Wilfred Xavier Manning is an exemplary clerk. However, he is somewhat less qualified to deliver invitations. Especially when the recipients are six of the strangest girls he has ever met.
Wilfred Xavier Manning is an exemplary clerk. However, he is somewhat less qualified to deliver invitations. Especially when the recipients are six of the strangest girls he has ever met. Such a minor detail means nothing to a man with Wilfred's sense of duty, yet still waters run deep. There is more to each girl than there appears, and if Wilfred is brave enough, there may be more to him as well.
Disclaimer: My Little Pony and all related characters are owned by Hasbro. I am not Hasbro.
Wilfred Xavier Manning sat at his familiar desk, shuffling the same papers he always had. He paused to clear his throat, then went back to his work. An odd noise made his eyes dart up, inspecting the office, but they found nothing amiss. His ledgers were unchanged, his favorite pen was still in hand, and his inkwell was undisturbed. The rest of the room was quiet as a tomb, now that the scratch of his writing had stopped. The other desks sat empty, and no noise came from the cobblestone street outside.
Wilfred snorted as he passed silent judgment upon his colleagues. They were probably off on holiday or some other such rot. Unlike his brethren, Wilfred did not shirk his duties at the first opportunity. Being a clerk was his life, and the play of numbers and dust of his books was finer than any luxury. He was not happy, though he would have disagreed politely had anyone informed him of that fact. He was, however, content, and that went an even longer way than happiness in building a peaceful existence. His world was in perfect order until the bell rang.
By itself the chime was innocuous, charming even, but Wilfred could not have stared in more abject horror had a venomous cobra suddenly slithered across his desk. The bell itself was not a problem; the problem lay it what it represented.
A summons. One which he could not refuse.
Nervously, Wilfred put his ledger in order. His last page was blotted, his pen returned to its place and his inkwell capped. Carefully, he dusted off his coat, making certain his muted gray tie was straight. He considered pausing to shine his shoes, but he recognized it as only a desire to delay the inevitable. Wilfred did not want to face what was to come, regardless of its inevitability, but he abhorred wasting time even more.
With a heavy heart and slouched spine he began the journey up the handsome staircase that had not been in the corner of the room fifteen minutes previously. It led to a similarly handsome hallway decorated in dark woodwork and comfortable furniture. None of the art on the walls was expensive or ostentatious, but these pastoral landscapes were intended to soothe rather than impress. They were not entirely successful on Wilfred, but he appreciated their attempts all the same. In no time, he stood before a plain door. Wilfred knocked lightly upon it, hoping there would be no answer.
“Enter,” a pleasant baritone replied.
Wilfred did, and he found himself in an office that looked very much like that of his former employer, only cleaner and better kept. The man sitting at the large oaken desk in front of him did not look like Mr. Greenfield, but that did not mean his appearance was unfamiliar. In fact, he looked almost exactly like Wilfred’s paternal grandfather: a tall, formidable man with a broad, hard-worn face. He had been a factory foreman, well-used to giving orders. Wilfred had always been somewhat fearful of him, and his grandfather had never disabused him of that emotion.
The man sitting before him was incredibly similar to the old Mr. Manning he remembered, save for his eyes. His grandfather’s eyes had been a hard, flinty sort of blue, but these eyes were bright and warm. Wilfred was never sure of their exact shade, because they seemed to change depending on how the light struck them. The man smiled kindly, another deviation from the relative Wilfred had known, and gestured for Wilfred to sit down in one of the office’s many comfortable chairs. “Thank you for arriving so promptly. You’re doing well, I hope?”
Wilfred did as indicated, but he sat at the edge of the seat so as not to sink into its cushioned depths. “Quite well, sir. How might I be of assistance?” The phrase rolled easily off his tongue from long use, belying his nervousness.
A small frown crossed his employer’s face, as though he was disappointed by the impersonal response, but it vanished into another warm smile. “Mr. Manning, you don’t mind if I call you Wilfred, do you?”
Wilfred did in fact mind, but he did not give voice to his annoyance. He was very aware of his place in the world, and this would not be the first time had been forced to endure a superior’s eccentricity. It was a more tolerable habit than the horrid cigars Mr. Greenfield had been partial to.
Hearing no objection, his employer began again. “Wilfred, you have a dedication without equal. I can think of very few who could match your drive.” Wilfred would have been astonished to be informed any colleagues that could match his dedication, but to say so would be arrogant; thus he remained silent. “Your work has not gone unnoticed, and this makes you perfect for a special task of mine.”
Wilfred blinked, attempting to keep the surprise off his face. He had never refused an assignment before, regardless of difficulty, but what could he need done that that a simple clerk would be suited for? Unless some unknown accounts were in urgent need of auditing, Wilfred had little idea what help he could be. Despite his confusion, he gave the only appropriate response. “I would be more than happy to help, sir.”
Rather than respond, his employer opened one of the drawers in his desk and began digging through it. Eventually, he retrieved six small papers, each one rolled into a tube and bound with a different colored ribbon. They also had tiny names inscribed on them, but the handwriting was too messy and cramped to decipher. Wilfred couldn’t help wondering (in a strictly practical fashion) why the papers had been prepared in such a fashion. Perhaps they were invitations, but if so, surely an envelope would have worked better.
A serious expression met his eyes, when Wilfred finally raised them. “I would like you to deliver these to six young ladies. After you’ve finished, return to this office.”
Were Wilfred more expressive, he might have cocked his head and asked incredulously, “Is that really necessary?” After all, his employer should have been able to summon them, whoever they were, as easily as he had brought Wilfred here. In his opinion, Wilfred would have been quite justified in questioning the obvious waste of his time, however valueless his superior seemed to find it.
However, Wilfred was not given to such displays, and thus only frowned slightly. “Who are they? How am I to find them?” Regardless of his personal opinion on the matter, he was an excellent employee and intended to do this job as efficiently as possible.
His employer chuckled and rose from his seat. Wilfred quickly mimicked him, as propriety dictated. “You’ll know them when you meet them. Let’s just say that they are… unique. Finding them won’t be any trouble, either. Just take that door—” he pointed to the door Wilfred had used to enter “—and you’ll run into them eventually.”
Taking that as his signal to leave, Wilfred gave a nod as crisp as a soldier’s salute. The papers he tucked into his jacket’s inner pockets, three in each one. He paused to gather his hat from the nearby hat rack that should have been downstairs, then opened the door. He was careful to shut it tightly before moving down the grey stone steps into the street outside.
The streets were as empty as his office had been. No pedestrians crowded the sidewalks, no beggars crouched in the alleys, no street urchins ran underfoot. No quick hansom cabs with their loudmouthed drivers, no stately coaches with noble crests, no wagons or carts hauling goods to and fro. The cobbles rang only with Mr. Manning’s footsteps as he walked alone. A cold wind howled through the barren roads and shutters flapped in the breeze. The empty windows watched him like the hollow eyes of clean-picked skulls, but Wilfred did not mind.
Indeed, it was somewhat refreshing to be free of London’s cloying press of humanity. It was odd that they would all be gone just now, but perhaps there was a royal coronation or wedding he hadn’t heard about. It wasn’t that Wilfred disliked good Queen Victoria, but he saw little point in paying attention to the activities of people so high above his station. It certainly was not because he couldn’t care less about the life and times of Prince Some-such or Duke Something-or-another. Wilfred Xavier Manning was a solidly patriotic citizen of the British Empire, thank you very much.
It was an unfortunate truth that the streets of London could be confusing even to those who have lived there all their lives. Shortly after deviating from his traditional route between home and office, Wilfred became quite lost. He tried several cul-de-sacs, took some streets for which he could find no names, got turned around a few times and had to risk a number of shortcuts down narrow alleys which, to his pleasant surprise, were free of refuse. For some reason, he continually found his way to the entrance of one of the larger city parks. Wilfred was unfamiliar with the city’s green spaces, having seldom visited them as a child and never as an adult, so he couldn’t put a name to this one. He might have even thought it was a different park every time, but the brass statue of a bearded statesman confirmed the place’s identity each time he found himself before it.
Wilfred rounded a corner, hoping to emerge on Fleet street, only to once again meet the metal face of the long-gone politician grinning from his pedestal among the trees. Pondering this unlikely turn of events, Wilfred decided that, perhaps, he ought to try the path through the park. The man-made woods appeared to extend a good distance, but he had exhausted every other avenue and gotten nowhere. A small voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe he kept coming back because he was meant to take the park’s path. Wilfred quashed the foolish notion and checked to make sure his hat was on snugly. Though it was only a top hat of modest height, there was still every chance of a stray branch snagging it from his head if he weren’t careful. That was one of the many reasons he avoided forests: they were dangerous places and had no care for the sanctity of a man’s hat.
Still, Wilfred was made of stern material, and he tramped into the unknown, taking care to stay on the neatly lined brick path. An unseen bird chirped as he passed between trees. Far from coming out upon a street he was familiar with, the vegetation only seemed to become denser and denser as he journeyed further. After some fifteen minutes of walking, the branches overhead had thickened into a solid canopy that allowed precious little light to enter the tunnel his path had become.
Well-used to reading sums by the dim light of a faulty lantern, Wilfred had no trouble seeing his path even in the thick shadows. As he continued forward, the trees became taller and broader, leaving more space between them, but the canopy remained as thick as ever. The forest was silent, aside from the occasional cheeps from its birds. There were no noises from the city around him, and even Wilfred’s footfalls seemed muted. He was just beginning to consider turning back and trying another street, when he heard a soft cry.
Wilfred blinked and stared into the forest, surprised by the sudden noise. He was ready to dismiss the sound as a product of imagination (which, believe it or not, he did possess), when it came again. Unfamiliar with wildlife, Wilfred wasn’t certain what sort of animal was making the noise, but whatever it was sounded hurt. He hesitated for a second, but with a quick glance at the path to memorize its location he set off to find the source of the cry. The animal continued to make its noises, and with little trouble, Wilfred was able to find it.
A small white rabbit had become tangled within a patch of briars. It was twisting and pulling, trying to free itself, but every movement only served to tangle it further, the sharp little thorns biting into it.
“Oh dear,” Wilfred said, eyeing the trapped creature. At the sound of his voice it looked up at him. He winced, expecting the rabbit to struggle even harder upon seeing him, but his presence actually seemed to calm it down. It must be a tame rabbit, he thought, perhaps someone’s pet.
Wilfred had already spent too long in this forest. If he were ever going to complete his task, he needed to be going. Yet, this park seemed rarely visited and the poor creature was clearly in pain. As he stood there, trying to decide which course to take, the rabbit let out a squeak that a more imaginative person might have called ‘indignant’.
With a sigh, Wilfred bent to free the rabbit. “Very well. Be patient and I’ll have you out in but a few moments.” Talking to animals was not an activity he normally participated in, but he supposed a peaceful tone should help to calm the pet. Moving carefully, he grabbed the vines where there were no thorns and untwisted them. It was not as easy as finding the errors in an embezzler’s account, but years of pen work had given him deft fingers, and they went to their task ably. In a short time the rabbit was free, and held close in one of his hands.
“There we are, little one. Now, where might we find your owner?” Far from showing any appreciation for the rescue, the rabbit began to struggle and kick in his grasp. Not wishing for the daft creature to fall and break its head, however much the ungrateful beast deserved it, he held on tight. He quickly, and painfully, discovered a flaw in his plan.
“Ahh!” he yelped, letting gravity take charge of the rabbit. “You bit me!” he yelled as the furry perpetrator scooted off into the underbrush. Grumbling, Wilfred nursed his poor finger as he made his way back towards the path. Or, at least, the direction in which he thought the path lay. Five minutes later, he had not found the path yet, though he was certain that his small act of mercy had earned him a wound that might well give him rabies.
His worry and dismay were cut short as he heard a voice from elsewhere in the park exclaim, “Oh, Angel Bunny, there you are! I was so worried.” The voice was young, feminine and demure, and no doubt belonged to the owner of the rabbit. Wilfred was almost as fond of children as he was of cod liver oil, but perhaps she could direct him back to the path.
Although her voice was soft as a downy feather, the silence of the forest made her easy to pinpoint. Her constant stream of cooing and comfort for the little monster that had wounded him led him gradually past trees and around bramble patches. At last he saw a clearing ahead, one in which he was certain awaited the girl he was looking for.
He had expected a rich, young heiress bedecked in a fine dress, possibly with a silent governess in tow. What he now saw was certainly female, and perhaps young, but those were the only ways she matched his preconceptions about the rabbit’s owner.
She was a slim girl, barely five feet tall with thin, graceful arms and legs. Her large sea-green eyes were almost hidden behind a cascade of rose-colored hair. Every movement she made reminded him of a doe he had once seen at a relative’s farm: delicate and cautious, ready to dart away at any moment. Her sundress was too thin even for summer, a season already long past. Yet she showed no sign of being cold. That conundrum, however, was not the strangest thing about her.
