Prologue

Foreword: Vinyl Scratch

Whazzup, everypony – I'm Vinyl Scratch, otherwise known as DJ PON-3. I'm not much at writing stories, but just recently, me and my better half were asked to provide material for a new compilation drama thingy based on the accident what brought us together. For those of you who have read the adaptation of my diary by Print and Press, you may remember that I had to move over to Ponyville in order to get away from those pushy parents of mine, and in doing so, I ended up having to leave a really special mare behind. Ten years later, something really horrible happened up in the mountains, and the sad bit is that the population of Equestria went down by nearly ten ponies that night – but it also led to the very event I'd been yearning for. I'm now a married mare, and I couldn't be any happier; but after speaking with Loco about it, we all agreed that we could do a lot worse than share our stories of the crash with the whole world.

Me and Loco have been real pals ever since that night, and so have the rest of his family. He may not have much of an interest in music, and he's not exactly a pop-lover, but we still enjoy hanging out with him and his folks every so often. In fact, if it weren't for him being there at the time of the accident, I'd have lost the will to live after a while, so I'm real glad of him saving the love of my life – and that he's managed to find love himself after all these years, but that's another story. As for this one? Well, it all began in the middle of an early spring night, seven years ago, with an express train chugging its way across Equestria...

Foreword: Octavia M. Philharmonica

Throughout my entire adult life, I have become revered as one of the finest and most prolific musicians in Canterlot, if not the entirety of that fair and pleasant nation known as Equestria. I had always been interested in music since before I was born, or so I'm given to understand by my ever loving parents to whom I am indebted for their encouragement in realising my life ambition – indeed, I owe a lot to them both for initiating me into the world of music in the first place. My mother was a flautist for the Royal Canterlot Symphony, and is still performing at certain social events with her own little group to this day; whilst my father owns a highly successful record label with ties to some of the most famous musicians of our time, including Lavender Rhapsody and Sapphire Shores.

My main area of interest, as far as music is concerned, has always been the more classical genres such as baroque and renaissance (although, confidentially, I'm partial to more modern styles as well), so when I first started taking music lessons at school, it was only natural that my instrument of choice was the cello. However, it wasn't until my high school years that I really started coming into my own, thanks largely to the head of the Music Faculty at Canterbury Preparatory School, Miss Falsetto. I've always been told that I was her star pupil, but while I'm flattered that she should think so highly of me, I personally think that said honour should really go to a certain Linsey Woolsey, whom you may better recognise as Vinyl Scratch or DJ PON-3. She was far less fortunate than I, having been brought up in a regrettably shallow family of textile merchants who firmly believed that their children should inherit their business. Linsey never took any real interest in the fabric industry, preferring instead to carve her own path in life as a pop star; much to the chagrin of her parents who did everything they could to discourage it. So many obstacles to overcome, and yet, against innumerable odds, Linsey continued to hone her talent and forge a strong friendship with me that I secretly hoped would grow into something more.

I must confess, when I came out of the closet to my parents about having an interest in mares rather than stallions, and in particular the crush I had developed on Linsey, I expected them to be outraged; but once again, they were highly supportive of me, saying that they would never think less of me just because I “batted for the opposite team”, to coin a phrase. If I wanted to take my relationship with Linsey to the next level, they said, then I had their blessings. Sadly, however, this wasn't to be, for Linsey gained her Cutie Mark only a few days later, while I was still working up the courage to confess to her. Where it was a moment of joy for me when I got mine, it was more of a travesty for Linsey whose parents hit the roof when they discovered it was related to music, and from there, things went downhill very quickly. I myself tried to reason with her father that he was taking it far too harshly, but he wouldn't listen; and shortly afterwards, I learned that Linsey was to be sent away to a finishing school in Fillydelphia.

As with every other pony, there are many things that I have come to regret in life; examples of which include breaking my mother's flute when I was a toddler, going through a phase of popularity over true friendship in my elementary school days, and even upsetting the Canterlot elite with a performance of the “Pony Pokey” at the Grand Galloping Gala one year. In my defence, regarding that last point, it was requested of me by a dear cousin of mine from Ponyville (and you can draw your own conclusions as to whom), so I could hardly turn her down. But my greatest regret is that I never told Linsey how I truly felt about her before she left. We both knew she would never make it to Fillydelphia, because when I spoke to her about it, she told me that she planned to give her parents the slip and get off at some other town halfway; but it still didn't ease the pain I felt when she finally departed Canterlot. My only consolation is that, on the final night she and I spent together, she had the heart to share a kiss with me under a moonlit sky.

Many sad and lonely years went by, and I eventually formed a small orchestra of my own with myself as composer and lead musician. The group as a whole only consists of six members – two violinists, one pianist, one harpist, one sousaphone player, and myself on the cello – and we normally only have three or four members playing at a specific event, but we've built up quite a name for ourselves over the course of time. That said, life never really felt the same without Linsey, and there were a fair number of nights where I was just lying awake in bed, wondering what might have been if our lives had taken a different turn and even questioning whether she and I would ever see each other again. It wasn't until early in the spring of 2009 that I got my answer.

