Patchwork

by ObabScribbler

3. Filly Missing

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3. Filly Missing

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‘VOTE FOXGLOVE FOR MAYOR!’ blared the placard.

Twilight stared at it and tilted her head to one side. Even sideways on, the image of an orange pony kissing a foal looked cheesy. Maybe it was because Canterlot didn’t have a mayor and so she had never encountered a mayoral race before, but the campaigns in Ponyville were getting underway and she was intrigued by the whole process.

On her back, Spike stuck out his tongue. “Another one?”

“Now Spike, everypony is entitled to their own opinion.”

“Yeah, but … seriously? That’s like the tenth sign we’ve seen. Do all ponies have to put one of those in their yard?” He glanced down the street, where several houses had peppered themselves with placards, posters and banners. Some praised the current Mayor, while others proclaimed her opponent the better candidate. “Do we?”

“I think it’s a personal choice.”

“Can we choose to ignore the whole thing and go get lunch?” He leaned forward so she could better see his pleading expression.

Twilight laughed and trotted on, leaving behind town politics in favour of a full tummy. After several days of hard study, she and Spike deserved a treat. Owlowiscious had opted for a good day’s rest after a meal caught for himself in the early hours of the morning. Given what he preferred to eat, she figured he wouldn’t mind them going without him.

The café was packed. She and Spike squeezed onto a table in the corner when another pair of ponies left. There was the traditional exchange of gems versus pastries before they told the waiter what they wanted. He struggled back to the kitchen with his order pad and they settled in for what would probably be a long wait, given the number of ponies to be served before them.

Spike yawned, covering his mouth a little too late. A tiny burp escaped his throat. “Whoops. ‘Scuse me.”

“You’re excused.” Twilight pulled her notebook, quill and transportable-ink from her satchel with her magic and flipped to the last page she had written on. Removing the extra-tight lid from the ink, she began to scribble what looked like algebra. Spike watched her and couldn’t help groaning.

“More work? Seriously?”

“I had an idea,” she said by way of explanation and apology. “If I didn’t write it down, I might have forgotten it.”

He sighed. “What idea?”

Her eyes brightened. She loved talking shop and Spike was one of the few creatures in Ponyville who could understand her when she got going on her favourite subjects. Sometimes even he had a hard time keeping up when her brain really took hold of an idea, but at least she didn’t have to simplify herself too much, or keep explaining the basics the way she often had to with her friends. She frequently worried she was boring them when she waxed lyrical about magical theory, so she didn’t do it very often. It would have been like the time Rarity tried to explain the intricacies of advanced needlework, or when Applejack tried to show her some of the more technical aspects of working on a farm. Twilight understood up a point, but beyond that it was all nodding, smiling and hoping she didn’t get quizzed at the end. She didn’t want to offend her friends by admitting she couldn’t maintain the same loving interest they could in their activities and was acutely aware she might be causing the same reaction in them when it came to magic.

“Well,” she said, rotating the notebook to show Spike the hastily drawn diagram. “It’s about leylines and their possible application as diametric pathways if we can overcome the problem of fluctuating magical fields on either end of the line – the exploding apple test being a primes example of how NOT to do it.”

“Um …”

“Come on, Spike, I explained this to you just yesterday.”

“Was this when I was reshelving the almanacs or writing a list of all the overdue library books you need to collect?”

“Neither; it was when you were making dinner.”

“Oh. Then, um, I probably wasn’t concentrating very well. I was using some pretty sharp knives, after all.”

Twilight leaned forward to explain once again. “Ponies trying to transport things down the lines usually test their theories with an apple, but it explodes when it gets to the other end, so they can’t even think about sending a pony until they can get an apple safely through them first. They’ve always used well-known entry points to the lines and I’m wondering whether this is the problem. It’s like water rushing out of the mouth of a river – great for when you need to use it to generate some raw power, like a water wheel, but too powerful to harness properly for delicate things. My experiments are partly to see whether breaking into the lines at a midpoint would make travelling along them possible without becoming, well, applesauce at the other end.”

“Did somepony say applesauce?”

As if on cue, a familiar face nosed through the crowd to their table.

“Applejack, hi!” Twilight self-consciously shut the notebook and replaced both it and her writing equipment in her satchel. She nodded at the third unused chair beside them. “Take a seat.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Applejack let out a whoosh of air as she all but collapsed into it. She lifted off her hat and wafted her face with it, revealing a mass of sweaty blonde tangles that would have given Rarity apoplexy. “I’m pooped.”

