did discuss." He smiled at Spike.
The meeting continued until Twilight had to depart for an emergency Friendship Council meeting.
Spike was left with Raven Inkwell.
"You assigned a deaf-mute guard on purpose." Spike confronted her.
Raven grinned. "Everypony needs employment."
"There was no reason to only assign him--"
"He can sense vibrations. He does his job quite well, Spike. He can be quite focused. He would have opened the door if not for coincidence. He must, unfortunately for you, have left his post to deliver the Princess's delicious gift when you were banging on the door."
Spike glared. She did have a point about the coincidence, but she had still set up matters to more likely exclude Spike. And her single guard policy endangered Twilight.
"You could have posted an exterior guard!"
"And we will."
"It makes NO sense to only have an interior guard! What if a villain is trying to get in? An interior guard may not be able to judge danger by merely viewing through a porthole."
"I agree." Raven smirked. "That was the Princess's brainstorm. It is important to demonstrate to her that not all of her ideas are perfect. She benefits more by learning from experience."
Spike's mouth dropped. "You're manipulating her!"
"Teaching." Raven walked away. "Consider this another valuable lesson; you've been Inkwelled, informed of something important that will flow down the reservoir of knowledge, eventually to make an impression on the vellum page of your brain. Maybe after a few hundred more lessons you *might* be ready."
Raven Inkwell Gets Spiked
Later that week, Spike had his revenge. It had taken him some time to conceive, but the plan, while petty, would guarantee Spike quality time with Twilight.
Perhaps shamefully taking in claw certain power-projecting lessons from Raven's Rules, he had a very specific guard assigned to Raven's door, a guard seeking redemption who was eager to serve.
The guard, Messiur Educated, stomped his front left hoof several times indicating understanding, then he trotted off to guard Raven's door, standing several hooves away from it with his back to it--far enough so even vigorous vibrations would be unnoticed, Spike had figured, after running surreptitious tests with the unaware guard.
Messiur Educated had written a concern about the arrangement. Spike replied, and his lips were accurately read, that the distance was necessary since the former Chancellor didn't want anypony to violate her privacy by hearing "exciting vibrations" that may or may not be taking place behind her closed door. Although many ponies loved to dance and sing in public, someponies preferred to keep it private, and since nopony had seen Raven joining any musical celebrations pretty much ever, it wasn't too hard to persuade Messiur Educated that she preferred her privacy and was absolutely not to be disturbed.
With that part of the plan underway, the night before Messiur Educated was to take over as guard for Raven's door, Spike had slipped a shining bit underneath her door, with a small note underneath it.
The note read:
Good Morning Raven: Thanks. I've been learning a lot! Inkwelled a lot...sure, but I'm better than you think and have wisdom of my own. Someday, maybe today, you might even get Spiked.
Raven arose early and combed her mane, polished her horn and tucked it out of the obscuring tangle of her mane, sprayed fragrances, and otherwise prepared for another successful day. Then, she pushed the door open with her magic. It caught on something. She tugged at the door, but it stuck harder. She pulled it shut and tried to open it again. This time, it jammed with even less air between it and the doorjamb. She called out: "Guard? Guard?"
But no help arrived and she didn't notice the coin near the doorsill, holding the structure shut. An uneven cobblestone obscured her view and served as an alternative explanation for the sticking door. She was stuck; her door had been spiked.
And Royal Chancellor Spike happily enjoyed a peaceful breakfast with his Princess Twilight Sparkle.
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I wanted an episode of this "palace stuff" soooo much in the show
Thank You so much for writing this! You're awesome!
Well! Raven had that coming.