Farmer, Tailor, Soldier, Spy
“… which is why there’s a lot more to it than just buckin' trees, ya know,” Granny Smith concluded. She sat in her favorite chair at the farmhouse’s kitchen table, accompanied by Applejack, Smokey Mirror, and Capt Marigold. A bottle of the family’s good brandy sat between them, already half-empty; a dinner of vegetable stew bubbled merrily on the stove; Apple Bloom and her friends were playing just outside the kitchen window; and Big Mac and Sergeant Leafspring had headed out to the east orchard half an hour ago.
“Aye,” Smokey took another sip of his drink. “I’d never expected farming to be so… complicated.”
“Oh, yeah.” Applejack grinned. “You gotta coax the trees to siphon up more nutrients from their roots, and then divert that to the flowers, the buds, the fruit… too little a’ one ‘n you’ll kill the tree, too little a’ the other ‘n ya just get a buncha’ new growth that’s gonna die off next season.”
“Mmmhmm, ‘n it takes a mighty careful touch to get them… malic acids, ‘n tannins, ‘n sugars ‘n all just right…” Granny Smith added. Across the table from her, Capt Marigold rolled her eyes, but Smokey leaned forward, looking genuinely interested.
“Me, ah prefer mah cider apples sharp,” Applejack continued, “But, well, you can’t let the tannin levels get too high with those, or they’ll turn bittersharp, and those taste like ass.”
This time, Marigold at least managed to chuckle.
“Now, if’n we just could talk that Trixie mare into stickin’ around…” Granny mused, staring off out the window at the setting sun. “She draws in them crowds like nopony’s darn business, ‘n with so many folks already passin’ though for the festival, we could prob’bly make more profit this year than a fish market in Abyssinia.”
Smokey Mirror cocked his head to one side. “Verily?”
Granny Smith rapped him once on the shoulder with a forehoof. “Now, you watch yer language! This here's Equestria, we speak Ponish ‘round these parts!” she chided, but she was grinning all the while.
“He’s asking if you’re serious,” Applejack explained, and then turned to the Lunar soldier. “She is, by the way. In ‘bout three weeks, we’ll have ponies from all over the Governorate comin’ round here… prob’ly even beyond. One family comes all the way down from Foaledo every year.”
Capt Marigold rolled her eyes again, “Great. More security risks.”
“Hey, that there’s a big part’a the town’s econ-oh-mee yer knockin’,” Granny chastised. “We don’t just get cider outta them stills, we get vinegar too, ‘n we sell the pomace to some fellers up in Canterlot.”
Smokey Mirror cocked his head, and lifted the bottle in the center of the table with his telekinesis. “No brandy?”
“Nuh-uh, we ain’t that fancy. You can’t even legally call cavaldos ‘cavaldos’ unless it’s made in Prance,” Granny explained.
“Believe you me, we tried,” added her granddaughter, "closest we get is ice cider and applejack."
“Hold up here, what’s ‘pomace’?” Marigold asked, raising a hoof.
“Pressed-out solid apple,” Granny explained. “In fact, Ah think they take it up to Canterlot ‘n turn it into field rations or somethin’…”
“Oh yeah, that stuff!” The captain nodded. “We get that in Guard K-rations sometimes. It’s like chewing on tarmac, but it’ll get you through the day all right.”
Applejack nodded in sympathy, and took another swig of her drink. “We’ll be having Pinkie ‘n the Cakes over to bake for us, though. That should be more to your likin’.”
“Hmm. ‘Tis good to hear,” Smokey stared off into the middle distance. “Although… hath any of you seen Fluttershy lately? I know she is not fond of the crowds that show-pony brings out, but it has been several days and I’ve not once seen her.”
“Ah think Twilight’s got her trackin’ down somethin’ big in the forest. She’s out there just ‘bout all day ‘n night with her birds ‘n things. Whatever it is, ah hope she finds it soon,” answered Applejack.
“Yep, yep yep.” Granny nodded, and grinned. “I dunno, she told me she's feeling... not as skittish the year. Maybe she might try’n stand in line fer the festival. Reck’n starin’ down an angry cockatrice, and helpin’ kill some ancient moon monster, changes yer outlook some, dunnit?” She turned and gave Smokey a curious look. “Uhhh, Ah dun’ mean no offense.”
The Lunar soldier just shook his head. “None taken.”
Reflexively, Marigold stole a look at the enchanted compass she’d placed on the table beside her. The needle corresponding to Fluttershy’s tracking gem swept occasionally back and forth, but the S-O-S pattern everypony was dreading didn’t appear.
A comfortable silence settled over the table, broken only by the clink of glass on glass as Marigold poured herself another drink, and the sounds of raised voices outside. Applejack turned in her seat to look out the window. Apple Bloom and her friends dashed back and forth across the lawn, swinging at each other with cardboard swords.
“I got you, you’re dead!” Apple Bloom called out.
“I’m not dead ‘cause I got you first,” Scootaloo replied.
“No you didn’t because you have a sword and I have a crossbow!” the earth pony filly replied.
“Nuh-uh you don’t,” Sweetie Belle interjected.
“Well what if it’s an invisible crossbow?” demanded Apple Bloom.
“Well then I’m a battlemage!” Scootaloo waved her short, thin wings ineffectually. “Lightning bolt! Lightning bolt!”
“Nuh-uh, in school they said the Council only let unicorns be the battlemages,” Sweetie Belle protested.
Scootaloo swept one wing out in a negatory gesture. “Then I don’t wanna be the Council anymore, Apple Bloom can be the Council! I wanna be the Lunar Rebels!”
“But I wanna be the Cabal ponies Dr. Twilight’s always tellin’ us about…” muttered Apple Bloom.
“Fine.” Sweetie Belle squeaked out with surprising force, “Then I’m the evil Council, and I charge you with insbod… insub… insurbordinization! Off with your head!”
All three fell on each other in a pile of flailing hooves and torn-up grass.
Smokey Mirror grinned, slightly, and to Applejack’s surprise Capt Marigold grinned right back.
“Hast thou- errr, have you any children of your own?” the Lunar asked.
“Two, actually!” Marigold’s grin grew wider. She fumbled with the pouches on her armor, withdrew a battered, scuffed resin clamshell case with a broken clasp, and eased it open. Inside, atop a Royal Guard identification badge and a BarnBitz rewards card that had never been filled out, sat a small color photograph. Marigold perched atop a stone wall in what looked like a public park, out of uniform, with her foreleg wrapped around a powder-blue earth pony stallion. Below them stood a colt and a filly, both Marigold’s distinctive shade of yellow. “Zenith Yellow is seven, and Yellowjacket, she’s ten.” She turned back to Smokey. “How’d you know? More moon magic?”
“Nay, nay, ‘tis… the look on your face, I suppose.”
Applejack nodded, and grinned a little wider, and gave the stallion a friendly rap on the shoulder. “Oh, you too, huh?”
Suddenly, Smokey seemed to be looking a long ways away. “… Aye.”
The farmer, surprised by his sudden silence, followed his gaze back out the kitchen window- and to the patch of trees that held the remains of her property’s own Lunar Cairn. “Wha-… oh. Aww, shucks, Ah’m sorry, Ah didn’t mean ta’-”
“There is nothing to be sorry for,” the stallion smiled- faintly, but he smiled. “From what I see now, and what I have been told about… history, now, I suppose, Sumac, Bright Star, and Ash Writer lived their lives in an Equestria not too different from the one I fought for. A father could not ask for much more than that.”
