A young mail pegasus finds his way of life threatened when a pair of entrepreneurs discover a new way to send mail.
Snaproll is a young flier working for the Royal Mail Service, marking time and trying to make his way in the world. But in this day and age, when letters can be sent by magic and dragon, he has to step up and prove-to Equestria and himself-a simple mail pony can do the job better than someone with a magic gimmick and a few dragons. If he fails, not only will he be out of a job, but so will countless pegasi.
My name is Snaproll. I am a pegasus. I'm tall for most pegasi, with brown fur and feathers, orange hair with a blue streak in my mane and tail, and grey on my hooves and muzzle. My cutie mark is a fireball wearing goggles with a pair of crossed crutches. And this is my story.
In many ways, this story begins in Canterlot on a humid, late summer day, with a challenge cast against all hope for the honor of my friends, and my co-workers. In some other ways, this story began years ago with a discovery that unicorns could send messages nearly instantaneously with the aid of a dragon and some rudimentary spellwork. And in some ways, this story began when I was a young colt, and discovered that I liked doing crazy, borderline dangerous things just because I could.
But in many more ways, this story begins on a bright spring day near Cloudsdale, flying long distance for the Royal Mail.
It was, as I mentioned, Spring. I'd just finished a delivery run to Ponyville, and I'd managed to stay overnight and take in the aftermath of the Winter Wrap-Up Festival. So I was well rested, stocked up on good vibes from the celebration, I'd only a few letters to take back to Cloudsdale, and best yet, I still had the whole day to myself. Better still, the hangover I was sporting would have been described as mild at best, and it had been tamed by a few excellent pastries from SugarCube Corner.
While in town, I'd managed to talk to a few of the local pegasi. They had been welcoming, with full of questions about how things were in Cloudsdale and hungry for news and gossip from other parts of Equestria. For my part, I was curious about some of the more...interesting geographic features surrounding Ponyville. Well, let's see what those townies were talking about, I thought to myself with a wry grin. Humming to myself, I banked lazily towards the Everfree Forest. Last night at The Watering Hole, a few of the locals had told me there were some places in Everfree that might be worth checking out. Some gorges, canyons, et cetera. Even better, the weather patterns there were unpredictable. In short, the perfect place for me to have some fun in my spare time.
I should mention that I've always wanted to be a stunt flyer. While I've never been good at precision flying for groups like the Wonderbolts, ever since I was a colt, I wanted to push the envelope. I've pushed the boundaries of what my body is physically capable of, which isn't something that you want in a professional setting. I got away with it mostly through my own cleverness at not being caught.
Also, my boundless humility.
Below me, the farms and gentle rolling hills that surrounded Ponyville slid past behind me, giving way to a seemingly endless carpet of green forest, broken by the occasional river. The sun shone high above, and other than the humming the only sound was the rustle of my feathers and the rush of wind in my ears. Above the trees far below, a large V of white birds winged their way north. I always found it interesting how they managed to keep such a perfect formation, but their wings beat at such different intervals. Ahead, like a scar across the pristine landscape, a deep, rocky gorge cut its way through the forest.
As I approached the gorge, I pulled up into a hover, taking in the landscape below me. The craggy grey walls of the narrow gorge rose on either side of a fast flowing river. At most, it was maybe two wingspan wide. I'd have a pretty tight margin for error. Then again, the river wound its way roughly in the direction of Cloudsdale. Technically, it wasn't a detour...
Grinning, I dipped a wing and dropped into a diving turn, feeling my wings strain as the wind resistance built up as my speed increased. I fought hard against the urge to fold my wings further, as I would need every ounce of lift as I pulled out of the dive above the river. I fought the strain, building up speed as I plummeted towards the earth. Wait for it...wait for it and... FLARE I spread my wings wider and pulled out of the dive just above the surface of the stream at the floor of the gorge. I could feel the occasional cool splash of water against my hooves as I beat my wings to maintain my speed, adrenaline burning its way through my veins. I felt like I could have flown without the aid of my wings.