That distinction belonged to enormous wings that seemed to sprout from her back as naturally as any of her other limbs. They were covered with large feathers of a soft golden hue, much like the first beams of sunlight after a storm. Currently, her amazing wings were wrapping the demonic rabbit in a tight hug, but Wilfred had no trouble believing that her wingspan was fully three yards, if not more.
All in all, Wilfred was presented with a panorama that would have disturbed even the steadiest of minds. Gears within his head spun aimlessly, the clockwork of his psyche refusing to accept this sudden and definite disruption to his worldview. A complete and utter evacuation of his senses seemed to be the only appropriate option, but there suddenly appeared a beacon of hope.
Perhaps, he thought, she is one of the girls I need to speak with. The rest of his mind jumped on the idea, abandoning its frenzied panic as though it had never done anything so undignified. Yes, of course, he agreed with himself. I was warned they were unique. Obviously, I’ve simply never had the pleasure to meet any individual with her … condition. Settled upon a new course and secure in the knowledge that his employer knew some rather unusual people, Wilfred felt much better.
From her defensive posture, Wilfred gathered that the girl had noticed his presence. Both her eyes were almost hidden behind her hair, and her wings covered most of her body and all of her pet. During the brief leave of his senses he had probably been staring; hardly his fault, but he could see how the action might have unnerved her.
“My apologies,” he offered, lowering his eyes. “I was just trying to find my way out of here and I heard your voice. I regret startling you.”
A muffled squeak was the only response.
Wilfred frowned. He was not a sociable person by nature, but that apology should have more than made up for his gaffe. Still, nothing to do but press on. “Forgive me if I presume, but I was told to look for six unique young ladies, and I believe you may be one of them.”
“Six?” she asked quietly. “You mean my friends and me?”
“I believe so,” Wilfred replied. Some people might have smiled at their success. Wilfred merely felt a cool satisfaction. He moved slowly as not to startle her, reaching into his jacket for the invitations he carried. The first one his hand closed on was sealed with a golden ribbon streaked with rose-colored lines. He blinked at the coincidence but shrugged it off.
The girl leaned forward, took the letter, then darted away from Wilfred as though scared to death of him. She tugged open the ribbon and began to quickly read its contents. She finished with a squeak and her eyes darted towards him nervously. “Um…” she murmured softly. “I’m supposed to follow you back to your office once you’ve gathered all of us.”
That made sense, Wilfred mused, though it would have been more convenient if the letter had merely included directions for her. Still, there was no helping what had already been set into motion. Perhaps it would even be for the best as she seemed to have an inkling about to whom the other letters belonged to. “Could I trouble you, then, to show me where I can find your friends?”
“Um, all right,” she replied meekly, looking at her feet.
“Very well. Let us be on our way. If you’d be so kind as to lead?” He had meant it as merely a polite gesture, but the girl seemed to treat it as a serious question.
“I-I guess so. This way.” She tucked the letter away somewhere in her plumage and gestured for Wilfred to follow. He did so, though the pace she set was frustratingly slow.
Wilfred tried starting a conversation, though it was more of an effort to alleviate his boredom than a real attempt at camaraderie. “Nice day we’re having.” The statement was true; the sky was bluer than he could remember in quite some time, though it did feel a trifle hot for the season. Of course, he had been running around for some time in full dress, which was certain to boil the blood somewhat.
The waif nodded and continued walking slowly, keeping herself hidden behind her long bangs.
Plainly rebuffed, Wilfred felt a stab of annoyance. He almost said something sharp to the girl, but stopped himself. Whether or not she deserved a pointed remark, she was unlikely to weather one soundly. Some measure of patience descended upon Wilfred as he considered her. Her condition likely made her an outsider to most of society. Some might even claim her to be of supernatural or impure origins, though any fool could see she was just a girl, albeit one of rather odd circumstances. Still, her fear likely stemmed from such reactions, and she had no way of knowing that he didn’t regard her with any such rot.
“I am sorry I have been terse with you,” Wilfred said, as gently as he could manage. He strove to present a sympathetic expression and was partly successful, losing most of his perpetual glower. “I was not entirely pleased with this assignment, and it soured my mood. Then, the bite from your rabbit did little to improve my disposition, but that isn’t your−”
With a gasp, her wings flared open, revealing the girl they had been shielding. Those eyes that had darted away from him in fear now fixed on him, filled with concern. Her bearing completely changed from a shrinking violet to a worried mother. “I’m so sorry,” she said. Her voice was still soft, but it possessed an intensity Wilfred had seldom heard. “Where did he bite you? How did it happen?” She glanced down at the pet still nestled in her arms with a cross expression. “Naughty boy, Angel.”
Wilfred was more than a little taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor, but he adjusted accordingly. “It was on one of my fingers. I was trying to hold him still after removing him from a patch of thorns.” He searched his hands for evidence of his wound, but curiously found none. The initial injury had hurt dearly, and Wilfred had assumed that stitches would be necessary. Now that he took the time to inspect carefully, there was scant proof he had even been bitten. Wilfred flushed slightly, embarrassed to have even brought it up. “Never mind, I’m certain he was just nervous.”
She seemed aghast. “So he bit you after you helped him? Very naughty boy, Angel.” The rabbit squeaked in protest at her tone, but the shy girl was having none of that. “When we get home you are in serious trouble, mister.”
The way the rabbit wilted beneath the gentle girl’s piqued tone amused Wilfred. He had never realized rabbits were intelligent enough to read their owner’s mood. “It is all right,” Wilfred reassured her, smiling for the first time in ages. “I’m afraid I never caught your name, though.”
She blushed and mumbled something that he only caught the tail end of.
“Shy?” Wilfred asked. It was an odd name, but one that certainly fit her.
The girl, Shy, nodded in confirmation.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Shy. I am Wilfred Xavier Manning,” he said, offering his hand. She moved her pet into the crook of one arm and used her free hand to take his.
“Likewise,” she replied, giving Wilfred a soft, but pleasant smile. There was something in that smile that struck a chord. Something that reached into him and shifted gears that had all but rusted still. The feeling was gone before he could analyze it further. The sensation, though initially alarming, gradually faded to the back of his mind. After all, the day really was lovely, the scenery was pleasing to the eye, and it had been a long time since he had enjoyed, rather than tolerated, another person’s company. It seemed a shame to ruin something so pleasant with analysis.
Disclaimer: My Little Pony and all related characters are owned by Hasbro. I am not Hasbro.
Chapter 2: A Loyal Employee and an Honest Word
The profusion of apple trees was solid evidence that Wilfred Xavier Manning was no longer in London. Somehow, he and his almost silent guide had managed to leave the city of his birth completely behind. Wilfred did some small mental arithmetic, and found that they had indeed walked the requisite number of miles to reach the countryside. It was odd that such a path existed from one of the parks at the heart of the old city, but London’s roads and byways were often a mystery even to its natives.
Wilfred had never heard of an apple orchard so close to the city, but that did not surprise him. He could not reliably name most businesses within a block of his home or office save for the few at which he was a regular patron. The air was fresh and sweet, and ripe apples hung heavy on every branch.
He breathed in deeply. The scent of healthy trees and fertile earth underlay the headier aroma of succulent fruit. Wilfred could barely remember the last time he had eaten an apple in the peak of season, and never had he tasted one fresh off the tree. The temptation to reach out and pluck one of the juicy fruits was strong, but he held himself back from such an action. Wilfred Xavier Manning was no petty thief.
“Oh, it sounds like she’s working,” Shy said, cupping a hand to her ear. A gentle smile bloomed on her face and some small amount of tension eased out of her shoulders. Wilfred paused and listened as well. The only thing he could hear, other than the sigh of a gentle breeze and sporadic birdsong, was a series of thumps. There was a pattern to them, but they were hardly rhythmic. Perhaps Shy’s friend was using a hammer? Curious, Wilfred followed Shy as she left the path behind.
They followed the noise to its source in the middle of a large field of apple trees. The concealing nature of the artificial forest kept Wilfred from seeing Shy’s friend until they were a mere fifteen feet away. He had only just rounded the last tree before being struck with another bizarre sight. A tall woman dressed in men’s work clothes – dungaree trousers, an old shirt, and an oddly shaped hat – was working in the field. She strained, grunted, and occasionally wiped sweat from her brow in a manner that was decidedly unladylike. Indeed, if not for the way her shirt … er ... fitted her, Wilfred would have thought her a strangely effeminate farmhand. Yet her mannish manner was not the greatest source of his amazement. That was reserved for the work she was doing. The woman was collecting apples… by striking the tree with her fists.
Were he not witness to the sight, Wilfred would not have believed it. Yet, every time the buxom blonde hit the tree, it trembled and apples fell into the waiting baskets scattered beneath its boughs.
Half-remembered stories sparked to life in the dim recesses of Wilfred’s mind, and he actually recalled hearing of a similar feat. Supposedly, there were Orientals who could shake every leaf from a tree with a single blow, yet deal no damage to the trunk. Like any sensible man, Wilfred had dismissed those stories as flights of fancy, but here stood proof that he was wrong. It was readily obvious that some English farmer had heard the same stories and believed them. Either that selfsame farmer had studied under some Orientals capable of the feat or simply divined the secret for himself. Then, like any good Englishman, he had turned that ability into something practical. Not only practical, but simple enough to teach his daughter, as well. Wilfred seldom felt respect for those who spent their life tilling the earth, but a man of that measure deserved nothing less than admiration.
“−jack.” Shy called. From her troubled expression, this was not the first attempt to draw her friend’s attention. The Amazon, probably Jacqueline or something similar, was evidently too absorbed in her labor to hear Shy’s soft words.
“Miss Jack!” Wilfred called out in a strong, clear voice. Shy flinched away from his sudden outburst, but the blond farmgirl merely glanced at the odd pair of the orderly clerk and the waifish girl, relaxed her martial stance, and gave them a bright, guileless smile.
“Howdy, y’all. Sorry if I was ignorin’ ya. My mind tends to wander once I get into the rhythm of workin’.” She had a curious accent, not one that Wilfred could recall ever hearing, but then, every borough and shire of Britain supposedly had their own version of the Queen’s English.
“No apology necessary,” Wilfred assured her, reaching into his coat for another letter. The first he pulled out was enclosed with an orange ribbon laced through with gold. “I’ve been tasked with delivering these invitations, and I believe one is meant for you.” She certainly qualified as ‘unique’, and Shy had identified her as a friend. The name on the side of the rolled letter remained illegible to him, but Jack’s eyes widened in recognition.
“Well, now. Ain’t this a surprise?” She took the letter from him and pored over it with a casual air. That Jacqueline, both a woman and a farmer, was literate came only as a small surprise; in these enlightened times, it was only fitting. The true surprise that Wilfred felt was in her reaction. To receive a letter from someone as important as his employer and act in so cavalier a fashion? It was curious indeed.
“I’d be right glad to help ya out, Will,” Jack said, tucking the letter away into the voluminous pockets of her trousers. “Shoot, I bet you’re already rarin’ to get back to your job.”
“Not at all,” Wilfred lied politely. In truth, he couldn’t wait to be back to his ledgers. True, the countryside was beautiful and the company pleasant, but every minute spent here was another minute away from his real work. If he was lucky, they would be back in time to get in another hour of paperwork. If he was unlucky, it would be quitting time and he would be unable to tie up those niggling loose ends until tomorrow morning. In light of that, the overly familiar diminutive Jack had used was only a minor annoyance.
“Oh, really?” Jack asked, arching an eyebrow skeptically. “You ain’t in any kind of hurry, Will?”
A brief twitch marked Wilfred’s irritation, but he strove not to show it. His perpetual glower might have grown a shade darker than usual, however. “I would never seek to hurry a lady,” he replied crisply.
Jack snorted in disappointment, her eyes flat and hard. “Horseapples. It’s plain as the nose on your face that you can’t wait to get going.” She let out a heavy sigh and fixed her hat in place. “Well, let’s get goin’, then,” she said, and set off at the brisk pace, Shy and Wilfred hurrying to follow her.
Jack’s stride was equal to his own, and she marched with no sign of slowing down. It took several minutes and no small amount of effort to catch up with her, but Wilfred managed as they reached a hard-packed dirt road running between two fields of apple trees.
“I believe,” he said between breaths, “that Miss Shy is having some difficulty keeping up.”
Jack stopped so suddenly that he almost ran into her. She turned around, her face red, and peered into the field where Shy was struggling to hold the pace. Her rabbit bounded along at her feet as she hurried. As she drew close, Jack grimaced. “Sorry there, sugarcube. You know how I can get.”
“That’s okay,” Shy replied, as she sought to catch her breath. “I understand.” The waifish girl took a moment to gather herself, and Wilfred stood uneasily, not certain how to proceed.
Jack sighed and turned to him as they began their journey again at a far more sedate pace. “Look, I didn’t mean to stomp off like that, but I hate gettin’ lied to. It’s bad when the fib’s obvious and even worse when it’s over something silly.”
“I was only being polite,” Wilfred said, a trace defensively.