The farmer nodded, silently, suddenly feeling rather circumspect.
“Is that not how it has always been?” the soldier continued. “Parents struggle and sacrifice that their foals may live a better life than theirs?”
“Or grandfoals,” Applejack added, catching sight of Granny Smith’s rather pensive expression. That got her to nod, and smile proudly at least.
“I should count myself lucky. I may have the chance to struggle and sacrifice twice over!” The Lunar unicorn swallowed the last of his drink, and slammed the glass down in his telekinesis. “Now, I should best be on my way. I promised I would meet with thine air crew at the old Cairn by seventeen-thirty.”
He stood up and trotted to the kitchen door. Then he stopped and gave a little bow. "I thank you for your hospitality. May the Moon light thy hoofsteps."
“Hey, uhh, you too, okay?” Applejack called out.
He nodded, turned, and trotted out of sight.
Capt Marigold put down her own drink. “So, uhh, about that aircrew…”
Applejack leaned forward across the table. “Yeah?”
“Tech Sergeant Leafspring isn’t making any… trouble for your family when she’s hanging around the farm or anything, right?” Suddenly, Marigold’s tone seemed much more serious.
“Trouble?” Applejack threw back her head and laughed. “Naw, she’s been mighty helpful, in fact!”
“Is there somethin’ comin’ down I oughta’ be worried ‘bout?” Granny Smith’s eyes narrowed. “Or’ve them rules just gotten that much tighter since Ah was in the service, ‘n lendin’ a hoof to the locals ain’t proper no more?”
“I… just wanted to make sure,” Marigold said in what Applejack recognized as her ‘official’ voice. “And, if any of our troops ever do cause any kind of trouble, I want everypony in town to know they can talk to me about it.”
“Yeah. The, uhhh, the Mayor made an announcement ‘bout that, back when y’all first rolled into town.” She joined her grandmother in staring at Marigold suspiciously. “What’s all this really about?”
Marigold paused for a moment, and poured herself another drink, then seemingly abandoned it on the kitchen table without sampling any. “Well, TSgt Leafspring’s a good soldier, and an excellent mechanic. I have no complaints as to her performance or conduct. But if she’s considering, well, settling down, I’d rather start getting all the paperwork for a replacement in sooner rather than later. I mean, that’s not a sure thing, I married a civilian and I’m still in the Guard, but, well… it’s a lot more likely she’ll take the opportunity to muster out if she and Mister Macintosh are… uhh… well…”
Applejack stared at Granny Smith. Granny Smith stared back. Then, all at once, both farmers burst into howling, guffawing laughter.
“Aww, ‘zat what’cher worried about?” Applejack managed to ask, in between slamming the kitchen table with her hooves so hard the brandy bottle rattled. “Well, Ah don’t think it’s anythin’… you know, serious like that… Ah mean, Ah don’t suppose Ah’d mind much if’n it did turn serious, Leafspring’s a damn good mechanic ‘n she really has been mighty helpful ‘round these parts, but Ah ain’t gonna… Ah dunno, try playin’ matchmaker or somethin’ funny like that.”
Looking rather like a cornered animal, Marigold drew her front hooves back up onto her chair. “I… just wanted to get a bearing on the situation,” she said in a bad attempt at a clipped, businesslike tone, “Is that really such an unusual request?”
“Don’t worry, Ah get’cha…” Granny Smith reached over and gave her another tap on the shoulder. “You were wonderin’ how she was doin’, is all. Gotta look out fer yer mares on and off the field, ain’t that right?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Marigold relaxed a little, then picked up her shot glass and downed it all at once. She bowed her head and ran a hoof through her somewhat disheveled, brilliantly orange mane. “Gaia’s green earth, this ‘officer’ thing is hard.” At Granny’s curious expression, she continued. “I joined as an enlisted mare right out of high school, you know? I just wanted to serve Equestria however I could. I figured I might make first sergeant someday, years and years down the line, and that'd be it, but then some rutter decided I’d make a good candidate for OCS. I’d been a second lieutenant for all of four months, and a first lieutenant for two, until I made the grave mistake of showing ‘exemplary judgment’ by not massacring a bunch of pretty much defenseless, shell-shocked moon ponies,” she swung out a hoof to the heavens demonstratively, nearly catching Applejack in the muzzle with her armored sabaton. “And now I’m a Captain and I’ve got Dr. Twilight Sparkle and half of Canterlot riding on my back.” She slid down in her chair again and grinned, “But… even though I’m in charge of a whole rutted-up special company now, Leafspring included, I guess I’m always gonna think of first platoon as my platoon, even if I was only in charge of it for six months.”
Quite unexpectedly, Granny grabbed the younger mare’s chin and twisted her head around so that she was looking the farmer in the eye. “You have mah sympathies, but you listen here. Ah never thought Ah was gonna’ make it in the Landsknechts neither, and look at me now. Yer. Gonna. Do. Fine.”
Trixie Lulamoon slipped into step alongside the military crew as they made their way through the grasslands surrounding Sweet Apple Acres, effectively invisible by sole virtue of acting like she belonged there. Two of the Royal Guards -Subtle Spark and Parhelion, if Trixie could read their nametags correctly in the rising moonlight- were hauling a wagon filled with mirrors, lenses, crystals, and mysterious brass fittings. A green unicorn mare with a bandanna wrapped around her neck, and a wiry little off-white pegasus, both wearing Guard Air Corps coveralls, trotted along on each side. One of those horrible Lunar ponies, a bent-horned unicorn stallion who looked to be mostly made of scars and sinew, led the procession from the front. Trixie kept to the rear as the grunts continued chattering amiably to each other.
“… but the real reason why they called it off is that Sapphire Shores is dead,” Subtle Spark was explaining to a shocked-looking Pvt Parhelion.
“Dead?” demanded the male airpony -‘Lieutenant Palisade’, according to his uniform.
“Yeah. Drug overdose,” Spark continued. “I read all about it in The Midnight Sun.”
“And The Sun is the first -no, wait, I guess the only- paper to know about this?” Asked the unicorn mare in the grease-stained bandanna, incredulously. Trixie could sympathize. The last issue she’d seen of Equestria’s self-proclaimed ‘number one alternative newspaper’ had featured a headline about the latest generation of feather flu vaccines causing a mare to become pregnant with a pony-octopus hybrid.
“Well, everypony knows about it, they just aren’t telling us!”
Palisade rolled his eyes. “And why would ‘everypony’ neglect to tell us about this obviously plane-shattering development?”
“Well, to keep up our morale, obviously!”
Up at the front of the party, the creepy Lunar stallion turned around and cocked his head. “Wait. Who is this… Sapphire Shores?”
The entire party halted for a moment. Subtle Spark pulled off his helmet, held it under his forehoof, closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment. Nopony spoke.
After a few seconds they started walking again. Noticing the lull in conversation, Trixie took the opportunity to ask, "Hey... you ever wonder why we're here?" Usually, ponies loved to complain about their jobs- soldiers being no exception- and that gave the showmare a chance to both build relationships and gather some additional information.
“Hauling out instruments. Again.” Pvt Parhelion griped. “No idea why. Or why we gotta do it at night.”