Ahead, the canyon wall loomed as the river wound its way to my left. I hugged the far right wall of the canyon, rolled up onto my left wing, and banked hard. A fallen oak, easily as big as the old Treebrary had been in Ponyville, lay across the canyon and looming dangerously in my path. I beat my wings furiously twice, gaining enough altitude and speed to launch myself into a tight corkscrew over the massive tree and dive back towards the water, gaining speed. I laughed then, partially from the adrenaline, partially from having just narrowly missing out on pasting myself all over an ancient tree, and partially because I was having a good time.
I glanced down to check how close I was to the water, just to make sure I wasn't misjudging my altitude. The sun was at my back, and I could see my shadow racing just ahead of me. I briefly thought about trying to outrun it, then I did a double take as I saw three more shadows just ahead of mine. Puzzled, I looked up and over my shoulder.
A trio of dragons, twice my size, were diving on me from above, the nearest a scant wingspan away from me. I yelped not at all like a litte filly and rolled as fast as I could to my left. The nearest dragon gave a snarl of disbelief and dismay as he plunged headfirst into the river below. The other two dragons roared, though they were somewhat less menacing by the fact that both of their voices cracked partway through.
I beat my wings harder, trying to gain more speed as the two dragons settled in on my tail. I heard one take a deep breath, and dodged right, narrowly dodging a column of fire as it scorched past me, blackening the gorge wall and leaving a heavy trail of steam in its wake. Almost immediately the other dragon blasted his stream of fire at me. I briefly noted that this dragon's fire was less a cohesive column of fire and more like a spiral of heavy azure sparks, but I suspected that it would fry me just the same.
My mind started racing. I guessed they were adolescent dragons, judging by their size . No time to wonder why they were attacking me. Focus first on surviving. I might get burnt to a crisp, but by Celestia I'd look good doing it.
The canyon pulled a hard turn to the right up ahead. I climbed up , and then dove as low as I could. The first dragon blasted fire at me again, white hot fire that singed the tip of my tail. I rolled to the left, and then reversed as the fire kicked up a wall of steam behind me, trusting to my last glimpse of the turn in front of me to keep me out of the wall.
I rolled onto my right wing, perpendicular to the river below, and pulled the tightest turn of my life. Suddenly, the canyon wall loomed in front of me. Thinking quickly, I stretched my hooves out and ran along the wall until I could push off, roll out and wind up level. I laughed at my luck and my own amazement that I wasn't a smear on the side of the canyon. Grinning madly, I chanced a look over my shoulder.
Behind me, the two dragons flew through the steam, one after the other. However, they had two major disadvantages. One, dragons, even adolescent ones, mass a lot more than ponies. Two, they'd been paying more attention to me and less to their surroundings. The first dragon was flying too fast and couldn't pull a tight enough turn. He plowed into the side of the gorge with a sickening thud.
The second dragon, a skinnier specimen, managed to climb up, bleeding off speed and dove back down towards me, spitting blue sparks that threatened to burn the feathers from my wings and set my tail alight. My heart pounded in my chest as I beat my wings, trying to put as much distance between me and the dragon.
Ahead, the gorge narrowed. The walls came close together, leaving a gap that was maybe -maybe just wide enough for me to fly through. Then again, if this dragon was smart enough to time his fire blasts, he could fry me as I flew through the obvious gap. But since he hadn't been coordinating with his friends, I figured he wasn't smart enough to time his fire blasts.
I pumped my wings as hard as I could, trying for as much speed as I could. At the last second, I rolled up on my left wing, stretching out my hooves in front and behind me, narrowing my profile as much as I could. Even so, I felt my mane brush against one wall of the gorge, my right rear hoof rebounded against an outcropping. I had enough time to register the second bit as a dull flash of pain in my hoof. And then suddenly, the gap was past me in a blur of grey stone. I leveled off and jinked left, praying to Celestia that I guessed right.
Behind me, I heard a scratchy howl of dismay. I climbed out of the canyon and glanced over my shoulder. The last dragon had got himself stuck in the walls of gap. He blew a futile stream of sparks at me, but it fell woefully short. They fell in the river below, sending up tiny rivulets of scalding steam.
I climbed for altitude, laughing harder at my own talent, at my own invulnerability. A good portion of that was bleeding off stress from a near death experience. As I climbed though, I was struck by a few thoughts. I was still wearing my Royal Mail uniform. Everypony and most dragons knew that interfering with the Canterlot Royal Mail was a monumentally stupid idea. Even at adolescence, dragons were still plenty smart. If anything happened, the Royal Guard would land on the offending dragons like a ton of bricks.
