Chapter 1
“Now arriving at Neigh Orleans Central Station! This will be the last stop, so everypony please collect your belongings as you disembark.”
The loudspeaker crackled, then fell silent. Ponies leapt to their hooves and began a quiet scrum to reach into overhead bins and underneath seats to collect their luggage. Muttered curses floated from the far end of the rail car where the larger, heavier items were being lugged from the storage locker by a pair of attendants.
Yet all that Moonflow could do was stare out the window– not at the cobblestone streets lined with gaslights and boutiques, or at the row homes with their iron balconies and multi-hued exteriors. Not even the weeping willows, the centuries-old gatekeepers to the jewel of Equestria’s southern region, could earn so much as a glance from her. From the moment she had stepped on the train the previous night in Canterlot, her mind had been focused on one thing:
Confirmation.
Moonflow remembered exactly where she was when the news had broke. A Natural had been spotted, and in the Equestrian mainland of all places. There had been scattered reports over the years, mostly rumor, and nearly all from cities and regions across the oceans, at the farthest expanses of Equestrian influence. But this sighting was nearly in her own backyard, and was too full of detail to be mere speculation.
In her message, the acolyte spoke of meeting two worldly stallions who, by their own words, were in the midst of a trip around the world. After offering a blessing on behalf of their organization, the younger of the two travelers, presumably a servant of some kind, made distinct note of an articulate automaton that had spirited them to Canterlot from Neigh Orleans. He spoke of her skill piloting a so-called ‘Iron Pony’, how she would regale him and his master with tales of her home, and the places she had been. And most shocking of all, according to the report, this automaton spoke of friends, family even!
As the train came to a grinding halt and let out a great belch of steam from its brakes, Moonflow could almost smell victory in the air. If she could find this Natural and bring it back, everything would change. The Arcane Council’s agenda would be fully legitimized. The Via Purifico, long held to be crazies by the Council for their belief in the existence of thinking, feeling automatons, would be vindicated, and she would join her fellow Clerics in receiving places of honor among the Council’s elders. Most importantly, the age of the automaton would see its end, a magical renaissance would blossom across the world like a new dawn, and magic would reclaim its place as the dominate force of progress for creatures of all shapes and sizes.
But as she stepped off of the train, her excitement was immediately doused by a blanket of hot and very humid air. “By Celestia’s mane, whoever decided to build a city in the middle of a swamp needs to have their head examined.” She slung her saddlebags over her back with a bit of magic and began picking her way through the crowds.
Ponies, zebras, griffons, and more than a few creatures that defied identification darted in every direction, rushing toward trains bound for cities far and wide. She looked about as she went, but kept her focus ahead of her and above her, looking for some signs to point her toward the exit. After snaking her way past a group of stallions who, by their manner and voices, were clearly ready to enjoy the more salacious items that Neigh Orleans’ infamous Prench Quarter had to offer, she saw a bright sign marked ‘Exit to Prince Charles Ave, Taxi Stands’.
“Perfect.”
She pushed through the intersection of two crowds and merged into the flow of ponies streaming through the exit. Once outside, she had a fleeting thought of retreating back inside, where somehow, the air was actually cooler than the sauna she had just walked into. “Ugh, how does anypony stand to live here?” she muttered. A wisp of blue magic reached into her saddlebags and pulled out a small fan, which she waved beside her as she continued toward the taxi stand.
“Papers! Get your papers right here! Afternoon Times-Picayune, hot off the presses!”
Moonflow’s ears perked at the sound, and she looked over to a gap that had formed in the crowd. She approached and found a dark blue earth pony filly standing beside a stack of papers that was nearly as tall as the pony selling them. Papers flew out of the filly’s hooves as fast as bits dropped into a small metal box, and when the last of the crowd had shuffled off, the stack of papers had been cut down to a bare dozen.
“I must say, the last time I saw papers sell that quickly, Princess Celestia had been seen drinking Earl Grey tea instead of her usual Chamomile.” Moonflow said as she stepped closer.
The filly laughed and turned her bright yellow eyes toward Moonflow. “Ha! I remember that one. Even made the front page down here! You want a paper, miss?”
