> The Other Jake
>  by PhycoKrusk
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Newspapers and Letters
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Far to the north and to the east of a town in Equestria named Ponyville, there could be found a town within the High Confederation of Wings named Griffondorf. And that is largely where the similarities end.

Where Ponyville was located on plains near forests, Griffondorf was located on plains in the highland, with little in the way of forests nearby. Where Ponyville was known, if only regionally, for the quality of its apples, Griffondorf was known, if only regionally, for the quality of its wool. Where Ponyville was unimportant politically, Griffondorf was the seat of power for its duchy. And where Ponyville was populated primarily by ponies, with some other creatures mixed in and no griffons to speak of, Griffondorf was populated primarily by griffons and sheep, with some other creatures mixed in and no ponies to speak of.

But even within that multitude of differences, similarities could be found. The most critical of these similarities, at least for the moment concerned, was a bakery and café known as Die Marmeladenglas. It was no Sugarcube Corner, but was still impossible to not notice with its sensible construction, warmly decorated exterior inviting all to enter, and rows of blackcurrant shrubs flanking the front door, bearing so many berries that it bordered on comical. Die Marmeladenglas produced a variety of goods, but was best known for its pastries and doughnuts, particularly those filled with blackcurrant jam.

It was in this café at the moment concerned that two friends were taking a late morning snack of doughnuts and hot coffee at the table along the front wall, to the right of the entrance and closest to the door, where they usually sat. The first was, as expected, a griffon, although his golden-brown feathers stood in contrast with what was normally expected of a griffon’s appearance. He was dressed very sharply in a three-piece suit, combining a white shirt with a brown, herringbone patterned vest and matching jacket, a black tie banded in thin, silver stripes secured around his neck. Brass talon caps covered each of the claws on his front feet, a necessity in any town like Griffondorf, where many of the streets were paved with stone setts or cobbles. He was seated sideways in a low chair, back resting against the wall, utterly engrossed in the opened newspaper held in his capped talons.

The second was a minotaur, grey-furred with white in an agouti pattern, although that was less unusual than a minotaur in Griffondorf in the first place. He was dressed less sharply in a two-piece suit, selecting a light grey shirt and dark olive jacket, with a red necktie that gave the appearance of a pimiento to some. Rather than a newspaper, he was intently studying a chessboard that rested on the table between the two of them.

"So..." the minotaur began, "You're gonna move, right?"

"Of course I'm going to move," replied the griffon without so much as drawing his head back from his newspaper.

"Right. So, like, before winter sets in?"

With an irritated huff, the griffon released one edge of his paper and grabbed one of the pieces, not even looking at the board as his talon caps clinked against it, and moved it somewhere else on the board with no real consideration to strategy or even whether the piece in question, whatever it was, could even be moved in such a fashion. Immediately, he returned his full attention to his newspaper.

The minotaur, in turn, scrutized the board for a moment, before completely giving up on even a pretense of playing. "Alright, boss, spill it," he said. "What's eating ya up so bad you can't even be bothered to beat me at chess today?"

"Your defeat is well and truly assured," the griffon asserted. Still not diverting his attention from his newspaper. "And what, exactly, has happened to give you the idea that something's bothering me?"

"Well, for starters, you haven't said so much as one thing about my out-of-control cheating."

Only then did Jacoby Flynn tear his attention away from his newspaper, staring at the chessboard with eyes full of surprise. Sure enough, his opponent had been cheating, and it was very much out-of-control. Each of them had only made three moves, but Jacoby's king was somehow surrounded by every other piece the minotaur had in his control, and while it wasn't an obvious checkmate, it was still bad. To say nothing of the king he did still maintain possession of.

"Is that a lemon wedge?" he asked, pointing an accusing talon at the board. "Did you replace my king with a lemon wedge?"

"Yuh huh," the minotaur replied, "I also squeezed all the jam out of your doughnut and replaced it with mustard."

Throwing a glance to the doughnut that sat on his plate, seemingly undisturbed, Jacoby gingerly picked it up and carefully and slowly squeezed it. Sure enough, onto the plate fell a brown dollop of hot mustard. Unceremoniously, he dropped the pastry back to the plate, fixed the minotaur with a glare, and opened his beak-

"Snide remark belittling my sense of humor even though it's irrelevant to the question I asked," said the minotaur.

Jacoby snapped his beak shut, grinding his teeth together, before opening his beak-

"Angry shout to underscore the offense you're currently feeling at my refusal to play by the rules you've set," said the minotaur, lifting his cup of coffee from the table.

For several seconds, Jacoby's beak hung opened-

"And now a depressed slump of the shoulders and resigned drooping of the head," finished the minotaur, taking a sip of his coffee while Jacoby proceeded to do exactly what had just been described to him. The newspaper in his grab sagged down on the floor, even though he never released it.

After a few moments, he raised his eyes back up as the minotaur's cup went back down. "Am I really that transparent?" he asked.

"Look, Jake," the minotaur replied, holding his hands up in a show of nonaggression. "I'm not saying that your distress is obvious-" And then he folded his hands together and leaned forward on the table, which groaned under his weight- "But it's totally obvious. I mean, even if you weren't completely distracted from the game, look at you! You're reading an issue of the Shrieker, for crying out loud!"

"And?" Jacoby half-demanded. He brought paper back up and slammed it closed, as well as anyone could hope to slam a paper closed, and crumpled the edge of it in his talons, shaking it with half-anger. "Is there something wrong with an educated griffon wanting to keep current with recent events in the world?"

"From a news publication you've described, more than once I might add, as having the journalistic integrity of half a grapefruit?"

Jacoby was momentarily at a loss for words, eyes widening with realization. He had said that, hadn't he? "Don't obscure the issue with facts, Alexios!"

"Excuse me, Herr Flynn?"

Both griffon and minotaur turned from each other to see that a second griffon had arrived at their table. Dressed in a simple, slate grey jacket and matching cap, the carrier bag slung across his chest signified he was a courier, while the golden pin in the shape of an unopened letter stuck to his jacket's lapel identified him as a ducal courier. Why Griffondorf, being only a village (if still a large one), was selected as the seat of its duchy was a question that no one had been able to answer completely.

"Sorry to interrupt your, uh..." The courier shot a glance down at the chessboard, "Your, whatever, but I've got a parcel for you. From the Duchess, in fact. Instructions were to deliver it right away."

"From the Duchess," Jacoby repeated. The courier nodded once, and then fished a particular envelope from his carrier bag, handing it over into the other griffon's waiting talons. "Wonder what she wants." Without wasting a moment, he opened the envelope and removed the letter inside, unfolding and quickly reading it. Alexios leaned forward as if it would help him hear better, and even the courier was unable to mask his curiosity (as if hanging around after making his delivery hadn't done that already).

"No help here," Jacoby concluded, folding the letter again. "Just that I apparently have an appointment at half-past eleven today." Thinking for a moment, he reached under his jacket, into the front pocket of his vest, and brought out a pocket watch. "Which is fifteen minutes from now. Perfect."

"The Duchess hasn't wanted to see you in person for over a year, why would she change her mind now?" Alexios wondered aloud.

"Doesn't matter. Best not to keep her waiting, regardless of the reason," Jacoby said plainly, standing up from his seat at the table. He folded his newspaper and stuffed it and the letter into one of his jacket pockets, and then withdrew a pair of Willson-style goggles from its breast pocket, the lenses tinted grey to function as sunglasses. Those promptly went to rest on his beak even before he turned towards the door. "I'll see you at home, Alex," he said before turning his attention to the courier. "And you, friend, take a moment to rest. Use my chair. Have my doughnut, in fact. Untouched. Haven't had an appetite all morning."

The courier's face lit up brightly. "Danke!" he said happily, "Danke, vielen danke." With a nod of farewell, Jacoby made his way to the front door while the griffon that had replaced him at the table settled in and lifted the doughnut up to take a large bite.

As Jacoby stepped outside of the cafe, he heard the courier offered one final statement before the door closed behind him: "Lava! It's filled with lava!"



"Guten tag, Herr Flynn."

It took a few moments after the griffon sitting behind the desk in the receiving room of the Duchess' office turned back to the letter she was working on to realize what she had just seen, before double-taking as her attention snapped back to the newly arrived Jacoby. "Herr Flynn! You're, you're on time!"

Jacoby's expression was unamused. "What are you implying?" he asked.

"N-nothing! I only meant that, erm, I mean, I'll tell the Duchess you've arrived."

The secretary quickly made herself scarce, disappearing down the hallway behind and to the left of her desk. Jacoby huffed and took a moment to observe the receiving room, finding it almost identical to the last time he'd seen it. The secretary's desk, aligned along the center of the back wall and exactly one-and-a-half yards away from it. A large, neutal colored rug covering a portion of the hardwood floor. A bench along the left wall, a few potted plants scattered here and there, and walls sparsely decorated with painted landscapes. The large windows were the most defining feature of the room, although Jacoby did notice that the sconces along the walls and chandelier overhead had been replaced relatively recently with gas lamps. All in all, it was an absolutely dreadful place to be left waiting. Which was really fine, as the Duchess was opposed to anyone waiting to see her for any reason, particularly since it often meant that whoever they were waiting on was taking up more of her time than was necessary.

After a moment, the secretary returned. “Ah, yes,” she began, “Sorry about that. The Duchess said to count off exactly ten seconds, and then she’ll see you.” Jacoby simply nodded and mentally tallied the seconds as they passed, and on the tenth mark, walked down the hallway the secretary had used earlier. Almost immediately along the right wall was another door, which he promptly knocked on.

“Enter.”

Bidden, he grasped the knob, turned it and push open the door, stepping inside to meet whatever fate had been picked out for him.

"Herr Flynn. Never wonderful to see you."

The Duchess was, as was typical of her, seated behind her desk, although she did rise to her feet when he entered. Her office was as efficiently appointed as it always was, containing several bookshelves filled with books pertaining to the laws of Griffondorf, the surrounding counties, and her duchy, as well as books of geography and science, and even a few on history (insofar as they pertained to the politics of foreign nations), and little else aside from her desk (always kept tidy and organized), three chairs (one of which was reserved solely for her), and a cocktail cabinet against one wall, well-dusted but rarely used.

Like her office, the Duchess herself was efficiently appointed in a two-piece suit; charcoal grey jacket and white shirt with a dark burgundy necktie. She eschewed the fancier clothes other nobles preferred, claiming the 'extras' got in the way, and had no love of dresses, claiming that pockets were more useful than extraneous fabric.

"Your Grace," Jacoby said with a bow. He spread his wings wide in deference as he did (according to old stories, to allow his flock leader the chance to savage his wings, if he displeased her), but it somehow seemed sardonic to the Duchess, just as it always had. The feeling ended once the bow did, Jacoby making a beeline for the open chair to his left. "Been a while since you called me here last. I do hope it's under better circumstances."

"That, Herr Flynn, remains to be seen." With a dismissive shake of her head, the Duchess stepped away from her desk and towards her cocktail cabinet. "Drink?"

