• Published 6th Oct 2012
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The Last Human: A Tale of the Pre-Classical Era - PatchworkPoltergeist



“It's a rare man who is taken for what he truly is.”

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The Molasses Morning

It had been a peculiar morning for Honey Glaze and she did not yet know if this was a good thing or not. In her experience as a veterinarian and a Conemaran, she had developed a talent for diagnosing patterns in peculiarities. She also knew that when oddities came to this town, they came either in the morning or the evening.

Honey Glaze favored the peculiar evenings because even if the oddity was not in her favor, she could go to bed soon after. Ill tidings that worried her at night always looked a little better in the morning. Mornings existed to set right what was once wrong, that was the way of the world.

But a peculiar morning, now that was a thing to be wary of. Whatever odd thing happened in the morning meant that whatever happened would be with her for the remainder of the day just like spilled molasses; difficult to clean up and sticking to everything it touched. A molasses morning could stick to her for weeks or longer.

As Honey Glaze brushed her mane, tied her bonnet, and adjusted her apron she held on to hope this peculiar morning would somehow be in their favor. A pleasant surprise like an extra shipment of frosting, the pegasus tribe delivering extra rain, or that the cow with a twisted foot made a speedy recovery. That hope dimmed as soon as she came downstairs.

The First Oddity: Lickety Split was nowhere to be found.

Honey had awoken to an empty bed and empty house, which was odd enough, but to discover an empty, spotless kitchen with no sign of breakfast was cause for alarm. There was no trace of dirty dishes, no disturbed cabinets, no lingering smell of pancakes or pies, and Honey Glaze ate her donuts and oatmeal all alone. This meant one of two things: either Lickety Split woke up uncharacteristically early, politely eaten breakfast with careful intent to leave the kitchen spotless, and dashed away for an early workday, or something had happened. Something important enough to wake before the cockerel, forsake her pie à la mode, and go into town all without waking Honey up. Only once before a morning began this way. That was the morning the east fields had frozen over two years ago. A missing mayor did not bode well.

The Second Oddity: The sky was different.

This morning was not blue, nor was it light grey, nor a soft pastel dawn, but a crossroad between these things. The film of clouds was just enough to grey the sky, yet the sun shone through just the same. The Conemara waiting for Honey Glaze was bathed a steady yellow hue, as if the town were trapped in amber. The mare had to admit it was very pretty, but still peculiar.

The Third Oddity: The dog, or lack thereof.

Peter did not come waggling to greet her with a lolling, slimy tongue and baying as if Honey had been gone a year instead of just a night. With the absence of Lickety Split, this may not have been unusual, for the mayor may have simply taken her beagle with her into town. But the bowl of food from last night was untouched and though the wet ground near the house was full of hoofprints, no paw prints ran beside them.

Along with this trio of oddities was the fact that Honey Glaze had virtually nothing to do. No appointments were scheduled until late afternoon, no real baking could be done until tomorrow when her brother delivered more flour (the last of it went to feed the visiting unicorn and his sasquatch) and she could not assist the mayor when the mayor wasn’t here. That only left tending to the cow, sweeping the walk, then seeking or waiting for something to do. Honey frowned at the thought. Free time was for Saturday evenings and harvest festivals, not mornings in the middle of the week when there should be work to do. With the absence of Splits and Pete, however, she welcomed the chance to search for them. But first things first.

“Good morrow, Maybelle!” she called out, opening the barn door. “Did you sleep well?”

The Jersey peered over the door of her stall, a scowl wrinkling her soft face and bags under her eyes.

“Oh, my. I guess not. What’s the trouble, dear?” The mare opened the stall door and stepped aside politely, as if escorting a noblemare from a carriage, for Maybelle practically was.

In a place famed for desserts, cows were the city’s lifeblood. Their milk went to cakes, chocolates, pastries, and the best ice cream in the Nation, all in exchange for a graze in Conemara’s famous feathergrass fields and a warm barn to sleep in. The grass was carefully tended for the cows as much as for wealthy foreign ponies. More, in fact. Cows gave them their way of life but all the unicorns had to offer was coin and trouble.

The look on Maybelle’s face and the aristocratic flips of her tail as they walked affirmed Honey Glaze’s suspicions. This was a molasses morning for certain.

“No milk today, I expect.”

“Not until tomorrow at least. All night with the talking and the lantern light and the running all about the stall. You’d think the both of them hens the way they went on. I lost at least two hours of my beauty sleep thanks to all that chatter from the bearded hollow horn and his pet… whatever.”

“Maybelle!” Honey looked about to affirm nopony had heard. “I understand you had a difficult time last night but that’s no reason to call the lad names. You ought to be ashamed.”