“I don’t know. Does it say it’s going to get any cooler here?” Moonflow wiped another few drops of sweat from her forehead. “Even Hoofington isn’t this bad in the summer. Actually, just a sec—” she used a bit of magic to unhook the clasp on her traveling cloak and tie the excess length up to her saddlebags. “That’s a little better, anyway. Now, papers, right. Yes, one paper, please!”
“Sure thing!” The filly replied cheerfully, but her eyes seemed to stop somewhere on Moonflow’s chest. “Wow, that’s a really pretty pendant you have there, miss! Mind if I take a look?” The filly was already inches away and reaching for the silver triangle-shaped pendant before Moonflow could stop her.
“Whoa! Just, wait—” Moonflow backed up a step and pressed a hoof to the pendant. The filly jumped back a few steps and looked immediately at the ground. “Sorry, lady. I wasn’t gonna take it, honest!”
A blush colored Moonflow’s cheeks. “No! I, erm…” she took a deep breath. “Yes, I know you weren’t intending to do that, young filly. I’m just very… protective of this. It’s important to my work, you see.”
The filly seemed to think on that for a second, then shrugged it off. “Oh! Well, okay then. Still, sorry if I scared you.” She looked down at her stack of papers and Moonflow could see her face slip back into business mode. “Anyway, one bit for the paper, if you still want one.”
“Oh, of course, please.”
The filly sprung to action and grabbed the top paper from the stack, then stopped. “Oh, buck. Printers messed this one up. Let me see…” she flipped through the remaining ones before finally grabbing the paper out from the bottom of the stack. “Ah, much better. Here you go!”
Moonflow fished a pair of bits from her saddlebags and magicked them into the already-full bitbox. “Keep the change, alright?”
The filly looked at the bits, then back to Moonflow, and nearly pronked in place. “Wow, thank you! That’s so awesome!”
“You’re welcome, young one,” Moonflow replied as she folded the paper and slipped it into her saddlebags. “Now, is this still the way to the taxi stand?”
“Yep, just keep going ‘til you hit the fountain, then turn left and they’re all lined up there against the curb. Oh! If you want a tip, look for the bright red taxi. Driver’s name is Bushel, and she’s the best around. Won’t cheat a customer, neither.”
Moonflow smiled and offered the filly a slight bow. “Very kind of you, young one, and thank you. I shall seek out this driver promptly.” Moonflow waved goodbye and merged back into the crowd. She looked back as she rounded the ornate stone fountain at the tailend of the arrivals area, but the filly was already gone.
She looked up and down the line of taxis and soon spotted the red carriage that the filly had described. Like all the others in line, this was one of the new ‘Iron Ponies’ that had become all the rage in busy cities. Powered by steam and a maze of gears and levers, these mechanical wonders had turned many carriage haulers into carriage drivers. These she was comfortable with. After all, it was, purely and simply, a machine. A tool with a specific use. If only Equestria had stopped there, she mused as she stepped up to the vehicle, where a orange mare waited in the driver’s seat.
“Where to?” The mare leaned over toward the passenger door and beckoned Moonflow closer.
“The La Grande Fleur hotel, please. Are you Bushel, by chance?”
“Eeyup,” the mare replied with a slight tip of the brown hat on her head. “That’d be me alright. Let me guess, that filly hawking papers sent ya?”
“Indeed,” Moonflow replied as she tried to casually close her cloak again and conceal her necklace against any more curiosity. “She spoke highly of you too, I might add.”
Bushel chuckled. “Ah, that Mirage… always trying to sell something. I’ll catch up to her later. Hop in!” She pressed a button on a panel attached to the steering column and the rear door opened. Moonflow slipped her saddlebags off and slung them onto the backseat before climbing in herself. The door closed behind her and in seconds, the car rolled away into the streets.
“So, what brings you to town?”
Moonflow looked up and caught the mare looking back at her through a small mirror attached to the windscreen. Moonflow was struck speechless by the vibrancy of her green eyes. “O-oh, me? I’m just visiting for a few days. I heard Neigh Orleans has some very unique things to see.”
“You'll find that Neigh Orleans is just full of surprises,” Bushel answered without diverting her eyes from the road in front of her. “Food, music, culture. Best city in southern Equestria, if you ask me. You picked the right hotel too. The 'Fleur' is a classy joint for sure, and right in the heart of the Garden District. You’ll love it.”
Moonflow suppressed a chuckle as she tried to fan herself once more. “Do they have artificial air conditioning?”
