Alfred Wight in Equestria

by rem-dog

Chapter Three: The Visit --Part One

Alfred Wight in Equestria
Chapter 3: The Visit—Part 1

Saturday morning before sunrise was as cold as any February day. It chilled both Donald and me to the bone, with the high wind blowing down into the valley from the dales. The walk from the car park to 23 Kirkgate was both chilling and nerve-wracking, as neither of us knew what was going to happen in the next few minutes, let alone the next few hours.

If Donald showed any sign of trepidation, however, I did not see it. He was brusque and hardy as usual. We both wore our best suits, Donald wearing thick grey tweed, looking very much a gentleman country doctor, and I in second-hand brown tweed, given to me some years ago by Mrs. Marjory Warner, owner of a certain Pekinese that I took care of for many years after my advent in Thirsk. This morning I was ever thankful of the thick wool that wrapped around my mid-section, keeping my core warm.

“Do you think it wise, Alf,” asked Donald, “to take our Wellingtons and Macks with us? It might not do to be unprepared.”

“Yes, I do think that would be good. I think we should take some Penicillin, as well as some Benzyl-Penicillins, too. And maybe any horse tools that we can fit in a bag. It might do some good to show these ponies what we’re made of, and what we have to offer.”

Donald clapped me on the shoulder. “Quite right, quite right. Best to have the goods and not need it, than to be wanting.” He then went to the dispensary and grabbed all the antibiotics, pessaries, and horse tools that he could find, sweeping them up into a leather bag. He then stopped for a moment, pondering the bag.

“Alf, do we have any canvas bags? It wouldn’t do well to go to a new world inhabited by sapient equines and offend their sensibilities by toting our instruments in a bag that could have been made out of their great-aunt, now would it?”

“I… see your point, Donald. Let me go have a look round the place and see if I can find something.”

I searched, high and low, from the old top-floor bedsitter Joan and I used at the start of our marriage, all the way down to the basement, under the auspices of the long unused coal chute. It was there that I found my most promising candidate for use. I pulled it out of the years of dust it was hiding under, gave it a good shake, and found a carpetbag, an old moth-eaten thing that did not have the best of odors, at the time.

I returned to the dispensary with my findings, Donald waving me off like an air traffic controller. “Air that thing out, will you, Alf? That bag must have been a promotional item during the building of this house. But if it’s all we have, I guess it will have to do.”

I took it out the French window to the garden and waved it around a bit. Of course, all the dust on the bag blew straight into my face. I was coughing up the dust from the basement, as well as waving the offending item around like a whirling dervish when I saw a flash of light, and there appeared Her Royal Highness. She was about to greet me when she stopped, cocked her head to one side, and raised an eyebrow. I could also see her mouth forming something like the cross between a pout, and a half-sided smile. I immediately stopped my thrashing about, faced our esteemed guest and bowed.

Apparently that was enough for the princess. She promptly snorted through her nose and lips, checked herself, and then fell victim to one of the greatest paroxysms of laughter I had ever seen. She did not hold back. Not since the various disasters I had had when I was courting Joan, did I ever see anyone surrender themselves in such a way to such diversion. What else could I do, but laugh along?

She wiped her eyes with her hoof (with amazing manipulation of the foreleg), and walked up to me. When she calmed down a bit more from her laugh, she brought a wing around me, in a very comforting manner.

“I do apologize, Mr. Wight, but that was probably one of the funniest things I’ve come upon in close to a century. It reminded me of the old chemistry laboratory at my school. It’s too bad they were a bit rambunctious one day, and we had to condemn and raze the old place, it was a truly magnificent structure. Now, why in Equestria were you doing such a thing?”

“I am afraid that was partially my doing, Your Highness,” Donald replied, “We thought it a good idea to take some rudimentary equipment and drugs with us, in case we could help out today. However most of our transport apparatus are rather… politically insensitive, as it were? So we decided a different bag was needed to transport our tools. Unfortunately, the only piece of luggage we could find was… a piece of luggage. And a poor representation of luggage, at that. But surely we can come in from the cold, and perhaps let this old thing air out a bit more before leaving? Or are we on too tight of a schedule?”