“That ain’t no excuse. You don’t have to lie to be polite; you just gotta use a little tact. I can’t say I’m particularly strong on that quality myself, but that don’t mean it isn’t an option. In fact, I’ve got a pretty good example for you, Will,” she drawled, putting a subtle stress on that unpleasant diminutive of his proper name. Despite his attempts to keep a stiff upper lip, Wilfred felt his scowl deepen at being addressed in such a manner.
Jack just grinned. “Y’see? I can tell you don’t like it when I call you that. If you asked me nicely to stop, I’d do it. That’s tact.”
“Very well,” Wilfred replied. “Would you please refer to me either as Wilfred or Mr. Manning?”
“Sure,” Jack said easily, a small smile a triumph in her expression. “No sense in pretending to like something you don’t, and if somebody takes exception anyhow, they probably ain’t worth being friends with.”
She had a point, but Wilfred was not ready to admit defeat quite so easily. “However, at times it is necessary to lie. Should a highwayman demand to know many people are in the coach, should you tell him the truth? Even in circumstances less dire, near everyone has superiors and quite often there are things they simply do not want or need to hear regardless of the truth. Should you throw your career away and go hungry on the streets rather than tell a single lie?”
Shy gave a small shiver at the mention of highwaymen, and Jack listened intently. The latter gave a begrudging nod in agreement. “I’ll admit some lies are necessary, that robber one for instance, but which lies are necessary and which aren’t? A lie might be easier, but most of the things a lie solves could be done better with the truth or just keepin’ your mouth shut.”
Internally grinning, though his outward expression remained the same, Wilfred pressed the attack. “Ah, but if a lie is harmless, why should it matter? Would you tell a child proud of a drawing how badly they have done, or tell a sick woman that her illness has made her ugly?”
Jack snorted and shook her head. “I’d tell the child they’d done well for their age, and I’d tell the woman that beauty’s only skin deep. Just ‘cause I said some lies were necessary, doesn’t mean that lying is harmless. The more you make a habit outta lying, the easier it gets, and the more problems you try to solve with it.”
She locked stares with him, her emerald green eyes deep and knowing. “But the worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves. You can bury the truth down deep and forget for years, but eventually it always comes to light. And when it does, the lies only make it hurt worse.”
A chill raced from the base of his spine to Wilfred’s neck. He felt a moment of vertigo that passed almost as soon as it had come. Jack was no longer looking at him, but instead had turned to watch the path ahead. Wilfred opened his mouth to say something, but it slowly closed.
For a farmer, Jack was curiously astute. It should have been easy to dismiss her words as the product of an uncultured mind, one unused to necessities of politics and urban life. Yet Wilfred found he could not. He certainly hadn’t been won over to her cause, but there was something it what she had said that was impossible to disregard. There was a … kernel of truth, perhaps, in the midst of her rural philosophy. Another chill began building along his spine, cold knowledge seeping into his−
A crash of thunder equal to any cannon went off, and Wilfred was startled out of his contemplative state. Looking quickly around, he found that they had left the apple orchard behind and were now following a path through a gently rolling meadow. A humble village sat in the distance, but there was no evidence of storms or artillery around it.
“That’ll be Dash,” Jack said with a roll of her eyes.
“Oh, I hope nothing goes wrong. Some of those tricks are just so dangerous,” Shy said, wringing her hands nervously.
“Dash?” Wilfred asked, curious how any ‘trick’ could produce a burst of sound like that. Was the person in question a firework maker?
“Our town’s resident daredevil,” Jack replied, shading her eyes against the sun. She raised a hand to point out a large bundle of clouds floating leisurely past. “Look careful now, and you’ll catch a glimpse.”
Confused, but obedient, Wilfred strained his eye to look in that direction. There appeared to be something swooping and darting among the clouds, disrupting the natural patterns and carving new ones. Some sort of bird? Wilfred was no naturalist, but he had never heard of this behavior from any sort of avian.
“I don’t figure we wanna sit around all day just watching. Shy, Wilfred, cover your ears.”
Wilfred blinked, but Shy already had hands over her ears as Jack drew in a mighty breath. Wilfred’s hands had barely closed over his own before Jack let loose with a shrillest, loudest whistle he had ever heard. Even under the protection of his hands, his ears rung with the noise of it.
At last her lungs gave out, and the sound died away. Wilfred let go of his ears only hesitantly. “Was that necessary?” he asked, crossly.
Jack smirked. “I’d say so.” The she pointed in the direction of the sky over the village. The bird was done swooping around the clouds and was instead rocketing this way. As it came closer and closer Wilfred realized that, despite the large wings, it was not shaped like any bird he had ever seen before.
In fact, those huge, blue wings appeared to be attached to a human figure. “Those limbs are functional?” Wilfred blurted in surprise, turning to stare at Shy. The quiet girl blushed and shrunk away before nodding. Jack grinned and chuckled while Wilfred hastily remastered himself, cheeks aflame.
Shy is rather clearly not the only person with her … condition, Wilfred thought, attempting to make sense of the impossible sight of a person flying. But of course any others who shared it would live together. The village in the distance took on a new light. It was likely that … stricken people and their families lived here, like a leper colony, in a way. An entire town of people hidden away from the world and those who would seek to destroy or exploit them. Likely, this village and others like it had been the work of good Queen Elizabeth. Perhaps the villagers were the descendants of those who survived the Spanish Inquisition and other foolish witch hunts.
However, it was neither the time nor the place for such woolgathering. With daredevil flair, Dash went into a steep dive, aiming right towards their group. It took every measure of Wilfred’s British fortitude not to duck for cover, but his resolve held strong. And if his hands shook it was only because of the sudden breeze. Barely twenty feet away, those two massive wings shot out, catching the air and slowing the laughing figure with each mighty flap.
“Hey, slowpoke,” Dash said to Jack with a brash laugh. “What’s up? And who’s the guy in the undertaker suit?”
Dash was a rather unique youth, and certainly the most androgynous that Wilfred had ever seen. He was so smooth-cheeked and so lithe of figure that he could easily be mistaken for a woman. The thick balloonist’s jacket, wildly dyed hair, and cocksure attitude helped to dispel that illusion, even if his high voice did cast a mild shadow of doubt. Wilfred shook his head, amused with himself; as though the gentler sex could ever behave in such a way. Secure in his conclusion, he braced himself for an interaction that seemed likely to become abrasive. The fact that his employer had told him meet six girls had already been neatly excised from his mind.
“I have an invitation that I believe is yours,” Wilfred said. This time the ribbon was a rainbow of colors, matching the stripes in Dash’s hair perfectly. He snatched the letter with a blur of motion that Wilfred hardly saw, much less had the ability to prepare for. The ribbon was haphazardly thrown to the ground and the paper roughly unrolled. Dash’s eyes roved over the invitation, pursing his lips as he read.
With a melodramatic sigh, Dash crumpled the letter into a ball and shoved it into one of his pockets. “Fine. I’ll go.” Those powerful wings stopped their slow beats, and he landed lightly on his feet. “But this is really cutting into my practice time. I hope the boss appreciates the sacrifices I make for these errands.”
Fluttershy put her hand to her mouth, doing a poor job of suppressing a quiet giggle. Jack didn’t even bother; she laughed outright. “I’m sure it’s right accounted for. After all, you’re giving up so much.”
“I know, right?” Dash replied, either missing the sardonic tone or choosing to ignore it.
“Excuse me,” Wilfred said, “but did you say ‘the boss’? I was unaware we shared an employer.” It also made an already confusing situation even more confusing. Why invite your employees rather than command them? For what purpose would one employ a farmer, a daredevil and a quiet nature-lover? Their unique abilities obviously had to be involved, but for what reason?
The trio of oddities shared a glance then all spoke at the same time.
“Sorta.”
“Not really the way you’re meanin’.”
“Kind of, yes.”
They shared another glance after their conflicting answers. Dash shrugged and bulled ahead. “We don’t have ‘jobs’ or anything. Sometimes there’s just stuff we gotta do.”
“What Dash is tryin’ to say is that we aren’t employees like you’re thinkin’.” Jack rubbed her chin, her expression contorted as she seemed to search for the right words. “Y’see, we’ve got a duty because of who and what we are, but there ain’t no money or employment involved.”
“Ah, you are personally loyal to my employer, then?” Wilfred asked, hoping he’d gotten a glimmer of what they had meant.
“Yeah, that’s about right,” Jack said.
“What other kind of loyalty is there?” Dash seemed amused by the prospect, if his cocksure grin was any indication.
Wilfred made a sound that a less judicious person would have described as a ‘fussy harumph’. “There, of course, exists the loyalty of an employee to his or her employer. I’m speaking of a certain respect for superior position regardless of the person who fills it.”
“So you mean, like, obeying somebody because they’re your boss?”
“Precisely,” Wilfred said, feeling slightly more warmth than usual in his cool satisfaction.
Dash snorted and chuckled at that most uncouthly. “That’s not loyalty! That’s obedience! Anyway, I’ll fly ahead and let Pinkie know we’re coming.” Without pausing for a reply, the impetuous flyer shot off leaving nothing more than dust and a few feathers in his wake.
“Those are not the same things at all!” Wilfred shouted at the departing figure. If Dash heard him, there was no sign of it. Without any further recourse in that direction, the clerk turned to the people left to him. “It isn’t. Your friend is quite wrong on that account.”
Shy withdrew behind the curtain of her hair and wings again as Jack chuckled and raised her hands in mock surrender. “You don’t hear any argument outta me, do ya?”
Wilfred took a deep breath and calmed himself. It was so rare that he should lose his temper that most of those people who knew him would have doubted its existence. The young show-off, however, had brought it to the surface in record time. If there was anything Wilfred Xavier Manning prided himself on, it was his loyalty. To even imply – much less outright state – that he possessed no such virtue grated upon him like little else. “Your pardon,” he said, after restoring his neutral expression.
“That’s okay,” Shy said. “Not everybody gets along with Dash.”
“Yeah, no worries,” Jack replied with an easy grin. “Howsabout we get movin’ again? Since Dash already headed off to Pinkie’s, that may as well be our next stop.”
“Certainly,” Wilfred agreed. Despite a carefully projected calmness, his mind was still troubled. Of course he was loyal. What was loyalty, if not attending the person to whom you owed service? That the person to whom you owed loyalty could change meant nothing. When one monarch died, the loyalty of the nobles and the commons passed to their heir, and no one would dare call devotion to the throne mere obedience. Logically, Wilfred was certain he was correct. His approach was only rational.
So then why were his thoughts plagued with doubts? Why was it so difficult to banish Dash’s simple words?
Silence ruled the trio as they walked towards the unimposing village ahead. Normally, Wilfred valued silence above any sound, finding the vast majority of chatter meaningless. Now, he wished for conversation to keep him from his thoughts, but even more than that, he wished he were back at his desk, doing his proper job.
There everything made sense. Sums and figures did not make him question himself. They did not twist his thoughts or knot his stomach. The longing grew so strong within him that he would almost swear he felt a physical pull back the way he had come. He dismissed the notion with cold pragmatism. Whether it was loyalty or obedience, he would fulfill his obligation, and flights of fancy were not conducive to completing his task.
And so, a man at war with himself made his way towards the small town of Ponyville.
Author: psychicscubadiver Editor: Silentcarto Proofreader: Coandco Disclaimer: My Little Pony and all related characters are owned by Hasbro. I am not Hasbro.
Chapter 3: A Moment of Laughter and a Generous Soul
Wilfred Xavier Manning did not consider himself to be a man of action – not unless one deemed the hunting of errant sums to be a sport. Despite this, Wilfred had a certain amount of pride and sought to comport himself with dignity, most especially when in the presence of the fairer sex.
Thus, it was quite the blow to his ego that he grew tired and his feet ached long before either of his companions had complained. At least they had finally reached the village. The houses were expertly painted in clear, bright colours, yet paradoxically roofed in thatch. It was as though the village had decided as one to spend all their money on decorating the walls of their homes and had been forced to settle for inferior materials to finish building them.
Even the strangest house, however, didn’t begin to compare to the people walking the streets. Almost a third of them had wings, which either flapped to keep them aloft, or tucked tightly against their bodies. Some of the children also had such appendages, indicating that the condition was prevalent throughout one’s life, though Wilfred didn’t see any of the younger ones using their wings to fly.
A glitter of colour drew his attention to another young lady chatting companionably with one of the winged residents. In the center of her forehead stood a small, pointed jewel. Propriety prevented him from staring, but it was a close thing. He almost opened his mouth to ask his companions what that was all about, but now that he looked, he realized a fair number of the village’s residents, both male and female, wore the little gems. He had heard that the people of India wore such exotic decorations. Was there a connection? Did this mysterious condition arise somewhere in the steamy jungles of the subcontinent? Uncommonly curious, he sought to observe one at close quarters.
The press of the crowd made such a task simple, and his chosen subject did not even seem to notice him during his approach. On closer inspection, Wilfred could spy the edges of the gem more clearly. It was light green and clear enough to see through, but attached by no means he could discern. He searched for the seam where it was glued on, but he couldn’t seem to make it out. He moved a bit closer. Jack and Shy still drifted a few yards in front of him, as yet unaware of his momentary mission.