So why did they decide to attack a uniformed mail pony?
I decided to get back to Cloudsdale as fast as possible. Not only did my vestigial sense of responsibility tell me that I should let my superiors know, but I had some serious bragging to do.
Gradually, as the miles and time wore on, the healthy adrenaline glow began to fade. In its place was the burn of muscle exertion and a bit of mental fatigue. The evasive maneuvers and extra speed had taken more out of me than I'd expected. Plus, and this was new to me, but the terror if being nearly barbecued alive turned out to be more physically draining than I'd have thought. I wasn't in any danger of falling off of my route, mind you. For a mail pony, you didn't miss your delivery. It just wasn't done. Even if my wings would fail, my pride would have kept me in the air long enough to get my mail where it was supposed to go. So, I gritted my teeth, ignored the burn, and fell into the steady rhythm of my beating wings and easy breathing. I forced the mystery of my attack to the back of my mind as the miles melted away below me until I could properly deal with everything.
As I flew higher and closer to Cloudsdale, a deep sense of civic pride welled up inside of me.
You know, alongside my normal pride.
In this case, though, you can't say it's entirely unjustified. I mean, we create most of the weather in Equestria here. Watching columns of rainclouds, rainbows, thunderstorms and streams of wind march across the sky from the airborne metropolis, shepherded by watchful weather pegasi is one of the most awe inspiring sights of Equestria. And the town itself is nothing to sneeze at either. Taller rather than wider, the city consisted of graceful cloud spires and columns that towered above the cumulus base of the city. Here and there, pegasi flew between towers and around the perimeter of the city. A few of these would be sky wardens, keeping an eye out for other pegasi that fell, but most would be bustling to and fro, fueling the city's industry for weather manufacturing.
Not to mention mail carrying.
The main hub for the Equestria Royal Mail in Cloudsdale was a long, squat bulge almost at the bottom north-west corner of Cloudsdale, built into the very foundation of the city. Every day, thousands of letters, packages, parcels, and missives made their way here and then back out again. Due to the fact that it was the main hub for the aerial Royal Mail, Canterlot boasted arguably the busiest mail center in Equestria, with the possible exception of the Canterlot office. One of the older mail ponies said that this is one of the first buildings in Cloudsdale, and that the rest of the city was built around this mail way-station.
Then again, this was the same mail pony who told me that it was perfectly in line with Royal Mail regulations to have a pint of cider before you began a run, so take that with a grain of salt.
The memory of my near escape from the dragons still fresh in my mind, I decided to make a grand entrance. I did a quick check of my uniform, surreptitiously checking to see if there were any burns to help corroborate my story. Nothing but a few singe marks. Well, I was just that darn good. I was ambushed by three dragons and came away without a scorch mark. If that wouldn't get Tequila Sunrise to go out with me, I didn't know what would.
I glided into a landing at the ground floor and luckily saw a pair of older hooves sorting through a few of the freshly arrived parcels. Rubberstamp and Postage Due were an institution here, almost as old as the mail center itself and inveterate gossips. As I approached, I saw Rubberstamp nudge Postage and nod in my direction, and then he raised his voice in greeting.
"So, what's the story this time, Snaproll? You run Ghastly Gorge blindfolded this time?"
Postage Due picked up the cue as she winked back at him. "I don't know, Stampy." She rolled her eyes. "I bet he tried to outrun a timberwolf on foot."
"Or maybe he picked a fight with a dragon."
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. I may have a habit of embellishing some of my stories. Grandpa Barrel Roll always used to say "Don't let the truth get in the way of a good story, sonny."
Come to think of it, he also used to tell me not to ride a unicycle in the bathtub without my helmet. Grandpa Barrel Roll's advice tended to vary in terms of utility, if not in entertainment value.
Anyway! Yes, this one's all true. And here I was getting robbed of some well deserved (this time) bragging by something as trivial as my reputation for being a bit of a braggart. And, more to the point, I was pretty tired out. I'd been lucky to escape from that ambush with my life, packages, and most of my uniform none the worse for wear other than a few scorch marks. I needed a hot meal, shower, and about 12 hours of sleep in that order. A wave of fatigue rolled over me as I tucked my wings in and I realized that I had other things to get done before all that.