“Busy day?”

“You might say that. We got a grickle infestation in the hayloft. I spent the whole day gatherin’ up the brutes an’ takin’ ‘em off someplace else to let go. Can’t have those critters makin’ Sweet Apple Acres their nestin’ spot or we’d never be rid of ‘em.”

“Uh, what are grickles?” Twilight felt her face flush at her own ignorance.

Applejack hovered her hoof a few inches off the tabletop. “Lizard-birds about yea tall. Meaner than rattle-snakes and twice as territorial. Fast, too. You gotta wear special protective gear if you're gonna round ‘em up, an’ in this here heat that ain’t no joke. Darn stuff must weight a hundred pounds an’ I still got scratched. Now I’m sore an’ drier than a cactus in the desert.”

“Actually,” Twilight couldn’t help correcting, “cacti are full of water. If you were in the desert, puncturing a cactus would be the best way to keep hydrated.”

Instead of being annoyed, Applejack smiled. “Gosh darn it, if you don’t know everythin’. I’ll remember that next time I go visit Braeburn. Say, you wouldn’t mind if I swipe some of your drink when it arrives, would you? You did order a drink, right?”

Twilight nodded. “By all means, help yourself.”

“I’m mighty grateful, sugarcube. Whoo-wee, this heat is sumthin’ else, don’t you think?”

“It certainly is hot.”

“I joked to Big Macintosh that we should try fryin’ eggs on the metal of the plough, right before those grickles took our attention. Not that you’d know it’s so hot from the way Apple Bloom keeps runnin’ around. She makes me tired just watchin’ her. Always getting’ into some scrape or other.” She shook her head.

“Weren’t you like that when you were her age?” Spike asked, pulling one of the sugar sachets from the bowl in the centre of the table and tearing it open. He emptied the brown granules into the centre of his palm. Then he licked a claw on his other hand, dabbed the sugar and slurped off whatever stuck.

“Spike!” Twilight cried. “That’s revolting!”

Applejack, however, laughed at the question. “Are you kiddin’? I was worse. I had Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie as friends, remember? Apple Bloom, Scootaloo an’ Sweetie-Belle have got a long way to go before they match even half of our escapades.”

Twilight’s ears twitched. Her friends rarely talked about their foalhood, excepting times they had learned lessons they wished to pass on, or were talking about how they got their cutie marks. “What kind of escapades? And Spike, quit that; it’s unhygienic.”

“But I’m hungry!” Spike said plaintively, voice bordering on a whine.

“You’ll make your fangs rot and drop out if you eat too much sugar,” she warned. “You know I always have to remind you about brushing them before bed.”

He folded his arms and slumped back in his seat. “Spoilsport.”

“I just bought you two whole pastries! Grande sized!”

“Well … yeah,” he conceded. “Thanks, but still, they’re not here and my belly is.” It rumbled loudly. “See?”

“Sounds to me like someone else has been workin’ hard today.” Applejack glanced between the two of them. “Is this why I haven’t seen y’all since Thursday?”

“Twilight’s been working on a research paper,” said Spike.

“Oh?” Applejack looked at her expectantly.

Twilight drew small circles on the table with the tip of her hoof. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just some stuff. Magical stuff. Boring stuff. Y’know how it is.”

“How do you know I’d find it borin’? What sorta magical stuff?”

“Leylines,” Spike replied.

“Say what?”

“Mystical channels of magical power.”

Applejack blinked at him and then looked at Twilight. “Nope, grickles must’ve run off with my brain. I’m gonna need more than that, I’m afraid.”

“They’re lines of natural energy that run across the land,” Twilight said diffidently. “Usually they connect powerful magically-charged places to other similarly empowered places, but there are offshoots and subsidiary lines too. It’s like a big invisible river system of wild magic, with streams and brooks and stuff like that too. Nopony is quite sure how many there are or where they all are, so I was trying to pull together all the evidence on record in the library into one single document so we know where the information gaps are that need to be filled.”

“Sounds like a mighty tough task.”

“It is,” Spike agreed. “It’s been her pet project all month. She’s even been doing experiments.”

“Experiments?” Applejack echoed.

