2986 Steps

by Verlax

Chapter Fifteen - The Guilt

Several seconds passed, yet nopony seemed to be interested in answering the door. Dostoyevsky, his pride as a noble being already strained as it were, had no patience for this. He knocked at the door again, this time more forcefully, and started to tap his hoof impatiently on the snow.

The faint sound of a lock being undid emanated from the other side of the door and they opened a fraction, allowing the old noble to peer inside. He was met by a pair of scared blue eyes looking at him with apprehension. She was obviously an earth pony, a small one at that, and the maid uniform she wore immediately informed him that this was but a servant of the nobles living here. Dostoyevsky couldn't tell for sure, but judging by the fact she took a step back after realizing who she was looking at told him that she probably knew of his occupation.

"Salve, Miss." He greeted her with a nod. "My name is Dostoyevsky, and I am a medicus. May I step in?"

For a few seconds the maid didn't know what to do or say, too stunned to force herself to make a sound. After a moment of impersonating a fish though she managed to blur out:

"We're not accepting guests. It's written so on the note." She punctuated her hasty reply by pointing her hoof at the wooden sign.

Dostoyevsky was no fool, he could tell that she was trying to get him to leave. However, he was duty bound to proceed with his examinations and he couldn't just go back empty hooved. So, thinking quickly, he decided to use what authority he had in these parts and use the law to his advantage.

"Unfortunately Miss, the note on this door does not concern me. As a medicus in service of the Flankfurt Council I have the right to enter any household and conduct my examinations if I so wish. It's written so in the City Codex, chapter 3, paragraph 29." Dostoyevsky stated calmly, taking a step towards the entrance. "Of course, Miss, you could try to teneo me here, but unfortunately, that would force me to call for some ruffian watchponies to allow me entrance. I am quite sure when I say that both of us would rather not create more chaos than this is worth."

Of course, this was a bluff, and an obvious one in Dostoyevsky's eyes. He didn't know if the third chapter of the City Codex had anything about medics being allowed into homes in case of an epidemic, nor if it even was covered in it at all. He was far too old to concern his mind with such trivial matters. As a noble though he was used to pretending to know the law, and posing himself as a bigger authority than he really was came naturally. True, it wasn't exactly the most honorable thing to do, but then again, there is a big difference between telling a "lie" and "misinforming" somepony.

At least, that's how Dostoyevsky saw it.

"Well…" He rose his eyebrow in challenge. A frown appeared on the maid's face, mixing with her panic.

"If that's the case than I don't think I can prevent you from coming in, sir. If I refuse, you'll call the guard on me, won't you?"

"Confirmitavum." The noble nodded solemnly. The mare sighed and opened the door wider.

"Please, come in." She took a few steps back, allowing Dostoyevsky to enter the household. "Unfortunately, you came just as dinner has been served, and the family will not be able to see you right away, sir. It would be a show of courtesy to allow them to finish, would it not?"

Dostoyevsky nodded again, entering the mansion. He couldn't tell exactly what kind of pony lived here from the outside, aside from a rich one, but now he could see it clearly. The head of house had to be either an influential noble, or an extremely successful merchant. Nopony could keep a place so big and so well decorated and still be able to afford to keep servants. Yes, the master of this house was rich, and with the way he was flaunting his wealth by expensive works of art scattered across the halls he was proud of it.

While walking down the corridor Dostoyevsky could hear the sound of conversation coming from behind a nearby door. He had half the mind to change course right there and head inside, but the maid noticed his intention and quickly stopped him.

"I'll go inform Master Quicksilver of your arrival, sir. He's not dining with his family, so he should be able to see you in a few moments."

"The head of house is not attending dinner?" Dostoyevsky tried to wrap his mind around this concept, having difficulties with imagining something like that.

"No." Was all he got in terms of response.

The maid gestured for him to follow her, and Dostoyevsky did just that. She led him to a set of stairs and started to climb them, the old noble following her slowly. His mind however was somewhere completely different.

The strange absence of Quicksilver at what Dostoyevsky assumed was a family dinner was troubling. Where he came from, the attendance of the head of house was customary at any family meal, especially one as important as dinner. From what he gathered throughout his stay in this land, a similar rule applied here. Yet Quicksilver wasn't attending. Just what could have happened for something like this to happen?

Dostoyevsky shook his head, banishing those thoughts. He needn't jump to any conclusions. It would also do him good if he changed his train of thought at something more pleasant. Glancing at the maid in front of him, he came up with a perfect distraction for his mind.

"My apologies, Miss, but due to the dirum situation I failed to ask you for your nominis. May I have the honor of knowing it?" He tried to strike up a conversation. This made the mare stop mid stride and look at him flatly.

"My name's Feather Duster, sir, and I am not in the mood to talk." She stated, turning around and continuing her way up the stairs.

"Is there some ratio for this?" The pegasus tried to coax some information out of her. Feather Duster once again stopped on the stairs, this time hanging her head down as if in sorrow.