I ignored their comments. Any other day I'd have a good natured bicker with them about the veracity of my stories, but I just wasn't in the mood."Have either of you guys seen Paper Pusher? I've got to talk to him about a new uniform requisition."
Rubberstamp arched an eyebrow at that. "Up on the sortin' level kid, but why do you-" his eyes narrowed as he took in the singe marks on my uniform and mail satchel. "I....was just kidding about the dragon, you know."
I nodded "I know you were Stamp, thanks." I wearily trotted off towards the sorting room, then thought better of it. I turned around to look back at them in the doorway. "And it wasn't one dragon. It was three."
Paper Pusher was about twice as old as Rubberstamp and Postage Due combined. But he was the guy that you went to if you needed something quick, because he could cut through all the red tape. Though, according to the rumors, that was probably because he'd had an on-again-off-again relationship with Red Tape, the geriatric mare in procurement. While it was a topic of speculation in the employee breakrooms, I was like many of the younger mail-ponies and believed that it was best left to the imagination.
But I digress. I liked Paper Pusher because he was one of the invaluable ponies to any organization who knows where everything is and how everything works. When I was new to the job, he'd taken me under his wing and showed me about three-quarters of the shortcuts necessary to get through work at the Royal Mail and maintain your sanity. Consequently, I had a great deal of respect for him. He was a pony who wore many hats.
Today, one of those hats involved taking down Extraneous Action reports while filling out requisition forms. No stranger to odd situations, he filled out the forms quickly in his office while I stood by his desk.
"So....how many dragons was it again?"
"Three, sir."
"And they got the drop on you, did they?"
"You could say that again, sir."
He glanced up at me. "You don't have to call me 'sir', young'un.We carry the mail. We work for a living." He winked and I felt myself grinning back at the old codger. "If you say so." A disturbing thought occurred to me just then. "Hey, you know if anypony else came back like this?"
He sat back on his haunches at that. "You know, I think you're the first one who was due back." We both looked up towards the massive flip board at the end of the room showing what mail shipment was due in or when it was sent out, flipping between yellow for in transit, green for arrived, and red for delayed. Currently, only the inbound shipment from Ponyville showed in the green. There were shipments due in from Canterlot, Los Pegasus, Phillydelphia, Manehattan and the weekly shipment from Trottingham. As we watched, Canterlot, Los Pegasus, and Manahattan flipped over from yellow to green. A minute later, the one from Phillydelphia flipped over to green.
Trottingham stayed resolutely yellow for another two minutes, and then flipped over to red.
I glanced back down at Paper Pusher. "You know, I'm gonna check out the receiving room. I want to see what's going on down there."
He waved a hoof idly at me. "Go ahead. I've got all I need here. Hopefully there's nothing major wrong down there."
I nodded and headed down to the receiving station, trying to quell the rising sense of trepidation.
The main receiving hall at Cloudsdale is built like a cathedral. That's not a bad description. The room itself could fit a couple of polo fields in it, with space enough for cheerleaders, a hayburger stand, and a dunk tank besides. Fluted cloud columns two rows thick lined the gaily painted walls, which were in turn festooned with safety notices, work bulletins, and motivational posters. Ponies rushed to and fro, sorting mail. Long tables lined with ponies sorted through letters and bundled them up for easier transport. Packages constantly arrive from the four corners of Equestria, and almost immediately got routed back out again. Here and there, a record players played upbeat tunes which were almost drowned out by the quiet murmur of conversation, work banter, and instructions passed from supervisor to subordinate.
It was a cathedral. A temple to order, logistics and speedy deliveries. On a normal day, you couldn't cross from one side to the other without being jostled, bumped or otherwise accosted by the general hustle and bustle.
Of course, today wasn't exactly a normal day.
Today, everypony was clustered over by the landing area as a trio of ponies worked with gauze and bandages. A low murmur of sound and tension radiated through the sorting room as I shouldered my way through the crowd.
This may come as a shock to you, but ponies are pretty resilient. Yeah, we might like the song and dance routines, fluffy clouds, and all that jazz, but I've seen ponies shrug off long falls, intense collisions, and even the occasional piano to the head and bounce back pretty well.