Subtle Spark nodded, and then replaced his helmet. “Dr. Daycaller said it’s to measure environmentalist propaganda- ponies who don’t want us messing around with the Everfree Forest, or some shit like that.” He waved back to the wagon he was hauling, and its complicated contents. “This thing listens in on their conversations, or something, I bet. Real slick intelligence shit.” He shot Trixie a sidelong glance. “You signed your NDA, right?”
Silently, Trixie nodded.
“Nuh-uh. I think it’s to spy on the deer,” Parhelion countered. “Ever since First Sergeant Chamomile spotted a couple of them talking to each other.”
“Bullshit. Deer are animals,” Palisade shot back.
“Not these ones,” Parhelion’s eyes grew a little bigger. “I bet they’re watching us right now, even. We’re on their turf, now… so you’d better watch your mouth.”
Through the shadowy trees up ahead, Trixie spotted a long, low structure and the tall support pillars of crystal spotlights- all powered down. Several crates, a small canvas tent, and piles of loose stone suggested that ponies had been digging here relatively recently, although nopony else was around. The whole thing was surrounded by a sturdy chain-link fence, topped by concertina wire that stretched from one end to the other in a rough dome obviously meant to deter fliers. It glittered faintly in the moonlight with what looked to be some sort of alarm spell- Trixie was very familiar with those, at least.
“Environmental propagation, Sparky” the unicorn airpony -Leaf something, Trixie guessed, her nametag was smeared with grease and hard to read in the dark- corrected her Guard buddy. “And shut up about the Sun-damned deer already, will you? You’re making my brain rot.” She paused, and then sidled over to Trixie. “So, this Cairn was breached about a hundred and fifty years ago, and then sealed up again with boulders, but not too well, so it’s still been exposed to the elements. We’re coming out here to measure… moon magic, I dunno, something about additional data points, since we’ve already done the same thing at Cairns that were breached a long time ago and all the ones that’d only been opened when Nightmare Moon came back. I think the endgame is that they want to estimate when the older ones were breached, or something. Anyway, whatever we’re supposed to be picking up is stronger at night, or there’s less interference at night, or something like that, so here we are.” She produced a small silver key from the ring of several she’d pulled off her tool belt, and proceeded to pull open a sliding section of the fence. Then she flipped a switch on one of the spotlight pillars, bathing the entire area in yellow-white light as the wagon continued on through.
“What’s all this about ‘moon magic’?” Trixie asked.
“It’s called ‘radion’, but that’s about all I know about it.” Palisade shrugged as he pulled down one of the wagon’s hinged side panels. “The eggheads never talk about it. Twilight ‘n Verse ‘n Daycaller know about it, and I think Capt Marigold does, and the Town Councilponies, but… as far as the rest of us are concerned, it’s just a bunch of orders that make no sense.” He and Leaf-whatever began unloading pieces of equipment from the wagon, as the Guards unhitched themselves and spread out to what looked to be sentry positions alongside their Lunar companion. After watching the airponies struggle for a few seconds, Trixie quietly lit her horn and guided some of the bigger components down with her telekinesis. Once the wagon was unloaded, the airship jockeys set about connecting various elements and calling off readings. Their project didn’t make any more sense to Trixie fully assembled than it had made in pieces.
Only when it seemed to be complete did Pvt Parhelion turn around and ask the showmare “Hey, what’re you doing all the way out here?”
“Oh!” Trixie pulled a crumpled travel pamphlet from her replacement cloak, which she’d been saving for precisely this purpose. “Well, I was just on my way to the Apple family farm- this says the food’s something of a local attraction- when I saw you hauling that wagon and thought I’d lend a hoof.” She smiled her most disarming smile. “And yes, I have signed my NDA.”
“Good,” the grease monkey admonished, a big mirrored wheel floating absently in her telekinesis. Trixie finally got a proper look at her filthy nametag, and realized her full name was Sergeant Leafspring. “You never know who might come snooping around out here.”
“Yeah, I heard there was some kinda’ little miniature riot in Fillydelphia not too long ago,” Cpl Spark called back to the rest of the group. “About twenty ponies wanted ‘the Lunars out of their neighborhood,’” he waved his foreleg in a decent approximation of quotation marks, “but they got kicked out by the police.”
“Wait, aren’t the Lunars set up in an old naval yard?” asked Leafspring. “No offense meant, Smokey, but that already doesn’t seem like much of a ‘neighborhood’ to me.”
“No offense taken,” said the bent-horned freak -“Smokey”, apparently. “In fact, I think I remember those ponies, although the papers may be exaggerating their numbers. There are a few houses one can see from the Yard, and perhaps half-a-dozen ponies came to the gate and started yelling. The Watch pulled them away after one threw an empty bottle at a guard. I would hardly call it a disturbance, much less a riot.” He shrugged. “Those fools’d not have lasted a minute in Clouds’ Dale under the Council. They didn’t even think to bring any torches!”
As Leafspring fiddled with its components, the device by the wagon began producing a rapid, audible clicking sound. For reasons she couldn’t quite put her hoof on, Trixie found the noise strangely ominous, but she stood her ground.
“Is that background?” the mechanic asked.
“No, looks like seven PPM,” Palisade replied, seemingly unwilling or unable to explain what exactly that meant.
“Out here? Shit, do you thing we should get some kinda’ suits, or…” Leafspring trailed off.
“Nah, Dr. Sparkle was crawling around in there three months ago, and she’s still fine,” cut in Pvt Parhelion.
“For a certain definition of ‘fine’,” Trixie added, to the low laughter of the grunts.
There was another brief silence, and then Palisade spoke up once again. “Actually, I looked up some of the editorials those ‘get-rid-of-the-naval-yard’ folks were putting in the papers, and it’s kinda’ creepy. Pretty much the same time, this other group started writing in, the Society for Lunar Equestrian Studies I think it was called. They had a whole list of ponies around the country who were trying to ‘adopt’ Lunars and have ‘em… just live in ponies’ houses with them or something weird like that. They had these fancy studies talking about family psychology and everything.”
Subtle Spark shook his head and whistled. “Wow, that is creepy.”
“Insulting, I would say,” Smokey the Lunar cut in. “As if the Night Guard must be coddled and cared for like newborn foals, unready for the world.” He scuffed at the turned-up grass with an armored hoof.
“Uhh, please don’t take this the wrong way, but… couldn’t you not read just last month?” Parhelion asked.
“Aye.” Smokey grinned a particularly unsettling Lunar grin, “and now I can. Better than the ponies at your Midnight Sun paper, too, it would seem!”
“That’s all just talk, though,” Leafspring countered, still buried up to her grimy elbows in that mysterious machine’s innards. “We actually had a pony trying to fly around and photograph us a little while ago, back just before you got here.” With both of her hooves still occupied, she telekinetically unknotted her bandanna and used it to wipe a thin layer of perspiration from her face, succeeding only in smearing more grease through her coat. “Fortunately, that kinda’ took care of itself not too long after.”
Trixie cocked her head to the side, and asked in the most innocently curious voice she could manufacture, “What happened?”
Parhelion turned away from Trixie, and spat on the ground with surprising vehemence. “Stupid Guard-killin’ bitch tried to play chicken with a tree, and lost.”
The soldiers all laughed, and Trixie put in the effort to laugh along with them, even though she found the topic extremely uncomfortable. She hadn’t particularly liked Shutterfly. The photographer was overconfident, rude, and couldn’t hold to a plan if her life depended on it- which, in the end, it apparently had. But Trixie certainly hadn’t wished physical harm on the mare, much less the awful fate she’d ended up meeting. It didn’t help that the Everfree was supposed to be positively lousy with ghosts- what if Shutterfly ended up coming after Trixie?