"Its… Since she's gone… The atmosphere in the house is really heavy, and… never mind." She stopped mid sentence and straightened up, continuing on her way. "Please, follow me sir. It's not much further."

Dostoyevsky silently fumed, having been denied what could've been vital information, but also understood this decision. Feather Duster was obviously forbidden from speaking about what was going on in the household, especially with a foreigner like him. What he did manage to get however wasn't that revealing. All he managed to catch was that somepony was missing from the mansion, maybe a family member, and that it somehow affected the household. Not much to go out on.

There was also something else. This place, this mansion, it had a specific feeling about it. Dostoyevsky couldn't quite place it, but he knew he felt it somewhere else. He felt… like back home, or to be more specific, in his brother's home. Of course, this mansion was far more spacious than his twin's home back in Solitude, and it was decorated far more richly, but there still was an… emptiness to it. Like if something or somepony was missing, a really important somepony. Somepony very, very young…

Dostoyevsky was brought out of his musings by Feather Duster. The maid, having reached the second floor and leading him down the corridor led him to a set of oaken doors which she promptly opened.

"This is Master Quicksilver's study, sir." She turned to the noble and invited him inside. "Please, take a seat. The Master will soon be here to greet you personally."

"Thank you." Dostoyevsky nodded, and the moment the maid closed the door behind him plopped to the floor out of breath. Damned old age, he was getting tired way too fast. If he had to walk a flight of stairs more he would probably cough his lungs out.

Having calmed his breath somewhat, Dostoyevsky glanced around the study. He had to admit, it was definitely a place to behold. Works of art were scattered around the room, a small bookcase stood under one wall, and a set of expansive-looking mahogany furniture stood in the middle. He also noticed a fireplace, though it was unlit at the moment, and an oil lamp standing on the desk, a small, flickering flame barely illuminating the otherwise dark room. His old eyes also noticed a saber hanging on one of the walls, as if a memento of times of its owner's former glory. He idly wondered if it was time for him to do so as well.

Having scrutinized the study thoroughly Dostoyevsky made himself comfortable on one of the chairs and waited. He always considered himself a patient pony, at least when it came to waiting for others, and had a large tolerance for their tardiness. Knowing quite a few methods of passing the time, he could wait and wait. Even so, when he ran through most of the bar songs in his head, knew that the room was composed of exactly one hundred and thirty eight planks, and having completed his prayers for the next whole week and there still was no sign of Quicksilver anywhere, he was starting to get restless.

The old noble stood from his place and started circling the room, walking around the desk and letting his eyes fall on anything that sparked his interest. One item in particular caught his attention . Standing on the windowsill and basking in the light of the setting sun was a small picture frame. Having been bored out of his mind, Dostoyevsky reached for it and examined the picture.

The picture was obviously of Flankfurt, and judging by the lack of snow it had been taken sometime during the summer. The main focus of it however was on two ponies. One of them was a unicorn stallion wearing the cadet uniform of the Equestrian military. He was obviously young, maybe just past adulthood, and he was wearing a proud grin on his face. Due to the photo being black and white Dostoyevsky couldn't guess what color was the lad's coat.

The other pony on the picture, a small filly sitting on the back of the cadet seemed familiar to the noble. He looked at her closely, at how she was hugging the neck of who he assumed was her older brother, smiling a pleasant, infectious smile, and couldn't help but think that he saw her somewhere…

"Primrose?" He whispered silently, sudden realization hitting him.

"I have adorable children, don't I?" A weak, wheezing voice from behind him startled Dostoyevsky. He quickly put the picture back on the windowsill and turned to face the newcomer.

"Salve, sir… ekhm… with all due respect, you are not in good condition, are you?" Dostoyevsky asked, worry creeping into his voice.

It was true, the earth pony before him definitely didn't look to be in the best of shapes. His eyes were completely bloodshot, his normally silver mane matted and in disarray. Large bags formed under his eyes, and he looked like he just got out of bed after a night of restless sleep. Actually, Dostoyevsky realized that that well may have been the case, making him feel bad for getting annoyed at his tardiness. He started to regret for coming here in the first place; Dostoyevsky did not want to talk with Quicksilver when he looked like he was about to collapse any second.

"I'm… fine." The host said after a moment, his voice hoarse as if it wasn't used in a long time. "I just have problems with sleep is all. It's good to meet you."

To Dostoyevsky it was painfully obvious that Quicksilver was lying, but he decided to just play along. Quicksilver meanwhile slowly trotted to one of the chairs, his tired limbs almost giving out under his weight, but he managed to reach one and sit down without falling.

"Of course, sir. Forgive me for interrupting your somnus." Dostoyevsky said diplomatically, pretending not to notice anything wrong with this whole situation.