Stormy Gale would be lucky to fly again.
The dark grey filly's coat was singed and blistered. She lay on her left side, her right wing stretched out alongside, her feathers blackened and falling out as she labored to breathe. A pair of medic pegasi were laboring to spread salves on her burnt hide and poultices to her wings, but I could see the latent terror in her eyes as they swiveled from pony to pony in the crowd.
On my left, Paper Pusher shouldered his way through the crowd next to me. In an instant, his eyes took in Stormy's injuries, the medic's efforts, and the crowd surrounding them. He took a deep breath. "Allright", He said quetly, and instantly the murmuring crowd fell silent. "Seems here we have an injured pony, and some others trying to patch her up. Let's let them be about their business." And with that, the crowd started to disperse. Not all at once, but in ones and twos, ponies broke away, either back to their jobs or to retire to the break room and sow seeds of gossip. After a few minutes, it was just me, Paper Pusher, and Stormy Gale and the two medics working on her.
Paper Pusher turned to look at me, his watery eyes searching my features. "Well...looks like it wasn't just you who got attacked by dragons, was it?" By his tone, it wasn't a question.
I nodded. I couldn't think of anything else to say.
Paper Pusher looked back to Stormy Gale as the medics were loading her onto a stretcher. If anything, his expression had grown more world weary as he did. "Do me a favor, Snaproll, and follow her to the hospital. And when she's up to it, I want you to get her full story for what happened. We can't have mail ponies getting charbroiled in the line of duty." With that, he turned and walked back to his office.
Hours later, I left the hospital, back to my apartment. Stormy Gale was safely ensconced in the burn ward at Cloudsdale General, and she was far and away the worst off there. After a few hours, she was coherent enough to tell me her story.
She'd been flying back on the last leg from the Trottingham run when she'd been ambushed by a horde of dragons. There had been five of them, in her case. They were adolescents, by her estimation, but two had gotten the drop on her while she had dodged the first three. One thing that seemed worrying to her was that one of the dragons had made off with her mail satchel. I told her that it was more important that she'd escaped with her life.
As I made my way back to the Post Office, I started to sort my thoughts out, and wonder why these things were starting to happen. Who would try and knock out mail ponies? And WHY? I decided to report as soon as I could to Paper Pusher. Might as well let the higher ups sort out this stuff. Why the hay would I want to involve any of those decisions?
I spent a few minutes passing my information on to Paper Pusher, punched my clock and left. I chose to take my time and walk the fluffy cumulus streets of Cloudsdale, my thoughts troubled. If I had been a hair slower, or I hadn't seen the dragons when they first ambushed me, that could just as easily have been me on the floor of the sorting room rather than Stormy.
My apartment isn't much to write home about. It's up on the 4th floor of a downtown high rise. I took flight and alighted on the balcony a short while later, and passed into my living room. A pair of beat up sofas dominate one corner. My roomate and I decorated (and we're stretching the term here) the walls by hanging vintage Wyld Stallynz posters and more recent ones of his band, Megasus (They do this awesome stage show where their drummer conjures up a micro thunderstorm that powers these guitars and stuff. But that's a story for another day). The floor had a couple of second-hoof rugs, over which were scattered the average detritus of a pair of bachelor colts. In the kitchen, there was a note on the fridge door.
Snap- Got a last minute gig at the Laughing Lightning. Don't wait up. -Aces
I grunted and opened the fridge, pulled out a chiled Cores Light and sat down on the sofa, relaxing as much as my troubled mind would allow.
After a few sips, my eyes fell upon a yesterday's issue of the Cloudsdale Gazette and, in particular, a garish full page ad that lay open on the floor. I didn't lose my mind completely, so I set my beer down first before I dropped it out of shock, but I picked up the paper and read the ad.
It reminded me of old carnival posters, all bright painted stripes and colors, fancy filligreed writing. A pair of red haired, straw hatted unicorn ponies stood on either side of a stylized dragon, below which read the caption:
Post not reach your paramour in time? The Royal Mail's no longer as fine But never fear! We've the solution here
Despite my fatigue, I rushed back to the Mail Center with the ad as fast as I could. I managed to pass the add to Paper Pusher with just enough energy left to flop into one of the cots used for flyers stopping over.