"No, thank you. I think I'd rather hear about the reason you called me here." Jacby promptly took a seat in the chair he'd approached, ignoring the fact that his host had yet to sit, and either not noticing or pretending not to notice the icy glare she shot at him. She took her time at the cabinet, extracting a snifter and filling it with a small measure of cognac, imported from the more temperate lands to the south and west. Further taking her time to pack everything away, she took her glass and, at leisure, returned to her desk, sitting back in the chair behind it and across from Jacoby. She took asip of her cognac, placed the glass on a cork coaster, and shut her eyes before taking in a deep breath, letting it out, and then opening her eyes once more.

"The duchy wishes to hire you, Herr Flynn."

Jacoby quirked his brow, and for a brief moment, he'd wished he had accepted the offer of a drink after all. "Would you mind repeating that?" he asked.

The Duchess folded her talons together and rested them on the desktop, chased silver talon caps shining in the afternoon sun. "There have been certain," she paused for a moment, searching for a word, "Occurances, about the Confederation. The first inside was a bit over one week ago, shortly after the river of lights in the sky. I'm sure you saw it."

Jacoby offered half of a shrug. "Even if I hadn't, it was on the front page of every paper for five days, and continues to grace the first two or three of them in many publications today. You suspect there's a connection, I would suppose?"

The Duchess eyes narrowed slightly, but only for a moment, before returning to impassive. "A connection is assured, at this point. And the occurances themselves can be best described as supernatural, if the reports are all to be believed. I would prefer not to bother with such things, but it's one thing to disregard the stories of a few country bumpkins. It's quite another when titled nobles start sharing them as well. I believe your alleged friend Count von Vergoldetflügal is among them. Who, like all the rest, has not done well to heed my warnings to keep these matters quiet, that they might be dealt with discretely."

The emphasis that the Duchess placed on her words was not missed by Jacoby, who looked off towards one wall, beak resting in his palm as he considered the information he'd been given. After a few seconds, he looked back to the Duchess, his own expression as impassive as hers. "You want me to investigate, then," he said, "And with any luck, find the cause of and, more importantly, a way to make these 'occurances' stop occurring."

"In summary, yes." The Duchess leaned back slightly, providing the illusion of greater space between herself and Jacoby. "Appropriate Letters will be issued, of course, and you'll be provided with as much additional information as can be provided. And, as I indicated, these occurances are not confined to Griffondorf. So far, all of them have been elsewhere in the duchy-"

"Deal."

"-which would require... wait. 'Deal?'" The Duchess was stunned, almost too stunned for words. Even then, it took her several moments before she could formulate a follow-up question. "What do you mean 'deal?'"

"I mean, 'deal,'" Jacoby repeated. "I'll do it. Done and done. I agree. I consent. You talked me into it. Where do I sign? Take you pick from any of those. You want me to investigate these little disturbances of yours? I'll do it, with one condition."

"Of course."

Jacoby leaned forward against the desk, propping himself up on his arms. "I want my Letter."

A moment passed, and the Duchess' brow quirked up in puzzlement. "You'll be issued Letters of Inspection and Investigation, as I've already stated."

"No. I want my Letter back."

The Duchess' quirked brow fast melted into a scowl. At times, Parliament issued certain Letters to individuals, granting them special privileges within the borders of the Confederation. The Letters of Inspection and Investigation that had been offered to Jacoby would respectively allow him to command entrance to private property and any structures and rooms therein, and access to private papers and information (that was not financial in nature), so long as he was able to demonstrate a reasonable suspicion for doing so. It would also protect him, and any other creatures he had designated as his deputies from legal consequences, so long as the actions in question were necessary for any inspection or investigation they were conducting. A Letter of Transport would allow him to move goods and creatures, and to own, operate, and even commandeer vehicles necessary to facilitate that movement. A Letter of Commerce would allow him to buy and sell merchandise, even in cases where he would not otherwise be allowed to do so, and to inspect financial records on reasonable suspicion of wrongdoing. A Letter of Armament would allow him to buy, sell, possess and transport weaponry normally reserved for police and military personnel, so long as the purchase, sale, possession and transport thereof was demonstrated to be of benefit to the Confederation. With the right Letters, almost anything was possible.

Once upon a time, Jacoby Flynn had been in possession of a Letter of Marque, which was the right Letter for almost anything: So long as he remained able to demonstrate that his actions were in service to the Confederation, he enjoyed nearly full immunity from all legal prosecution, with capital crimes being the sole exception. Once upon a time, the Duchess requested of Parliament the issue of several Letters of Inspection and Investigation when a small group of citizens, noble and commoner alike, came to her with entirely reasonable concerns over large amounts of dangerous chemicals he had been stockpiling, including undiluted alcohols and various concentrated acids. Once upon a time, an intensive investigation determined that no illegal activity had taken place, but that Jacoby Flynn had abused the power granted by his Letter regardless, leading Parliament to revoke it for the safety of the citizens.

Jacoby Flynn never quite got over his Letter of Marque being revoked, once upon a time. Apparently, a new one was the price of his cooperation. A wholly insensible proposition. "Bring this matter to a satisfactory, quick and above all, quiet close," the Duchess began, her words carefully measured and her scowl deepening, "And I shall submit a recommendation to parliament with a petition to have another Letter of Marque issued to you." It was unfortunate for the Duchess, in this case, that Jacoby Flynn was the only who could both do what she needed, and was available.

"Splendid," was all that Jacoby had to say regarding his Letter. "So, we're done here, then? I'll pick up my Letters on the way out, do a little snooping, sweep whatever mess it is under the rug, and everyone's happy?"

For a moment, the Duchess was silent. "Yes, Herr Flynn. We are done here."

"Good!" Jacoby replied, sliding himself from his chair and straightening his jacket. "I'll see your secretary on the way out, then. Auf wiedersehen." And with that, he turned around and almost skipped out of the Duchess' office. For her part, she watched him leave, and scoffed immediately once the door had closed.

"Esel."
> UN+
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	On the outskirts of the town of Adlerheim, a griffon laid on a cloud that had been pushed far, far lower in the sky, becoming tinged with dusk, than was natural, and peered over the edge of it, looking down at a flock of sheep out to pasture. Her flock of sheep, all hers, just to take care of. Watching them graze was the most soothing activity she could think of, and nothing could ruin it for her. Not even that distancing buzzing that had grown into a loud drone in what seemed to be an instant.

“What is that-“ was all she managed to say before an airship she would later swear was far larger than it actually was plowed into her cloud, destroying it entirely, and knocking her out of the sky with a scream that ended abruptly as she landed in a large pile of wooly bodies. Her faithful sheep caught her, just like she knew they would. She spared them a warm smile before glowering at the airship as it moved beyond the pastures.

“Damn airships,” she grumbled, before turning to address one of her sheep, “Think they own the sky.”

“Baa-aa-aa-aa,” said the sheep in agreement.

The departing airship itself measured a not-totally-insignificant seventy feet in length, and while certainly much smaller than larger airships measuring nearly a quart-mile in length, this one had been lovingly built one component at a time. The gondola hung suspended beneath the envelope, the former nearly as long and wide as the latter, made from wooden planks nailed to a frame and reinforced with thin bands of riveted steel, each one adorned along its length with runes of Old Griffon. The envelope itself was covered in dark, powdered metal and lacquered to protect it from the elements.

The space in between the two, where the main deck was located, was opened to the air, giving it an appearance more similar to a sailing ship than an airship. There we even a fore- and mainmast that extended upward, serving as locations beyond the lengths of steel cable where the gondola was anchored to the envelope. And at the stern stood an enclosed cabin, pentagonal in shape to allow the wind to flow around it as it drove forward, that housed a large panel of navigational instruments, a long, narrow table over which several maps were spread and clamped down flat, the helm and associated controls, and at that particular moment in time, Jacoby Flynn as he guided Die Trauer Stern through the sky towards Adlerheim, pushed through the air by two whirling propellers aft of the cabin.

Although he had not changed out of his suit since leaving Griffondorf, he had donned a heavy, leather jacket over it for added warmth at altitude. A pair of blocky, wide-lensed goggles were pushed up to his forehead. And, though he foresaw no need for it, a heavily used, well-loved revolving pistol was holstered at his left side. He was the very image of the daring, privateer captain that had become so popular in literature.

An image that was broken the instant the cabin door opened and Alexios, dressed similarly but with his goggles over his eyes and a blunderbuss that would have looked like a cannon next to any other creature slung over his shoulder, stuck his head in.

“Jake, I think we hit somegriffon.”

Jacoby turned his attention to Alexios only long enough to ask, “Are they dead?”

After a moment of confusion, Alexios returned to the stern of the airship, purposefully leaving the cabin door opened, and raised his spyglass to his eye, before returning to the cabin. “They are not.”

Jacoby waved his talons dismissively at that. “Then don’t worry about it, I’m sure they’re fine.”

“You’re a model citizen, Jake.”

Scant minutes later, the airship dipped low to the ground at a large yard just outside the town where a few other, larger airships were moored, the propellers reversing to arrest forward motion before shutting off completely. Four large anchors, two forward and two aft, dropped noisily to the ground, pitons in each of them plowing into the earth and preventing errant wind currents from carrying it away. Moments later, a rope ladder was lowered from midship, and Alexios, without his weapon and changed out of his flight jacket and goggles and back into his suit, climbed to the ground. Once his weight was gone, a spring in the ladder’s mechanism happily wound it back up. And a few seconds after that, Jacoby gracefully flew down to join him, likewise without his flight uniform and back into his suit, a satchel slung over his shoulder, and the two were off into Adlerheim proper.

In contrast to Griffondorf, Jacoby and Alexios both were recognized by only a few faces, but that suited them fine; they weren’t there to converse with anyone or to make new friends. Bypassing the shops and market entirely, they moved into and through the residential quarter, and eventually into the noble estates, which were simply two large lots of land belonging to the two noble houses that made their home in Adlerheim. As soon as they stepped onto the road leading to the larger of the two estates, Jacoby unfurled his wings and took to the sky while Alexios took off running, although it was hardly a race; wings or no wings, minotaur could outpace griffon any day of the week.

What it did do was save them time as they made their way to the large manor on the estate grounds. Stopping in the drive just in front of the entrance, they took a moment to compose themselves and then proceeded up the walk towards the clean, whitewashed walls that comprised the outside of the residence. A small button next to the dark, oaken door invited Jacoby to press it, and when he did, a sharp buzz emanated from the other side of the door, signaling the arrival of visitors.

Several seconds passed, during which Jacoby and Alexios took a few moments to straighten their jackets and make themselves seem just a bit more presentable, before the door opened. Behind it stood an elk who, despite getting on in years, carried himself with unsurpassed dignity, was dressed sharply and precisely in a three-piece suit; black jacket, grey vest, and white, wing-collared shirt, and black necktie, and had been immaculately groomed. This was Anton, the senior butler of the estate. A consummate professional, the only indication he gave that he was pleased to see either of them was the corners of his mouth upturning by half a millimeter into an invisible smile.

“Herr Flynn,” he said to the griffon, before turning to the minotaur, “Herr Stonehoof. A pleasure to see the both of you again.”

“And you, Anton,” Jacoby replied. “We don’t mean to keep you long, but the Duchess has drafted us to investigate some, uh, strange occurrences, including some around the manor.

“Uh, didn’t you have the option of turning it down?” Alexios asked, mainly because he was pretty certain that saying ‘no’ had been an option.