“Just a few little ones,” Twilight demurred. “I haven’t tried transporting anything yet. I just … tried to access the lines and make the energy a bit more visible, like when the dentist makes you chew those tablets to make all the plaque on your teeth turn purple so they can prove you’ve not been brushing properly.”

Applejack pulled a face. “Dentists do that kinda thing?”

“In Canterlot they did.”

“Sounds a mite cruel to me.”

Their conversation was precluded by the arrival of the waiter with their order. His unicorn horn glowed with the effort of transporting two plates piled high with food, plus two tall brimming glasses. He was less than pleased when Twilight asked for a third drink and pastry.

“Here you go,” she said, pushing the two plates towards Spike and Applejack. “You’ve earned it.”

“Thanks, Twilight!” Spike tucked in. “You’re the best!” he added through a spray of crumbs.

Applejack frowned slightly. “That’s real kind of you, sugarcube, but I can’t eat what was meant to be yours.”

“It’s fine. You deserve it after a day like you described.” Twilight pushed her own two strudels even further towards her friend, so she could inhale the sweet scent and be tempted. “You can take the second back for Big Macintosh.”

“I guess he’d like that,” Applejack admitted reluctantly. “It was his idea I come into town to cool off; said I looked fit to burst after stressin’ so much. I tried to make him come with me, but he said he’d rather stay put an’ keep watch for any grickles who tried to come back.” She let out a long breath. “He works too hard.”

“So says the pony who once bucked herself into medical exhaustion,” Twilight pointed out.

“Point taken.” Applejack smiled. “Thanks, Twilight. Hey, are these apple strudels?”

“Yes.”

“Ha! Betcha I bucked the ones this here fine eatin’ is made from.” She lifted the pastry and opened her mouth to take a big bite.

She never got the chance, however. At that moment, a ripple went through the crowd in the café. Almost as one, everypony turned towards the door and the susurrus of murmuring rose to worried chatter. A few took steps towards the exit, but most stayed put. Bobbing heads and concerned expressions made both Twilight and Applejack pay attention.

“What’s going on?” The changed atmosphere made the base of Twilight’s mane prickle with unease. It was nothing big, but it was enough to make her get to her feet and ask the nearest pony.

“I’m not sure,” the stallion replied. “Something about a missing filly?”

Twilight frowned. “Who?”

“I’m not sure. Apparently it’s all going down outside.”

Applejack appeared at Twilight’s shoulder. “Reckon we oughta get involved?”

“If somepony’s gone missing, everypony should get involved,” Twilight replied.

“Thought you might say that. C’mon.” Applejack nosed her way through, apologising but not stopping or slowing her pace as she came up against unmoving ponies who were content to stand and gossip rather than do anything constructive.

“Spike?” Twilight swivelled her head back to their table, where Spike was morosely staring at his second pastry. It was a pain-au-chocolat nearly as big as his head, leaking warm chocolate sauce from its sides. “Are you coming?”

He sighed and abandoned it to clamber onto her back. “Sure.”

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The street wasn’t quite bedlam, but it was getting there. In the middle of the chaos two white ponies cantered to and fro, stopping random passers-by with increasing desperation. The stallion kept planting both front hooves down with such force it was a wonder he hadn’t cracked the cobblestones, while the mare swished her cyan tail and pawed the ground in nervous agitation.

“Have you seen Twinkle?” she asked one pony.

“Our daughter, a filly about this big,” he added, holding a hoof not very far off the ground to indicate height.

“A white coat like ours –”

“– Yellow mane and tail –”

“– Blue eyes –”

“Have you seen her?”

The pony they had stopped shook her head, eyes darting between their faces with a mixture of pity and alarm. They were an intimidating pair. “No. I’m sorry, I haven’t?”

Without a word the white ponies ran to another pony, and then another, and then another, each time asking the same questions.

“Have you seen Twinkle?”

“Have you seen her?”

“Have you seen our baby?”

Applejack pushed through the crowd with a small huff of exertion. She took in the scene and advanced without hesitation, Twilight and Spike only a few seconds behind her. The ponies gathered at the café door murmured behind them, but no-one else followed their lead.

“Hold on there, sir.” Applejack stepped into the stallion’s path. “Did I hear you say your daughter’s missin’?”

He barely glanced at her, but nodded frantically, yellow mane bouncing with the agitated movement. His gaze locked over her shoulder on the crowd. It was clear he wanted to go and question them too, but Applejack moved her head into his line of sight so he was forced to meet her eyes. She used a polite but firm tone, claiming more of his attention.