“Not at all, Mr. Sinclair, the time table is not fixed. However, we do have much to see, and many places to go, so, the sooner the better,” the princess replied. She regarded the carpetbag with some scrutiny, then took it out of my hands with her magic. “Perhaps this will help,” she said, as an additional aura surrounded the bag, obscuring it from view momentarily. We then heard a small ‘pop’, and there the bag was, as good as new, sans odeur. The princess floated the newly repaired bag over to me, and I nodded in appreciation.

“That was most impressive, Your Highness,” I said.

“Think nothing of it, Mr. Wight,” the princess replied, “it was just a simple restorative spell. Unfortunately it cannot be used often, but in a case like this, it’s perfect.”

“Yes, well…” started Donald, “Let’s get our things into this prime example of a vintage railway rug, and get to traveling. Please give us just one moment, Princess, while my colleague and I prepare. Please, come inside.”

It was just the work of a few moments to put all our spoils into the bag, and join the Princess in the hall to start our journey. When we entered the hall, she walked up behind us, unfolded her wings to the width of the hall (our front hall, though very wide, was not wide enough for her to fully extend her wings), and then proceeded to glow. We were then wrapped in a golden haze of light that slowly obscured our view of the house, and opened up to a much larger space. As the haze cleared, we saw what appeared to be a marble floored and lavender walled Gothic style throne room.

Louis XIV would blush at such grandeur. The throne itself was built into the wall of the room, the back extending all the way up a barrel-vaulted ceiling. There was a two-tiered dais, with a long, gently sloped ramp leading up to the throne. The first tier had waterfalls, like those in a public fountain, pouring out the sides, and was surrounded by the most beautiful flowers. The seat on the second tier was obviously designed for an equine, low to the ground, and of ample size for the Princess.

The throne was flanked by the Princess’ two guards, both substantially smaller than the Princess, coming up just above the point of her shoulder. I wondered to myself if this was the standard size of the ponies in this world. Celestia was small, compared to the equines we usually dealt with; I would estimate her height at roughly nine hands at the withers. Her guard stood at maybe six and two.

“Welcome back, Princess,” the guard on the far side of the dais said, “We hope your trip was well…”

“Yes, it was, thank you, Stalwart. I trust no marauders have tried any daring and dastardly attempts at taking over while I was out?” The Princess said this with not a small amount of a smile. She hid behind her wing and whispered to us: “We haven’t had any marauders in about six hundred years.” Donald and I both grinned at this admission.

“No, Ma’am, nothing to report. But the day is still young.” The stallion known to us as Stalwart replied. Celestia smiled again.

“Stalwart, you and young Standby please continue to inform any petitioners that come today that day court is cancelled, and will resume tomorrow. I will be out working on a personal project for the duration at my school. Thank you both for your hard work.” Celestia smiled, and the guardsponies snapped to attention with a “Ma’am,” and resumed their duties.

“Now, gentlemen, let’s go to the school.”

Author's Note:

Sorry for the delay. I had hoped to post the entire initial visit in one chapter, but I just couldn't do it. I hope that posting this will get me out of my funk and actually get back to work on this.

A quick note on the measurements:

A hand is four inches, and is measured from the withers (commonly and incorrectly called shoulders, usually on this site) to the ground. For the sake of sizing, ponies are any breed under fourteen hands, two inches. Or, fourteen and two. Therefore Celestia is three feet tall at her withers, with another sixteen inches or so constituting her head. The regular ponies are about twenty six inches at the withers, with another foot or so added for their necks and heads.

At any rate, enjoy this late Christmas present from me to you.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

Comments

[punzil504]

I loved reading James Herriot's works when I was in school, and I was recently mulling over the concept of a crossover where Opalescence is Oscar from All Things Wise and Wonderful. There's a couple of stories that could come out of it, but part of the problem is that canon Opal isn't the most likable cat.

[rem-dog]

3822606
Yes, Opal isn't necessarily the paragon of cathood that Oscar was. Oscar was one in a million.

[Wannabe Scholar]

Huh. This is one HiE I never expected. I haven't read the books, but I've seen the TV series when from when I was a kid. I'm really interested to see how this goes. Keep it up!

-W.S.

[rem-dog]

3827146
Thanks. I'll do my best!

[Yourtasteinhorsesisawful]

This was one of the first stories I managed to stumble across on this page and I recently remembered it. It took me quite a while to find it but I still enjoyed rereading it a lot. Took me really back to a different time. Thank you for writing this.