“Did they ever figure out who’d hired her?” Subtle Spark mused, once the laughter had died down.
“They wouldn’t tell us if they did.” Palisade muttered.
“I bet it’s those Rich family rutters,” the Guard continued, “Trying to catch us doing something that’d get the lawsuit thrown out of court! Messing with the Cairn themselves, planting evidence… that kind of thing!”
“Aye.” Smokey the Lunar peered around at the fences with those weird, slitted yellow eyes. Trixie wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but they almost seemed to glow on their own in the moonlight. “And I don't know if these fences alone could stop them. I myself can think of a half-dozen ways to sneak through.”
Trixie nodded, and half in spite of herself added “More like two dozen.”
Not too far away, something rustled in the dark underbrush.
Immediately, the Guards snapped into combat-ready postures, crossbows drawn and forelegs slightly spread apart.
“Movement!” growled Parhelion.
“It may’ve just been a deer…” whispered Smokey.
Immediately, Subtle Spark cocked his weapon. “Aww, shit, they found us…”
Whatever was in the underbrush rustled again, closer this time.
“Listen, I’m sorry, okay, I waited at the rendezvous point just like you told me and I had no idea you were even in trouble, Iwasjustdoingwhatyousaid…” Trixie muttered frantically.
“Shit, it’s heading right for us,” said Palisade.
“Whoever’s out there, come out with all four hooves on the ground!” Corporal Spark shouted
There was another rustle of shifting foliage, and three small fillies staggered into the glow of the floodlights, clad in cardboard armor, wide-eyed and trembling. Trixie guessed them to each be about ten years old.
“Ah’m… we’re s-s-s-s-sorry, Missus Sergeant Leafspring…” stammered the red-maned earth pony at the head of the group, her forelegs trembling so hard Trixie expected them to give out any second.
To the grunts’ credit, all of them immediately shifted their weapons to port-at-arms. Indeed, the Lunar, of all ponies, stepped out of the fenced-in area and lifted the trembling filly’s chin. “Apple Bloom, you know you’re not to come here whilst ponies are working.”
“But we can help!” suggested the orange pegasus in the rear of the group. She already seemed to have mostly recovered from her fright.
“Right, can’t we?” asked her unicorn friend.
Quite unexpectedly, all three of them in unison broke out into a bizarre, ear-piercing chant: “Cutie Mark Crusader ARCHAEOLOGISTS!!”
“Listen. Apple Bloom.” Leafspring trotted forward and looked each of them in the eye in turn. “This equipment really isn’t something fillies like you should be playing around with.” Her tone was clipped and businesslike, probably moreso than she’d intended if the expression on her face afterward was anything to go by.
“Yeah, Dr. Sparkle’s gonna turn us all inside-out if we break it again…” Parhelion muttered.
“How ‘bout this?” Leafspring continued more gently, “You three run on back to the farmhouse, and then when I'm done out here, we can all stay up as late as you want and I’ll tell you about my last assignment all the way over in the Griffish Isles, okay?”
“Sarge, tomorrow’s a school day!” Subtle Spark also protested, but the mechanic ignored him.
“Awwww, but we were gonna play Lunars and Councilponies out here…” the unicorn filly pleaded, staring up at Leafspring with big watery eyes.
Apple Bloom stood up a little straighter. “If’n ya do, Ah’ll… Ah’ll tell mah brother on ya…”
“Aww- you- why-” the mechanic stammered, suddenly at a loss for words.
Trixie, sensing an opportunity, stepped forward and briefly raised a foreleg across the sergeant’s chest. “Can you… maybe… let me handle this?”
Leafspring nodded. Trixie stepped outside the fence and trotted over to the three fillies. “Hello there!” She cocked her head, feigning confusion. “Didn’t the Great and Powerful Trixie see you three in the audience of her show three days ago?” All of them nodded in unison, looking suitably impressed. “What’re your names?”
“I’m Sweetie Belle. That’s Apple Bloom, and that over there is Scootaloo,” the little white unicorn said. “Are you really the Great and Powerful Trixie?”
Trixie swept one hoof out to the side, making sure to give her cloak a dramatic toss in the process. “I am indeed! And the Great and Powerful Trixie has something much more spectacular in mind for the three of you than some dusty old rocks. How about a special little show just for you?” She began walking back towards the edge of the woods, and motioned for the fillies to follow.
After a moment spent looking at each other in confusion, ‘Scootaloo’ said “Ummm… sure!” and all three bounded along after her.
Trixie sat down in a reasonably dry-looking patch of grass, careful to keep her cloak out of contact with the dirt, and extended a hoof to reveal a deck of playing cards decorated with her cutie mark and signature color scheme. Getting them printed had cost her more than she was willing to admit, and frustratingly she hadn’t had a chance to use them up until now- her days of close-up acts were, for better or worse, looking to be mostly behind her.
“So, are any of you keeping up with the Shadow Spade serials?” Trixie asked, as she shuffled the deck.
Three heads nodded in unison, and then Sweetie Belle raised a hoof. “My sister has all the books, too!”
“Perfect.” Trixie fanned out the deck of cards with her telekinesis and extracted four jacks. “Here’s Hearts Boxcars… Diamonds Droog… Clubs Deuce… and, of course, Shadow Spade.” Then she condensed the rest of the cards back into a neat deck and held it in her hoof. “And here’s the bank they’re going to rob.” She put all four cards on top of it, remarking to herself on the irony of having, entirely on a whim, chosen this particular trick in this particular town.
“First, Shadow Spade goes inside…” she slipped the top card off, and slid it into the middle of the deck, “Then Clubs Deuce…” she repeated the gesture with the second card, “… and Hearts Boxcars. But Diamonds Droog stays up on the roof as a lookout, and it’s a good thing, too, because before too long the Watch shows up!” She conjured a tiny swarm of red and blue lights around the deck of cards. “So what do these fearless scofflaws do? Jump off the roof, of course!” She flipped the top four cards off the deck, one at a time, revealing each jack with a little flourish. “Shadow Spade, of course, goes last, and they all get away to rob another day.” She flicked her hoof, and the tiny magelights scattered and faded away.
“Ooh!”
“Wow!”
“Cool!
Apple Bloom stared for a moment, and then cocked her head. “So… how’d you do it?”
Trixie leaned forward. “Do you really wanna know?”
Once again, all three nodded in unison.
“It’ll spoil the mystery…” the showmare warned.
“Well how else are we gonna be cutie mark crusader card trick… ers… if we don’t know how to do the trick?” Scootaloo asked.
The showmare feigned exasperation, complete with a theatrical foreleg pressed against her brow. “Ohh… all right! So! Every magic trick, or at least all the good ones, is broken up into three basic parts.” She reshuffled the cards. “There’s the pledge, where you show something to the audience. This pairs well with a distraction- a conversation, doing something with your hooves, anything really. Like right now, when I shuffled the deck and asked you about the Midnight Crew. Then there’s the turn, where you do something with what you showed them- it can be a trick by itself, like making something disappear, or it can be as simple as putting cards back in the deck. But that’s not enough. You have to bring what you made disappear back, and maybe change it a little- that’s called the prestige, and it’s the most important part, like when I showed you the jacks on the top of the deck. As for how I got them there…” she looked each of the fillies eye-to-eye in turn, cards still floating beside her. “How many cards am I holding up right now. Four?”