“Well, he is.” The cow at least had the manners to lower her voice like a decent gossip. “I saw him juggle a pillow, a blanket, a lantern, and a full basket of goods when he came in. Fumbled with every door, almost dropped the kit and caboodle twice and he didn’t levitate a thing, not one. He practically admitted to it himself. I heard him.”

Honey Glaze frowned. “That—”

The subject of interest sat just outside the front lawn where the unicorn had set up a little table busking fortunes with scrolls and star charts. Odd to do this sort of thing so early. They passed his line of sight in the quiet stalk of gossips with eyes averted elsewhere.

Out of hearing range, the mare continued, “That is still no reason to call him hollow. You wouldn’t call an earth pony with a ruined leg ‘lame’, would you? Of course not.” She glanced over Maybelle’s shoulder at the pink-maned stallion in front of the house. “I’m sure the poor dear tries his best. Speaking of which, I should see to his ape. If you’ll excuse me.”

“I’ll see you, Hon.”

Rudeness of calling it out aside, the fact that the bearded lad bore no magic made a great deal of sense. Lickety Split may not have been wrong last night when she assumed he was a noblecolt, but judging by his current lot in life, his bloodline didn’t matter much now. It certainly explained why the unicorn had been so polite in their presence and why he spent the night talking to his ape. He must not have many ponies to talk with. The whole thing was a little sad, now that she thought about it. As she made her way back to the barn, Honey Glaze considered inviting the fellow to lunch, assuming Splits had no issue with it. When she finally found her, anyway.

“Peter! Well, what are you doing in here, fella?”

That was one mystery solved at least. Pete must have wandered through the barn door while Maybelle went to pasture. He lingered outside the stall housing the sasquatch and the way he was standing a pony could have mistaken him for a pointer rather than a beagle. Peter stood stiff and silent and he didn’t seem to notice Honey Glaze at all, even when she whistled at him. He watched the stall the way he watched the front gate waiting for Lickety Split to come home.

“You doing alright there, Pete?”

A floppy ear made a little twitch. At least he hadn’t gone deaf. Honey peered inside the stall where the bald sasquatch stared back worriedly, he likely sensed the dog staring holes into him from the other side. Honey made sure to put Pete (who was quite opposed to the idea) in Maybelle’s stall so the ape could go back to its master without worry of heels getting nipped.

It took a few moments before the creature seemed fully convinced the dog was not going to bother him and he came out of the stall. At least he looked better fed; the basket of baked goods seemed to have done the trick. In fact, the sasquatch looked so well Honey began to wonder if it was ill at all. Despite the lack of fur, the skin seemed in good health—no splotching, no redness, no cracks, no blisters—the oatmeal bath should have helped the skin condition, but not to this extent. The swath of black fur atop his head had a healthy shine. Curled, silky fur was strange for a sasquatch, yet the curls seemed natural. Muscle tone was good for an animal confined to a small cage and for something from the Medley of Marvelous Monsters he looked fantastic. Either stargazer must have taken good care of him after stealing away or the Showmaster never got to break him in proper. But if that was the case, why was it so tame? Had the unicorn bottle-fed it?

And the bone structure was... off. The night before, she wrote it off as a symptom of the ape’s mysterious illness, but looking at him now, that explanation seemed unlikely. The sasquatch’s stride was easy and unhindered by the freakishly small feet and rail-straight spine. Was it simply accustomed to its bizarre proportions? Was this perhaps some subspecies she didn’t know of?

“If only I knew a scholar in the ways of primates,” Honey sighed. The sasquatch looked down at the sound of her voice and she smiled back at him. “You’re so well behaved it’s no wonder your master doesn’t keep you on a leash. What a nice fellow.”

The ape blinked slowly and sighed. If Honey Glaze didn’t know any better, she could have sworn it rolled its eyes at her.

Honey Glaze turned the ape loose in a tree not from where its master sat yawning and fawning over his charts. Upon closer inspection, there were more than star charts in front of the unicorn. There was a humble array of scrolls, broken quills, and ink jars spread about him as he furiously (and awkwardly) filled scroll after scroll with illegible mouthwriting. His eyes flitted back and forth from his writings and a most unusual scroll with rectangular, glossy parchment. Inky freckles splattered across his nose in black constellations.

“A bit bright to be casting fortunes by stars,” mused Honey.

“Just one star to see by, but ‘tis enough.” The lad glanced at her, then at the tree behind him. The sasquatch in the branches nodded to him in a way that made something twitch in Honey’s hooves. “Thank you for fetching him, ma’am.”

“No trouble.” The longer Honey watched the ape in the tree the greater the twitch in her hooves became. Something about all of this was odd. Not the molasses sort of odd, this was different, this was new somehow. “...Interesting manner of creature, that one.”

“That is certainly one way of putting it.” The stargazer seemed as if he meant to follow that statement with something else, but he went back to his scrawls and was silent.