Wilfred recoiled in shock as he realized the crystal spur actually protruded from the strange girl’s forehead. The skin mounded up where it pressed through, and looking through the crystal, he realized he could actually see beneath the flesh on the opposite side. His gorge rose at the sight, but with a few deep breaths he mastered himself. The woman was not monstrous or disgusting; it was merely a shock to see the human body seeming to produce a jewel in the center of the skull.
But really, he reasoned, jewels were only a collection of minerals. A different manifestation of the condition, he supposed, must cause the accumulation and crystallization of certain minerals in the center of the forehead. They didn’t seem to protrude into the skull, which was a small blessing, at least. He searched the crowd, noting several such individuals behaving entirely normally. He did, however, notice an odd shine or gleam coming from those gems out of the corner of his eye which vanished when he viewed them squarely. The gems must simply act as some sort of prism, he told himself. The gleam in his peripheral vision must be merely an odd refraction of the sunlight.
Wilfred nodded to himself, becoming more certain in his conclusions the more he thought about them. The accumulation of minerals in the bodies of these unfortunate people would also explain the incredible variety and depth of colour each of them possessed. Though Jack could have passed for a normal person in the proper clothing, many of the other villagers who lacked the more … unique signs of the condition still stood out thanks to their unnatural hair or eye colours. It was even possible that Dash’s wild hair was not dyed, but instead an expression of the condition that was rare even among the rest of the carriers.
The village bustled and moved in a manner quite unlike the city Wilfred had been used to. There were few vehicles of any sort, and no draft animals whatsoever. Indeed, the people themselves pushed or pulled wagons, carts, and in one case what appeared to be a small coach. There were tales of such things out of the Orient, but to see it in an English village – even one so odd as this – was just one more bizarre detail in a day full of them. Thinking on it, it dawned on him that he hadn’t seen any livestock since arriving here, either. Only now did he realize that the beautiful pasture land they had passed through on the way to this town was almost conspicuously empty. Was that a part of their condition, or a product of a society long since divorced from normal standards? Wilfred’s mind spun with questions enough to give him a headache. He was not a man much inclined to consume spirits, but if there was ever a place to give a reason for imbibing, it stood before him.
In fact, Wilfred’s mind was so full that he never even noticed the faint buzzing sound or the collective hush of the crowd around him. Nor did he notice how they silently made way, opening a wide corridor down the previously packed street.
He did, however, notice the shrill cry of “GANGWAY!”
Wilfred’s head shot up and he beheld what could only be described as a ‘contraption’. At the forefront was a purpled-haired, orange-winged young girl riding a tiny wheeled board, steering it via a long upright stick in the front. A rope connected her to a small, bright red wagon trailing behind in which sat two more small girls. The front girl’s tiny wings buzzed like a hummingbird’s, giving her far more speed than Wilfred would have thought possible.
“GANGWAY!” she yelled again, this time with an air of desperation. Wilfred rather belatedly realized that he stood in their path and they had little means to slow down. He jumped backwards, arms windmilling in a most undignified manner as he sought to keep his balance. The dangerous little craft whizzed past at a foolish speed, its occupants still raising a hue and cry as they barreled along. The crowd soon removed them from line of sight, but given the lack of painful cries, it seemed they had managed to avoid running down anyone else on the way.
“Are you okay?” Shy asked softly as he let out a sigh of relief.
“Nothing injured save for my pride,” he responded, which set Jack to chuckling. He raised an eyebrow, almost breaking into a sneer. Laughing, practically guffawing, at another’s misfortune seemed a particularly low blow. Wilfred certainly didn’t laugh at such situations. Or most situations, to be honest.
Still, there was no use starting a row over something trivial. He held down the caustic reply he wished to give and settled for muttering “street urchins” in a vile tone under his breath.
“Ooooo, what’re street urchins? Are those anything like sea urchins? I’ve never heard of any other kind of urchins, so that’s gotta be it!” Never in his life had Wilfred beheld such a bright, vivid shade of pink. He had seen the soft pastels worn by children, but it did nothing to prepare him for this chromatic onslaught. The girl’s dress was pink, her shoes were pink, her apron was pink where it wasn’t blotched with white flour. Even the flowers embroidered into the apron were done in a darker pink. Her hair, though, was the worst offender; frizzy and curly and almost fluorescently bright, it seemed to bounce this way and that with a life of its own. The … girl darted around him, poking, prodding, and examining without the slightest sense of decorum.
“Excuse me?” he said, drawing back a step.
“You’re excused,” she replied automatically, taking a step forward to keep close to him. “Oh, are you wearing those big shoes so you won’t hurt yourself if you step on any street urchins? That’s a great idea!”
She beamed at him for a moment, showing more teeth in her smile than Wilfred had previously believed a person could possess. Then she glanced down at her own feet and gasped. “Ah! My shoes are so thin and small they’ll be no match for the vicious urchins overwhelming our streets! Save me!” she cried, leaping into his arms.
That maneuver might have succeeded had she warned him properly. And if he were a tad more muscular. As things were, he staggered under the sudden weight literally thrust upon him and they both went down in a heap.
He lay there for a moment, trying in vain to order his thoughts. Once upon a time he had understood a rational sequence of cause and effect. Reviewing the past few minutes, he suddenly doubted whether or not such a thing even existed. If it did, then the arrival of the girl currently weighing upon his mind and abdomen had sent it off on holiday without even a card to mark the occasion.
Eventually, sanity returned in the form of the two girls that Wilfred had been following. Shy and Jack both offered a hand and pulled the girl to her feet, and more importantly, off his stomach. “Thanks, girls,” she said with a smile. Her gaze fixed on her hands as she flexed her fingers and giggled. “Boy, these things sure are handy. A girl could get used to this.”
Both of the other girls ignored the bizarre statement, and Wilfred acted in kind. Jack proffered her hand shortly thereafter, and he was not so proud as to refuse it. Wilfred groaned and something in his back cracked as he stood up.
“You should be more careful, Pinkie,” Shy scolded gently.
The strange girl – ‘Pinkie’, apparently, a nickname which certainly fit – pouted at first, but it turned into a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I just get so excited when we have a visitor. Especially one as especial as him!”
Given how roughly he had been treated, Wilfred feared to discover how Pinkie might have greeted someone she wasn’t pleased to meet. Only then did he make the connection between her name and an earlier statement. “Pardon,” he asked Jack. “Did you mention a ‘Pinkie’ in conjunction to my deliveries?” Wilfred Xavier Manning was not a churchgoing man, but all the same he prayed that he had been wrong. Perhaps because he was not a churchgoing man, his prayer went unanswered.
“Right on the money, there,” Jack said with a grin.
Wilfred bit back a sigh. What was more one indignity heaped upon all the others? He glanced down in mild consternation at his attire. His once-immaculate coat was dusted with flour and smirched with the dirt of the street.
He raised his head, then jerked backwards in surprise as he met a pair of bright blue eyes far too close to his own. “I’m sorry,” Pinkie said with a strange amount of solemnity. That expression broke beneath the weight of an irrepressible grin. “Here, let me help you!” Before Wilfred could refuse, politely of course, she had already started brushing down his coat with a small, noisy device. Within moments his coat was cleaner than he could have imagined. Perhaps even cleaner than when he started this task.
Pinkie nodded in satisfaction and tucked her odd implement into her apron pocket. “There we go. All better!”
Wilfred was at a loss for words. None of his usual assortment seemed quite adequate. Instead of speaking, he reached for the papers inside his coat. If she was indeed one of the girls he was meant to find, she should have an invitation. To his surprise, though, there were only two papers left in his coat pocket. A quick round of mental arithmetic told him the number should have been three. He almost glanced to the cobbled streets to see if the missing paper at become displaced due to Pinkie’s exuberance. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw Pinkie studying a sheet of paper similar to the ones he carried, complete with a pink and darker pink ribbon twined around her finger.
Pickpocketing was a low and disreputable skill, yet on some level Wilfred was impressed by the ease with which she had gained the invitation. Even thinking back he could not pinpoint where she had removed it from his person. However, to be impressed personally was rather removed from his professional opinion upon the matter. Wilfred drew himself up until he towered over the strange girl, casting his shadow upon her. “I trust you are enjoying your invitation?” he asked coldly.
Pinkie nodded unabashedly, clearly distracted by what she was reading. Her face changed expression several times throughout the contents of her letter. Wilfred as not altogether certain what each of those emotions were, but even he could read the look of determination she wore upon finishing the paper.
Although not a curious soul by nature, Wilfred had to admit that he desired to know the contents of an invitation capable of provoking such a flurry of emotions. He opened his mouth to ask, but before a word could cross his lips, Pinkie dove forward, wrapping her deceptively strong arms around him.
“Don’t worry!” she declared. “I will answer the call and do everything in my power to help you!”
“Urk!” Wilfred replied, finding it difficult to breath with his diaphragm currently crushed against his spine.
“I think he gets the picture, Pinkie,” Jack said, at last stepping in to break the near-fatal embrace Pinkie had imposed upon him. Wilfred sucked in a grateful breath of air and wheezed a word that an extremely sharp-eared person might have recognized as ‘thanks’. His gratitude was only slightly marred by the fact that his coat was once again covered in flour.
Pinkie, however, must have noticed his sour expression as he glanced down. “Whoops. I’ll take care of that.” This time Wilfred was watching as she removed the odd device from her apron again and only belatedly realized that the pocket was entirely too small to contain the implement.
He took an unconscious step backwards, both alarmed and mystified. Pinkie took no notice and advanced upon him, the sleek device already humming and whirring to life. His mental machinery spun its wheels; cogs disengaged, gears stripped themselves, and flywheels were torn asunder. Once again he felt the longing to return to his proper job; to leave this strange place and never look back. Wilfred looked to Jack, hoping against hope for an explanation. Pinkie started cleaning his coat with no care for his quiet desperation.
“How?” he asked hoarsely.
Jack clapped him on the shoulder, much as a boisterous man might do to a friend. “I was a bit afraid you’d have that reaction. Just try not to think about it too much and you’ll be right as rain.”
Wilfred Xavier Manning stared at her incredulously. Even within the short scope of their acquaintanceship, she should well have realized that he was not the sort of person to ‘not think’ about anything. Still, he tried. He closed his eyes and focused on only the strange noise of the device. He very carefully listened only to its clamor and did not even consider thinking about how easily Pinkie had drawn it forth from a too-small pocket like a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat.
His eyes flew open, and he almost could have laughed in relief. Though, of course, he didn’t. Wilfred turned to Jack and nodded towards her ‘mysterious’ friend. “Of course. It never pays to try guessing a magician’s tricks.” That had to be the explanation. Pinkie was an amateur magician, skilled in sleight-of-hand and misdirection. Were this any other day, Wilfred would easily have realized she was only pulling harmless tricks, but between the stress and surprises he had already endured, it was no shock that he had taken a moment to see through it.
Jack shrugged. “She’s got some kind of magic, all right. Not that anyone knows she does it.”
“It’s easy!” Pinkie chirped, finished with her ministrations. Once more his coat and other sundry clothing was immaculate. “You’ve just got to fudge the rules a bit and hope nobody notices.” Her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth as she studiously inspected him. Pinkie shook her head sadly and sighed. “That isn’t close to enough. You need fifty cc’s of fun, stat. There’s only one place in town to find that!”
“The pet-care store?” Shy asked.
“Sugarcube Corner!” Pinkie proclaimed, throwing her arms wide. Someone must have been practicing with a trumpet, because a short fanfare played in time to her words. Wilfred blinked. That was an odd coincidence, but he had no time to contemplate it further. Pinkie was attempting – and for the most part, succeeding – to drag him down the street.
“C’mon!” she shouted with all the exuberance of a happy child. “Let’s get something tasty in your tummy and watch that frown turn upside down!”
Wilfred dug in his heels and managed to extricate his hand from her grasp, though it was not easy. “Thank you,” he said, massaging the feeling back into his abused digits. “However, I would rather continue in my task. I still have two invitations to deliver, and work must come before play.” At least, that’s what he believed the girl was suggesting. Her words were rather difficult to parse.
Pinkie pouted and snatched his hand back, pulling even harder. Wilfred had to take a step forward to keep from stumbling. She was stronger than she looked, certainly stronger than he had expected. Still, his feet found new purchase, and he managed to stop himself. Pinkie yanked again, but he was prepared this time and didn’t budge. They locked stares, both of them determined, fully engaged in a contest that strained both mental and physical abilities to their limits.
“Um… that’s probably where Dash went looking for Pinkie. Shouldn’t we go there to meet up?” Shy said.
Wilfred considered his options. The detour would delay him, but he did need to return with all of them. And there was a real chance he would lose either his dignity or his arm if this contest with Pinkie continued. “Very well,” he said, stepping forward and giving his aching arm a brief respite. He used the other to straighten his tie, which had gone askew. “We shall retrieve Dash, or should your friend be gone, will continue on. I’m certain Dash is capable of finding us later, should it come to that.”