All three of them nodded one more time.
“Is it really?” She motioned the fillies to step around to her left, and in her telekinesis guided the three other cards she’d pressed against the back of the jack of diamonds out into clear view.
“Wow!” Apple Bloom called out again.
“That’s amazing!” Sweetie Belle added.
“I never even saw you put those there!” said Scootaloo, eyes wide. Then she looked back to her friends. “Can we go back and check out the Cairn now?”
Trixie closed her eyes for just a moment longer than a blink, pulled in a deep breath, and settled down on her haunches. “Listen. You kids should really leave that kind of thing to the soldiers. There’s all sorts of horrible monsters out in the Everfree… monsters that even the Great and Powerful Trixie’d have trouble fighting.” She tucked her card deck back into her cloak.
“Worse than the cockatrice?” Apple Bloom asked.
“That was scary!” Sweetie Belle added.
“But Miss Fluttershy was so cool!” Scootaloo cut in.
“Yes, worse than a cockatrice,” Trixie confirmed, mentally noting to see what information she could gather on this ‘Fluttershy’ pony at a later date.
“Worse than the ankhaps?” the unicorn filly asked.
Trixie nodded. “Worse than the ankhaps.”
“Worse than the dreaded Ursa Major?” Scootaloo finished, her eyes going wide again.
“Worse than the deer?” Trixie heard Pvt Parhelion call back from the dig site.
“Shut up about the deer already, I never shoulda’ said anything!” Subtle Spark called back.
Newly mindful of the adults’ presence, Trixie dropped her voice to a whisper. “Way worse than the dreaded Ursa Major. There’s real live robbers out there, and they aren’t going to take it easy on you just because you’re kids.”
Applejack lurked on her belly in the tall grass not far from where Trixie and the fillies sat. She hadn’t come out here intending to lurk- she’d just come out to call in her sister and her friends before it got too dark. But when she’d heard that showmare’s voice intermingled with theirs, suspicion had taken over and so lurk she did. It was hard to put into words, but there was something just a tiny bit off about the way Trixie warned them about exploring the Everfree. And when she claimed that the Everfree Forest contained ‘real live robbers’ Applejack spent a good long time wondering about why the showmare had chosen to bring up that specific boogeymare in particular.
An hour before Carousel Boutique was scheduled to open, Rarity was already thoroughly entrenched in her workshop, examining patterns for next year’s spring lineup. She’d initially planned a whole series of designs to celebrate Luna’s inauguration as Exarch, combining modern formalwear with original Lunar iconography and color symbology- though mostly as accents, of course. She wasn’t so suicidally avant-garde as to actually consider introducing a dark spring line. She’d already drawn out a few detailed patterns for herself and her friends, as well as some rougher sketches for Luna herself. Not once for a moment did she doubt that the ceremony would occur, even though the papers were painting a rather bleak picture of Luna’s chances. It was just a matter of how many nattering detractors the Princess would have to step over, first.
Sweetie Belle was off at school by this point, and Rarity was savoring the peace and quiet. She couldn’t blame her parents for taking issue with the filly using their house as her personal proving grounds -they'd given her ‘The Talk’ a dozen times about how cutie marks come in their own time, but she just didn’t listen- but Rarity very much could blame them for foisting Sweetie Belle on her every time the filly became too burdensome. Nonetheless, when she heard somepony knocking on the front door, she immediately called out “Oh, do come in, it’s not locked” around the sewing pin in her mouth and trotted out into the showroom.
By the time Rarity arrived out front, Trixie Lulamoon was already inside the shop.
“Here for your cloak? I’ll have it out for you in just a minute,” the tailor said, digging around under the counter with her telekinesis. Quietly, she commended the showmare’s punctuality- Rarity had finished working on that cloak only late last night, but still had Lunar equipment she’d finished restoring the day the Night Guard had departed Ponyville for Fillydelphia Harbor. The contents of her ‘lost, found, and unclaimed’ bin dated back to before she’d purchased Carousel Boutique’s current building.
She extracted the cloak -neatly folded, of course- and set it on the counter. Trixie picked it up, unfolded it, peered at it from a few different angles, and then slipped it on. “Well it feels just like it used to,” the showmare said, “And it’s supposed to be self-cleaning?”
Rarity peered down into the dregs of her second coffee of the day. “I can test it, if you’d like.”
“Sure!”
Rarity casually lit her horn and hurled the contents of the mug at Trixie. The showmare yelped, recoiled, and twisted sideways, catching the liquid square on her side. Very briefly, the shimmering fabric of her cloak was stained a muddy brown- then, as Trixie’s expression turned from confusion to horror and back to confusion again, the coffee oozed back out of the fabric and remained on the surface as a vaguely oil-like film. The tailor levitated a paper towel from the roll underneath the counter and passed it to Trixie, who cleanly wiped away the offending liquid.
“The Great and Powerful Trixie must admit, that was impressive!” Then her eyes narrowed. “How long does it last?”
Rarity stood and propped herself against the counter with her front hooves. “I used a standard single-point mana transfer system; for enchantments of this scale, you shouldn't need a recharge for, oh, twelve, fifteen years?” She laughed. “So there’s no danger of accelerated aging or anything like that.” She had, in fact, briefly considered using a passive draw system, which would keep the cloak charged via trace amounts of magic drained from the wearer, but considered against it. Such items had a tendency to slowly mimic the magical properties of their users, and the world only needed one Trixie.
“And the final price is five-hundred bits, even.” reported the tailor.
Trixie nodded, pulled a well-worn Canterlot Credit Union checkbook from the pocket of her cloak -despite Rarity being quite certain it hadn’t been there when she’d passed the garment over- and tore out a somewhat rumpled check. She slid it onto the counter, marked in the amount with one of the quills Rarity kept in an empty coffee cup for precisely that purpose, and then signed her name with sufficient theatrical flourish to render it practically illegible. Then she paused, and pulled the check back towards her with her forehoof. “So… actually… if you could keep the cloak for a little while longer… do you think you could maybe go back and add that camouflage enchantment we’d talked about.”
Rarity blinked, briefly confused. “Well, yes, but… the cost hasn’t changed, it'd still be well over eight thousand bits! The whole cloak’ll have to be woven through with starspider silk and another dye layer added…”
“Right, you did tell me that…” the showmare nodded, grinning all the time. She ripped another check out of her checkbook, signed it, and then neatly printed ‘eight thousand, five hundred bits’ above her mess of a signature.
Rarity peered at the check, briefly uncomprehending. It looked legitimate- creased, with a bit of water damage along one side as though it had spent considerable time in a saddlebag, but otherwise utterly normal. The address, somewhat unexpectedly, read ‘5756 Birch st, Terrace 6, Canterlot’; an upscale residential district. And the amount written on it was very, very clear. “Well, of… course, darling, if you’ll give me just a moment…” She picked up the check and headed back to her workshop, where she’d recently installed a dedicated firelink to the Stagecoach National Bank in Manehattan- itself made affordable by the influx of out-of-town orders she’d been receiving since the Summer Sun Celebration. She’d been willing to accept the five hundred bit check at face value, and confirm it later this evening when she closed down the till, but eight thousand bits tossed away so casually demanded immediate scrutiny.