Honey Glaze was more than glad to leave him to his work. She might have lingered all day staring at that tree like a lackwit and this morning had more pressing matters than a stargazer’s ape.

For once the morning's strangeness worked in her favor. An unscheduled drizzle happened sometime during the night and the wet ground still kept the prints of every creature that stepped upon it. Lickety Split’s distinct hoofprints—only the mayor’s shoes had those indents—led her up and out of residentials and into the shopping district. The hoofprints were lost in the midst of Conemara citizens and visitors here, but at least here she could ask around.

“Honey!” The voice reached her before the pony did, as always. A cream-coated mare with a mane all red and white barber pole stripes dashed to her side. A tin whistle clinked against the buttons of her messenger vest as she trotted in place, the closest thing messenger ponies ever came to stopping. This was not Toot Sweet’s usual route. It wasn’t even her district. She must have been looking for Honey specifically. More molasses.

“G’morrow, Honey Glaze. I’m so so sorry to be a bother, I know you must be terribly busy what with the mayor’s work and the sick shorthorns and all, but—” she took a great gulp of air. “But have you seen Flo at all this morning? I woke up and she was gone and I know you told me to make doubly sure my gate was locked and Honey, I swear I locked it. Only now I’m not so sure and I don’t have time to look for her with all the work today, and...and just, have you seen my hound?”

“Toot Sweet, I told you to give that dog more exercise so this sort of thing wouldn’t happen anymore.”

“No, but I did! She ran with me all day yesterday, don’t you recall?”

Honey considered this and frowned. Toot Sweet was right; she and her greyhound passed by the house yesterday morning and then again at lunchtime. In addition, Honey was sure she’d seen the tall gate at Toot’s place locked good and tight. There was no way a tired greyhound should have been able to jump that gate. Another peculiarity.

“No, I haven’t seen Flo today. I only just got here but I’ll surely alert you if I see her, Toots. Oh! Hold a moment, have you seen Mayor Lickety Split about town? I can’t find her.”

“Things are misplaced all over, it seems.” Toot Sweet wheeled about and down the street. “She was round about town hall when I saw her last.

Town hall was two blocks away but getting there seemed to take two hours. For every step Honey took, there was a pony asking about their dogs. Tea Cake couldn’t find Benedict. Shortcake had lost Anderson. Sorbet hadn’t seen his poodle since last night. Apple Drop’s setter pulled out of his collar and run off during a morning walk. Tough Cookie reported her terrier, Jude, jumping from his bath and digging under the fence before anypony could stop him. The Treacle Twins were beside themselves with grief, for they had searched for Quentin all last night and still had no sign of their corgi. This last account worried Honey Glaze a great deal, for Quentin was recovering from ringworm and likely still contagious. An outbreak was all she needed right now. She was glad she’d put Pete in the barn where he was safe, it was beginning to seem like dog-nappers were about.

Mayor Lickety Split VI was under the awning of town hall, not far from the statue of Conemara’s founders, Gingerbread and Crème Brûlée. A basket of emerald feathergrass sat next to her and she wore her very best hat, the one made of taffeta and lace and an ornamental custard sitting on top. Lickety Split was not tied up in tragic chaos, nor cowering under a catastrophe, nor did she duel with some disastrous debacle. In fact, she sat happy-as-you-please, eating a cheese danish.

Honey sighed. Wearing such a formal hat was cause for concern, as were the bags under her eyes, but if the mayor still found time for breakfast then whatever had happened couldn’t have been a total disaster.

“A-ha, so here you are!” A less professional part of Honey Glaze delighted in a proper scolding, the happy sort born of averted catastrophes. “Have you any idea what you’ve put me through this morning? Miss Mayor Lickety Split VI just what do you think you’re doing at—”

“At work?” Splits coolly licked a bit of cheese from her hoof. “Aren’t you the one constantly fussing I ought to start my day earlier?”

“Don’t you turn this on me, madam, this situation is not at all what I meant and you know it. I meant for you to keep schedule, not run pell-mell all about town without telling anypony.” Being in public was the only thing keeping Honey’s voice in check. “No note, no goodbye or anything. I swear, your head is emptier than a bubble in broth. I awoke and I did not know where you were. Things were out of sorts. It was... cause for concern."

A sly crumb of a smile winked the corners of the mayor's mouth. "You were worried for me."

"I was nothing of the sort." Honey Glaze readjusted her spectacles and gave an indignant, professional humph. "It was simply a matter of noting a diversion from your normal habits. Had something happened to you, it would be detrimental to the city of Conemara as well as my job. You are the mayor after all. What concerns you concerns us all. That is all there is to it."

"Your nose is too pretty to stick up in the air like a unicorn. You should bring it down to earth where it is appreciated."

"You are a slovenly, foolish, gluttonous politician and nopony will ever love you. It is a marvel you were reelected."