“Drafted, appointed, who cares?” countered Jacoby with a shrug.

“Very glad to hear,” said Anton, “Unfortunately, the Count is out hunting today, although he is expected back very soon, if you would care to wait for him.”

“Hm.” Jacoby brought a talon to his beak in thought. “I see no harm in that. Alex?”

Alexios glared down at Jacoby. “I’m barely qualified as a pilot and you said not to bring pocket money. Where else am I gonna go?”

“And there’s the answer. We’ll be happy to wait, Anton, danke sehr.” Both visitor’s to the Count’s manor stepped through the door and into  and surrendered their jacket’s to Anton, although Jacoby maintained possession of his carrier bag, reason that he'd 'need it soon.’

It was only after this that either of them realized it was not only them and Anton in the foyer. There was also a fledgling standing against one wall who was trying his absolute best to avoid making eye contact, to stay perfectly silent, and to seem less interesting than the wallpaper (which, being a deep green and patterned in columns of tiny, tiny roses, was at least not unpleasant to look at, if not especially interesting). What stood out most about him at first was a lack of clothing common on highborn griffons, save for a small carrier bag that looked to be more patches than cloth. For talon caps, he had wrapped small strips of heavy cloth around his nails, which was far from ideal, but better than nothing. His fur and feathers were smudged in places with dirt, but it looked as though he had at least attempted to clean up.

"Who's that?" asked Alexios, somehow beating Jacoby to the punch.

"Just a young tiercel from town who comes to call every so often," answered Anton as he finished hanging the two jackets he'd been given. "The Count has carefully guarded any details beyond those, I'm afraid, though I suppose he might reveal a few more, should you ask him.”

As if that were a stage cue, the front door opened again, and in entered a third griffon, although he was not paying enough attention to realize he had company. Like the fledgling, his fur and feathers were lightly smudged with dirt, but it was clear that whatever he’d been through, the heavy, brown sport coat he was wearing took the brunt of it. Two leather bags hung suspended from either hip. One was an old, military-style ammunition bag, which doubtlessly held powder, shot and wadding for the long-barreled shotgun holstered across his shoulders. The remaining bag, of newer make, doubtlessly held whatever he had been hunting for.

To somecreature unfamiliar with him, the heavy, rough-spun coat, dirt, and hunting equipment may have concealed his identity for a brief time. But none present were unfamiliar with him at all. This griffon was the estate’s current master, Count Hänsel von Vergoldetflügal III.

“Guten tag, Eure Exzellenz,” Jacoby said, both he and Alexios dipping down in bows.

“Ah, meine freunde!” Hänsel said with a wide smile, as he attention turned to them fully. It was then that he noticed the fledgling, and in turn, Jacoby and Alexios noticed that the fledgling’s mood had improved by leaps and bounds once the Count had appeared. “You must excuse me for a moment, sirs.”

Hänsel, after pausing a moment to allow Anton to remove the shotgun from his back, approached the fledgling, who bowed to his elder in a very practiced, precise manner, although he continued to say nothing. “Hallo, little one,” Hänsel said to him. He seated himself on the floor, a model of perfect balance and straight lines, and the fledgling followed suit, a model of near perfect balance and mostly straight lines. “Und how have you been today? Have you been vell?”

The fledgling nodded, perhaps just a bit more enthusiastically than was really necessary.

"Gut, gut," Hänsel said with an approving nod. "Und you've been keeping up viz your exercises und practice? I noticed zat your form is almost perfect."

Bolstered by the approval, the fledgling gave an even more enthusiastic nod.

"Wunderbar! Ve shall make a gallant griffon of you in no time!” Hänsel was visibly pleased, much in the way a teacher would be towards a student who had performed exceptionally well. “But I suspect zat is not all you are here for. It vill be dinnertime very soon, after all. How many vill you need today? Don’t be shy."

The fledging lost his smile in an instant. With no small amount of trepidation, he looked away for a moment and, seeming to steel himself, turned back to face Hänsel with both his front feet raised, three talons extended on one, and a single talon on the other.

“Vier?!” The surprise in Hänsel’s voice could not be mistaken, but he relented immediately and surrendered everything he had in his bag. “Only zree today, so sorry. I hope zat vill be enough for your visitors.”

The fledgling's expression brightened, and he nodded excitedly once more, quickly grabbing all three birds and stuffing them into his own bag. His expression brightened further when Hänsel, wearing a warm and patient smile, ruffled the feathers atop his head. With surprising agility, he darted forward and seized the Count’s leg in a hug, and then zipped back to his bag, closing the top, throwing it over his shoulder, and hurrying on his way out the door Anton had opened for him. With a sad smile, Hänsel watched him depart.

“Friend of yours?” Jacoby asked after Anton had closed the door.

Hänsel nodded. “He lives viz his uncle, who has a crippled ving und cannot hunt. He is too proud to ask for or to accept any help, so I give food to his nephew, und ve pretend zat I have zrown it out, so it is not stealing, und it is not begging.” With a sigh, he turned to face his guests, adopting a happier expression. “But zat is not vhy you are here, of course. Give me a moment to change, und ve shall have our own discussion.”

“Well, if we’d known ya’d gone hunting’, we would’ve come a little later,” Alexios said.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” replied the Count. “Ze two are my friends, und I am alvays overjoyed to receive you. I shall only require a short time to dress a bit more appropriately for guests.”

“Really, Hänsel, we can come back in a bit,” Jacoby suggested.

“Nonsense, my friends. I just need a few moments to change out of zese clozes. Wait for me in ze drawing room. I have a new brandy for you to try. Ist wunderbar. Einfach wunderbar.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad, actually,” Jacoby replied. “Alright, Hänsel, we’ll see you in a bit, then.”

With a nod, Hänsel departed in one direction, while Jacoby and Alexios left in another. The count’s large house had a parlour off of the banquet hall, but that was mainly for entertaining large parties. The drawing room, located off the second, smaller dining room offered far more intimate interactions. It was also less lavishly appointed, with only a few large wall hangings and a single, large rug in the center of the room, three sofas arranged around a coffee table, with the fourth side unoccupied as it faced the large fireplace. Although no fire was burning, the room was dimly lit by low gas lamps.

Rather than any of the sofas, two pair made for a small, round table that sat opposite the sofas, near the windows. Rather than the chairs that were common in the drawing rooms of other nobles, four deep red, velvet cushions were arranged around the table (Hänsel felt that chairs were confining). A few moments after they took their seats, with Jacoby placing his carrier bag on the floor next to him, Anton appeared again from a door opposite the one they’d used, a silver tray bearing three snifters and a small carafe of mild, amber brandy suspended over a small candle balanced on one hoof, while the other three carried him forward, the liquid not sloshing even a bit. Exactly how he managed to do this had long remained a mystery to essentially every creature that chanced to meet him (including other elk, particularly the few who insisted it was impossible after trying it themselves).

Anton paused just long enough to rear back onto his hind hooves and use his remaining free one to raise the gas lamps just slightly, and then he was back to walking, depositing the tray on the table once he reached it and distributing the snifters, including to an empty cushion not yet occupied. Next, the carafe was raised up and away from the candle flame and swirled lightly before small measures of alcohol- not more than a couple of sips each- were poured into the snifters in front of Jacoby and Alexios. They each nodded their thanks, and then lifted their drinks, lightly inhaling the slightly sharp, slightly sweet aroma before taking a sip, savoring the feel on their tongues and the way it warmed their throats.

“Leave it to the Count to find the best,” Alexios said.

“Zu der Graf!” replied Jacoby in agreement.

“Danke sehr, danke sehr!” said Hänsel as he entered the drawing room, having changed from his hunting clothes to a white shirt, black dinner vest and scarlet cravat with a pearl pin. “But all zat I have done is provide ze space in which you drink. Zis most marvelous brandy vich you have enjoyed vas found by Anton’s impeccable senses.”

Anton, a consummate professional, only shifted slightly under the praise. “I can offer my best efforts,” he said calmly, “And am pleased that my find is to your liking, sir." As Hänsel took his own seat at the table, the elk poured the remainder of the brandy into the empty snifter, and then gently blew out the candle that had been warming the carafe before replacing that on the tray. The griffon, for his part, enjoyed the brandy’s aroma before taking a small sip, a smile playing across his face.

“Now zen,” he said suddenly, losing his glass to the table without releasing it, “Anton has informed me zat ze two of you vill be investigating ze, ah…” He twirled his free claw for a few moments until the word came to him. “Ze disturbances zat have been occurring around ze duchy, around ze Confederation of late, so before ve attend to business, I must ask you boz to stay for tonight. You have a lot of vork to do, so stay, have dinner, get a gut night’s rest, start early tomorrow morning, you vill zank yourselves for zis.”

“Hm,” Jacoby said, pretending to think hard about it. He turned to Alexios. “Good night’s rest?”

The minotaur nodded. “Good night’s rest.”

“Wunderbar! Two more for dinner Anton, if you vould not mind informing ze kitchen. I expect zat ve vill be along momentarily.”

“Of course, sir,” Anton said with a light bow. The two griffons and minotaur finished their brandy, scarcely more than a sip for each of them, and then placed them on the tray which was swept up by the elk and then carried away.

“So,” Jacoby said once Anton had left, withdrawing a small notepad and a fountain pen from his carrier bag. “Given that you are one of the ones experiencing these ‘disturbances,’ and given that that’s really the only reason I’m taking this even a little bit seriously, impress me. What’s been happening that’s causing such a fuss?”

“Vell,” Hänsel began, “Ze cutlery in ze kitchen has been arranging itself.”

Silence followed that admission. Alexios looked from Hänsel to Jacoby, who was staring at the other griffon as if he’d just asked for permission to wear a spatula on his head. Several more moments passed before Jacoby was finally able to process the information he’d just heard and formulate a response.

“What.”

Hänsel just chuckled. “I zought zat you vould have zis reaction,” he said, “Zat’s vhy I said zat ve vould be along momentarily. It vill be much, much easier to show you vat I mean.” He rose from his cushion and made his way towards the exit, a third door adjacent to the fireplace that served as the main form of egress for non-servants. Jacoby and Alexios watched him for a moment before sharing a look with each other. Alexios shrugged, and then both of them rose from their own cushions, Jacoby stuffing his notepad and pen (after reapplying its cap) into his pocket and lifting his bag over his shoulder again, and followed.

It was a short journey to the kitchen, and the kitchen itself was largely the way Jacoby had remembered it. Large, interspersed with several island countertops, two large iceboxes (to which Jacoby had discretely added a few ‘improvements’), and four full-sized ovens and stovetops. At that moment, it was also suspiciously empty of kitchen staff. “I thought dinner was promised,” Jacoby said.

“It is,” replied Hänsel, “But viz ze… vell, you’ll see.”

“Of course.” With a light thump, Jacoby dropped his carrier bag to the floor, and and then fished around for a moment, and brought out… something that Hänsel was not quite sure what to make of.

“Was ist das?” the Count asked.