“Only so long as you try something from the shop,” Pinkie added, still not letting go of his hand. “Anyone new in town gets a cupcake on the house!”
Cup… cake? Wilfred thought. It must be some sort of local sweet. Regardless, he supposed he could try one. If that was the price he had to pay, then so be it. “As you wish; far be it from me to spit upon tradition. Let’s be off, and hope we catch Dash in time.”
“Sounds ‘bout right to me,” Jack said. Shy just nodded.
“All righty!” Pinkie shouted, bouncing her down the street, easily keeping up with the fast pace Wilfred set. “So, heard any good jokes lately?” she asked, spoiling what could have been a pleasant silence.
“No.”
“Heard any bad jokes lately?”
“No.”
“Heard any jokes at all lately?”
“No.”
“Do you mind telling me your favorite joke of all time?”
“No,” he replied automatically, only realizing his mistake seconds too late. Wilfred glared at Pinkie, and she grinned innocently back. He almost hurried away, but then remembered the difficulty Shy had had in keeping up with Jack’s pace back at the farm. Sullenly, he stayed his course.
“Well…?” Pinkie said.
He sighed and reviewed what few jokes he knew. Most of them were not appropriate for mixed company, regardless of how often his uncle had delighted in telling them. Wilfred was not a man with whom many jokes were shared. His colleagues would occasionally trade gibes or banter good-naturedly, but he had never been part of such confidences. Not even when he was a schoolboy had his fellows shared much with him. Not that he had encouraged them to. Wilfred had always been more than comfortable in his solitude. Though, there was one witticism he had always found quite amusing…
“How is a rook like a writing desk?”
Pinkie frowned and scratched her head, behaving rather more like a circus ape than a young lady. After a moment or two of pondering the question, she shook her head and shrugged. Wilfred held down a chuckle. The beauty in this joke was in its unexpected yet perfectly logical solution.
“Because you’ll find that a Parliament is full of both,” he quipped, and this time he did give few good guffaws. Pinkie didn’t laugh, but neither did she seem disappointed. She beamed at him, clearly not getting the joke, but enjoying it nonetheless. Something in her smile made Wilfred feel self-conscious, and his laughter abruptly cut off. He reassumed his usual scowl with practiced ease.
“However, this is not the time for such jocularity. We have business to attend to,” he said sternly.
Pinkie wilted, her strange hair almost seeming to flatten and lose some of its color. “I’m sorry. I know I come on strong and act weird sometimes, but I was only trying to make you happy,” she said with a strange solemnity.
Wilfred nodded to her in gratitude. “Thank you, but tomfoolery doesn’t suit me. Finishing this job and returning to my proper duties will make me happy.”
“Will it?” Pinkie asked, her bright eyes seeming to peer deep within him. She shook her head slowly. “How long has it been since you laughed?”
“I laughed just now,” Wilfred said defensively.
Pinkie snorted. “I mean before that.”
Wilfred cast his mind back. Surely, it had not been that long ago. But how long had it been? “Years and years,” he murmured aloud. But then his scowl returned full force. “But I am a man of business. A person of serious means and intent. I don’t need something so frivolous as laughter.”
Pinkie had no response for that, save for her mischevious grin. Wilfred was not certain, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that her smile implied ‘we’ll see about that’. A slight breeze made him give a tiny shudder.
“What are you two gabbin’ about up there?” Jack called from the rear of the group.
“No~thing!” Pinkie sang back, transparently innocent.
Jack snorted in disbelief. Shy gave a small frown and spoke up. “If he doesn’t want a party, you shouldn’t force one on him. You remember Cranky, don’t you?”
Pinkie stuck out her tongue in a childish gesture, but then giggled. “Yeah, yeah. I’m not going to do the same thing. Except maybe reuniting him with his long lost love.” She turned Wilfred, with a pensive pout. “Do you have a long lost love?”
“No,” he replied. He hadn’t ever held any sort of close romantic relationship. Though, come to think of it, he was getting on in years. Perhaps it was time he looked for a wife. Someone who was quiet, sensible, practical and not susceptible to the flights of fancy to which the gentler sex were prone. An image flashed through his mind unbidden: Pinkie bouncing up and down in a wedding dress next to himself in a flour-spotted suit.
It took every ounce of nerve he possessed to keep from screaming. Slowly, slowly he brought his thundering heart rate back to normal and calmed himself. There was nothing to fear; something so ridiculous as that could never come to pass.
Then, he envisioned their children.
“We’re here!” Pinkie shouted.
“Thank God!” Wilfred cried, banishing those frightful images to the deepest reaches of his mind and locking them away for all eternity. His exclamation and expression received a curious stare from Jack and Shy, but Pinkie either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
‘Here’ was a pleasant-smelling building designed rather differently from the many thatched cottages common throughout most of the village. Sugarcube Corner was stoutly built with a sharply pitched roof and a small turret in the center. It was also decorated in all manner of confectionary themed items. Candy cane columns flanked the door, and the horse-shaped weather vane held another candy cane in a tight grip. The roof looked as though it were made of gingerbread, complete with frosting rain gutters, the chimney was likewise coated in more frosting, and the turret resembled a pair of small cakes, thick with pink icing, stacked one atop the other. The small sign next to the door, depicting another such cake, seemed almost excessive given the trouble they had already gone through to make their profession known.
“There you guys are!” Dash shouted, standing up from his small table as they entered. “Mrs. Cake said Pinkie had gone out on an errand, and she’d be back any minute, but it took so long I was about to go out looking again!” From the crumbs and jam stains around his mouth, Wilfred doubted Dash had suffered overmuch during his wait.
“Sorry,” Shy apologized. “We found Pinkie, and, well…”
“You know how that situation goes,” Jack said with a nod.
Dash nodded back, before dragging his sleeve across his mouth. “Yeah, okay. But now that we’re together again, let’s get a move on! I’ve got place to be! Tricks to practice!”
“Naps to take!” Pinkie shouted, giggling at Dash’s red-faced glare. Wilfred gave a cough that could have been a chuckle. But it wasn’t. Not at all.
“Ta-da!” Pinkie announced presenting him with a small cake similar to the one depicted on the sign outside, but this one was coated in a thin layer of chestnut brown icing instead of a thick pink swirl.
So this ‘cup-cake’ was simply a fairy cake by another name. Wilfred assumed it was so called by the villagers because it was about the size of a teacup. Or perhaps it had been baked in a cup? Either way Pinkie was standing very close, grinning, fidgeting, waiting for him to try the confection. Even if it had not smelled delicious, Wilfred would have been hesitant to refuse her. As it was, he wasted no time taking a bite. The icing was a rich, mellow caramel. The cake underneath was light, airy and yet substantial enough to satisfy. It was also studded with small pieces of crunchy walnut. Wilfred was a man that rarely indulged himself – gastrically or otherwise – but he consumed the toothsome treat in only a few more bites.
“Mmm,” he said, using a handkerchief to wipe away any remaining crumbs. “You were right, Miss Pinkie. That was certainly worth a moment out of my schedule.” Jack and Dash clearly thought he was damning their friend with faint praise, but Pinkie took his compliment in the spirit in which he had intended.
“Yes!” she shouted, thrusting her fist skyward in a curious gesture. “Rich and flavorful, yet understated. I knew you’d like it!”
“Indeed,” Wilfred agreed, breaking into a smile, quite to his own surprise. “However, you must now keep your end of the bargain. We need to leave for our next stop.” He turned to the door and suddenly stopped. “Which would be where?” he asked Shy.
Shy gained a contemplative look, tapping her chin with a single finger. “Carousel Boutique is closer than the library.”
“Lead on, then,” Wilfred said, and with thankfully little conversation or delay they left.
The streets were emptier for some reason when they exited the bakery. Wilfred would have assumed that the presence of a stranger in the insular little town had driven the residents indoors, but none of those left outside took any notice of him. In fact, thinking back, he couldn’t remember anyone in the crowd even looking at him when he first arrived. He might as well have not existed to these strange people. Wilfred sternly stopped such a ridiculous line of thought. His adventures today must have addled his wits, the way he kept having such odd thoughts.
The walk this time was dominated by a conversation taking place between the four friends traveling with him. They talked and joked, each of their disparate personalities combining into a greater whole. He was put in mind of the way differently sized gears could mesh smoothly and without error to form a working clock. Dash led the conversation with loud boasts and declarations. Pinkie shared jokes and added oddly insightful, or simply odd, commentary. Jack was the voice of reason and the soul of practicality, though she balanced these traits with an easygoing nature. Shy spoke rarely, but always listened, lending an ear to even the most unlikely of Dash’s boasts or the queerest of Pinkie’s notions. The conversation ebbed and flowed with the ease of old companionship; it contained none of the awkward pauses or banal chatter that marked more shallow acquaintances. Wilfred had no part in it, but they did not exclude him out of malice. His silence set him apart.
Which was just as well. He had no interest in participating. Even if he did hold any such desire, his presence would only disrupt the well-oiled machine that was their discussion. His slight sensation of melancholy was only a longing for his proper job and place.
A short time later they entered the village green. There were merchant tents here and there, but only one building could possibly be ‘Carousel Boutique’. It was shaped like a three-tiered carousel with ornamentation upon ornamentation. There was not a spare yard that was not festooned with some sort of architectural finery. Even among the colorful confines of this strange village, it was ostentatious. Two carousel horses decorated the second story, and a third appeared on the sign over the door.
Earlier in his journey, Wilfred might have reacted with disbelief to such a sight. He might, also, have questioned the financial viability of a bespoke tailor in a small, isolated town. Now he simply accepted it and moved on. A worrying trait for any bookkeeper to develop, but there is a point where every man must either go mad or learn to cope with the incredible.
A bell above the door proclaimed his entry. “Coming!” sang a voice from somewhere upstairs. Wilfred took the moment to study the wares on display. There were some modest yet elegant designs, but most of what the shop offered seemed to involve a considerable number of faux gemstones. The bits of crystal – or more likely, colored glass – shone and sparkled. The effect was rather lovely, though Wilfred couldn’t recall ever having seen the style before. Perhaps it was coming into vogue? He didn’t keep up with fashion. For all Wilfred knew, every landed Lady across the British empire was wearing such clothes to the parties of high society.
“Welcome to Carousel Boutique.” A lady descended the stairs, and for a moment, despite her introduction, Wilfred was certain she was a wealthy patroness, not a seamstress. The woman moved with a subtle grace, every motion practiced and perfect. Her white dress accentuated an alluring figure without ever straying towards impropriety. A feathered hat sat at an angle on her head, the indigo hair beneath it perfectly curled and arrayed. Her make-up was sparse, yet elegant, emphasizing her beauty rather than concealing her flaws. Even the small diamond set into her forehead seemed like just another part of her ensemble. “How may I– oh, hello,” she said as she noticed her friends. Then her eyes lit upon him, and she gave a demure smile. “What’s the occasion? And who is our guest?”
“This here is Wilfred,” Jack drawled, gesturing to the clerk in question. “And the invite he’s carryin’ oughta catch you up to speed.”
“Really?” she asked, then offered Wilfred her hand, sheathed in a thin glove of white silk. “I am Miss Rarity, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Wilfred.”
“Likewise,” Wilfred said, bowing to her and doffing his hat. He took her hand and kissed the air above it, careful not to make contact. Dash snickered, but like a proper gentlemen Wilfred ignored his heckling. “As Jack mentioned, I have an invitation for you.” He reached into his coat and withdrew a rolled piece of paper sealed with a white ribbon streaked with indigo.
Miss Rarity studied it for a few moments, then paused to give Wilfred an evaluating look. She returned to the letter, but continued to inspect him from time to time. When at last she was done, she set the invitation on a nearby stand and continued staring at him, humming softly.
Wilfred felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. He felt as though he was under the eye of a stringent Dutchess; one who could ruin his career and blacken his name across the Empire with naught but a word. Intellectually, he understood this was not the case, yet the feeling persisted.
“Could I ask–” he began.
“Shush,” Miss Rarity commanded. “I am in the zone.”
Her reply made little sense to him, but he could not help but obey. Wilfred glanced backwards, looking for support but he found none. Jack and Dash looked bored, but there was an air acceptance in their waiting. Pinkie was gone entirely, and Shy refused to meet his eyes. Wilfred turned back as Miss Rarity’s hum reached a crescendo. Her mouth curved into a self-satisfied smile. Wilfred braced himself. Whatever came next, he would face it like the solid Englishman he was.
“The hat, of course,” Miss Rarity said, releasing him from her gaze and striding to a small door set against the boutique’s back wall. “I knew there was something dreadfully wrong with your outfit, darling, but I’m ashamed it took me so long to pinpoint just what it was.” His… hat? Wilfred removed the headpiece and examined it. The brim was a bit old, and perhaps a tad frayed, but it was still serviceable. Yes, there were one or two places inside where perspiration had stained the lining, but those were not even visible from the outside. The style was not currently in fashion, but Wilfred was unswayed by the pendulum of fads, which would bring it back into style sooner or later in any case. In short, there was nothing wrong with his hat.