I came to a few hours later when my nostrils were assailed by the smell of burnt coffee. I quickly pummeled my thoughts into consciousness, rolled out of the cot onto my hooves and started my way into the kitchenette.
Paper Pusher was there, looking the worse for going a night without sleep. Rubberstamp was committing coffee in the corner, and a trio of younger pegasi sat at a nearby table. I recognized the mare instantly. Tequila Sunrise had dominated the vast majority of my idle daydreams and some of my nocturnal ones. She had a beautiful, amber colored coat, deep purple eyes, and a braided midnight black mane and tail streaked with thin veins of red. Her normally merry features were somber as she contemplated the mug in front of her, but I suspected it wasn't the poor quality of the coffee that had her down. The other two pegasi, stallions both, I knew by sight if not by name. I joined them at the table, and had a mug of the awful coffee thrust in front of me by Rubberstamp.
I still haven't forgiven him for that.
"Alright", said Paper Pusher, distracting me from the atrocity being inflicted on my tastebuds, "we have a situation on our hooves. We have one pony in the burn ward, a shipment missing, and an attempt on another courier's life as well. And now this." With that he slammed the ad down on the table under his hoof before us before continuing. "Now, I'm not one to get in the way of innovation, but we've got a potential rival company that's ostensibly using dragons calling us out, AND we've had two couriers attacked by dragons, and one laid up . That smells an awful lot like an inconvenient coincidence."
One of the stallions I didn't know, a pale blue colored fellow with a vibrant green mane, raised a hoof. "So.....do we go to the Guard with this, sir?"
Pusher shook his head. "I don't think so. Everything we have is pretty tenuous, at best." He raised a hoof as the younger stallion opened his mouth in protest. "Think about it, Slipstream. All we'd be able to give them right now is coincidence."
I raised an eyebrow at that. "As in, if we had more evidence, they might be able to get to the bottom of things?"
Rubberstamp grinned at that. "Well, looks like you got a brain under your ears, huh?"
I glared at him. "Just because I'm an idiot doesn't mean I'm stupid. And who taught you how to make coffee?"
Paper Pusher tapped his hoof twice on the table before Rubberstamp and I could get into it further. "Snaproll here has hit on the crux of the matter. Furthermore, everypony knows about Flim and Flam. And fewer still trust them."
The other stallion snorted derisively at that. "Not after they tried selling a steam powered carriage, at any rate."
Slipstream glaced at him. "Why's that Cloud Cover?"
Cloud Cover smirked back at the pale blue stallion . "Somepony else invented one."
Tequila Sunrise spoke up for the first time, her voice husky as she stared at the tabletop. "So, what are we going to do about it? Stormy and I are close." She glared at each of us, her eyes moist, grief evident on her beautiful features. "If those.....swindlers are responsible, I want to make them pay."
Paper Pusher nodded at that. "What we really need is information." He glanced around the table in turn. "Slipstream, you've got a ton of overdue vacation time leftover, same with you Cloud Cover. Miss Sunrise, you're on bereavement leave for your friend. Snaproll, you're on a forced wellness rest, recuperating from your traumatic experience."
Rubberstamp smirked. "What about me, Pusher? Won't everypony notice that I'm not working?"
I couldn't help myself. "I think everypony would be more impressed if you started." There was some good natured chuckling at that before Paper Pusher stood up. "I can presume you lot are all in?" We all nodded and made vague noises of assent. "Good. If you'll follow me into my office, I've got some ideas where we can start."
Paper Pusher's office was....well, words didn't do it justice. Cluttered was the closest, but it somehow failed to to convey all the scope and majesty of the chaos within. Folders thick with reports and papers towered up to the ceiling, tables bowed with their weight. A single desk adorned with an inkwell, blotter and a calendar that was likewise covered with notes, scribbles, annotations and, in one corner, what I could only presume was a caricature of Princess Luna hitting a draconequis with a mallet. We filed in as best we could, leaning against tables and trying not to disturb any of the towering paperwork. If any of that falls over, it'll take them a week to dig us out, I thought to myself.
Paper pusher had carried the ad in with him and laid it carefully on the calendar. "So, these two swindlers are advertising a new mail carrying service via dragon. Any of you featherheads know how that could work?"