"It's nothing really. So, let me guess, you came here to conduct another test on my family?" Quicksilver asked bluntly, a bit of bitterness slipping into his voice. "Of course it's that, there would be no other reason for you to even be here." He added after a moment, sending a tired glare at the pegasus. "Am I right?"

Dostoyevsky hated this part. He always tried to be diplomatic about this, after all he was trying to help both the sick as well as the healthy, and these tests served that very reason. He also tried to tell them that there was nothing to fear from this examination, that they were working on a cure and that there was a big possibility that now, with the discovery of the bacteria responsible for this bane of pony kind they were on the brink of finally creating a working one. All that was meant to bring the spirits of the potential ill up. But now, with this one simple, bitter question Quicksilver forced him to cut straight to the chase, at the same time making this all the more difficult.

"Unfortunately, yes." He nodded.

"Of course, another test… you do nothing but testing, do you?" Quicksilver continued, slowly getting agitated.

The old noble had no idea how to answer that.

"You see… after you took my darling baby girl… after you came here and took away her life from her… I realized something." Quicksilver started to ramble, his voice gaining strength as he went. "I realized that this isn't fair, that all this just isn't fair. I realized that there is no fairness in life. I didn't do anything wrong in my life, I was a benevolent noble, a philanthropist. I even gave some of my money when Hansen asked to build that thrice damned death house you call a leprosarium. And that's the funny part: I helped start all, I helped create what will be the tomb of my precious little Primrose…"

"Sir, I…" Dostoyevsky tried to interject, but Quicksilver cut him off immediately.

"Fate is a curious thing, doctor. Sometimes tyrants get to live to old age, and sometimes the innocent die young, be it in a blaze of glory or a silent whimper of the diseased. Diseases… plagues, pandemic… tragedies happen, and you are powerless to prevent them. You can no more change the spread of a virus than an ant can change where you're about to place your hoof. Some call it 'bad luck', others claim this is the 'punishment of the gods', they all are subject to the same fate. But do you know what this… this tragedy did to me? It made me see, doctor. And what I saw… it's not a pleasant site."

Quicksilver fell silent for a moment, letting those words sink in as he brought his hooves to his eyes. Then, after a moment of silence, with his face still covered by his limbs he continued, his voice weak and broken, punctuated by silent sobs.

"I saw what have become of me. I saw myself, unbiased, for the first time in my life. And I felt disgusted with me. I saw a hollow pony, a noble that cared only for money and fame, and naught for what happened to others. My philanthropy –an empty, meaningless shell, serving only to further my goals. I did not care for what was going to happen to others, I could care less if they lived or die. For all I cared they could all rot in their homes. And when the same disease that plagued the streets touched my own flesh and blood? I… I was scared, I was terrified. I saw a pony that in fear decided to throw out his most precious gem like one throws out a limping dog, out on the snow, to fend for herself. To die in the snow. What have I done… What have I done…" By this point the noble broke out in tears, sobs racking his whole body as he didn't even pretend to have control over himself. It didn't matter to him that he did it in front of a stranger, he was too far gone by now, and it left Dostoyevsky speechless.

A few moments passed and Quicksilver managed to reign his tears in, calming down somewhat. He looked even more miserable than before, dampness staining his cheeks, but he cared little for it as he tried to bring back his earlier, direct demeanor.

"Let's get this over with. You want everypony present in the household to come for an examination, correct?"

Dostoyevsky couldn't force himself to speak, so he simply nodded. Quicksilver stood up, his legs still shaky, but he seemed to regain at least a bit of strength as he didn't stumble as much.

"I'll inform my family and the staff of this arrangement." He was about to walk out the door, when he stopped and looked at the elder pegasus and furrowed his brow. "Before I go, can you tell me what's the current date? I haven't left my bed in… some time now."

"It's… em… 20 Decembris." He replied with slight confusion.

Quicksilver seemed to freeze at that.

"Did you say… December 20?"

With a burst of speed that moments ago seemed impossible for him Quicksilver dashed towards his desk and pulled open a drawer, searching for something. After a second he pulled out a small calendar and started to leaf through it until it's pages were on the current date. Then, Quicksilver froze again.

"Doctor." Quicksilver started, looking at Dostoyevsky seriously. "Can I ask you to leave my house this very instant? For your own safety?"

The pegasus blinked in confusion, growing worried. "Why? Is something the matter?"

There was a loud knock coming from the bottom floor. Despite the distance, Dostoyevsky could hear it without problem, the rapping at the door strong and aggressive. He also could hear the maid from before answer it seconds later.

"My son is coming back from Stalliongrad Military Academy for the holidays. And I very much doubt he'll be happy to see you here." Quicksilver explained with a defeated sigh. "He has an… explosive temperament."

Author's Note:

Seven months.

This was a lot of time. I'm sorry you had to wait so long for this Chapter. I only hope this will satisfy you greatly. I want to thank you for the patience and for the fact, that you are still reading this story. It's wonderful experience guys. I will try to not dissapoint you again.

Stay Awesome

- Verlax