“Whatever you say, honeybunch.” Lickety Split was quiet for some time after that. She watched the lazy bustle of Conemara, nodding her head and gently waving hello to ponies strolling by. “Lady Sundance and her stewards came by the house this morning.”

The mayor’s voice stayed sweet, but the gravity of her words had a bitter aftertaste. Her smile stiffened. A pony without Honey’s attention to detail wouldn’t have noticed the change at all. Regardless of Splits’ haphazard habits, Honey admired the mayor’s exceptional talent for smooth facades. “The Lady is of the Sun Circle, so it’s only natural the old nag was at our door before dawn.”

Honey Glaze blinked. Her tail gave a nervous flick. “I see. I expect there was an incident?”

“But of course, dear. Only the most dire of developments.” She gave a laugh empty of laughter. “She needed three crates of grass to supply House Gusty’s mid-summer ball.”

“But handling grass is Zoysia and Topiary’s department, not the mayor’s.”

“Tell Lady Sundance that.” The sides of Lickety Split’s mouth twisted and bent into something like a frown. It lasted a second or two before it wrenched back into her pleasant smile. “It seems ensuring that the citizens of Conemara stand a fair distance from proper noblemares falls under my jurisdiction too. So does the number of mice in town, the dirt upon the roads, the shininess of the windows, and the scuffing of hoof polish. Not to mention the unscheduled drizzling this morning, even though weather is entirely out of my control. It has been an educational morning.” She finished the danish with a fearsome bite.

The mayor looked to her aide and her eyes softened. “I didn’t wake you because I know how out-of-sorts you get over this kind of thing.”

Honey grinned in spite of herself. “Unicorns or out-of-place mornings?”

“Both.” Splits turned to her aide with the smile that was Honey’s favorite. A real one. “I’m glad you came to seek me out, Hon. I needed the company.”

“Yes, well. I am not entirely unfond of your company either.” She smoothed out a rumple in her brown, coiffed tail. “Is Lady Sundance still here? Is that the reason for the basket of feather grass?”

“That, honeybunch, is Honey’s brunch.” The mayor grinned, proud of her wordplay. “Or early afternoon snack, whichever you prefer. Consider it—don’t roll your eyes, that was a good joke and you know it—consider it a part of your birthday surprise.”

“...My birthday is half a month away, Lickety Split.”

“That is what makes it a surprise. Also, there was a surplus in Zoysia’s delivery.”

Honey arched an eyebrow. “Odd that Sundance didn’t just take the extra grass. A basket is hardly a dollop in the honey jar.” That said, there shouldn’t have been any runoff at all. Grass measurements—in fact, the quality of feathergrass in general—had dropped after Topsoil left. Two ponies overlooking the heart and soul of Conemara was not enough.

“She wanted three crates, no more and no less. Why anypony would refuse extra grass is beyond me, but who can figure out the unicorns? Come, let’s take our brunch at home for some rest. Don’t give that look, now. If you really had work to do, you would be doing it. Am I wrong?”

Honey Glaze sighed and agreed. Molasses aside, there was nothing that couldn’t wait an hour and it had been a stressful morning for both of them. And it hurt her to see the joyless rock candy grin Splits must have held for hours. It would be wise to rest a while at home, where the mayor was free to frown and grouse all she pleased.

The walk home smoothed out Splits’ mood and soon she was back to her usual chaff and chatter. “A basket of feather grass is just what you need, Hon. You’re already the thinnest thing in Conemara, aside from the messengers. The way you carry on, you’ll worry yourself down to a skeleton and I much prefer you die a little death than a big one.”

Honey Glaze snorted. “Off with you and your spring talk. I ought to kick you into a barn.”

“How fortunate we need our barns whole, then!” As they came into the residential district, she swiveled her ears curiously. “Seems awful quiet this morning. No barking from the Pizzelle place.”

“About that. I don’t mind a short brunch but I must away soon after. There have been numerous complaints this morning concerning the—”

“Good gaufrette! Oh, on my word, what is that?!”

Honey looked ahead; her heart sank to her stomach. The itch in her hooves came back with a vengeance. “That,” she said, “Is the answer to a question all Conemara’s been asking.”

There, in the front yard, in Lickety Splits’ favorite maple tree, sat the stargazer’s ape. He sat on the highest branch that could support his weight, feet carefully tucked underneath him, ready to scramble away if he had to. He gripped a gnarled branch that was longer than the sasquatch was tall. It was unusually smooth for a branch broken off a tree, almost as if it had been whittled smooth.

Below him sat every dog in town.