Until he saw the wondrous chapeau Miss Rarity drew forth from the depths of the closet. It was crisp and clean, tall and formal enough to be impressive, but not extravagant or overbearing. The lining shimmered like silk, and from what little Wilfred knew of fashion, he supposed it was the height of style. In short, the hat Miss Rarity held made his own look like a worthless scrap of cloth. “Now, men’s fashion is not my normal stock in trade, but this item was originally from one of my rare suit orders. The customer changed his mind and decided against wearing the hat, which I thought was a real shame. However, his loss is your gain!” She smiled again and with a small flourish held the hat out before him.
“Eh?” Wilfred said, quite at a loss for words. She couldn’t possibly be offering…
“Psst!” Pinkie hissed from over his shoulder, making him jump slightly in the process. “This is the part where you take the hat and thank her.”
“But I have no means to pay her,” Wilfred replied. “Even if I had my chequebook with me, I could never afford such a fine piece of haberdashery.”
“Then you are lucky that I am giving it to you,” Rarity said, offered him the handsome hat once more. “I admit it doesn’t quite match your chain, but what would?”
Wilfred glanced at his watch fob. Who even considered such a small item when coordinating an outfit? Returning to the matter hand, Wilfred shook his head. “I couldn’t possibly. Your employer couldn’t possibly sanction such a thing, and even were he so forgiving, I have nothing to give you in return. Nothing, certainly, that could equal what you have given me.” Though it had been some time since Wilfred had received any presents, he was certain that was how such things worked. Whether for Christmas or any other occasion, one did not receive without giving, save for providing money for charities. Even for birthdays, the repayment was only separated temporally.
Miss Rarity arched one of her eyebrows. “I can promise you that I will be docked nothing for giving away an article of clothing from my shop. And I do insist.”
Wilfred’s raised his own eyebrows in surprise. A woman, and a young one at that, owning and running her own shop? Had she inherited it? Even in these enlightened times, that was an oddity. Still, he couldn’t fault her skill if the hat she held was an example of her work.
His silent surprise did not go unnoticed, though the seamstress seemed to mistake its origin. An expression of uncertainty flitted across her face. “Unless you don’t like it. Is the hat not to your taste?” she asked.
Wilfred almost sighed with relief. He would have to tread carefully as not to offend her, yet a small white lie would offer him an easy escape from this dilemma. He almost opened his mouth to agree with her, but something stopped him. Jack was watching him speculatively: not with disapproval, nor with judgment. Her face showed only an open and honest curiosity.
Wilfred bit back the lie and turned to face Miss Rarity. “No, it is a fine hat, one of the finer ones I’ve ever seen.”
This baffled her, and she frowned querulously. “Then I fail to understand the problem.”
Wilfred shook his head. “I do not have the means to pay fairly for your work, nor to give you a gift of my own. Neither am I willing to accept charity. Therefore, I simply cannot take the hat you have offered me.”
Miss Rarity gave a dignified titter, her free hand covering her mouth. “Goodness, is that what you think? A gift between friends doesn’t need to be repaid, and neither is it charity.” A quick movement from her and his old hat was snatched from his head and the new one settled in its place. Yet, her words shocked much more than her actions.
“Friends?” he said in disbelief. That was absurd; they had met only a few minutes ago. Wilfred had worked next to the same person for two years and couldn’t recall the man’s first name to save his life.
“Nascent friends, then,” Miss Rarity corrected. “Are you somehow opposed to such a thing?”
“No,” Wilfred said, more confused now than ever. “It is just that I am not a man who makes friends easily.” Or at all. “However, I am fairly certain it cannot be so simple as that.”
“Why not?” Jack asked. “Friendship may not come easy to you, but that don’t mean it’s complicated.”
“I wouldn’t mind being your friend,” Shy said quietly.
“Hey, I was annoying Wilfred with friendship before it was cool,” Pinkie declared, a faux haughty expression on her face.
Dash snorted and shrugged. “Eh, I’ll give you a shot. No promise you’ll make the cut, but everyone deserves a chance.” Then he grinned and gave Wilfred a light punch on the shoulder, suggesting that his harsher words were only in sport.
Wilfred’s head felt like it was spinning. Things were moving so fast, and changing, and somehow this was not following the path he had envisioned. The individuals around him were becoming people instead of just objectives to be completed and dryly marked down. A low pounding pain developed in the back of his head, as if someone was using his skull as a drum. A cold feeling crept along every inch of his body, starting from his extremities and moving inwards. Where it passed through, there was nothing but numbness left behind.
The pounding resolved itself into a sound like wheels on cobblestones loud enough to make his head feel like it was splitting. A faint sensation trickled through the numbness and he recognized in shock that the coldness wasn’t seeping into him. It was–
No.
He forced it all back. His mind cleared, the pounding ceased, and warmth flowed back into his shivering limbs. He had not realized he had fallen until he saw the five faces above, staring down at him in concern.
“Are you okay?” They all said in some manner or another.
“Thank you, I’m fine,” Wilfred said brusquely. He got to his feet, ignoring their offers of help. He didn’t need their compassion. He needed to finish this errand and return to his proper job. Nothing else mattered. “Where do we need to go next?”
They group exchanged concerned glances, but after a moment Shy spoke. “Only one place left: the library.”
“Then let us be off,” Wilfred said. He still had on the hat Miss Rarity had given him. He was in a hurry, and it was simpler to leave it on than to hunt for his old one.
Author: psychicscubadiver Editor: Silentcarto Proofreader: Coandco Disclaimer: My Little Pony and all related characters are owned by Hasbro. I am not Hasbro. Chapter 4: A Magical Meeting and a Difficult Decision
Wilfred Xavier Manning didn’t know why he was angry. Such a discrepancy between his emotional and rational responses was rather disturbing, especially a reaction as powerful as that which he felt now.
He had stormed out of Miss Rarity’s shop without even waiting for Shy to give him his heading for their next destination. He finally slowed as he realized that he had no idea where he was going.
“You don’t want to be friends?” Pinkie asked quietly, suddenly appearing at his right.
Stress and surprise can wear down even the best of men, and Wilfred was no exception to that rule. He fairly yelped upon realizing that Pinkie had gained such a drop on him. Applejack could be seen hurrying towards them in the distance, but the baker had evidently caught up much more quickly.
“Pardon?” he said, knowing he hadn’t caught what she’d said.
Pinkie frowned, and there was nothing playful or exaggerated about the gesture. She simply looked like a person on the precipice of losing something they held dear. “Did you run away because you didn’t want to be our friend?”
“I… I…” Wilfred stammered. He didn’t know why he had fled. Something within him had demanded it. “Such a circumstance would not be unwelcome. My sudden exodus had nothing to do with your offer.”
Jack cleared her throat behind behind, and Wilfred turned to see her scowling. He stared back, confused. She held his eye a moment longer, then shrugged and looked back as the rest of the group closed the gap.
“Now, really,” Rarity said, her skirts bunched in her hands as she hurried in a manner quite unlike her earlier grace. “It is the utmost rudeness to rush off without a lady. I couldn’t leave without closing my shop.”
“My apologies,” Wilfred said. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“That’s okay,” Shy told him, carefully taking his hand in her own. A shiver ran through him at the contact, and he very nearly jerked his hand back on reflex. One look at her gentle expression silenced any protest he might have made. She gently stroked his hand, as though he were a spooked horse in need of calming. “Sometimes I get startled and run away from things that nobody else thinks are scary, too. But when you have friends with you, there isn’t anything to be afraid of.”
Except that there was. Wilfred felt the tugging temptation to leave them and continue running. To return to his safe, sensible job before they…
Before they what?
Wilfred Xavier Manning drew himself to his full height. He was a man, by damn. Not some child ready to flee because of an imagined bogeyman. With his usual good sense, he banished the fears and temptation to the back of his mind. He had an errand to finish. Then – and only then – could he return to his proper employment.
“Thank you,” Wilfred said. “Now, where is it that we will find the last of your friends?”
“You mean we’re finally ready to get moving again?” Dash asked, swooping out of the sky. “Yeah, Princess Egghead lives in the town library.”
Princess? Could some member of the Royal Family have been stricken with the condition? It seemed far more likely that Dash was simply showing his usual lack of decorum. Wilfred scowled. Someone should teach the young man the proper respect for Royalty. Still, that would be a discussion for another day. If ever. For now Wilfred was willing to settle for some directions. “And where shall we find the library?”
Dash snickered. “Follow me. You can’t miss it.” With that he soared ahead, doing lazy loop-the-loops that looked as though they should have been impossible. Nevertheless, Wilfred had his direction, and he followed the boy. He suddenly realized that at some point in his brief discussion with Dash that Shy had let go of his hand. The absence bothered him for a moment, but then the realization that he was upset over such a trivial thing bothered him even more.
There were only a few people on the streets at this point, all of them ignoring him in an almost studious manner. Did they not realize he was from outside their bizarre little community? Or was some quiet fear driving them indoors even as they showed no outward sign of it? Either way, he had little leisure to ponder it. This time the girls kept him engaged in their conversation while Dash swooped and flew ahead. There was an undercurrent of concern evident the attention they paid to him. He replied sparingly but was not so rude as to simply spurn their attempts at discussion. The small talk continued for some few minutes until they stopped in front of a large tree.
“We’re here!” Pinkie announced.
Wilfred blinked in confusion. He glanced around, then with a sudden shock examined the tree more closely. It was much larger than it had first seemed: not so much in height as in girth. There were a variety of windows scattered amongst the upper branches, and even one small balcony with a telescope aimed at the heavens. A few more windows peered out of the trunk at ground level, but Wilfred’s attention was held by the small, cozy-looking door set flush with the bark of the massive trunk.
Supposedly, there were savages and wild men who lived in huts built among the treetops in the distant jungles of the world, but Wilfred had never heard of a house being built into a tree. One had to wonder not only at the impressive size of the bole, but at the skill of the workers who had made it into a library without killing the tree. Assuming, of course, that the thick green foliage was proof of its continued growth.
Jack marched up to the door, delivered a pair of swift knocks and opened it. Wilfred frowned, evidencing his disapproval. “You don’t wait for an answer?”
Jack snorted. “It’s a public library. The knocks are just to let ‘em know somebody’s here.”
“I’ll be down in a minute!” a female voice called from deeper with the library.
Conceding the point, Wilfred entered. He breathed in deeply, and the smell of careworn books, old wood, and fresh ink almost overwhelmed his tired senses.. He was in a cozy room lined with shelves upon shelves of thick, heavy tomes. Save for a few decorations, everything seemed to have been carved out of the tree before being rounded, smoothed and polished. His ears caught the faint scritching of a pen at work. He let out his breath as a contented sigh. Tension leaked from him. It was almost like being back at work.
“Sorry I kept you waiting,” said the female voice, presumably the librarian.
Wilfred turned to face her and found himself working to keep from staring. It was not her beauty or dress, though she was both rather pretty and well attired, that caught his eye. Nor was it her height, though she was taller than everyone else in the room, including himself.
She had wings which, even folded, looked wider and more powerful than any he had seen that day. They were a rich royal purple that perfectly matched the large amethyst jutting from her forehead like the horn of the mythical unicorn. Her dress was elegant yet practical, and its deep purple color seemed chosen to match her wings. She radiated power in a way that Wilfred could not begin to explain, and for the first time in his life he had no doubt of the divine right of kings. He quickly fell to one knee, bowing his head and trying desperately to remember the protocol for greeting Royalty.
“Good day, Your Highness. I humbly beg that you excuse any imposition I have made upon your time.”
“No, no. I-it’s all right, honestly. Just call me Twilight, please,” the Princess replied. Wilfred dared to glance up and saw her red-faced, flustered expression. “I was finishing a letter when you came in.” There was a moment of awkward silence as she waited for something that was evidently not forthcoming. A sliver of ice slid through Wilfred’s digestion. What rule or etiquette had he missed? He merely hoped she would be merciful.
“Um, you can stop kneeling now,” the Princess said, still flushed.
Wilfred complied hastily with her command, and presented the final invitation to her with a flourish. Dash stifled a chuckle somewhere in the background, but Wilfred did not let that deter him in the slightest. His duty was nearly fulfilled, and he would not disgrace his employer in front of such an important personage.
At last certain aspects of this village were beginning to make sense. It was hidden from public knowledge so that the fickle, superstitious public could not cast aspersions against the Royal Family merely because one of their daughters had been stricken with such an unfortunate condition. Miss Rarity likely made her the bulk of her living by filling the Princess’s wardrobe. Even the indifference of the townsfolk made sense; they must be used to people without their condition visiting the Princess. True, there were still certain aspects that remained unknown, but they must have reasons behind them that were just as logical.
“Very interesting,” the Princess said after quickly reading through it. “I would be glad to accompany you, Mister…”
“Manning. Wilfred Xavier Manning, Your Highness,” he said.
She pouted, her expression curious. “That’s quite the name. I don’t think I’ve ever heard one like it.”