It took Jacoby a moment before he realized he’d been asked a question about the boxy device he held in his talons. “Oh, this? Just a little contraption I whipped up. I’ll give you the full explanation if you want, but in summary, it reacts to ambient magical fields and converts a portion of their energy to an electric charge. As the needle on the gauge moves in response to changes in voltage and current, we can get a sense of how strong the fields in question are. Thinking I’ll call it the Arcano-Electrometer. Now seems as good a time as any to give it a field test.”

“I see,” Hänsel replied with a grin. “Every time I see you, it’s somezing different. Your runecraft never ceases to amaze me.”

Runes were both the oldest form of griffon writing, and also the expression of their magical heritage; words of power that allowed them to shape their world as they wished. Although they were not nearly as versatile as a unicorn’s spells or an elk skald’s song, as they had to be written, they were both reliable and predictable; an external magical field could disrupt a spell in unpredictable ways, and something as minor as a sore throat could prevent a song from ever forming. By comparison, unless physically damaged, runes would always work, and always work exactly as they were written, if not always as intended. And it was runes as well as wires that would hopefully make the Arcano-Electrometer work.

And sure enough, as soon as Jacoby pointed it towards the kitchen and squeezed the trigger on its underside, they all hear the distinct and repeating ‘pop!’ of electricity rapidly arcing between conductors. The needle of the gauge featured prominently in the center of the device rose a bit, indicating a detection of three volts.

“Zree volts,” Hänsel said, “Vat does zat mean?”

“I haven’t decided yet, I’ll need more data first. But there is definitely some kind of persistent magical field in your kitchen.” His piece spoken, Jacoby replaced the Arcano-Electrometer (which was perhaps a bit more of a beakful than he had originally anticipated) in his carrier bag and brought his notepad and pen out from his jacket again. “Now, what exactly was it that happens?”

“Vell, ze cutlery is in ze drawer in a specific order. Zis makes it easy to find vat you are looking for ven you need it,” Hänsel stated, “But vatch zis.” Without another word, he strode into the kitchen, opened one of the drawers, removed all the cutlery, and then made a point of putting it back in a different order than he removed it in. That done, Hänsel returned to the others, and turned around to face the kitchen.

For several moments, nothing happened. And then, something did. The drawer opened itself and in a flash, all the cutlery contained within it flew out and into the air, and then back into the drawer quickly and efficiently. Finally, the drawer closed itself.

“Vell, sere you have it,” Hänsel said when it was finished, “Vat did you zink?"

Neither Jacoby nor Alexios really had any words to describe what they’d seen. It was jarring, certainly, and had somecreature been in the kitchen at the time, there was no doubt it might have posed a safety hazard. But mostly, it was just jarring. The griffon looked down at his notepad, still devoid of anything meaningful, and then back towards the kitchen. Placing the notepad back into a jacket pocket and holding his pen in his beak, he advanced into the kitchen, opened the cutlery drawer, swapped the positions of two knives, shut the drawer and then stepped back.

Sure enough, a few moments later, the drawer opened itself, both knives hovered up and into the open, switched places with each other, and floated back down into the drawer before it closed itself. Jacoby supposed, for a moment, that a unicorn’s magic could have replicated the effect, but except in the cases of an especially skilled illusionist, unicorn magic always had a very obvious tell. Withdrawing his notepad once more and taking his pen in talon again, he made a simple note to indicate that what they’d witnessed in that kitchen was, without any doubt, übernatürlich:

UN+

And then, he turned to Hansel and said plainly, “I think I’ll have another brandy."



“Thank you for coming, Herr Flynn.”

In the village of Lerchenwiese the following day, Jacoby and Alexios were both led out towards the sheep pastures by one of the more prominent residents, the former with a carrier bag slung across his chest to carry some equipment. Not a noble, but well-respected by the locals nevertheless.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Jacoby replied to the statement. “The information I was given only indicates that your sheep are grazing differently, but that nothing much else has happened.”

“Well, it’s not that they’re just grazing differently, Herr Flynn. It’s, well, I think it’ll be easier to show you.”

Jacoby and Alexios exchanged curious glances, but settled on silence for the remainder of the walk. The destination was, as expected, the sheep pen, where the sheep inside seemed perfectly normal. The instant they’d reached the fence surrounding the sheep, Jacoby reached into his bag and brought out his Arcano-Electrometer (deciding that name might, in fact, be a bit too cumbersome), and trained it on them. They immediately reacted as could be expected of any creature that suddenly found a device that resembled a weapon pointed at them; by shying away and trying to stay out of the perceived line of fire.

“What’s that?” their escort asked.

“Measuring instrument of my own design,” Jacoby answered, “It detects and measures magical fields, and given that it’s silent and its gauge isn’t registering, I think it’s safe to say your flock hasn’t been hexed. They seem normal, at least.”

“Well, I’m very happy to hear that. Now, put it away, you’re scaring them. More than they already are.” With a snort, the griffon clambered over the fence and was immediately beset by a chorus of bleats, and responded by pleading futility, “One at a time, one at a time!”

Without warning, Jacoby felt a sharp pain on the top of his head and whirled about to glare at Alexios, rubbing the spot he’d just been bopped on, as if to ask, ‘Why did you do that?' Alexios glared back evenly, as if to say, ‘You know why.'

“What about the pasture?” Alexios asked asked after a few moments of glaring in an attempt to defuse the situation. With a huff, Jacoby turned the Arcanometer (a much better name, he decided) onto the open field of grass, which he noted then also had a fence around it, even if it was much less sturdy and intended only to mark a property boundary. Even five yards distant, the sporadic electric snapping that accompanied the slight, but noticeable rise and fall of the needle told him everything he needed to know. When he moved closer, the reading only became more positive.

“Well, there’s something off about the pasture,” he concluded, before turning back to the griffon that had led them out there. “You had something to show us about the sheep, I think.”

The griffon nodded, and with a flap of his wings, he cleared the fence surrounding the pasture, and then opened the gate separating it from the sheep. Immediately, the flock stared at the gate and made no moves, which was, to say the least, unexpected. “I know none of you like what happens,” the shepherd said, “But Herr Flynn thinks he can fix what’s happening, if he has more information. We just need you out for a little bit, and then we’ll pull you all back in."

A few moments passed, and then the flock turned in on itself, quietly discussing what should be done. Finally, it turned back towards the gate, and the sheep moved towards it in the way they always might. At least, until they actually reached the pasture. The moment that each sheep stepped outside the gate, they immediately fell into lines with the rest of the flock, quickly forming ranks with precision expected of soldiers. Once they had all formed up, each sheep leaned its head down in unison with the others, took a mouthful of grass, chewed it exactly fifteen times, and then moved forward a half-step to repeat the process. When the sheep behind the first rank reached grass that had already been eaten, the entire formation marched forward until it stood over uneaten grass, and the process repeated anew.

“They’ll do this for a few minutes, until they’ve had their fill, I think,” said the griffon in the pasture as he approached Jacoby and Alexios again, who watched with the same disbelief they’d shown the day before with the kitchen in Hansel’s manor. “And then, they come back in all on their own. Herr Flynn, what’s happening to my flock?”

“I don’t know, yet.” Pressing a button on the Arcanometer, Jacoby locked in the current reading before placing the device on a fence post. Out from his jacket pocket came his notepad and pen, and he began to rapidly scribble notes about what he’d seen, the reading from the Arcanometer, and his conclusion of the situation:

UN+

“But I have every intention to find out."



In the town of Zuckburg, Jacoby and Alexios stood quietly in a clockmaker’s shop, attentively watching the seconds tick off on four of the devices she had lined up on the front counter. Three had been set to different times by her, and the fourth had been left alone. The fourth was also a rather attractive piece, and both Jacoby and Alexios were quietly considering what steps might need to be taken to convince the other not to purchase it, leaving the way clear for themselves to take it home.

Finally, it was time. The clock which had been left to keep its original time ticked off another minute as it passed, and just as the griffon who owned the lot had promised, the remaining three immediately went into action, their hands moving until they indicated the same time it apparently now was. According to their owner, and the few other griffons Jacoby had interviewed, it was exactly the same way for every clock or watch in town, all of them keeping perfect time. All in all, the whole activity was quiet, unobtrusive, not disruptive to the environment around it, and in all truth, was actually quite helpful.

“This is a problem?” Alexios asked, looking at the clocks with understandable skepticism.

The griffon who owned the clock shop shrugged her shoulders. “Not especially,” she answered, “But it is interesting.”

“Indeed it is,” Jacoby concluded. He didn’t even need to make a clock reset itself to record a reading on the Arcanometer; whatever force was setting the clocks was keeping them wound as well. In what was becoming more commonplace than he was completely comfortable with, he recorded his observations and conclusion on his notepad:

UN+



In a tiny village that Jacoby would work very hard to forget everything about the moment he left it, he stood patiently, notepad and pen in his talons, with Alexios standing to one side and the owner of the house they were presently in to the other.

All three of them were staring at an ordinary, yellow sponge sitting in the bottom of a wash basin. Or more accurately, they had been staring at it until just the moment when Jacoby reflected that the griffon playing host to them was probably a bit more unhinged than was really healthy. Thereafter, both Jacoby and Alexios were eying their host admonishingly.

"It, it moved, I swear!" said the griffon whose name Jacoby had already blocked from his mind. His voice was just a tiny bit pleading and, more worryingly, just a tiny bit manic. "Just keep watching it, you'll see! It'll move again!"

It didn’t.

UN-



The airship’s anchors fell heavily to the ground, pitons burying themselves deeply into the grassy soil. If the sight of an airship had not been enough to rouse worry in the residents of Eisendorf, the noisy impact of the anchors certainly did. In no more time than it took Alexios to finish descending the ladder and send it winding back up, a griffon wearing a bright collar landed, it seemed, almost as heavily as the anchors did, right in front of him.

“What in the Hell are you doing?” he demanded. Rather than verbalize a response, Alexios calmly reached into his jacket pocket, procured Jacoby’s Letters, and offered them as an explanation. Wearing an irritated scowl, the griffon snatched them away and began reading, his expression changing from irritation to surprise to relief as he did. “Oh, thank Heaven you’re here, Herr Flynn.”

“Stonehoof,” the minotaur corrected, jerking his thumb up towards the airship, “Flynn’s still upstairs.”

“Not for long, I’m not!” An instant after shouting, Jacoby leapt from the airship’s deck and stretched his wings, drifting to the ground in a spiral dive and landing gently. “Sorry for any confusion,” he said, straightening his jacket and adjusting the strap of his carrier bag. “I’m Jacoby Flynn, my associate is Alexios Stonehoof. I take it he’s presented our Letters to you already?”

The other griffon gave a nod. “Yes, he did. I’m Ansgar Wolkejäger, Eisendorf’s mayor. We’re-“ He interrupted himself to address the crowd that was starting to form around them- “It’s fine, everybody. They’re here to fix the mine.” It might not have necessarily been true, but the cheer that rose from the crowd before they reluctantly went back to what they were doing was proof enough that morale needed a boost. Wearing a slightly sheepish grin, Ansgar continue in a much lower volume, “Sorry about that. It’s just-“

“I understand,” Jacoby interrupted with a  grin of his own, “And it’s fine. They needed it. Just like we need some information, we haven’t really been given any regarding the situation. Could you fill us in while you show us to the, mine, you said?”

“That’s right. It’s this way.”