Flo, Toot Sweet’s greyhound, stretched out on the tree roots as if it were a rug by the hearth. Lickety Splits’ beagle, Peter, was next to her, front paws on the tree trunk, staring intently. Apple Drops’ setter circled the trunk as if he would find a stairway hidden somewhere. Jude and Benedict and Timothy and four stray mongrels with no name sat patiently in the dappled shadows. Bingley, Pizzelle's pomeranian, stared up with tiny, glittering eyes. The Treacles’ corgi bounced on stubby legs, he didn’t seem to understand that the branches were too high to reach. He was in the yawning shadow of Shortcake's great dane, who actually could have reached the lower branches if he tried. The only dog missing was Nougat’s collie, who was away in Hoofshire for the cowdog trials.

They gathered in quiet congress under the maple tree and wagged their tails as the sasquatch glared down at them. The ape’s mouth pulled back in a worried grimace when they moved.

Lickety Split pursed her lips and tilted her head. “Huh. What do you make of it?”

Honey Glaze just stared. The itchy feeling in her hooves began to spread, slithering out and over her hooves and into her pastern to make itself at home betwixt carpus and cannon bone. It was as if the ground was shifting beneath her. The soft, beautiful feathergrass suddenly felt... wrong. She wondered if she ought to run, though she’d no logical reason to do so. Where was this feeling coming from? Why did she feel like a foreigner in her hometown? Honey did not feel like herself in the presence of the stargazer’s ape. She did not like the way it held the attention of the hounds tighter than any leash or lead. It suddenly occurred to her that the average sasquatch was too heavy to climb maple trees.

“Must be full of food, I s’pose.”

Honey Glaze jolted. “What?”

Lickety Split inclined a hoof toward the bag fastened to the ape’s back. “The parcel he’s carrying for his master. It must have food inside.”

“Oh. Yes. That makes sense, I guess.”

“Hon? Are you feeling alright? You look like you’ve seen a hydra in your bed.”

“I’m perfectly alright,” she lied. “I only wonder where the bearded lad’s gone.”

“Fine thing to wonder, that.” Lickety Split flattened her ears and looked around the yard. “He’s the one that owns the beast causing all this hound harassment.”

As if the mayor had summoned him with an incantation, the young stallion approached the house, jingling and tinkling with his bells and little bag of tricks. He did not seem to notice the stink eye from the mayor, nor Honey’s unease, nor his ape’s distress. His eyes were bright and his canter merry, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary at all. The unicorn put down his bag, taking out his ink and scrolls. Then he removed a quill from behind his ear, smiled at his ape sitting in the maple and said, “There, I told you I wouldn’t be long.”

The ape made a little huff at him.

“I’ll grant it took a wee bit longer than I expected, but there was a line and the clerk had to look in the backroom to find inks that did not smudge. I cannot write with inks that smudge.”

The ape gripped the tree trunk and made a low hooting sound.

“Well… no, not exactly.” When the ape made another hoot and gestured with his stick, the unicorn continued, “Don’t be silly, they’ll do nothing of the sort. Look how the hounds wag their tails, it means they like you.”

The ape grunted.

“I’m not, either!” The unicorn pointed a blue hoof at Flo. “These are tame, you are thinking of feral dogs. There is a difference.” He twitched an ear as the ape made a low grunt. “Of course I will, what sort of pony do you take me for?”

The mayor raised an eyebrow. “Hon, do you suppose the bearded lad’s touched in the head?”

Honey Glaze pressed closer to Lickety Split. As the unicorn spoke to his ape, the uncomfortable buzz in her legs wormed into her ribcage. Her common sense circled the wagons with an arsenal of rationalizations for what they were seeing. “There’s nothing odd about talking to pets. Perhaps his gift is in animal communication.”

“I never heard a pony talk to his pet as if the pet talked back. And if his gift was in animal work, why is his mark of stars? I still say he’s touched. I don’t honestly care either way, I just want these dogs off my lawn.” Splits raised her head and brought up her administrative voice, the one reserved for courthouses and elections. “Here, lad! Your animal’s disrupting the peace, not to mention my yard.”

“I saw!” The unicorn’s pink beard stretched to meet his ears as he beamed at them. “Is it not fascinating? There were but two dogs when I left to fetch more ink half an hour ago, now that number’s quadrupled. Oh—my mistake, there are four more on the other side! Sun and stars, has anypony ever seen a thing so strange?”

Honey Glaze meant to demand the stargazer take these matters seriously and harshly chastise his irresponsibility with his creatures, not to mention leaving the gate open. Instead, the anxiety in her chest shrank her voice as she asked, “Why they are doing this? Are you the one who’s done this?”

Please say that you are. Give me a rational answer. Say you’ve enchanted our town from malice or incompetence. Tell me I am imagining things. Tell me anything but—

“I have absolutely no idea, but I can tell you it’s nothing I’ve done.” The stargazer looked back to the tree. The ape glowered down at him and it stole the wind from the unicorn’s sails. The way he cowed under its gaze, it was like he didn’t own the ape at all. It almost seemed the other way around. With more sobriety, the lad said, “I’d like to get him down myself, we have places to go. But whenever my sasquatch moves, the dogs go into a state and make him frightened to come down.”