Much to my surprise, I had an idea. I raised a hoof. "I might have an idea about that. While I was at my last stopover in Ponyville, I stopped off at a bar and got a chance to talk to some of the locals, and listen to a few more. Evidently, that dragon that's always around Princess Twilight is able to send letters and such darn near instantaneously between her and Princess Celestia in Canterlot. They used to do it pretty regularly a few years back."
Cloud Cover whistled appreciatively at that while Slipstream spluttered "But... but... I mean, it takes hours to fly to Canterlot from Ponyville! That's...."
Rubberstamp shook his head. "Too unreliable. The weak link of the chain is the dragon, and they're rare as hens teeth. You've got to find one that'll do it for just goodwill. And generally those are just the young ones. By the time we come across dragons, they're adolescents at best, which means they're looking to acquire a hoard and become adults."
Slipstream frowned and raised an eyebrow at that. "What happens then?"
Rubberstamp grinned crookedly. "You ever try to feed a full fledged adult dragon? Shoot, just one'd take up half the Sorting room."
Paper Pusher tapped the ad thoughtfully with a hoof. "Well, I think the best thing to do in any case is to see this thing firsthoof. Says here they're doing demonstrations in Canterlot next week." He looked up at each of us in turn. "Looks like it might be a good time to pay the capitol a visit.
I smiled at that. "Yessir. I hear it's lovely this time of year."
And two days later, I was in Canterlot with Tequila Sunrise.
Canterlot is a lot different from Cloudsdale, and beyond just the architecture. It's a much older city, and things are just that much more compact. The houses are closer together, and while a single home might have a footprint half the size of your average Cloudsdale home, they generally consisted of two or sometimes three stories crammed into the Castle on the Mountain. The city's historical atmosphere is so thick you can swim through it, and it can sweep you away if you aren't careful. Furthermore, Canterlot is where Princesses Celestia and Luna reside, and so anypony who wants to be somepony eventually finds their way there.
After all, if you're going to sell something to Equestria, you start in the main Canterlot market...
Tequila and I had pooled our funds and managed to afford a not-quite-outrageously expensive suite of rooms overlooking the main square at Canterlot, with a view of the main castle keep in the background. She had a room to herself, and I shared one with Slipstream and Cloud Cover before they left on the second day. By the fourth day, we'd settled into an easy routine: Tequila would take a shower first thing in the morning while I made toast and coffee, which I managed not to burn too badly. After she emerged from her morning ablutions, a vision of loveliness: her hair glowing with a soft luster that smelled like strawberries and ginger. The sight of her was enough to wake me up more than the coffee did, that's for sure. Over lunch we shared light conversation, where she impressed me with her quick wit, sense of humor, and charm. For my part, I exercised my listening abilities, since it gave me fewer chances of breaking down and blurting out "Durr... you're preeeeeetty... ". It was a near thing, but I succeeded in not coming across like a complete moron.
After breakfast, we traded off duties. One of us would fly a search pattern around Canterlot, while the other would stay in town. And we'd watch the show...
This had been my fourth time seeing it. We'd all found Flim and Flam on the first day. It wasn't that hard, to be honest. In their line of work, the job gets easier if you make a great, gaudy spectacle of yourself, and the brothers had raised that to an art form.
They had a stage set up in the main market square, a fancy affair with a drawn blue-striped curtain with silhouettes of the brother's profiles on either side. With a drumroll, a calliope, tuba, bass drum and glockenschpiel crescendoed into a tinkling, jolly tune. The curtain parted, revealing the brothers, dressed in their trademark straw hats and blue vests. With winning smiles, they launched into their act.
I cant give a full account of their act, because trying to give the full experience of a musical sales pitch just by writing it down is an exercise in futility. You miss out on the experience of the music hitting your ears, as the dynamics and harmonies play upon your psyche in ways that you don't understand. It's the difference between looking at a picture of a hayburger and eating one.
Instead I'll try to give you the pertinent details. The brothers opened up with bemoaning the time it took to send the Royal Mail. The weeks it would take, the hazards of long distance letters being lost, delivered to the wrong address... you get the idea. In short, the number of the things that can happen with an organization as big and complex as the Royal Mail. The solution, therefore, should be Flim and Flam's Revolutionary Dragon-grams! Instantaneous communication with the four corners of Equestria, blah blah blah.