Ansgar took the lead as the three of them walked through town, explaining what had transpired over the past week at the mine that was the heart of Eisendorf. The news was not good.

“Just like that?” Jacoby asked, still not quite sure what he had just been told. “Suddenly, the rock stopped yielding? Not to picks or hammers? Did you try explosives?”

Ansgar nodded sadly. “We did. Five pounds of gunpowder, and the rock wasn’t even scored. We even spent a bit of money to bring in some of that, experimental explosive they’ve been working on in the capital. Nitre… nitra….”

“Nitroglycerin?”

“Yes, that’s it! We tried, maybe two quarts of it? Such a small amount, but it was so powerful. Sound and fury like I couldn’t believe!”

Jacoby couldn’t believe it either. “Nitroglycerin has more than twice the explosive power of gunpowder. Even just a small amount… if you set off two quarts in a confined space, it should have at least collapsed part of the tunnel. Did it do anything?”

Ansgar shook his head. “Sound and fury like I couldn’t believe, but not much more than that. The nice griffons who furnished the stuff were shocked beyond belief.” Jacoby had no response, and turned his gaze towards the ground in thought as they walked.

“Well, we’re here.” At that, Jacoby turned his gaze back up, and sure enough, there was the mine entrance in front of them. From his limited experience, it looked well-built and maintained, but also wasn’t being used. There were a few other griffons about the entrance, doing some light work, but hardly anything that could really be considered productive.

“They all look so sad,” he remarked.

“Yeah,” Alexios said in agreement, “It’s almost like they’ve just given up on, everything.”

“That mine is everything to Eisendorf. Half the able-bodied griffons in this town work in it,” Ansgar stated, “And most of the other half works because of it. If we can’t mine here, we can’t live here, either. But nothing we try work. Even the rocks just outside the mine refuse to so much as chip.”

Ansgar suddenly found himself with a minotaur-sized jacket shoved into his arms. “Hold this,” said Alexios as he loosened and tossed his necktie after it before walking towards a discarded pickaxe. He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, and undid his collar and the top two buttons down the front of his shirt, giving him more room to breathe. With a sharp inhale, allowing his physique to expand out to its impressive (by griffon or really any standards) full size, looking for a moment less a creature and more living statue chiseled from solid stone. Hefting the pickaxe up, he approached a small boulder.

Winding up an overhead swing and drawing in a deep breath, he slowly arced the pickaxe towards the boulder, lining up his swing. The griffons that had been around the mine entrance assembled around him at what seemed like a safe distance.

Winding up a second swing and drawing in another breath, muscles rippling, Alexios slowly arced the pickaxe down a second time, locking the path into memory. Many of the griffons around him noticed how warm it had suddenly become.

Winding up a third swing and drawing in another deep breath, Alexios shut his eyes and slowly arced out the path one more time, preparing himself for what was to come. One of the griffons watching dug their talons into the soil, and would have bitten their lip if their had one to bite.

Winding up a fourth swing, eyes still shut, and drawing in another breath, Alexios bellowed a war cry that shook all present to their bones and exploded into motion, swinging the pickaxe down on the boulder with such force that the unaided eye had no hope of following its path.

With a tremendous ‘CLANG!’ the pick’s head promptly separated from the shaft and went streaking off towards the stratosphere, disappearing from sight in mere moments. Even after, Alexios held his post-swing pose for several moments while his body calmed down from the sudden violence of his movement, his muscles still held in tension and looking as though they might bulge and burst through his shirt at any moment.

Several of the female spectators (and a few of the males as well) immediately swooned and fell to the ground in dead faints.

Finally relaxing, Alexios stood up straight and looked at the broken pickaxe for a moment before discarding it, rolling his sleeves down and buttoning his shirt up again as he returned to Jacoby and Ansgar. “Well, that’s all I got,” he said.

“Wow,” was all Ansgar could manage to say, passing the rest of Alexios’ clothes back to him in a daze.

Jacoby had, by that point, given up watching Alexios, and had even bothered to bring out the Arcanometer, but had switched his attention to his notepad, furiously writing out notes, thoughts, conclusions, extrapolations, hypotheses and everything else that was coming to his mind, heedless of the world around him until he’d heard his name.

“Herr Flynn”?

Jacoby snapped out of his note-writing stupor, looking to Ansgar. “Sorry,” he said, “Swept up in thought. What did you say, again?”

Ansgar quirked his brow for a moment, but did not dwell on whatever it was that came to his mind. “I asked what you meant when you said, ‘by all means available.’”

“Oh.” Jacoby capped his pen before continuing. “It’s a provision of Parliamentary Letters that in any instance where national security is concerned, Letter Bearers are granted special powers and can command resources beyond what would normally be allowed. You said you find some gold here, but that the mine primarily contains iron, and also said that the town’s biggest export is pig iron. Steel is one of the Confederation’s primary exports, particularly to Dromedus and Elkienhiem, and the proceeds from that are helping us build up our army, which we’re going to need if rumors about Equestria turn out to be true. If you can’t mine iron, the Confederation can’t export steel, and we can’t maintain our army. It’ll be a tough sell to the Duchess, but if I can get some more equipment and materials, then I believe I can have a solution before the week is out.”

“Herr Flynn, please don’t drag Parliament into this. We’ve done fine without them since before the Confederation even came together. We don’t need them, and we especially don't need them dragging us into war with anyone.” Ansgar’s voice was nothing short of pleading.

Jacoby heaved a sigh. “Mayor Wolkejäger, this isn’t going to solve itself. Tell me truthfully, with nothing coming out of the mine, how many weeks can you expect everyone to wait, hoping it gets resolved? How many days before griffons start leaving to find work elsewhere, and once that starts, how long before so many have left, the town won’t survive?” When no answer was immediately forthcoming from the suddenly uncomfortable Ansgar, Jacoby pressed on. “There won’t be a war with Equestria. After a lost Princess returning and the rivers of light? They’re probably struggling just to do their housekeeping. But do you know what it means if the Confederation isn’t exporting steel? It means that Eisendorf isn’t exporting iron. It means the citizens have no money to buy food with. It means the town has no income to buy timber with. I couldn’t care less about the politics of the situation if I tried to, but griffons will suffer because of this problem with the mine. I have to find a solution fast, and the only way to do that is to requisition additional resources by means of protecting national security.”

Ansgar was silent for several moments, and then with a sigh, hung his head in defeat. “If you must, Herr Flynn,” he said. He raised his head again, his features showing the beginnings of hope. “Can you really solve it in one week?”

A knowing smirk spread across Jacoby’s face. “On my honor, I will solve this in one week, or I will retire completely from science, from runecrafting, and from civilization and become a hermit. Your livelihoods are at stake. It seems only fair I should put mine on the line as well.

“Now gather up your workers. I need as much information about the mine you can possibly provide, as quickly as you can provide it. The clock is ticking.”

UN+



In another tiny village that Jacoby would work very hard to forget everything about the moment he left it, both he and Alexios found themselves watching a frog that their (admittedly not-at-all manic) host had been keeping in a shoe box.

Jacoby stared at the frog.

Alexios stared at the frog.

After several seconds, neither of them was convinced the frog had even noticed them. “And you’re sure that the frog dances and you aren’t just lonely?” Jacoby asked. He checked the Arcanometer again, and as expected, it had remained perfectly still.

“If moving in with another creature, any other creature, is what it takes to make the frog stop dancing, I’ll do it,” replied the griffon whose home they were in. This one had not even supplied his name; he heard who they were and immediately dragged them inside so they could ‘fix the problem.’ “I’ve thrown this frog in ponds, off cliffs, I even took it up to the clouds and dropped it. But here it is!”

“Mmhm,” said Jacoby, turning to regard the griffon directly, “Well, I’m sure that just-“ He was interrupted very suddenly when the Arcanometer started popping, and turned his head back to the frog just in time to see it finish donning a top hat and whipping a cane out from somehow before launching into an exaggerated kick step.

Hello, my baby!
Hello, my honey!
Hello, my ragtime gal!

Send me a kiss by wire.
Baby, my heart's on fire!

If you refuse me,
Honey, you lose me.
Then you'll be left alone.

Oh baby, telephone
And tell me I'm
Your own!

The frog finished its kick step, threw its cane and top hat away, and returned to being an ordinary frog, the Arcanometer going quiet as it did.

Jacoby stared at the frog.

Alexios stared at the frog.

After several seconds, neither of them was convinced that the frog was not staring back at them.

UN+

+++



Night time, was quiet time. As the griffon settled down under her blankets, she was absolutely ready to forget about her troubles and enjoy some well earned rest.

At least, until a distant buzzing she had been ignoring suddenly seemed like a roar passing over her cottage.

“Oh, come on!”

She went tearing out of her front door, still dressed in her night gown, as the familiar looking tail of an airship washed her house and everything immediately around it, including her, in wind and noise from its propellers. “Do you jerks know what time it is?!” she shouted, not caring if she couldn’t be heard or not. To help drive home how upset this had left her, she balled her talons into a fist and vigorously shook it at the departing airship. A quick look around revealed that her entire small flock of sheep had surrounded her and were mimicking the same action with their hooves.

“What are you doing?!” she demanded of them, “Shake harder!” The griffon, and all of the griffon’s sheep, redoubled their efforts, shaking their fist and hooves with such furor that it threatened to give them all repetitive stress injuries.

“Baa-aa-aa-aa-aa!” one of the sheep shouted at the airship. Its cry of rage went unheard by its target.

Aboard the airship, Jacoby stood at the helm, the interior of the cabin illuminated in pale light from a tube inset in the ceiling, fluorescing with an artificial daylight best described as ‘enough to see by as long as we’re not in a hurry.’  Although the stars and moon were bright that evening, the griffon elected to navigate using his instruments entirely, the setup of which included more than could be used by a single individual at one time, all linked together through a complex mechanical array. It was a design he was especially proud of.

He briefly turned his attention away from the instrument panel when he heard the trapdoor to the lower compartments opening, but turned back when he saw that it was, of course, Alexios.

“Half-past two, Jake,” the minotaur said, closing the trapdoor behind him with a thud. “Ya sure ya don’t wanna just, anchor us for the night and get some sleep? Hell, let’s turn around, go back into Adlerheim. You know Hänsel will put us up for the night.”

“It’s not much further to Griffondorf,” Jacoby replied. “We’ll be there by sunrise, and then once we’re back home, behind locked doors where I know my notes and samples won’t vanish or be mysteriously altered, then I-“ He interrupted himself with a wide yawn- “I’ll sleep.”

The griffon again turned his attention away from his instruments when he heard a cap being removed, and saw that Alexios had brought up a thermos and was filing the lid, doubling as a cup, with steaming liquid. The aroma of coffee quickly filled the cabin.

“Knew you’d say that, so I brought you a cup,” Alexios said, passing over the liquid energy. Jacoby happily accepted the cup when offered, although he was careful not to burn himself with it.

“Thanks Alex. You are the best bodyguard ever.”

“I try.”

They both stood in silence for several moments, Jacoby focusing on his coffee and the instrument panel, and Alexios drinking directly from the thermos.

“I’m still thinking’ about that damn frog,” Alexios said suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. The silence was renewed and persisted for a few moments more before Jacoby finally thought of a response.