Lickety Split, who’d quite enough of this nonsense and worried for Honey’s well-being, rounded on the unicorn with a voice normally reserved for ruffians loitering about the salt house. “Now, see here—”

She was interrupted by the sound of a tin whistle. A long, high note drifting over the rooftop followed by three shorter notes. Toot Sweet was announcing an arrival.

“Oh, black rot and fireblight! Now what?”

Honey Glaze, glad for the distraction, pricked her ears. The cows in the north pasture were upset. There were hoofbeats. They were too light to be ponies, but moved too quickly to be goats or sheep. “The Company is coming.”

Lickety Split sighed. “I suppose we better meet them and send them on their way.” She readjusted her custard hat, shined her pin, and walked out into the middle of the road. Honey Glaze swallowed down the distress from the stargazer’s ape, shook out the twitching in her hooves, and held her head high as she took her place a few feet behind the mayor, ready to be of assistance. Molasses morning or no molasses morning, there was still protocol to follow. Any sign of unrest might convince the Company that Conemara needed their help, and that was the last thing anypony needed.

The Hartfelt Company always arrived unscheduled, but today was the first time they arrived in near silence. Usually, they ran and danced along with dogs baying at their heels or yapping from the fences as the deer made merry. But of course, there was none of that today. If Toot Sweet hadn’t whistled, the town would have been taken completely by surprise.

Honey spared a glance back towards the tree. The dogs sensed the harts approaching and their muscles tightened and bunched under their fur. Peter’s nose twitched at the scent, poodle whined, and the greyhound fidgeted on her paws like a foal in want of an outhouse. But none of them moved from their spot.

It wasn’t long before a quartet of deer—two hinds, a stag, and a yearling just growing into his horns—leapt over the horizon and into the residential district. They elegantly bounded over trade carts smoothly weaved around lampposts, every move they made smooth, stylish, and expertly coordinated. A practical ballet of cervines danced along the road, all song and laughter. (If Honey hadn’t seen this routine thrice before she might have been impressed.)

The Company might have carried on this way for another ten minutes, but Mayor Lickety Split VI was not in the mood for antlered antics. The soft rolls of her face hardened into a business mare’s firm but friendly gaze. Her approach, bedecked in hard smiles and gleaming mayoral pins, stopped the company in mid-frolic. The yearling was only a few inches taller than most ponies, but the pair of does and the muscled stag towered two feet over the mayor. The round little pony in the custard hat held them with her eyes as surely as the stargazer’s ape held the dogs.

The mayor snorted and dug her back hooves into the dirt. “Look here. There’s no reason for the lot of you to come storming in here with all your fuss and folderol. We earth ponies work for a living and not all of us work in the daytime and I will not have the night shift in my town set askew because you can’t come into town like decent folk.”

The stag stepped to the forefront and stretched his muscled neck down to meet Lickety Split at eye level. “Oh, the fair mayor mare is all a-nettled! It seems something has upset the happy fettle here in Conemara town.”

“Save the poetry for your head hart and hinds, Dogwood. I am in no mood.” Splits looked over the hinds flanking the stag and the yearling peeking out behind them. “I see the Knave hasn’t come today.”

“The wildwood needed his attention,” said the yearling.

“We’ve partly come to mention is there have been attercop about,” said a hind. “But if you like, we could fetch him?”

“That shan’t be necessary, Larch,” said Honey Glaze. “However you can tell him to properly organize when his Company comes to call. It really is too early in the day for this.”

Dogwood lifted his head to show off his sixteen-point antlers in the sunlight. “No such thing, miss. For fair harts, every hour of every day sings us to fly upon the air and make lark with Aspen and Larch.”

Larch piped up, “But if our antics here antagonize these emerald fields where fair Conemara lies and cause sweet Honey there to criticize, then on The Knave’s behalf, we four do apologize.”

Honey Glaze sighed, “It really isn’t necessary for you to come into town like this. Out in your wildwood you do plenty for us, shooing off various troublesome creatures and the like.”

Dogwood scowled. “Perhaps, but what of the oppression lain heavily upon your shoulders? How else could we be sure the tyrannical Unicorn Kingdom in the south does not overtax or impose upon you?” Larch and Aspen nodded. The yearling seemed more interested in the fields of feathergrass than discussing systematic oppression of the working class.

Honey smiled her sweetest, most comforting smile. “You think too little of yourselves. Why, the Company scared off a party of haughty aristocrats just this morning, didn’t they Splits?”