She slid the check into an envelope, thought for a moment, and then scribbled the message ‘I’d like to deposit this. If possible. -Rarity, 147832’ on the front. She’d been engaged in such a volume of business recently that the clerks whose shift coincided with her working hours had started to remember her by name. Then she pulled in a deep breath and tossed it into the firelink’s bright-blue flame. Unlike Spike’s peculiar variant, alchemical firelinks could be nearly any color, but national standards mandated a specific shade to help reduce confusion with mundane flames. It wouldn’t do to have ponies accidentally incinerating what they wanted to transport, or, possibly with even worse consequences, transporting documents they’d meant to dispose of.
Only when the paper was completely consumed, and the small wisp of smoke marking its passage had faded away, did the tailor step back out to her showroom. While she’d been gone, Trixie had already removed her cloak once again, folded it back up mostly the same way it had been before, and deposited it on the counter.
“There, that’ll take but a few minutes to go through.” I hope. Rarity paused for a moment, considering, then trotted around the counter and headed for the showroom’s small sitting area. “Would you care for some tea while we go over your paperwork?”
“Oh, don’t go to that kind of trouble on Trixie’s behalf,” the showmare shook her head. “I’ll wait outside.”
“Oh, darling, I insist. I was just about to have some myself, you see,” Rarity said, already floating over an enchanted stay-warm kettle and a pair of cups. That was, in fact, untrue, but the tailor prided herself on her hospitality- and also wanted a chance to learn more about exactly what Trixie had been up to. It seemed odd to her that an itinerant performer would come into such a large amount of money so quickly, but stranger things had certainly happened.
“Of course, adding such a complicated enchantment will require keeping your cloak at the shop for a few more days, and I know you’re probably a very busy mare and I certainly won’t be offended if your travel schedule has to change on short notice, so… is that Canterlot address on the check you gave me a good place to mail the finished piece?”
Trixie was a hard mare to read, but just for a moment Rarity thought her face had taken on a strange, far-away expression before she said, “No, no, Trixie will be working here now for the foreseeable future, as chief morale officer for the Ponyville Expedition and all that.”
Rarity decided the best option available to her was to politely nod, although she noticed the showmare hadn’t actually explained anything at all about her address. It was probably nothing. “I regret, I missed your show out at Everfree,” she said instead. “But Pinkie Pie told me the highlights. I do have to wonder… did you actually fight an Ursa Major in Hoofington?”
Trixie clasped a hoof to her chest in mock-outrage, then flopped down on the couch across from Rarity. “Oh, of course! Why ever would you think anything else? I was heading into town for a show when the horrible thing fell out of the sky, so of course I stepped in to vanquish it. The Navy showed up not long after and I was content to let them take all the credit- apparently, the idiot who’d summoned that thing was a friend of the Governor’s… so nopony really wanted to talk about what actually happened. But it’s all true.”
There was a long, awkward pause. Rarity drained her teacup and, seeing that Trixie still hadn't touched her own, quietly poured another. “So… umm… the permit?” she finally asked.
The showmare peered at her, confused.
“For the cloak. It’s technically a Class Two enchantment, so…” as discreetly as she could manage, Rarity waved a hoof at the certifications over her counter.
“Oh, right,” Trixie laughed. With another little stage flourish -Rarity supposed the showmare had been performing for so long the gesture had basically become a reflex by now- she produced a sheaf of official-looking papers.
Rarity carefully picked up the bundle in her telekinesis, and unfolded it. Despite the coffee stain in one corner, and the presence of at least three different clerks’ mouthwriting, it seemed superficially in good order- which was odd, given the careworn condition of Trixie’s cloak and checkbook, and the fact that her fireworks were probably Class Three munitions or above. If she was getting them from a reputable supplier, producing her licenses should have been second nature. The enchantment certifications were listed as having been issued on behalf of the Trailhead Conservation and Archery Club, which was a reputable-enough scouting and druidic organization, but Rarity was almost certain she could see a second layer of writing underneath Trixie’s own name in the ‘HOLDER’ field- something with a ‘Y’, perhaps, or ‘V’. She raised an eyebrow, then stood and headed back for the counter. “I’ll just need to take an imprint of this for my records, and then you should be all set! So, what lead you all the way around to Trailhead?”
There was another long pause, before the showmare started talking again all at once: “Well, I was over there a few years ago. I was browsing for exotic creatures for an act of mine- you should've been there, it was spectacular- and of course I can’t trot by the menagerie without seeing if they have any manticores.” She sighed and shook her head. “Someday. But… yes, right, I spent some time at the Conservation Club for an animal handling certification, and while I was there I figured I’d take the Class Two exam to make it official.”
Rarity just nodded again. It was still hard to get a good read on the showmare, even for a pony with an eye for detail like herself. She got the distinct feeling that Trixie was mixing truth with lies with certain tactful omissions, although it was hard to even speculate about which might be which. It might’ve been a show-business thing, the tailor wasn’t sure. She made a polite little “mm-hm” noise and slipped the license documents into her counter’s inkpress. Then she paused, and wondered if she might be able to extract an impression of the mysterious under-writing that way.
Carefully, she flipped open a box of carbon paper, by hoof, so that Trixie wouldn’t see her horn light- and then nearly jumped out of her skin when the bell on her firelink machine in the back went off. “Oh! Umm… don’t go anywhere,” she told the showmare, as calmly as she could manage. “I’ll be but a moment!”
Cantering back into the workshop, she removed a solitary piece of stationary from the firelink’s weight-sensitive tray, sporting the Stagecoach National letterhead. ‘This account? It’s a bottomless pit,’ the note read. ‘Looks like you’re moving up in the world! All the best ;)’.
Rarity trotted back out into the showroom, to find Trixie’s license already removed from the imprint machine, the cloak still sitting on her counter and the showmare herself already out the door. She turned back at the sound of hooves on the tile, gave Rarity a jaunty wave, and then set off down the road.
Lancepesade Smokey Mirror crouched in the shadowy foliage bordering one of the Expedition’s dig sites on Castle Rock- the remains of the great assembly field in front of the Founders’ Armory, if he recalled correctly. He wasn’t sure. His sole visit to revered Everfree had occurred once the city was already in flames; his unit had been occupied rallying locals in the outer slums, never crossing the Snowborne. All the rubble looked the same to him now, just as it did to his newfound Eleventh Century friends.
Although he was entirely capable of remaining undetected in the dense underbrush simply by hunkering down and staying still, Dr. Verse had nonetheless given him use of a weak invisibility charm she’d dug from the rubble of a collapsed safehouse and spent a day to get working. It didn’t muffle sound, and he had to stand still to use it, and even then he didn’t disappear completely, and it wasn’t proof against modern detection magic -indeed, it would supposedly make him more visible on any of the Expedition’s mysterious ‘thaumoscopes’- but it didn’t need to do any more. All he needed to do was hurry up and wait, and escape detection by a gaggle of schoolchildren, accompanied by a few other miscellaneous adults on some sort of educational visit. At least, he presumed they were mostly the children’s parents. Modern customs were strange, and it wouldn’t necessarily surprise him if young couples now found it an appropriate passtime to supervise children to whom they were completely unrelated. They went to the theater- no, the movies- together after all, and considered sitting in the dark, surrounded by fifty other couples, to somehow be romantic.