“Oh,” Pinkie declared, crossing her arms and giving the Princess a mock glare, “so somebody new shows up and suddenly ‘Pinkamena Diane Pie’ is chopped parsnip. I see how it is.” She snuck her nose in the air and ‘harrumphed’ noisily.
Wilfred’s breath caught in his throat. Surely no Princess, no matter how humble her circumstances, would endure such gibes from a commoner. Regardless of her cavalier treatment of his own dignity, he did not wish to see any harsh treatment befall Pinkie. He opened his mouth to beg clemency from the Princess on her behalf.
The Princess giggled, lifting a hand to cover her mouth. “I think you forgot one. Wasn’t just a little while ago you swore that ‘Responsibility’ was your middle name, too?”
“Well, duh. I just didn’t want to drag out the full list or everybody would think I was showing off.” The group laughed at that and Dash ruffled Pinkie’s hair with a devilish smile.
Wilfred was confused. Everything in his mind told him this scene was wrong. Princesses did not mingle and joke with common bakers. People of such strange, conflicting personalities and stations could not form this cohesive whole. They could not create such bonds and comradery as he saw before him.
It made no sense.
Despite being in a warm room full of happy people, Wilfred suddenly felt very cold and alone. It was precisely the wrong time for the Princess’s amethyst jewel to glow bright magenta and half-a-dozen books to take up orbit around her.
Wilfred must have made some noise, for the head of everyone present turned his way, yet whatever it was, he was fully unaware of making it. His widening eyes were fixed upon the impossible sight before him. Once again his mental machinery derailed itself from his carefully maintained tracks of thought and barreled through the neatly manicured lawns and gardens of his psyche, crushing all before it with impunity. His newfound ability to describe the sensation with belabored metaphors did little restore the normal function of his mind, or to stop his jaw from hanging open in a most uncouth manner.
“Are you… okay?” the Princess ventured cautiously. Shy was whispering in her ear no doubt explaining his ‘episode’ from earlier in the day.
“I-I’m well,” Wilfred lied. Only the pressure of responding to the Princess’s question had snapped him out of his daze. Unfortunately, it seemed a majority of his faculties had not followed. “I am merely surprised by your evident and manifest violation of all natural laws. I am currently attempting to hazard an explanation for it, but my mind does not seem willing to function as it should. My impolite rambling should prove that last statement clearly true, at least.”
Everyone in the room regarded him curiously. “It’s just magic,” the Princess said in confusion. “I never thought someone would be surprised by it.”
“I guess it is kinda strange the first time you see it, but most folk get used to it when they’re still young,” Jack said. She shrugged. “It don’t seem too weird when you’ve grown up with friends or family that can do it.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Shy repeated, staring at him worriedly.
Magic. Well, that certainly explained a few things. There were several allusions to magic and other forces of the supernatural throughout history. Did not the Bible speak of sorcerers in Egypt? Perhaps, just perhaps, it was not merely superstition. Wilfred’s thundering heart slowed, and he took a deep breath. He prided himself on being a … well, not a flexible person, but certainly one that was willing to face the world as it is, not as he would prefer it.
Magic was real. The Princess was capable of using it and so too, perhaps, were the other people with jewels embedded in their foreheads.
He could deal with this. There was no reason to act foolishly.
“I’m sorry,” Wilfred said. “Yes, this is my first time seeing… magic. I don’t know anyone in London who can perform such feats. With such abilities at your disposal it is no wonder my employer wishes to speak to such talented women.” He hesitated for half a second then nodded to Dash. “And a similarly gifted young man.”
The effect was galvanic.
The group had been calming down at his earlier words. His last pronouncement had exactly the opposite effect. Miss Rarity and the Princess both glanced at Dash, then fell to tittering behind their hands. Jack and Pinkie simply burst out laughing, loudly and without reserve. Shy blushed deeply, her face going beet red, empathic worry shining in her soft eyes.
“Young what?!” Dash demanded. His face had gone a fierce, fiery red that put Shy’s expression to shame. Despite that, he darted in close, his face mere inches from Wilfred’s own. Dash’s expression was contorted with fury, but the effect was undermined by the embarrassment he clearly felt. “I’m a girl! And if you aren’t willing to take my word, then I’ll prove it!”
“Rainbow Dash!” Miss Rarity gasped. “Acting like that is the last thing that will convince anyone you’re a lady!”
There is only so much that a mind can take. Surprise after surprise, revelation after revelation will wear away at a man until he no longer has the strength to fight it. Now that he looked at him – her – Wilfred could see past the thick jacket. Dash’s lithe frame, hairless face and high voice were not signs of youth. Indeed, when had anyone treated her as any younger than the rest of their group?
The last straw had fallen and the camel’s back had broken.
Confusion, worry, surprise, and every other of the myriad emotions Wilfred was feeling disappeared. He grew calm. Eerily so, even to his own mind. The difference was that he found he didn’t care. He had done his duty. He had found all six of them and delivered the letters. “I apologize,” he told Dash. His voice and expression were empty of anything save cold pragmatism. “It was an honest mistake which I shall not repeat. You have gathered everyone. It is time to leave.”
Everyone traded glances, still staring at him. “You sure, Willy? Because you might not be all there right now,” Pinkie stated.
“Pinkie!” the Princess and Jack scolded in one voice.
“What? Everybody was thinking it!”
“I’m fine. However, we need to leave. I have work to attend to and no time to waste.” The tugging sensation was back, and he no longer sought to fight it.
“We’re just worried about you,” Shy said softly, taking his hand again.
He firmly took it back from her, and for some reason she flinched away from him. “I appreciate your concern,” Wilfred said in frosty tone. “However, I do not need your pity or your compassion. I need to complete my job and return to my employer.”
Wilfred would have expected Shy to draw away after such a dismissal, but instead she stood fast. Pinkie moved to back her up, and Dash laid a hand on the small girl’s shoulders. They studied him a moment more. Pinkie frowned. “I don’t think you’re ready yet. Let us help you first.”
The Princess nodded in agreement. “Pinkie is right. With Spike’s help I can research your condition and find an answer with an hour. Two at the max. I’m certain waiting that short time won’t trouble L–”
“An hour?” Wilfred said. He did not speak loudly, but his voice cut her off completely. “I cannot afford to waste that much time, nor would I keep my employer waiting that long. I am leaving, and if you wish to honour your invitations, you must keep up.”
He did not hesitate but breezed past them. It looked as though both Jack and Dash reached out to stop him, but he felt nothing, so they must have missed. He charged past the small door into the street beyond. But, somehow, it had changed in the past few minutes.
The ground beneath him was cobbled in rough stones, and the library he had just exited was gone. Indeed, there was not so much as a trace of that rural village. The street he now stood on looked to have come out of the less civilised parts of London. A pall of darkness lay heavily upon the streets, and a few guttering gas lights had already been lit despite the early hour. The chilly air nipped at him, and the road stood empty.
Conspicuously empty, in fact. There were no people to be seen anywhere. Every door and window was shut tight. No children ran at play, no peddlers shouted their wares, no housewifes or tradesmen walked along the narrow street. And in the absence of people, it was eerily quiet.
A low sound, the distant pounding of hooves and wheels on cobblestones, broke the silence. Wilfred glanced this way, then that, but saw nothing. The clattering grew louder and louder, setting his head to aching. Wilfred calmly searched for the source of the noise, yet it eluded him.
Until at last he saw it: a massive stagecoach drawn by four gigantic horses, each taller at the shoulder than Wilfred himself. They were bearing down on him like a runaway train. He stood in place, unconcerned, despite the tiny, insistent voice screaming inside him, demanding that he move. He needed that dispassion, even as the thunder of their merciless hooves pounded his ears. His detachment was all that protected him from–
“Gotcha!” Dash shouted, tackling him to the ground. As she did, the sound of wheels and hooves on cobblestones disappeared. He hit the ground hard, but the landing was not so painful as he would have expected. Indeed, it seemed softer than any cobblestone he had ever trod upon.
“Jeez,” Dash said, both tone and body language exasperated. “Now, you wanna tell me what all that running was for?” Wilfred glanced around. There was no sign of the dark coach, and the road beneath him was dirt, not cobblestone. The rest of the girls were rushing out of the library to his side. They were curious and concerned, but ultimately, they were unimportant. Work waited for no man.
“For goodness’s sake, why do you keep runnin’ off like that? So what if you figured wrong and thought Dash was a boy? That don’t mean you should act like darned fool!” Jack scolded, as Shy applied a small sticking plaster to one of the minor scrapes he had suffered in Dash’s rescue.
“I still must leave,” Wilfred said mechanically, rising to his feet without waiting for Shy to finish her ministrations. “I’m glad everyone has elected to accompany me.” There was some more shouting and confusion as he strode away from them, but he paid it no mind. He grasped the door of the nearest house and yanked it open. Rather than giving him access to some stranger’s home, it revealed his familiar workplace. Wilfred breathed in the heady scent of paper and ink, and the smell relaxed his overworked nerves. His desk was waiting for him, the ledger already open to the latest page, his pen glistening with fresh ink.
He glanced at the clock and was pleased to note that it was only four in the afternoon. Still plenty of time to get a little more work done. His chair creaked as he sat down, and he eyed the sums before him. This line was simple, a mere addition and reduction between two accounts indicating a transfer. He quickly and competently performed the calculations, marking the ledger with meticulously legible numbers. He moved onto the next line, and the cold dispassion melted from him as he focused more and more upon his work. The familiarity of routine warmed him better than any coal stove could. He let out a sigh of relief.
“Well, this ain’t ‘xactly what I expected.”
He glanced up surprised to hear another voice. The Princess and the rest of her friends were standing on the other side of the doorway, still in the strange village. He frowned, and gestured curtly. “Come in, come in. My employer is upstairs. He should be expecting you.”
The Princess stepped forward, crossing the threshold, and as she did, the air rippled around her. Wilfred glanced at her in confusion. It was as though he were seeing her through thick glass or light fog, and yet curiously rather different. Her form and shape wavered as though unable to resolve itself, yet she was clearly visible. Wilfred frowned. His eyes must be playing tricks on him; he knew what she looked like.
And with that thought, she could be seen as the young woman he had first meet. The same phenomenon occurred to each of the girls in turn, but faded the moment he focused upon them. Even more strange than that were their reactions.
The Princess blinked sleepily and shook her head. Pinkie yawned enormously, stretching her arms wide. Jack gave a sudden start and began to examine the room around her as though this was the first time she had seen it.
“Wilfred?” Shy asked, a strange confusion in her voice. As though she wasn’t certain it was really him.
“Yes?” he answered unable to keep a slight testiness out of his tone. “I mean no offense, but I am trying to work.”
“Yeah, but what are you?” Dash shouted, before looking down at herself. “Wait. What are we?!”
“I don’t know, but I appreciate our fashions. Even Dash has a suitable look,” Miss Rarity said.
“Britons,” Wilfred equally confused by their exclamations of shock and discovery. “Subjects of Her Majesty Queen Victoria.”
“Humans,” another voice said.
Wilfred turned and saw his employer standing at the base of the handsome staircase. He was smiling again, his blue eyes bright and happy. At least that was well in hand. Wilfred lowered his head ready to return to his work.
“If you could spare another moment, Wilfred,” his employer said. Wilfred bit back a sigh and met his eyes again. There was a odd sadness behind their happy front. “Could you make introductions, please?”
Wilfred’s face heated. How could he have been so rude? “Of course, sir. These girls are Shy, Jack, Dash, Pinkie, Miss Rarity and Princess Twilight.” He gestured to each in turn. Reactions varied from a curtsies, nods, bows and a causal wave from Dash. “Ladies, this is…” he strained for a moment to recall, “my employer.” He finished lamely.
The grandfatherly man’s face fell. “Oh dear. I had hoped…” he began before trailing off. He gave a deep sigh, and Wilfred’s embarrassed flush burned all the hotter. How could he have forgotten the name of his employer? During introductions no less. Desperate to correct this mistake, he searched his memory for the name.
Yet, try as he might, nothing came to him. He could not remember anything besides the strange certainty that this was his employer. In fact, he realized, he could not remember being hired on here, or when exactly he had left Mr. Greenfield’s employment. The name of the business eluded Wilfred’s desperately grasping mind.
“I am sorry,” his employer stated. “I did not expect this deception to last so long.” The man that resembled his grandfather suddenly faded away as though he had been composed of nothing more substantial than dust and starlight. Where he had stood was a woman of unparalleled beauty. Her skin was whiter than the purest cream, and her hair midnight blue with glimmering points scattered within it like stars in the night sky. Her form was slender and lithe, yet there was unquestionable strength in her bearing, the like of which Wilfred had never seen before. Two giant wings, each covered in feathers blacker than any raven, unfurled from her back, nearly brushing opposite walls. A fluted spear of obsidian rose from her forehead, and her eyes, when she reopened them, were a beautiful shade of turquoise.