“Yes,” he replied.

“A filly by the name of Twinkle?” Applejack pressed.

“Yes.” More frantic nodding.

“Where did you see her last?” She was operating on the assumption that their daughter had come with them on a shopping trip and wandered away. It wouldn’t have been the first time a little one scared their parents half to death that way. When Apple Bloom was just a foal Big Macintosh had taken both his sisters to Ponyville’s annual Summer Fair. He had treated them to a stick of candyfloss each, but Apple Bloom had moseyed behind the candyfloss stand in search of more and left Applejack and Big Macintosh apoplectic with terror until the vendor plunked a fluffy pink giggling bundle on the counter and asked them if it was theirs. This situation was probably something similar, Applejack reasoned, already thinking about which stores were closest and which ponies ran them.

The stallion’s reply, however, knocked that idea right out of her head.

“She went out looking for our dog last night and never came back.”

The mare came to stand beside him. “Sadie ran off while they were out yesterday. When we woke up this morning the back door was open. Twinkle must have gone after her. We went looking, of course, but we couldn’t find any sign of either of them.”

Applejack’s heart sank. This was more serious than she had thought. “Whereabouts did y’all look?”

“We live right on the edge of town.” The stallion gestured behind him. “She could have left town completely or come this way.”

“We already checked around our house,” the mare added. “But we couldn’t find them, so we came here instead.”

Privately Applejack thought grabbing random ponies off the street wasn’t the best way to find a missing filly, but they were obviously almost hysterical with worry. That kind of emotion made ponies irrational. She nodded, hoping she looked confident and trustworthy.

“All righty then; we’ll help y’all look for her.”

Twilight edged forward, nodding her agreement. “Um, excuse me, but what are your names?” She had that apologetic tone she sometimes fell into when she thought she was overstepping some bounds to which only she knew the limits. It amazed Applejack that a pony as intelligent and powerful as Twilight could act so shy and unsure of herself.

The stallion focussed on Twilight as if seeing her for the first time. Maybe he was. When Applejack was searching for Apple Bloom she hadn’t seen much except the empty space where her little sister should have been. “Uh, Metronome,” he replied. “And this is my wife, Glimmer. Are you … you’re Twilight Sparkle, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yes, I am.” Twilight sounded even more apologetic.

“You can use all sorts of magic, right?” His blue eyes glittered like sunlight on seawater, if seawater could look manic. “You can use your magic to look for Twinkle!”

“Uh …” Twilight hesitated. “It’s … not that simple, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?” the mare, now identified as Glimmer, demanded. She took a step towards Twilight, leaning her neck forward almost as if she was about to charge her. “What good is your magic if you can’t use it for something useful?”

Twilight’s ears flicked back and her shoulders hunched. She took a step away.

Applejack decided to intervene before her friend could be cowed anyone. “Ma’am, you have my solemn oath we’ll do everythin’ we can to try to find your daughter.”

Glimmer’s gaze shifted to her. Applejack had never seen such pale eyes before. The irises looked like someone had washed the colour right out of them, leaving only a vestige of pink that almost disappeared depending on how she held her head. The effect was unnerving when coupled with her white mane, white coat and wide-eyed, unshakeable stare.

“Everything?”

Applejack nodded. “Everythin’. Y’all have my word.”

Glimmer narrowed her strange eyes, as if she didn’t quite believe her. It took Applejack several seconds to realise the other pony was watching her mouth as she spoke and narrowing her eyes to concentrate. She broke her gaze only when her husband nosed her side.

“Honey?”

“Okay,” she agreed. “But I want to keep looking too. We have to find her! She’s probably frightened and hungry and –”

“Don’t think like that. We have help now. We’ll find her; don’t you worry.”

“How can I not be worried?” Glimmer started to cry. “She’s barely old enough to have her cutie mark! How can I not worry that I don’t know where she is or what’s happened to her?”

Applejack wasn’t good with crying. She glanced at Twilight, before loosing a breath and going for her tried and true method of dealing with crises: calm determination. “Ma’am, don’t you worry. We’ll find her. Won’t we, Twilight?”

“Yes.” Twilight clearly sensed this was not the time to let brutal truthfulness intrude on reassurances. The truth was that they couldn’t guarantee they would find the missing filly; but that wouldn’t be helpful right now. “If you’ll just talk us through what you did and where you went when you discovered her note …”