“Ha! If they did, the whole city would move in there.” Bushel replied with a laugh. “The Guild says that chilled air isn’t too far off though. Maybe a few more years and they’ll start testing it out, I hear.”
“Indeed,” Moonflow replied cautiously, “though for all our sakes, we should not forget where we came from, and what got us this far in the first place. As soon as we do that, we lose sight of who we are at our cores.”
Bushel was silent for a moment as she negotiated a rather crowded roundabout. “Perhaps.”
The sudden shift in the mare’s tone piqued Moonflow’s interest for a moment, and she nearly opened her mouth to press the issue. But she brushed it off and dug the newspaper out of her bags, opting to pass the remaining time in silence.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Something wrong, miss?” Bushel called over her shoulder.
Moonflow lowered the paper long enough to catch the mare’s green eyes in the mirror before snorting in annoyance. “It’s not you. Dang foal sold me yesterday’s paper, that’s what’s wrong.”
“Is that so?” Bushel replied in a sorrowful tone.
Moonflow was too busy shoving the paper unceremoniously back into her bags to see the glint in the other mare’s eyes.
“I told that filly to be more careful to check her stock too. Ain’t the first time she’s done that. I’m not her boss or anything, but I’m sorry about that, Miss…?”
“Moonflow.”
“Well, I’m sorry about the trouble there, Moonflow. Tell you what, there’s another paper stand right on the way to your hotel, so I’ll pull up and get you another one. On me.”
“Are you sure?” Moonflow protested. “It’s not that big of a deal, really.”
“No no, I’mma make it right for you. Can’t have visitors getting off on the wrong hoof on their first day, right?” Bushel made an abrupt right and darted down a side street past yet another array of brightly colored storefronts. She made another right, then a left, weaving her way through the maze of one-way streets.
“Alright, should be right around here— What the?”
The car made a right turn onto a narrow side street and came to an abrupt stop. “Nopony said there was road construction scheduled for this street!” Bushel banged a hoof on the steering wheel. “Alright, back we go.”
She threw a large brass lever to one side and the car began to roll backwards, only to hit a solid object. “Now what?”
Moonflow turned in her seat and looked out the back window. A large green gate, not unlike a barn door, had seemingly appeared from out of nowhere and closed off the path behind them. “A gate? But why would you put a gate on a public…” something clicked in Moonflow’s head and she blanched. “...street.”
“Bushel?”
A mechanical whir sounded from the front of the car. Moonflow forced her gaze forward and gasped as she came nose to nose with Bushel, who had a predatory grin on her face. Now she could see why the mare's green eyes were so extraordinarily bright. They weren't real.
“So sorry about the detour, Cleric.”
Alarm bells rang in Moonflow’s head, right as the world went black.
“Very good, Whistle. I’ll see you this evening then.”
Jet Set waved to the departing steward, who he planned to meet again in the dining car for a nightcap later on that night. But before that lay any number of tasks, including cleaning and polishing shoes and hats, pressing shirts, and resorting the luggage to ensure everything was exactly where it should be.
And that assumed the powers above didn’t throw any more curveballs at him in the next few hours.
As he appraised his own attire in one of the tall mirrors that lined the walls of their private rail car, Jet Set's mind wandered. Day sixty of their journey was nearing its end, and the odds of reaching their goal – and the successful completion of his master’s wager – were looking good. Jet Set tried to imagine the faces of his master’s colleagues when they saw the two of them trot back into the Trottingham Reform Club less than eighty days after their departure. Oh, how he wished he had purchased one of those ferrotype contraptions from that merchant in Neighjing! Then again, Manehattan was a true cosmopolitan city in its own right. Perhaps he could acquire one there instead?
A glance at his pocket watch shook him from his musings. Thoughts of revolutionary devices and humorous photographs would have to wait until later. At that moment, he had a job to do, and his master was not one who liked to wait more than was necessary.
He made his way to the far end of their private rail-car, which Jet Set had secured for the duration of the two-day journey from Canterlot. He knocked gently on the polished wood door before sliding it open with great care. He slipped inside and closed the door just as slowly before turning to face his master.
Lord Fancy Pants looked much the same as when Jet Set had left him nearly an hour ago. He sat hunched over the modest writing desk, with a quill suspended in his magical aura and a pipe lodged firmly in his mouth. Jet Set knew better than to ask, but he had to imagine that over the course of their journey, his master had filled as many journal pages as he had in his own well-worn book.