“At least the sponge didn’t start dancing.”

Alexios angled his gaze skyward for a few moments, giving the statement some consideration. Ultimately, he shrugged to no one in particular but himself. A dancing frog really wasn’t that bad, after all.
> The Conspiracy Loom
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Three knocks sounded on the front door of the house belonging to Jacoby Flynn, and a few seconds later, sounded again, just as they had been for a full minute since they first began. Finally, the knob turned and the door opened, leaving Count Hänsel von Vergoldetflügal III standing in the open doorframe, the early afternoon sun illuminating his white, three-piece lounge suit brightly. It was not the event of the door opening that had caused to to stare skeptically into the foyer and living room behind the door, but the fact that after it seemed clear that nocreature was currently in the residence, the door had not been locked.

Often citing that many of the items in his house posed a legitimate risk to those unfamiliar with their purpose, Jacoby always locked the door when he was away, and sometimes even when he wasn’t. This was, by itself, more than enough to cause Hänsel to tense and prepare himself for action, in the event his friends were potentially in trouble.

“Herr Flynn?” Hänsel called out.

Silence answered.

“Herr Stonehoof?” Hänsel called out.

Silence answered.

Furrowing his brow, Hänsel stepped fully inside and took care to close the door behind him as quietly as possible. Another glance into the living room just past the foyer revealed that nothing had changed. The mantle was still in the center of the wall. The armchairs, coffee table and sofa were right where they had been a moment earlier. The rug on the floor had not moved in the slightest. The wall hangings were still where they had always been hanging. And most critically of all, there was still nocreature standing about in it.

After a moment’s pause, Hänsel unbuttoned his jacket and quietly hung it on the coat rack, and then slowly slunk forward to inspect the areas around the corner of the entryway that he couldn’t see. Ducking his head just the slightest distance in, he glanced left, only to see nothing unusual, then right, only to see nothing unusual, and then left once again.

Just inside of the living room, to the left of the entrance from the foyer was a simple writing desk that had little more covering its surface than a capped ink well and a dip pen (which had recently begun to catch up to quill pens in terms of popularity). It was, of course, what wasn’t visible that Hänsel was interested in. With a forceful slam of his knuckles against the top of one corner, a hidden compartment popped open, and the Count quickly withdrew the pistol hidden inside, pulling the hammer back with his free talons. Suitably armed, he moved fully into the living room and towards the right wall, away from the stairs leading up to the bedrooms and the door leading back into the dining room and kitchen. The hallway off the rear wall led to the drawing room and a washroom, and was uninteresting. The door on the right wall, however, led to the study. If Jacoby was, in fact, at home and just silent, he would be in there. If not, then Hänsel would know that he should depart the premises immediately and alert the police.

Stopping just outside the door and taking a breath to steel himself, Hänsel grasped the knob, turned it, and then pushed the door opened, aiming the pistol at the space ahead of him. He was completely unprepared for what he saw not because it was horrific, but simply because it was entirely unexpected. The study was more brightly lit than usual, much of the furniture and seemingly all of the wall hangings had been pushed to one end, leaving the rest to be filled with the oddness that Jacoby Flynn demanded of the powers that be as he stood at the far end of the study, leaning over a table to examine something, completely unaware that he had even been joined by another body.

Jacoby was a disheveled mess. He prided himself on his tidy appearance, even if he did not follow fashion closely, and the fact that he was working naked when he always at least wore a shirt was telling enough. His fur was dirty and starting to mat. His feathers had likewise not been cleaned or preened in what was clearly days, and a few feathers were even beginning to fall out. His face was partially obscured by a large pair of goggles that had several loupes ready to swing down into his field of vision at a moment’s notice, although their exact function was less-than-clear, given the fluorescing runes carved into the metal rims of the goggles and perhaps even etched in the glass; it was difficult to tell exactly how enchanted the eye gear was. But no matter how enchanted, at that moment Jacoby looked less like the runecaster, inventor and tinker that he was, and more like a mad scientist from some penny dreadful.

The workspace that had been set up in the study was just as disheveled as Jacoby was. A makeshift laboratory had been added, with a number of electric lamps and electrostatic generators scattered about, along with numerous other equipment that Hänsel was not prepared to even guess the purpose of. Placed on the numerous tables and kept under glass were a variety of ‘samples,’ including a knife borrowed from the Count’s kitchen, a talonful of wool from Lerchenwiese, and what looked to be a pebble from Eisendorf, labeled with a location and various other data. The bookshelves along the furthest wall had been thoroughly ransacked, with what looked like half of the volumes on display now spread about, opened to different pages, and with several slips of paper stuffed in them to serve as bookmarks.

But the crown jewel of the laboratory was a large map of the entire High Confederation of Wings that was pinned to the wall where there had previously been a landscape painting showing some small village or another that Jacoby had felt deserved to be the most prominently displayed artwork in the study (and which he presumably moved to a safer location). The map itself would not have been notable outside of its placement had it not also been covered in patterns of pins and red and blue threads that surely held some meaning to Jacoby, even if it was lost on the rest of the world.

The final piece of this bizarre puzzle to catch Hänsel’s attention, however, was a bottle of green liquid, a small jar of sugar, and a recently used glass on a small table by the door. Even taking just a moment to examine the label on the bottle, written in Equestrian rather than Griffish, revealed the concoction to be absinthe, a brew of alcohol, herbs and extracts of Equestrian origin that he would continue to maintain was among the foulest tasting beverages he’d ever tried. It was said to expand the mind and induce visions, although it was almost certain those visions were creations of a mind that had been effective to what was essentially a mild poison. Hänsel was not quite certain he believed all the rumors regarding the supposed hallucinogenic properties of ‘the green faerie’ (as Equestrians allegedly called it), but Jacoby swore that half of a glass of absinthe would help him see the connections when there was some puzzle or equation he couldn’t quite solve.

Given that the bottle was slightly less than half empty while still looking almost brand new, it was clear that Jacoby had, over the past few days, been drinking considerably more than he typically did.

Hänsel had seen more than enough. "Vell, I'm glad to see zat ze Conspiracy Loom is operating at full speed,” he said, carefully lowering the hammer of the pistol and placing it by the bottle of absinthe.

Jacoby turned around to face Hänsel, pushing his louped goggles up to his forehead, looking at first surprised, and then annoyed to see him. “Remind me again why I let you call it that,” he said.

“Vell, because zat is exactly vat it does. In go ze zreads of information, und out comes a beautiful tapestry of madness.” Hänsel’s answer did absolutely nothing to placate his friend.

“Yes,” Jacoby began, “That is why you call it that. Why do I allow you to call it that?”

“Because, welchen unterschied macht das?” That, plus a simple shrug, comprised the Count’s answer. “I’m sorry, Jacoby. It vas not my intention to upset you.”

Instantly, Jacoby slumped tiredly. “I know,” he said, turning back to his laboratory setup. “It’s just… all this, everything. I’ve been working on this for days, and I feel like the only progress I’ve made is establishing what won’t work. I know I irritate her, but the Duchess is counting on me. Eisendorf is counting on me. Thousands of griffons hoping that one of them is a genius and can fix everything. I don’t know if I can do this, Hänsel. Not again.”

For a few moments, Hänsel was quiet, allowing Jacoby time to collect his thoughts. When it seemed that the collection was not going well, he started explaining. “Alex sent me an express letter, Jacoby. He is very concerned for you.” He closed the distance between himself and his friend, coming to stand next to him. “You vake at dawn, you have a cup of strong coffee, eat a piece of bread smeared viz jam, if you eat anyzing at all, und have a glass of absinze. You zen lock yourself in here for five or six hours. You come out again, you have anozer coffee, perhaps a small sandvich, und anozer glass of absinze. You lock yourself in here again, und do not come out until midnight to go to bed, save for vun night ven you fell asleep or fainted in here, und he carried you to bed. You cannot live like zis.”

“‘On my honor,’ Hänsel. Those were my exact words to the mayor. What other way can I live after saying something like that?”

That question had no easy answer. It was time for a new question. “Vell, vhy not start by telling me about zis map cozy you appear to have been veaving.” Moving quickly so as to be more distracting, Hänsel approached the map on the wall with colored strings criss-crossed over it. “Vat is it, exactly?”

“That is a carefully constructed diagram that correlates all the data I’ve collected,” Jacoby replied. Small though the change was, he perked up just a bit when his attention was directed to something he actually had mastery over. “But it tells us much, much more than simple correlation between facts. Follow that red string northeast out of Adlerheim, and then answer me a question.”

Hänsel directed his attention towards Adlerheim, needing a moment to find its location, and because tracing the aforementioned string by tracing a talon along it. As he did, Jacoby continued speaking. “What do self-organizing cutlery, perfectly timed clocks, and a dancing frog all have in common?”

The answer, at the end of the apparent trail, was a very obvious geographical feature on the map, and it was impossible not to notice. “Die Berg der Wilde Blitze?” Hänsel asked, turning to look to Jacoby. The other griffon’s grin was equal parts smug and excited.

“Exactly."

It would be wholly incorrect to say that Hänsel was unfamiliar with die Berg der Wilden Blitze. Everycreature within the Confederation knew of it, and many without knew of it, if only by a different name: Storm Peak, so named for the gigantic, seemingly permanent storm supercell that concealed the topmost portion of it in swirling, angry clouds that regularly flashed with lightning. There were only two kinds of griffons that ever tried to reach the mountain's peak; the insanely heroic, and the heroically insane, and it was frequently impossible to determine who was which. Other creatures generally had the sense to stay as far away from the peak as possible.

“You mean to say zat zese phenomena are related in some vay to die Berg der Wilden Blitze?” Hänsel asked, gesturing to the map with his talon.

“Oh, there is absolutely no doubt about it,” Jacoby answered. In a flash, he was right next to Hänsel. “Observe, for instance, Griffondorf.” He jabbed a talon at the map. “The storm is visible from here, but it’s still quite distant. Accordingly, no phenomena. But then Adlerheim.” Another jab. “Still distant, but closer. Ergo, phenomena.”

“Perhaps closer by a few leagues, certainly, but ze mountain is still hundreds of miles avay. Zat can’t be enough to really make zat much of a difference, can it?”

“Normally, it wouldn’t, you’re right. But observe the blue threads.” Jacoby’s talon now traced along such a thread, running from the pin over Storm Peak and moving just past the pin indicating Adlerheim. “I had to read my Equestrian books over and over again, you remember them, the ones I bought from the smuggler because it’s illegal to import them, even though there’s nothing prohibiting ownership. I had to read them over and over again, but the blue threads show us, as best as I could approximate them, the locations of every ley line originating from the mountain. This one moves directly through your estate, making your kitchen the closest location in Adlerheim to the ley line. Ergo, phenomena.”

For the Count, it was as if the lights had suddenly turned on; the map made complete sense. His estate was far from what Jacoby had clearly identified as the source, but because of the ley line, had a direct connection to it. Other places, such as the pin labeled Eisendorf, were not near a ley line, but were much closer to the mountain, and so still experienced activity. And still other places, like Griffondorf, were far from both the mountain and from ley lines, and so experienced nothing.

“All zat from a few visits to towns und villages? Jacoby, I know say zis about you perhaps too frequently, but zat’s amazing. How did you even know ze ley lines vere to blame?”