While Wilfred and the others stood mouths agape, the unearthly woman examined herself. “Is this how you see me, then?” she asked, plucking curiously at her ephemeral dress.
“Princess Luna!” Princess Twilight shouted, then she and her friend all dipped into quick curtsies or bows, though the beautiful woman waved off their formalities and bade them to rise.
“It is good to see all of you as well. I take it you received my letters?”
“Yeah,” Dash said. “So, what is this, a dream or something?”
Princess Luna shook her head. “No, on the other side of the door you were dreaming. It is why you accepted such strangeness so readily. This is... somewhere else.” She turned to look at Wilfred, and the girls followed her gaze. He flinched under their combined stares. He quickly reached behind himself, calming as he felt the familiar cover of his ledger.
“If you are not my employer, then I suggest you leave. This is a business office and not a gathering place for the curious. I’m certain my true superior will be along any minute, and I have already gotten little enough work done thanks to your errand.”
Pinkie made as if to reach out to him but drew back. Shy winced as if he had struck her. Dash merely scowled.
“I dunno what’s eating ya, but you can trust us. I don’t recall exactly what happened in the dream, but I know you’re a friend,” Jack said, planting her hands on her hands on her hips. “And sure as shootin’, friends help each other, Wilfred.”
“That’s Mr. Manning,” he hissed, beyond caring for manners. “We are not ‘friends’, you were all merely a task given to me by an impostor. I don’t know or care what game you all are playing. I have work to do, and all of you are merely getting in my way!”
Dash snorted. “Then why are you still wearing Rarity’s hat?”
Angrily, Wilfred tore the offending hat from his head and threw it towards its maker. “There. I believe that should square us. I owe none of you, anything!” Wilfred swept his hand out in a banishing gesture and in the process upset his inkwell, splattering himself with ink.
Ladies present or not, he almost began to curse. Then he noticed something leaching the ink away from his clothing, growing like a sponge soaking up water. It was a chain made of jet black material, crossing his chest in the shape of an ‘X’.
“Amusing,” he stated dourly. “Another of your tricks? Get this off of me.” The chain continued to grow, link after link outlined in pitch black, trailing down his back, winding down his legs.
“We cannot.” Princess Luna said sadly, she and the girls stared at the sight. “None of us made that chain.”
Wilfred grunted with effort as he tried fruitlessly to extricate himself. The chain had at this point reached his desk, binding him to it with a scarce three feet of movement. “I am somewhat doubtful. Everything strange and unsettling this day has been all of your doing. If you are not responsible for this, then who is?”
“Wilfred,” Shy began gently. “You’ve carried this chain since we first met. It was much longer then, but … um …”
“Yes,” Miss Rarity agreed. “If you’ll recall, I even commented on it in my boutique.”
The chain now stretched throughout the entire room, binding the floorboards in place, linking roof to rafter, holding the clock hands at four ‘o clock. More links snaked beneath the door, and the houses outside were draped in chains. “Preposterous. I would have noticed such a thing. This sort of burden would hardly be unnoticeable. There would have been some sign of its presence.”
“Like a constant tugging to turn back?” Pinkie asked, her bright blue eyes completely guileless.
“Regardless!” Wilfred shouted, struggling all the more fiercely and getting nowhere. “That does not tell me from whence it came.”
“Look at it more closely,” Princess Luna said quietly.
Wilfred did as she said, drawing close to one of the lengths running up the desk. There was … something on the chains, almost like writing, He fished a magnifying glass out of a drawer and looked more closely. It was writing, all of it his. Tiny numbers and letters, all in his penmanship. He stared closer, unable to look away, and noticed something stranger.
The chains were not covered in his writing.
They were made of it.
Hundreds, maybe thousands, of tiny letters and numbers in layer after layer. Days of work compressed into a single link. A link just like the uncounted thousands that covered nearly surface.
“I don’t understand,” he said slowly.
“I think you do.”
His head whipped to the side to meet Princess Twilight’s eyes. There was a strange emotion in her eyes. Not pity or sadness. Nor concern. Compassion, perhaps? “You made all of this to lock something up tight.”
The pounding sound echoed in the back Wilfred’s mind, and he shook like a man with the chills. “No,” he whispered, but the denial sounded weak even to his ears.
“Please,” Princess Twilight begged. “Let us help you.”
The pounding grew louder and louder, and the damned cold was leaching into him. “I don’t … I didn’t…”
“Please…”
Princess Twilight’s hand reached his cheek and turned his head to meet her eyes. Something within him shattered.
“It was winter,” he began slowly, staring into the distance. “A cold winter, not even Christmastime and snow had shrouded the town for weeks already. I was hurrying home…” He had wrapped himself in so many layers, but still the cold seeped through and into his bones. “There was a carriage...” It was going too fast, much too fast for such icy conditions. “I slipped trying to get out of way…” His feet slid out from under him, and spots danced before his eyes when his skull hit the pavement.. “... I just lay there.” Those thundering hooves drew closer and closer, their pounding filling his mind and soul. ”The coachman couldn’t turn the horses aside in time.” The hoof struck him like a cannonball, and he felt something break inside him. “There was still so much of my life left, so much more work awaiting me…” He felt his blood draining into the snow, and a woman screamed somewhere in the distance. “I couldn’t accept it. I wouldn’t accept it.” Darkness closed in.
The room was silent.
“I’m dead,” Wilfred said in quiet shock.
“I’m sorry,” Princess Luna replied. “I found your spirit here. Chained to the past, shuttered against the worlds, drifting without course.”
He blinked as though seeing them for the first time. “A-and you came for me. Are you angels?”
“No,” Princess Luna said. “We are spirits here, brought to this realm through the land of dreams, but we have bodies to which we must return. I tried to free you myself these past few nights, but have met with little success. Only by convincing you I was your employer did you even seem to become aware of me. I had hoped that sending you into the land of dreams and letting you interact with the Bearers of Harmony would weaken your bonds, but I fear I was wrong on that score.”
Wilfred looked down and saw that the chains still held him, but he no longer struggled against them. “T-that’s all right,” he said. “I thank you for your efforts, but I will be fine. I have never needed help before and I do not need any now. If you will leave, then I can return to my work.”
“What?!” Dash yelled. “All that self-discovery and huge revelations and you’re just going to sit back in that stupid chair and act like none of it happened? That’s one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard!”
“And what else do I have?” he snapped. He reached out with a hand and laid it gently on the ledger in the middle of the desk. “At least with this I have purpose.”
“But–”
“Let ‘im go, Dash,” Jack said. “If this’s what he wants, we can’t stop him.” She turned to walk away, but paused at the door. “You’re stronger’n this, whether you realize it or not.” Then she stepped through the door and disappeared.
Dash hovered in place for a moment before shooting him a scowl and following her friend. She too was gone.
“If you wish me to go I can hardly refuse, but I will leave this hat behind. It is yours, whether you wear it or not,” Miss Rarity said. She walked to the door, giving him a sad glance and a sigh before passing through.
Two deceptively strong arms encircled him in a sudden hug and were gone before he could react. Pinkie was sniffling, her big eyes watery with emotion. She drew out a handkerchief and blew her nose loudly. “Maybe you only visited Ponyville in my dreams, but that still counts. I’m throwing you a party when we wake up and naming that cupcake the ‘Wilfred Special’.” She blew her nose again, stepped through the door and was gone.
Shy put a gentle hand on his arm. She did not meet his eyes, but he could see her smile. “Thank you for rescuing Angel Bunny and for walking with me. I-I’m glad we met.” She rose and left while Wilfred was speechless.
Princess Twilight just waved. “Whatever you choose to do, please don’t forget us.” Then she too was gone.
Wilfred hurt. The chains squeezed his chest so tightly he could barely draw breath. With shaking hands, he righted his inkwell and dipped his pen. The next sum was waiting for him. And the one after that. And the one after that. An infinite number of pages, an infinite number of chain links.
He knew with time the pain would fade. He would settle into his routine and drift away, his mind consumed by the complex interplay of digit and letter. Just as he had forgotten his own death, he would forget this day. Forget them.
Forget Shy’s quiet kindness. Forget Jack’s brash candor. Forget Dash’s unflinching bravery. Forget Pinkie’s love of life. Forget Miss Rarity’s generous heart. Forget Princess Twilight’s humble power.
The ink smeared as a tear landed on the page, ruining his latest work. Then another and another, an entire page ruined, and yet Wilfred could not bring himself to care. The chains clenched ever tighter, yet he still did not care. “What did you do to me?” he demanded from the last person left.
“I gave you someone to care about,” Princess Luna replied calmly.
“Why?”
“Because I have been where you are now. I have isolated myself from everyone that could have cared for me, and grown more lonely and bitter with every passing day until I found nothing worth living for except my own foolish desires.”
Wilfred laughed mockingly at her in a manner that would have shocked him in another state of mind. “Something to live for? I don’t even have that! If you will recall, I’m dead!”
“Death does not limit you. You do,” she told him coldly, her eyes flashing with eldritch power. “Those chains only exist so long as you let them.”
“I already tried breaking them, and you saw all the success I had then,” he retorted.
“That was before you knew what they were. Now you are aware. Why won’t you confront the truth?” she asked.
“Because!” he began angrily before falling silent.
“Because,” he tried again, only to stop.
“I’m afraid,” he admitted, his voice hushed.
“And why are you afraid?” Princess Luna asked.
For several minutes Wilfred had no response. She waited patiently, never speaking, yet her unwavering gaze demanded an answer.
“This is all I’ve ever known,” Wilfred replied helplessly. Once more he let his hand rest on his ledger. He knew it wasn’t real, but the concept it embodied was.
Princess Luna was speechless for a moment. “Dost thou mean to tell us – I mean – are you saying that your greatest fear is neither existential dread nor terror at the possibility of eternal punishment, but an obsession with the loss of your job as a clerk?”
“You are quite mistaken! It’s not an obsession,” he told her curtly.
Silence once more stretched between them, and realization seemed to dawn in the Princess’s eyes. “It’s not, is it? Why make yourself forget if all you wanted was an eternity of this?” He flinched at her words, his muscles growing tense. “You are so desperate to cling to this not because you love it so dearly, but because it is what you know.” She paused, and laid a hand on top of his.
“You fear the unknown. A lifetime of plans and routines and schedules, and yet you were unprepared.”
“And it scares me beyond anything I have ever felt before,” Wilfred admitted. “So long as I have this place, so long as I do not remember, I am safe.”
Princess Luna laid a chaste kiss upon his forehead and set the hat Rarity made on top of his head. “No one knows what awaits them, but I cannot imagine anything more empty and meaningless than this.”
Wilfred flushed. “So I should just shuffle off this mortal coil? I should end my ‘meaningless’ existence?”
The Princess shook her head as she rose to leave.“I cannot tell you the correct path or make your decision for you, but I wanted to give you the chance to make that choice with an open mind, unclouded by fear or lies. Good-bye, Wilfred Xavier Manning. I hope we meet again someday.”
The door shut behind her, and Wilfred knew in a way he could not describe that the land of dreams no longer lay beyond it.
For a moment he sat there, wondering at the Princess’s original choice in appearances. Although his grandfather had watched him on days when his mother and father were busy working, they had never been close. He had been large, square jawed, with gnarled hands and eyes like a hawk. His grandfather would set him to doing chores or lecture him about the world and how it worked. Or didn’t work, as his rants often claimed.
Wilfred had been scared to death of him. Even as an adult he had begged off attending his grandfather’s funeral, citing some ‘urgent’ business. How did one preside over the death of a childhood fear? Yet that was one of the few nights Wilfred had ever drank to excess. There had been something fundamentally wrong about the absence of his grandfather, as though a mountain had disappeared from the countryside.
Wilfred shook his head and picked up his pen. Introspection was a game for philosophers and the rich. A working man knew the value of his own work, and did not shy from it. Wilfred nodded to himself; he had always been proud of his work ethic, proud of doing a job well for the job’s own sake.
Just like his grandfather had taught him.
His hand froze halfway to his ledger.
He let it rest on the desk and looked around the room. Chains wound tight around everything, holding this world secure against the ravages of time. Nothing had ever changed. Nothing would ever change. He could spend an eternity in his familiar little world.
Alone.
His hands shook, and Wilfred breathed deeply to calm himself. He had always been alone in one way or another. Different from others, isolated by choice.
But if there was a chance, even a slim one, to find someone else… to meet his grandfather… his parents… those girls…
Was it worth facing the unknown? Taking that risk?
He turned to look at his ledger. The page was perfectly dry, as though no liquid save ink had ever touched it. The sums were in perfect array, awaiting his hand. One calculation would follow another, and he would forget this turmoil and indecision. He would forget his fears and lock this office up so tight that no intruder could ever disturb his peace again. It would be so easy.
But as his hard, flinty, loving grandfather had once told him, just because something is easy doesn’t make it right.
The chains crumbled to dust. So did the ledger, the ink, the walls, the floor, and all of the empty London outside. Wilfred smiled and set down his pen, ready to meet the unknown.
Perhaps Heaven’s files were in need of auditing. One could certainly hope so.