“Absolutely true, Honey. Caused a grand amount of trouble with their oppressive taxes, monopolies, wearing their monocles and… such. Ah, but you can be certain that upon mere mention of the Knave of Harts their tune changed quick as a wink.”

The deer looked at each other. Dogwood preened like a cockerel. “Truly?” Larch’s chest swelled, Aspen smiled, and the yearling blinked.

Lickety Splits’ voice because syrupy sweet, “For real and for true. Without careful watch of the Knave’s Hartfelt Company, all Conemara would be crushed under the iron hoof of King Mohs.”

Honey Glaze nodded serenely. “Our kith and kin will sleep soundly tonight. Bless your hearts.”

“Ah, our harts are fully blessed already in the glen of the wildwood, miss,” said Dogwood, looking at the feathergrass basket. “Though there is better recompense for our vigilance…”

Good. The sooner the Company was paid, the sooner they could leave before they had the chance to cause any more trouble. It was a shame to lose a promising brunch but it was better to lose a grass basket than risk a rebellious deer wandering into the shopping district. Honey Glaze didn’t know what they would do upon actually meeting unicorn aristocrats, but the result would be a serious drop in business from the Kingdom at the very least. Best they take their pay and head back to—

“O-ho! What’s this skulking in the shadow of madam mayor’s residence?” The yearling pointed his stubby antlers to where the stargazing unicorn took his notes. His comrades pooled around him and soon the bearded fellow was surrounded. Not that he seemed to notice, wrapped up as he was in his scrawls and scribblings.

“Hmm. 'Tis a puzzle from young Douglas Fir.” A smooth grin trailed on Larch’s face as she circled the stargazer. “Praytell, what earth pony born sports frail frame and spiraling horn? How strange, how odd, and yet of the earth he must be, for t’was Conemara that sent thee.”

Aspen, the smaller hind, giggled, “He jingles like chimes on the wind and feathers in his mouth doth show. Mayhap of late he’s eaten crow?”

“Nay, fair hinds!” crowed the stag. “Behold the merry pink upon his face, of grass and sweets there are no trace. An earthen pony he cannot be; thus a son of a nanny goat is what we see!”

The yearling frowned. “Um. I’m pretty sure that’s a unicorn.”

The other three deer turned as one to glare at him.

The yearling trailed a cloven hoof in the dirt. “Well, he does.”

“It’s called a colorful insult, Douglass,” Larch sighed. “Good job ruining the meter, by the way.”

“Well, I didn’t know!”

“How? Almost everything we just said was iambic pentameter!” cried Aspen.

“That’s what comes of missing rehearsal. Now the whole thing’s a rot. Hope you’re proud of yourself, Douglas Fir.” Dogwood stamped with a delicate forehoof, “We finally get the chance to demonstrate the wildness of the wildwood and you trip over the metrical foot.”

“Actually,” said the unicorn, “That wasn’t even close to iambic pentameter. Those were couplets.”

Larch glared down at him. “I don’t believe anyone asked your opinion.”

“And I didn’t give one. It is not a matter of opinion, it is a fact. Those were couplets in form and rhyme pattern.” He took a step backward, more to look the doe in the face than from intimidation. “But if it helps, they were decent couplets.”

“Decent?” Larch twitched her ears unhappily. “Just decent?”

“What was the matter with them?” asked Douglas Fir.

“Well, it’s not so much that your poetry is bad, it’s just that it isn’t...very....good?” His words meekly trailed off as the harts drew in closer. He lowered his ears, eying the hard hooves and sharp tines surrounding him. “But, um. You know, it is really all but a matter of opiNION!”

With a dip of the head and a nudge from Larch and young Douglas Fir, the unicorn was scooped into the cups of Dogwood’s antlers. His legs draped over the stag’s head like bony blue streamers. “Put me down!” He flailed and kicked out until Dogwood violently jostled him still.

“I wouldn’t do that, blue-blooded critic. These tines of mine come long and sharp. And heavy.” The stag chuckled darkly. “Hate to think what’d happen if you fell off in mid-stride.”

“'Tis a long way down,” added Aspen. “And even if you don’t break your legs, do you think you can wink off before you get trampled? Then again, maybe you’re faster than you look. Would you care to find out?”

The stargazer stared at the ground far below him and tucked in his hooves. His mouth rumpled into a frown and groaned, more frustrated than afraid. He stretched his neck towards the maple in the mayor’s yard.

The bald ape, transfixed at the harts since Dogwood recited his first line, jolted and hopped to a low branch. The dozen dogs instantly whipped into a frenzy of barking and frightened the creature back into the higher branches. The ape met its master’s eye and furrowed its brow.

The deer were already making move to leave, as Aspen took up the basket of grass and Dogwood paced about the road, getting used to the added weight on his head. The commotion from so many hounds made the company a bit nervous.

“We can always meet up later.” The unicorn managed to keep a note of optimism in his voice. His ape just frowned harder.