What interested us more than the showmanship was their practical demonstration. At this point, they brought a dragon onstage, and promised to send a letter to Baltimare and, in enough time it took to write it, receive the response. As the music hushed, the adolescent dragon took the scroll tied with a blue ribbon and, blowing it away with a gentle breath of fire. The crowd hushed, and waited with baited breath until, minutes later, the dragon belched a ball of azure flame that dissolved into the form of another tightly wrapped scroll, this one with a red ribbon, and read it aloud. He-I presume, though it's hard to tell with dragons- barely got through the first sentence of the scroll before the crowd erupted with thunderous cheers and hoof stamping.
And so it went. They performed the show twice a day every day without fail. What's more, they displayed all the letters they received nearby. Looking at them, each received letter had different writing, so it was clear that they were different from sending to sending.
I also made a point to pay attention to the crowds. Canterlot was big enough that two shows a day for five days running gave them a pretty different audience day to day, and I started recognizing some who brought friends the next day to see the spectacle. Today, though, the press made an appearance, so the first performance ended with a stuttering of flash-bulbs. Afterward, a half dozen reporters surrounded the brothers, peppering them with a hail of questions. I was standing near enough to catch that not all the reporters were from Canterlot newspapers either. The Las Pegasus Times, Fillydelphia Gazette and Manehattan Chronicle all wanted to know how soon dragon-gram service would be extended to their cities. The brothers fielded questions and dealt back snappy quotes to keep the reporters happy until a distinguished, blue haired and mustached stallion with a monocle stepped through the circle of reporters. A dun colored earth pony standing by me nudged me and nodded in his direction. "Old Fancy Pants there must think there's something to those two." And sure enough, over the noise of the crowd, I could make out talk of Investing in the Future of communication, etc.
That was something I hadn't thought of. Worried, I faded back into the crowd, bought some lunch, and scouted out my next vantage point for the afternoon show.
When I got back to the hotel that afternoon, I found Tequila Sunrise waiting for me, with the customary chilled Appleweisens already opened on the table. We traded notes on the days findings, I relaying my account to her. She'd spent most of her day flying a perimeter around Canterlot. We reasoned that the brothers had been fraudsters before, so we were looking for an obvious sign that they were corresponding, not with Baltimare, but rather an accomplice in a farmhouse or dirigible somewhere. However, each day we had come up dry.
Tequila had just finished telling me about her flight when we heard a knock at the door, followed by the sound of envelopes being shoved under the door. Tequila rose and brought back two envelopes stamped by the Royal Mail, and tossed one to me. We each read our letter in silence.
"Well," I said, "it looks like we can forget about the search flights." I waved my letter idly. "Looks like Slipstream and Cloud Cover got to Baltimare yesterday. From the looks of it, that demonstration of theirs is legit."
Tequilas pretty eyebrows rose at that. "Really?"
I nodded, still scanning the letter. "Yep. They had another unicorn and a dragon there selling the same thing. They said their act wasn't as good, but the results spoke for themselves." I looked up at her. "You know, I was really hoping that it'd turn out to be fake."
"Me too."
I nodded at her letter. "What's yours?"
"There's two. This one's letter from Gale... Stormy Gale," she corrected, flushing prettily. "She's recovering well in the hospital. She got the picture of the dragon we sent her, but she doesn't recognize it. This one, " she held up the other letter, "came from Rubberstamp. He says there've been two more attacks. Everypony's okay!" She hurried to say, at my expression. "Mostly. But in both cases the mail parcels were lost."
"Dragons?"
She nodded. "I'm afraid so."
I shook my head. "I'm starting to think that the dragons we find doing these demonstrations aren't going to be the ones attacking us. For one, there's two that we can account for here in Canterlot and Baltimare. We've seen the one here every day, so we know he can't be doing the attacks. We'll have to assume that the one in Baltimare was doing the same." I sighed. "I think we've done all we can here. Let's head back to Cloudsdale tomorrow."
Tequila nodded and sleepily sauntered off to her bedroom. I showered off the day's funk from the crowd before I did the same.