“I didn’t at first.” Throughout his explanation, Jacoby’s smile never faltered, and his energy never flagged. Even when admitting to a fault came into question, he seemed more and more ecstatic. “But when I tried to model a field, it never worked out. It either couldn’t reach as far as Adlerheim, or it was too strong and the predicted effects in Eisendorf didn’t match my observations. And then I remembered reading about ley lines, and sure enough, that was the missing puzzle piece.”

“Predicted…” Hänsel paused. After a moment, the exact implications sunk in and his eyes widened in surprise. “Jacoby, did you invent a scale of units just to measure und, predict ze effects of zese occurrences?”

“Of course not. Or, maybe a little bit. It’s just a placeholder, really. It’s not like I came up with names for an absolute scale used to measure the force and intensity of persistent magical fields, and for the units comprising that scale, on the spot, just because I needed some convenient way of measuring something that hasn’t really ever been encountered before. I admit that I may have gotten a little carried away.”

Hänsel quirked his brow, and after a moment of silent deliberation, decided that the best course of action was to not ask any more questions regarding that particular subject and hope that Jacoby would forget all about it before long. Instead, he posed a more pertinent question: “So, vat does it mean?” That single question put an immediate end to Jacoby’s smile.

“I don’t know.” Once again, he slumped. “So the source is the mountain. So what? A source isn’t a cause. Maybe it’s excess magic from the storm, but then why is everything so orderly? I’ve held a thunder cloud in my talons, Hänsel, and even when it’s perfectly safe, it still feels like it’s barely controlled, like it could escape from you at any moment and do who knows what. The rivers of light had to have done something to the storm, but without knowing what they were, I can’t even start to guess what they might’ve done. The only other explanation is that magic is coming from the outside and into the mountain, but then everycreature would be panicking over it. There’d be research teams everywhere looking for clues, and Parliament would be throwing money at us, but that isn’t happening. The mountain being the source is the only explanation that fits, and I have no idea why or how. I feel like I’m flying blindfolded.”

“Und zat is exactly vhy you vill stop vorking zis instant-“ Hänsel placed an arm across Jacoby’s shoulders- “Leave your veaving for later-“ Turned them both around and pulled his friend towards the door, despite his feeble resistence- “Und eat somezing, drink somezing zat is not coffee or alcohol, und take a nap. I vill make you somezing, simple, uncomplicated. Somezing common. Und zen, you vill be able to zink clearly again und find your answer.”

Jacoby gave a coughing chuckle, and then stopped resisting the Count’s efforts to pull him away from his work. “If I either you or Alex were never a part of my life, I don’t know what I’d do with myself."



Lunch was simple, but hearty. Sandwiches made with thickly sliced ham and hot mustard, crackers with hard cheese, biscuits that were too stale to eat until they were dipped in cream, and pears that were almost, almost too ripe.

It was common, just as Hänsel promised, but it was perfect. Jacoby's choleric spell was broken, and he ate as if he hadn't seen food for a year. Afterward, he retired to bed while the Count left to attend to other business. But Jacoby did not sleep.

In his mind, he was already back at his Conspiracy Loom, unraveling the mess of threads he’d been failing to make sense of earlier. The time away from everything had pulled it all into an appropriate perspective, and it almost seemed silly the way he’d fixated on this or that aspect when now it wasn’t clear if they had ever been a part of the problem.

And then inspiration struck like a bolt of lightning. Jacoby leapt out of bed and charged through his house as fast as he could, down the stairs, through the sitting room and into the library that housed his workspace. In a sudden frenzy, he flicked switches to activate this generator or turn on that light, not paying attention to what he was doing so long as there was light. Hurrying to the table, a misjudgment overturned a bottle of black ink onto a stack of paper.

“Scheiße!”

Righting the bottle and using some of the ruined sheets to blot up the worst of the mess, Jacoby quickly grabbed an unused sheet and, after locating a pen and dipping it in what remained of the ink, began to quickly inscribe rune after rune with furious precision. In seconds, the center of the paper sheet was covered in gibberish, runes that were off-proportion or backwards, runewords that would try to collapse on themselves, try to ignite the paper and extinguish it at the same time, try to produce light and snuff light at the same time, an absolute, perfect mess of nonsense that was just as likely to do anything as it was to do nothing.

Dropping the pen into the bottle, Jacoby lifted the paper up and waved it through the air several times to help dry the ink, and then returned it to his workbench before placing his talons on either side of the runes and mentally reaching out into the æther, grabbing strands of magic in the air around him and wrapping them around his runes, as much as something with only two dimensions can be wrapped by something existing in more than three.

The paper flashed with light and grew warm, and then settled back to its original temperature while the runes fluoresced red. Nothing happened, the variety of enchantments failing to take effect, the words unable to support their structure. But the magic did not dissipate back to where it had come from, and the words, however it was that they managed to, held their energy. The griffon gave a shout of joy, grinning at his success before his attention turned to the pebble from Eisendorf and his grin turned manic.

“Jackpot."
> Of Things to Come
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The situation in Eisendorf was bleak. Bleaker even than it had been one week prior when Die Trauer Stern had first set anchor there. The situation in the mine had not improved, and many were claiming by then that it had gotten worse. Families packed their belongings. Lovers looked forlornly at the streets their children would never play in. Even the few enemies there were put aside old grudges and quietly admitted to themselves that they would miss their foes. Eisendorf was dying, and it was time to leave.

And then, Die Trauer Stern burst through the clouds like a ray of sunlight, and with a resounding cheer, the Eisendorfers forgot all about the need to go somewhere else. Griffons ran through the street and took to the air, following as best they could as the airship sped by at a brisk sixty knots, and darted out of the way when its propellers stopped and reversed direction as it descended.  Just a few yards above the ground and nearly at a dead stop, the propellers silenced completely and the anchors dropped. Moments after, the ladder descended, and then Alexios with it, not having bothered to even change out of his flight uniform, and not waiting for the ladder to finish winding itself back up before tightly gripping the carrier bag around his shoulders and taking off in a run towards the mine. Moments after that, Jacoby leapt from the deck, likewise still in uniform, and beat his wings rapidly to catch up to the minotaur.

“Bring a pick!” he shouted, “I need a pick!”

Jacoby landed harder than he meant to, although he ignored the small pain in his ankles for the moment, a short distance from the mine and ran the rest of the way. Alexios was already there, and so was Ansgar, the latter looking as if he might start crying at any moment, a pickaxe clutched tightly in his talons. “One week!” he exclaimed, voice barely steady, “You said one week, and here you are!”

“And here I am.” Jacoby did not stop to shake talons or even to regard the older griffon, but slowed to a quick march and advanced immediately to the bag that Alexios had placed on the ground, opening it and withdrawing a large ball made of dark wood. The ball would have been otherwise unremarkable if it had not been completely covered in a mess of haphazardly carved runes that luminesced with red light so sharp and bright that it looked angry. The ball was placed on the ground, near the boulder Alexios had previously destroyed a pickaxe on.

“You can fix it, then?” Ansgar asked excitedly, “That little globe will fix everything?"

“It fixed everything in testing,” Jacoby replied, “But that wasn’t on quite this scale, so the plain truth is that I have no idea if this will work or not.” He paused for a moment, and seemingly content with the placement of the wooden ball covered with angry, luminescent red runes, and turned to face the crowd, which had grown suddenly quiet and somber at his admission that despite it all, they might still be leaving home. “I know that nogriffon here, myself included, puts any stock in prayer. The ponies have their Princesses to grant whatever wish they want, while Siegfried taught us to solve our problems ourselves. But he’s the greatest of all griffons. He laid low the fiercest of dragons, hunted the largest sea serpents, and stopped the sun from moving across the sky, if just for a few moments. He doesn’t listen to or answer prayers, and I don’t think he’ll ever start, but if there was ever a time to ask him for help, it’s right now.”

Jacoby turned back to the boulder that had, only a week prior, defied the efforts of Alexios to damage it, and felt his stomach twist in knots as he extended a claw and accepted the pickaxe from Ansgar, took a few steps forward, rose to his hind legs and spread his wings just slightly to keep his balance. Raising the tool up, he swung it at the boulder as hard as he dared to, and it resonated with the sound of a ringing bell when it impacted against the stone, the force rattling what felt like every bone in his body. All present felt their hopes sink lower than they ever had, the stone seeming just as unyielding as it had been.

“It worked!” Jacoby shouted. And then he raised the pickaxe and struck the stone again. And then again, and again, and again, harder and faster with each blow, until the boulder began to crack. As the first chips of rock fell to the ground, a thunderous roar of triumph rose from what sounded like the whole of Eisendorf. Jacoby dropped the pickaxe to the ground with a clatter and threw his talons into the air as he was rushed by every griffon present, the few non-griffons present, and Alexios. “It worked!” he shouted again, somehow over the cheering crowd, as Alexios hefted him onto his shoulder for all to see, the same way he once had years before.

Families wept with joy. Lovers kissed. Even the few enemies there were forgot old grudges and embraced. “Heil!” they all shouted, "Heil! Heil! Heil!” And still, Jacoby was not finished.

“Stoke the furnaces and bring iron!” he ordered, “I know what to do!”

With a final shout of triumph, the crowd scattered and bolted for the stores of metal and charcoal they had been so carefully conserving, and the fires of industry burned into the night as the creatures of Eisendorf forged and wrought, and more and more and more ingots were covered in angry, luminescent, red runes with every passing hour.



Jacoby possessed two aviation jackets that were fitted for him. The first was older, well-worn and cared for, and had a patch of leather on the right sleeve to cover a hole left by an arrow years earlier. It was the one he preferred to wear, when he had the option. The second was just as old, but looked nearly new, as it was rarely worn except on certain occasions. The leather was unmarred and well-conditioned, and did not so much as creak when he moved in it. But most significant to this jacket was the trio of medals hanging from the left breast. The first was a simple, silver lion’s paw, a Badge of Valor that was commonly awarded to the Confederation’s soldiers and mercenary forces after combat. It was akin to a merit badge, and did not carry any special meaning aside from showing that he had seen combat. The other two were a different story altogether.

The first of the gold medals was the Sword of Siegfried, awarded for 'uncommon valor and gallantry in combat in the face of overwhelming odds.' The second was the Shield of Siegfried, awarded ‘uncommon and unwavering resolve in the face of a great challenge.’ Both were high honors, but what really made them unique was the fact that most individuals who received them did so posthumously by being too stubborn to quit when it was clearly beneficial to do so. There was no doubt that these three medals, combined with the jacket, did help Jacoby cut an especially dashing look. But they also meant that he had to stand quietly behind a curtain and wait until his cue came. And when it did, the applause as he walked out into view from stage left almost made the waiting worthwhile.

The square in Griffondorf had become host to a quickly built stage, upon which an older minister in Parliament, important enough to host public functions but not important enough to sway much in the way of opinions, stood alongside a much younger aide who carried a small, wooden case in his talons, both of them dressed in tuxedoes. Behind them in a grandstand waited other officials, including several field officers from the army, a few other ministers, and some others whose jobs Jacoby wouldn’t begin to guess. All of them watched him with expressions that managed to be restrained, but telegraphed clear expectations of him at the same time.