“Nay, little critic,” said Larch. “Later doesn’t fit our schedule. Methinks you’ll be meeting the rest of the company right now. The Knave of Hearts is aching to meet you, I’m sure.” The hind reared with a laugh and leap. “To the Wildwood hills, fair harts, to the hills! Yoicks and away!”

The four followed suit and in their perfectly choreographed leaps and bounds— though imperfectly executed, for Dogwood struggled to hold his head high under the added weight—they ran down the path to where their woodland waited for them.

Honey Glaze watched the parade of cervines and the squirming unicorn in Dogwood’s antlers. She tapped a hoof and sighed to herself.

The colder, practical part of her assured that it was better to let the harts have their fun. The unicorn and the satisfaction of sedition would entertain them for quite some time and it put them back in their woodland, far away from any unicorn with actual power. She shuddered to think what could happen if the Company met the likes of Lady Sundance.

But a more sentimental part of her noted there was very little honor in abandoning a pony with a hollow horn who could hardly defend himself — let alone one of the few unicorns to actually thank a Conemaran for their hospitality.

"Shall we set out after him, Splits? Or perhaps send word to the Kingdom of what's happened to him?"

"Send to who? We've no idea where the lad's from. He never even told us his name." The mayor shrugged her soft shoulders. "Besides, the fate of a unicorn is no business of ours. It's enough we work all day feeding their fancy parties to get sneers and scoffs as thank you. We won't be their guards too. The harts are hardly worth such worry anyway. The lad will be fine, I'm sure. The Knave favors bluster over bruises."

"Yes, but they’ve never successfully hassled a unicorn before. Can we be quite sure nothing grave will happen to him?"

Lickety Split VI shrugged again. "Meh."

The mayor sent for Toot Sweet to retrieve a very upset greyhound and send word to the owners of the other dogs. None of them left easy. Many had to be dragged off and almost all of them hollered and cried and whined and wailed the whole way. In her seven years as a veterinarian Honey Glaze never heard animals make such awful sounds. The dogs were back in their yards and homes before suppertime and most of Conemara was content once more. Most, but not all.

It must have climbed down after Shortcake and the Treacles came by, when she was busy looking for signs of the corgi's ringworm. As she passed the empty maple tree, Honey stared at the ugly crisscrossing claw-marks scarring Lickety Split’s beautiful feathergrass lawn. She met Peter by the front gate, where the miserable beagle rested his head on his paws.

The bald ape crouched on the other side of the padlocked gate. He poked at the Company’s cloven hoofprints pressed into the dirt with his left paw while propping himself up with the stick held in his right. The stargazer’s ape stood up again with a spine too straight and feet too small for a sasquatch, glanced back at her with eyes that knew more than they ought. Then he slung the grey bag over his back and followed the trail down into the Knave’s wildwood.

Honey Glaze sighed and stroked the whimpering beagle behind the ears with a twitching, itching hoof. She didn’t know if it was for the dog’s comfort or hers. “You’re a good dog, Pete.” Together they watched the stargazer’s ape until he vanished from view.


The ponies of Conemara spoke of it for years to come, that peculiar week when the dogs pawed at sections of the road and at the roots of a certain maple tree as if a friend of theirs had died there. How the mayor’s beagle bayed and howled at nothing for hours and nopony could make him stop. How Sorbet’s spoiled poodle kept trying to run into the woods when he normally never left the soft security of his wicker basket.

How Honey Glaze, the most sensible soul for miles, made grooves in the street from pacing back and forth through town at ghastly hours of the night, following invisible footprints. She claimed her hooves did not know the ground there anymore and when Lickety Split demanded to know what that meant Honey Glaze had no answer for her. Months later, she could still be found staring at an empty stable, feeling ill at ease for no apparent reason, as if a ghost lived there.

On Sundays over sundaes, Conemarans would nod to each other and say, “Odd duck of a time that was” and “Aye, it’s the fruit grown from stargazing unicorns what carry weird bags of tricks. Especially ones you let in your house.” Mayor Lickety Splits’ townhouse was the core and cause of the strangeness; everypony knew it, though only the Treacle Twins actually saw the caped unicorn stay there. The lad bewitched the place, of course (whether “the place” concerned the mayor’s house, the Residential District, or Conemara as a whole was a matter of opinion) for being slighted. The Mayor and her aide claimed that the lad was pleasant enough, but unicorns almost always found ways to feel slighted in earth towns, no matter how polite you were.

Sometimes during these talks, a silly pony would theorize that perhaps it was not the bearded unicorn at all, but the bald ape that traveled with him. A few even wondered if it was an ape at all, if it was perhaps a mythological creature in disguise. These ponies received polite smiles, eye-rolls, and of-course-dears, and were then ignored as the conversation became sensible again.