Still waiting for his cue, his mind wandered further; he thought he’d had a good handle on ‘movies’, at first. They seemed a simple enough application of Eleventh Century illusion magic, creating very realistic -but not real- images on a big white screen to tell an entertaining story. However, his understanding faltered when he was told those had been actual ponies performing the feats he saw; that it was really an inequinely-sharp painting of a theatre production, somehow set into motion, and that the very real ponies involved were called 'movie stars.' Eventually, he’d accompanied Princess Luna on her ill-fated tour of Applewood's Allspark Pictures; the trip had answered a few questions, but posed many more, and all parties involved were still trying their best to just put the whole ordeal behind them.
He shook his head -slowly, to avoid any telltale rattling of his armor- and mentally rehearsed his role in the demonstration. One of the scientists would invite the schoolfillies to dig in the cleared area, and learn proper archaeological technique. It had already been excavated, re-filled, and ‘salted’ with a few artifacts specifically for them to find; one of those artifacts was Smokey’s own helmet. When it was unearthed, he’d step out of the thicket, thank the discoverers for ‘finding’ it, and then answer any questions the group had about life in the First Century- within reason, of course. The famines, plagues, lynch mobs, and suchlike could certainly be mentioned, but he was forbidden to go into ‘graphic’ detail.
Out on the forecourt in front of the trench, he spotted that one unpleasant store owner from Ponyville -the oily brown earth pony stallion with the too-wide modern excuse for an ascot. The stallion -Filthy Rich, Smokey believed his name was- peered around and whistled. “So, this is where all our tax money’s ending up!”
“Well, the part that doesn’t go into attorney’s fees to harass ordinary citizens, anyway!” Huffed the pink mare beside him. Smokey assumed she was his wife, although that left her wedding band cutie mark with some unsettling implications.
Somewhat oddly, he also spotted Trixie the performer circling around at the back of the group, peering at this and poking at that. She couldn’t have a child of her own in Ponyville- could she? No, she wasn't paying attention to any particular child. Perhaps she was there to help Cheerilee?
The group milled around awkwardly for another few minutes, before Drs. Daycaller and Proper Verse stepped out of one of the nearby tents, both clad in crisp khaki shirts and polished leather boots. They made their way to the back center of the cleared area, directly in front of Smokey’s own hiding spot, and both waved to Cheerilee at the back of the crowd. Smokey had spoken with the schoolteacher at some length to set up this event. The idea that the Government -the Government!- was now in the practice of paying professional tutors to instruct children in every town across Equestria, regardless of wealth or status, had still taken him a few conversations to wrap his head around.
Verse stared at the assembled school group, who -for the most part- stared right back. Smokey thought he saw her swallow, hard. “Umm, errr, yes, yes, right… Welcome to- to Castle Rock base camp? I-I'm Dr. Proper Verse, from the R-Royal Academy? I’m an archaeologist specializing in- in First Century metalworking an- and architecture? I’m in-in charge of… operations here at Castle Rock? ”She waved her hoof at the gray unicorn to her left. “And… this is m-my colleague-”
There was a long, awkward pause, before the stallion finally said, “Oh. Oh. I’m… Dr. Daycaller. I’m also from the Royal Academy, although I received my undergraduate degree in divination back home at Saddle Arabia Technical University. I was brought onto this project as a… as a thaumography, remote viewing, and dating specialist.”
“Did you hear that, Mizz Cheerilee?” asked a prim little pink filly standing next to the shopkeeper and his wife, “He might even be able to help you!”
Quite unexpectedly, Filthy ducked his head down to the filly’s level and chided, “Diamond Tiara, now, you know what we talked about…”
His wife shook her head. “Oh, Filthy, she’s just a little filly, let me handle this for a change…” she turned to her presumable daughter, although Smokey noticed she didn’t duck down to the filly’s level like her husband had- or even make eye contact. “We’ll talk about this later, dear,” she said, grinning all the while.
It seemed some things never changed, Smokey mused. No matter the century, even if granted no official legal recognition, aristocracy still reared its ugly head.
Dr. Daycaller, for his part, handled the interruption with commendable grace. He simply laughed, and said “No, no, I’m not that kind of ‘dating specialist’. What I mean is, I know how to use magic to tell how old things are.”
“Did you hear that, Mrs. Rich? He might even be able to help you,” said Cheerilee, almost immediately afterward. Smokey resisted the urge to stamp his hooves in approval.
“Umm… r-right!” Looking a little more perturbed than her colleague, Dr. Verse continued. “Welcome to… our base camp here at Castle Rock. Did I s-s-say that already? Um. Right. This is where we coordinate all of our trips out to sites elsewhere in the Everfree F-Forest, store supplies used in the restoration of the Castle of the Two Sisters, and perform preliminary p-p-p-processing of smaller items we’ve recovered…” Very quickly, Smokey stopped listening- he’d spent most of the last few weeks guarding this place, and thus already had a fairly clear understanding of its function. Judging by the blank stares on a few of the schoolchildren, and many of the adults, he wasn’t the only one. He only focused on the scientist again when she ended her description, turned to Daycaller, and muttered “I knew we should’ve run this at the Bog instead…”
“What, and have them get wet? No, thank you,” the diviner muttered back.
“Dr. Verse?” asked a heavyset unicorn stallion with a straw hat, prodigious mustache, and dizzyingly-patterned shirt. “Is it true that you’ve run into ghosts out here? Real live ones? Or, um, well, you know what I mean!”
The pegasus researcher nodded. “Yes, it is! Although you don’t need to w-worry, this area’s been thoroughly exorcised, and in any case they aren’t very active in the daylight hours.”
That answer seemed to do little to mollify the stallion, and even less to reassure Trixie at the edge of the group. “Hey, are you doing all right?” Smokey heard Verse ask the showmare. “You’re looking a little n-nervous.”
“Oh!” She yelped, then continued a little more steadily. “I’m fine. This forest is just… well, it’s creepy, really. That’s all.”
Dr. Verse nodded, and headed back to the front of the group, keeping up a running commentary on First Century sanitation systems, although Smokey himself wasn’t entirely convinced. The strange, overpowering sense of being watched that pervaded the Everfree was in fact substantially weaker on Castle Rock than elsewhere in the Forest, to the point where he himself hadn’t consciously considered it in a good long while. He supposed he might’ve just built up a tolerance over the long hours he’d spent patrolling the place, but none of the other Ponyville natives seemed as jumpy either. The Rich family, and another little gray filly who might be another daughter but didn’t resemble any of them, were even milling around, looking quite bored.
Smokey decided the filly was more likely a cousin or something similar- regardless of the century, it wasn’t like the aristocracy to stray far from their own family trees.
Dr. Daycaller was the one talking now- something about thaumoluminescence, stratigraphy, sun-contact decay, and ‘the old wood problem’, very little of which Smokey could make sense of. “… in fact,” he finally concluded, waving a hoof over the salted dig site, “we’ve got a little section over here that we were hoping you smart young fillies and colts might be able to help us out with!”
Schoolponies descended on the patch of dirt like shovel-wielding berserkers, while the adults stood back and chattered among themselves. Daycaller was still speaking, but nopony paid him much if any heed.
For perhaps five or six minutes, everything seemed to be going according to plan. The students clustered into small groups of two to four, around whatever patches of dirt they considered particularly interesting. One group managed to unearth half a cookpot; another a modern wagon hitch- prompting another discussion on the principle of terminus post quem which Daycaller quickly abandoned. None of the groups were digging anywhere near where Dr. Verse had stashed Smokey’s helmet. The pink Rich filly seemed to be letting her silver friend do all the work, standing off to one side and occasionally calling out instructions.