In front of the stage, by contrast, was as many denizens of Griffondorf as could be accommodated, as well as several visitors from out of town. The four days that had passed since the triumph in Eisendorf had given them all plenty of time to plan to arrive to see the griffon that was already being called (by the less reputable, more sensational publications) the 'greatest hero of the modern age.' The front row was host to several journalists and photographers from various newspapers, as well as other individuals of note who were not notable enough to sit with the officials, including Alexios, Hänsel, and even the Duchess, who looked less unhappy about seeing Jacoby than usual. As he reached the minister and his aide, Jacoby came to a halt, and gradually the applause did as well.

“You proved your dedication to your country and your kin many years ago in the Three Kingdoms War, Jacoby Flynn,” said the minister. “We were right to honor your actions then, and we are right to honor them now. You are the ideal that every griffon should strive to emulate. A hero to inspire us all.” He paused just long enough to turn to the aide next to him, retrieving a small object of polished gold affixed to a red ribbon from the wooden box. “It is with great honor that I present you with your second Shield of Siegfried, to commemorate your unfaltering resolve in the face of an insurmountable challenge.”

With a steady, deliberate motion, the minister pinned the medal to Jacoby’s jacket, and a round of applause rose from the crowd as the two shook talons. The minister motioned to the microphone, and then left the stage with his aide, both of them joining the other officials in attendance. Jacoby approached the device, and then stood and waited for the applause to calm down.

"Well," Jacoby said into the microphone after a moment. "Those of you who read the papers might well know this is not the first time I've been called a hero. I didn't feel particularly deserving of the title then, and I don't feel particularly deserving of it now.

"It is conduct as much, if not more than action that truly defines heroism. Conduct that is shown through the ideals of courage, honor, humility, civility, and cunning. Ideals that I have seen everyday, ever since the sky danced with rivers of light barely two weeks ago.

"In the face of the unknown, we were not cowed by fear. We did not manufacture reasons to escape from promises that were no longer convenient. We did not pretend to be our neighbors' superior if their own courage faltered, and comforted and aided them until it returned. And when the forces that we faced prevented us from moving forward, we did not surrender to them, but looked for a new path to our destination.

"I don't think I'm especially heroic. But if I am a hero, I will know that I will see myself reflected in those ideals I have seen in each of you.  Today, my friends, we must acknowledge not the hero who stands on stage, but the hero that lives in each of us, and go forward knowing that when we stand together, that although many challenges will be great, no challenge will ever be insurmountable.”

A roar of applause rose from the assembled crowd: Jacoby Flynn, the hero of the common griffon. He looked out with a smile across his features, taking a few extra moments as he looked about to look at his more personal supporters in the front row, Alexios and Hänsel both clapping excitedly and grinning as broadly as he was, and even the Duchess was visibly happy, as small as her smile and restrained as her applause both were. Finally, he dared to cast a glance towards the Parliamentary officials. Like the rest of the assembled crowd, they were applauding, although their lack of smiles indicated that it was out of politeness, rather than genuine gratitude. Jacoby could not bring himself to be surprised by this.

The hero of the common griffon had refused to say so much as one word about Equestria.



It was half-passed ten at night when Jacoby pushed open the door of his house and tiredly heaved himself inside, Alexios filing in right after him and closing the door to shut out the chilly air. “I can hardly believe we escaped with our lives,” said the griffon in a half-serious manner, undoing the snap fasteners of his flight jacket.

“I saw the look those staff officers were given you,” Alexios remarked, striping off his suit jacket in turn. Both minotaur and griffon hung their jacket on a coat rack to one side and advanced into the living room proper, although Alexios paused long enough to grab a folded newspaper from one of his pockets. With the flick of a switch, electric lamps illuminated the room. “It might be a miracle you didn’t just burst into flames.”

“It would’ve put griffons at the forefront of weapons technology if I had! Anger not the griffons of the north, or we shall look upon you with a great and furious disapproval!”

Alexios moved straight to the fireplace, unfolded the newspaper just enough to crumple it, and then tossed it in. While he did, Jacoby flopped down onto the sofa, sprawled out like an enormous cat (which, all things considered, was not a difficult thing for him). “I’m telling you, Alex, these events aren’t in any way fair.” Rolling onto his back, he loosened his tie and undid the top buttons of his shirt. “I always feel vaguely ill-at-ease at the end of one. The staff works so hard to make it enjoyable, but I have to wonder who’s actually enjoying it.”

Alexios piled a short log onto the newspaper, followed by a second. “Try not to feel too bad, Jake,” he said, adding a third log to the heap. “We need to face the facts, award ceremonies aren’t meant to be enjoyed by mortal creatures. It’s not just you. We all hate ‘em."

“Oh, it’s not the ceremonies I mind at all,” Jacoby said in response. “It’s the twice damned receptions they always have afterwards. ‘Oh, Herr Flynn, I am Such-and-Such So-and-So from this village you have never heard of and most likely will never go to except due to a navigation error.’ One after the other, hour after hour. And the journalists? Always the same questions that nocreature anywhere in the world really cares to hear the answer to. Helden im Himmel, we should go to one in Equestria someday. I’ll bet theirs are actually interesting."

"At least it wasn't as bad as the first time," Alexios suggested. He struck a match and began igniting the newspaper under the wood. "Remember that reception?"

Jacoby cackled at that. "I remember that the Duchess kept checking her watch because she felt she was wasting her time and didn't have a clear path to the exit. At least not until we 'accidentally' stumbled into the group she was in and successfully provided a distraction. I'm still convinced that one favor is the only reason she has any respect for me at all.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” The fire started, Alexios tossed the match into the fireplace and then watched the flames grow, he and jacoby falling back into silence. “So,” the minotaur began again after a few moments, looking over his shoulder, “Out of everygriffon at the reception, and the few in the ‘other’ category, who you had a chance to talk to, did any of them buy your story?"

With a sigh, Jacoby’s smile melted away. “The politicians did,” he replied, “But it wasn’t a hard sell. They're not happy with my implicit refusal to implicate Equestria, no question, but being able to tell their citizens there’s nothing to worry about, Herr Held will handle everything? Also no question they’re thrilled about that. I don’t think the academics believe that I actually fixed anything. Not the sharper ones.”

Alexios frowned at that. “That’s gonna be a problem,” he said, turning his attention back to the fire.

“As long as they think I still have research hoarded away, they’ll play along, at least until they think they have everything they need.” Jacoby rolled from his back onto his stomach. "I didn’t invent any new runes for this, they have to realize that, but I did have to play with structure and established rules, and that’s what they’ll want. I don’t have to fool them forever. Just until I figure out a better solution.”

“And what if you can’t find one?”

“I have to, Alex!” Jacoby shouted, slamming his fist on the sofa's arm. “Did you see the headlines three days ago, when we went tearing off to Eisendorf like Lofwyr himself was after us? When Parliament finally lost control of the situation like we knew they would? ‘Equestrian Plot for Conquest.’ Never mind how insane an idea that is, the truth doesn’t sell newspapers, so thank Heaven that circulation was so poor that day. Do you know what the headlines will be saying tomorrow, now that they all have pictures of me with a brand new medal? ‘Living Hero Does It Again.’ You can’t have a dragon without a dragon-slayer. I'm the one who has to fix this, Alex. That's what I'm here for. That’s what I do." With a tired slump and heavy sigh, Jacoby dropped his head onto the sofa's arm, staring dejectedly at the wall. "I fix things...."

He didn't register that anything around him had changed until he felt Alexios' hand on his shoulder, and looked up at the minotaur mournfully.

“Siegfried's the greatest of all griffons," said Alexios definitively. "He laid low the fiercest dragons, hunted the largest sea serpents, and stopped the sun from moving across the sky. But he never did any of those things alone."

Giving Jacoby two firm pats on the shoulder, Alexios headed upstairs to go to bed, leaving the griffon to ponder the wisdom of those words as wrestled with his melancholy.
> Epilogue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	It was half-passed two in the morning when Jacoby pushed opened the door of his house and quickly scrambled inside, shutting the portal behind him with a forceful shiver. Even bundled up in a heavy overcoat and wearing wool-lined leather gloves and boots over his feet and a scarf around his neck, it was still very cold up at high altitude in the dead of night under open sky. Something the goggles pushed up onto his forehead had done absolutely nothing to help with. It took several moments of enjoying air that wasn't as cold as it had been outside before he noticed the flicker of firelight along the wall. Glancing over to its apparent source, sure enough he saw Alexios relaxing in one of the armchairs near the mantle, a low and pleasant fire stoked, wearing a blue night shirt and matching cap and reading a book.

Or rather, he was reading a book until Jacoby came inside. "Oh, good," the minotaur began, closing the tome in his hands, "You're back. You have any idea what time it is?"

"I wasn't aware your duties included waiting up for me," Jacoby replied, pulling his boots and gloves off and leaving them by the door, before moving on to his scarf and overcoat, which he hung from the wall.

“They don't, really, but you know me. Can't sleep unless everything is in it's place." Standing up from his chair, Alexios busied himself with putting another log on the fire while Jacoby removed and hung his jacket and goggles. Giving the log a firm poke with the fire iron, the minotaur spoke up again. "You find it?"

"Oh, sure," the griffon replied, giving both chairs and the fire a pass and heading straight for the cocktail cabinet. "After all, I was only flying thousands of feet in the air, in the dead of night, with only a pair of runecrafted goggles that only barely improve my nightvision and a hastily-made homing rune to guide me. It was just about the easiest thing in the of course I didn't find it!" Angrily, he brought out from the cabinet a tumbler and a bottle of schnaps, the former of which he promptly filled half-way with the latter. "There's no telling how far off-course it went. I may never find it. I probably will never find it."

With a huff, Jacoby seized the glass in his talons and stalked to the chair Alexios had not be using, practically jumping into it and burying his face into the claws not presently occupied with a drink. "All I wanted was to forget this nonsense with the newspapers. It’s been almost a week, and I’ve only moved back to the fifth page, and now this," he said, hovering on the border between complaining and whining. "There's nothing to be done for it now. I'll just have to start over." With a final huff, he raised the glass to his beak and drank, letting the sting of alcohol wash over his tongue and warm his stomach.

"Well, whatever," Alexios replied after a moment, heaving a mighty yawn. "I'm going to bed. Don't stay up too late. Or, uh..." A glance at the clock revealed that it was already impossible to avoid that. "Later, I guess. See ya in the morning, Jake."

"Gute nacht, Alex." Before long, Jacoby was left alone in the lounge with only the schnapps in his glass to keep him company. He raised it to his beak to take another sip, and lowered it to the end table at his side with a heavy sigh. Rising to his feet, he left his chair and trod to the front window, looking out into the night sky, and nearly endless sea of stars stretching as far as he dared imagine.

"I shot an arrow into the air," he whispered to himself, "It fell to earth I know not where. All that hard work, and now it all rests on someone else finding you." With another sigh, he returned to the cushions and coffee table. "Not the way I envisioned celebrating my Letter." Gathering his resolve, Jacoby drained the rest of his glass, unaware that hours earlier and thousands of miles away, a streak of light and sound dropped out of the sky, knocking scores of apples down from the trees they hung in.