Jet Set waited the customary few seconds before announcing his presence. “Sir, I trust your writing time has been productive?” He watched quietly as the quill raced across the pages a few more times before finally coming to a rest. Fancy capped up the ink well and turned to face him.
“Ah, Jet Set. Well, the time was refreshing, if not quite as productive as I had anticipated.” Fancy glanced back at the open journal before closing it and setting it to the side. “I must admit, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to describe all that I have seen.”
Jet Set relaxed a bit internally, knowing this had nothing to do with something he had or had not done. “An understandable hurdle, your Lordship, but one that I’m confident you can conquer. After all, what is a bit of writer’s block to a stallion who has nearly circumnavigated the world in record time?”
Fancy guffawed as he stood and clapped Jet Set across the back. “Indeed! Your confidence in me has not gone unnoticed, my dear Jet. Upon our return, I shall make sure our routines become much more… predictable.”
Jet Set fought back a slight blush at the unexpected praise. “As much as I have enjoyed this adventure, I do believe some calm will do us both good upon our return.” Regaining his composure, he slipped his satchel from around his neck and retrieved a trio of papers.
“As you requested, sir, I have the day’s newspapers. The Manehattan Times and the Canterlot Observer, both afternoon editions. Oh, and you’ll be most pleased to know that this particular train line also carries a subscription to the Telegraph. I took the liberty of acquiring one for your perusal, though it did cost an extra bit to do so.”
Fancy magicked the papers over and looked at them briefly. “Most excellent, Jet Set. And the bit was well spent indeed! I dare say a taste of home is the perfect thing right now.” He picked one paper out of the set and floated the other two back to Jet Set. I’ll start with the Telegraph. Feel free to take a gander at the others if you like, though do mind the time. We’ll need to look our best at supper.”
Jet Set glanced again at his pocketwatch, then nodded. “Of course, sir. We’ve a bit over an hour until supper is served. With your permission, I shall borrow the Observer for a moment before getting your attire in order.”
“Of course, Jet. And thank you. I could not wish for a superior valet on this journey.”
Jet Set bowed and slipped out of the door without another word. After setting out the shirts, pants, and other items that needed pressing, he took a seat in a rather plush chair, and unfolded the Canterlot Observer. His eyes scanned the top headlines, though he saw little of real interest to him. Below the fold though, his eyes stopped on a single headline tucked away in a box in the bottom-right corner:
‘BAYOU BASHER’ STRIKES AGAIN IN HEART OF NEIGH ORLEANS.
Jet Set remembered seeing similar headlines in the local paper when he and his master had passed through the city three days ago. The alleged killer had already struck twice, but the authorities still had not uncovered solid leads. All they knew for certain, it seemed, was that automatons were somehow connected to the crime spree.
“Wait, automatons?”
Jet Set froze as the pieces clicked together in his mind. He remembered the inquisitive, and partly-crazed, mare who had accosted them outside of their Canterlot hotel. She called herself an acolyte, and claimed the belonged to a ‘Purification’ group that Jet Set had really never heard of.
Then he remembered the mare’s words, and her seemingly rabid fixation on obtaining his help in locating a specific type of automaton. He thought her notion of automatons with real souls a fanciful one, to say nothing of her plans to "reform" them, but if it helped him escape from captivity in her supposed ‘convent’, he had been more than willing to point her towards the automaton who had spirited them up from Neigh Orleans.
At the time, he was just glad to be rid of her with enough time to catch their scheduled train to Manehattan. But now? Now he felt cold, like a piece of him had just withered away under a blanket of guilt.
Could that so-called acolyte be the culprit? Could he have placed himself, and his master, within hoof’s reach of a mass killer? Who could she have been after? The automatons themselves, or the ponies who made them?
That gave him even more pause, and he set the paper down on a nearby table. What was he feeling guilty about? That he may have crossed paths with a killer and done nothing? Or that he may have sent an innocent being, automaton or not, to its death?
He couldn’t rightly say, and the closer they got to home, the further he’d be from any hope of discovering exactly what that crazed mare was up to, and what part he may have played in her plans.
As he watched the landscape fly past outside the window, Jet Set prayed that just this once, he’d never find out.