Then, with a wicked grin on her muzzle, she turned to Apple Bloom, who was excavating a sizable hole perhaps half a yard away from her. “Hey, if you dig long enough, maybe you’ll find your mom!”
The silver filly with Diamond Tiara laughed, loud and a little forced. Apple Bloom stopped digging, and spent a moment staring at her shovel contemplatively. The two fillies with her -Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle, if he recalled correctly- also stopped digging, and positioned themselves between her and Diamond.
“Hey, if you dig long enough, you might find your mom,” the pink filly repeated, and chuckled at her own joke. “Get it, because-”
It was at about that point that Smokey decided he’d heard enough.
He sprang from his hiding spot, the faltering invisibility charm lending his form a wobbly, spectral quality, sword drawn and floating in front of him, the flat of the blade facing Diamond Tiara- he had no intention of actually hurting her, though the whelp could certainly use a sound paddling. “The only grave thou findest today will be thine own!” he snarled.
Parents gasped and rushed towards their children- Diamond Tiara screeched, stumbled backward, and landed on her side in the turned-over dirt- Apple Bloom stared, wide-eyed and elated- Dr. Daycaller reeled backwards and shouted “Smokey, what in Tar-”
Trixie the entertainer shouted something that sounded like ‘KIDSGETDOWN’, dived in between Diamond and the Lunar, and fired a burst of brilliant blue-white light from her horn.
Almost entirely on reflex, Smokey brought up his blade into a parry position- Trixie’s spell ricocheted off and slammed into an empty supply crate, exploding into hundreds of crackling, luminous blue sparkles and a cloud of thick white smoke.
Then he spotted the cylindrical object that had rolled between his front hooves- an object that looked identical to the ‘grenade’ weapons he’d seen soldiers carrying at the Yard.
“Gah! Foul witch!” He was just about to fling the thing away in his telekinesis when it burst, with a horrible flash of light and a deafening crack.
For a solid few seconds, he could only see solid white; that eventually gave way to dazzling afterimages. He could barely hear children crying and a few laughing; adults were shouting demands and questions. His nostrils filled with the smell of hot metal and burning fur. A hoof fell on his shoulder, and only then did he realize he was lying on his side. “Are you… are you okay? You're on… f-f-fuh-fire,” he heard Dr. Verse ask.
“I've been better," he said, as he gingerly climbed back onto all-fours with the assistance of what felt like at least two other ponies. He brushed his forelegs against each other, extinguishing his still-smoldering coat. "I am not hurt... just... blind."
“Blind… as a bat?” said Dr. Daycaller, or at least somepony who sounded like Dr. Daycaller.
“… if I could see thee, I’d strike thee.”
He blinked. Little by little, his vision began to clear, and he could make out at least the shapes of ponies and rough estimates of their coat colors. The little silver filly was leaning against Filthy Rich, while Diamond Tiara sobbed in the embrace of her presumable mother. Apple Bloom and her friends simply stared, wide smiles plastered to their faces. Daycaller and Verse were stepping back away from Smokey, waving hooves and wings in response to demands shouted by an ever-tightening circle of angry parents. Trixie the grenadier-showmare was already long gone.
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Again, this was a well-done chapter with great exchanges, characterizations and future chapter set-up. Definitely appreciated AJ playing translator between Granny Smith and that one Lunar for a line as well as understanding how AJ can get so suspicious of Trixie that she ended up sneaking when she originally didn't intend to upon hearing her voice. The bit with Trixie and the soldiers was pretty good too, especially with the newspaper argument, the bit of "deer paranoia" and the Crusaders showing up when they did (by the way, also appreciated the soldiers and Trixie at least making an effort to discourage the Crusaders from going too far into the forest). The "check bit" with Trixie and Rarity was really good too, especially with the possible small bit of background that could be uncovered from the address on the check (I say "possible" because, well, I know that you never really know) as well as Rarity understandably curious about how Trixie could produce the checkbook from an area she rather carefully looked over earlier without finding any such thing. The "family" bits are all rather understandable too.
Anyway, quite certainly looking forward to more of this.
Okay, so either Trixie is with the smuggling ring OR a facet of the government. Given how Equestria operates I wouldn't be surprised if there was a group doing their own thing. THAT SAID the lack of a paper trail for Trixie regardless is a bad move on her part, especially if she's supposed to have these licenses. Even a scant paper trail would be helpful, so long as she's on the files. For instance, I got into Shadowrun lately and a key item for any runner is at least a few false identities, one for all the 'legal' stuff.
11168252
Or she's the plan B; Shutterfly had all the fake IDs, and Trixie was never supposed operate in the open.
11168267
Complete operational failures all around. Who the hell is running this outfit? I'm betting on Blueblood given his high position in society coupled with that bottomless Canterlot account would mean that he can cut his 'associates' out easily, but still not supplying your plan B properly just means a higher chance of them failing too!
Besides that though, Trixie getting in front of the foals is a good use of foreshadowing.
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Who indeed.
And yeah, Trixie's a good person, at heart, she's just working for some shady characters.
Well, Trixie's PoV has all but confirmed she's up to something shady. Not a fan of the Lunars either. Strange for someone with the name Lulamoon.
Love the forays into espionage these stories take, Rarity is proving to be pretty savvy in tradecraft. Looks like you may be going with a more 'Agents of the Crown' future for the Mane 6 than just ponies that randomly go on adventures.
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Saving the world once is a fluke. Twice, a coincidence. But 5 times in 4 years? It'd be stupid not to give them government backing.
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Actually it would be SIX times in four years:
Nightmare Moon, Discord, Chrysalis, Sombra, the Plunder Vines AND Tirek. That makes six. In Twilight's case, it might actually be SEVEN times in four years counting Sunset Shimmer (which might count as saving TWO worlds at the same time depending on how you score it).
But, yeah, the point still very much applies. I can quite certainly see it.
That was a good chapter.
Well even if we didn't get pretty explicitly told that Trixie is part of the conspiracy, she put up so many red flags with Rarity it's a wonder Rarity hasn't asked her to be investigated by Twilight.
I wonder what her goal with the cloak and the incident with the kids is? Is she using them as excuses to get close and pilfer trinkets and spy? Her PoV segment indicated she doesn't seem super informed; more like she just knows she's supposed to be spying for someone, and has a vague idea of what to look for.
"as opposed to calculated at the register like here in the US. They're efficient that way."
It actually used to be that way in the states but because of the constitution and how states and even cities can choose their own sales taxes it led to the unfortunate scenario where including tax as a part of the price on the item gave a competitive advantage if across the street was another state/county/city
Really. Really.
Now I'm wondering what other stories that author's written. Possibly including something about four foals playing a game...
A great and powerful cloaker sounds equal parts terrifying and obnoxious.
Note taken for the Discord episodes.
One of those horrible Lunar ponies, a bent-horned unicorn stallion who looked to be mostly made of scars and sinew, led the procession from the front.
Noooo Trixie is evil
Do we have a bits to dollars ratio? Or barring that how much purchasing power a bit has? Is it 1000 bits a month for a small apartment in Ponyville? How much does a private in the army get paid a year? A weather captain? How much is a mansion in Canterlot?
Ok I'm with Trixie on this, and that was really brave of her. And Smokey, I get where your coming from but that was wrong.
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I have been operating under the assumption that one bit equals one 2020 US dollar- although I think some prices deviate pretty severely from that standard. Someday soon I will sit down with some IRL economic statistics and come up with things like what the average day's wage is.