Before I continue, I would like to extend my deepest gratitude to my parents for inducing me into the world of music, to Miss Falsetto for teaching me everything I know and helping me to hone my talent, to Locomotion for saving my life, to Messrs. Print and Press for all their assistance in compiling this story, and last but not least, to Vinyl Scratch just for being the strong-willed disc jockey I know and love. I also wish to offer my condolences to all those who lost loved ones to the Horse Junction rail crash, of which, as will be revealed, I was just one of the victims.

Octavia Melody Philharmonica,
Bachelor of Music

Foreword: Locomotion

I had always been interested in railways from a very early age, but not until we moved to Ponyville when I was aged three, primarily so my Dad could take up a job in a nearby research lab, did I finally manage to make good of that interest. By the time I was eight, I had already made a great many friends among the staff at Ponyville MPD, and by the 24th of March 2009, I had been working alongside them as a part-time cleaner for eighteen months – but that particular day was to become one of the most significant in my whole life.

I didn't originally intend to write this memoir, but recent events regarding two local musicians, both of them from Canterlot, have prompted me to think again. The two of them have been in a pretty close relationship for a good seven years now, and only recently they have taken the final step and tied the knot. It came as a great surprise to me when they asked me to be their Best Stallion, and while I thought it a great honour, I also felt somewhat unworthy, thinking back to the events of that fateful night seven years ago.

It does seem ironic that two young lovers should have been happily reunited by an otherwise tragic accident, and it's rather stuck with me for my whole life; not least because of the lives lost, and how a simple signalling error ended up wrecking one of Equestrian National Railways' finest expresses. Even today, I find myself looking back over the events of the crash and wondering if there was anything I could have done to prevent it. The only bright side, as far as I'm concerned, was that I ended up playing matchmaker without even realising it – and all this through the simple act of rescuing injured passengers from the wrecked coaches. This, then, is the story of my involvement in the Horse Junction Rail Disaster...

Chapter 1: How It All Began

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RAILWAY ACCIDENTS

REPORT

COLONEL SCRUTINY, F.E.R.S.

ON THE

FATAL COLLISION THAT OCCURRED ON THE 24TH OF MARCH, 2012, BETWEEN THE BRIDLEWAY LIMITED EXPRESS AND TWO LIGHT ENGINES NEAR HORSE JUNCTION, PENNSYLHAYNIA

Presented to Parliament by Command of Their Majesties
Princess Celestia and Princess Luna

Equestrian National Railways

Ministry of Transport, Railway Department
5, Baltimare Road, Wainhouse, Canterlot
8th of April, 2012

Sir,

I have the honour to report, for the information of the Ministry of Transport, in compliance with the Order of the 25th of March, 2012, the result of my inquiry into the circumstances attending the very serious collision which occurred on the previous day, at around 11.55pm, near Horse Junction on the Winsome Peak Route of Equestrian National Railways.

In this case, the eastbound Bridleway Limited express from Canterlot to Manehattan, whilst travelling at high speed between Horse Junction and Winsome Peak, overtook two light engines coupled together, which were running at a considerably lower speed in the same direction. Details of the events surrounding the collision are as follows:

################################################################################################################

Five days earlier...

Perspective: Octavia

[Adapted from “Opera con Amore: The Odyssey of a Canterlot Musician”, written by Octavia Melody Philharmonica]

January 7th 2009 brought my group a fresh promise of renown when I received a special letter from the Bridleway Theatre Company in Manehattan. This wasn't unusual, since we were frequently selected to take part in after-show parties; but this particular request was truly a big break for us. One of their playwrights had recently written a new musical performance in honour of our recently restored Princess Luna, which was to premier on March 28th under the title of “The Legend of the Night”, and my group had been chosen us to provide the music. I was only too happy to comply, and from that day forth, at least half of our week was dedicated to learning every chord and key of the music we were to play at the performance, carefully rehearsing every scale and arpeggio until we had mastered the entire score.

For those not in the know, the group consists of myself and five old friends from my high-school days. Our pianist is Frederick Horseshoepin, a talented and urbane but nevertheless down-to-earth gentlecolt whom I'd known since the age of eight. He was the very first to put his name forward as part of my group, and always looks out for the rest of us; though he does tend to put his own wellbeing last sometimes, and this can lead to minor anxiety issues on his part.

We also have two violinists, one brother and one sister. Concerto is a somewhat laid-back stallion of few words, the sort of pony who goes with the flow rather than worrying himself over unnecessary details; and while he enjoys socialising with us just as much as the next pony, he usually leaves his younger sister Symphony to do most of the talking. They're like peas in a pod, in as much as they always look out for one another – even at concerts, wherever you see one, the other is often seen playing right alongside them.

Beauty Brass is the group's sousaphone player, and comes from a particularly wealthy background. She's a well-meaning sort, but her sociological values tend to be a bit old-fashioned, for want of a more polite way of putting it, so there are times when she can come across as insensitive. That's not to say she doesn't outright condemn ideas that might seem alien to her; if anything, she just takes time getting used to them.

And last but not least, there's our harpist Parish Nandermane, who usually goes by the nickname of Harpo for obvious reasons. He too comes from wealthy stock, but is a lot higher strung and more aloof than Beauty Brass, and very much a perfectionist by nature, judging by the lack of satisfaction with his own performances. There have in fact been times when he suffers from cold hooves because of it; but we still manage to bring him round one way or another.

On the Friday before we were due to leave, our ensemble was gathered for one last rehearsal at the Hoofstead Theatre in West Canterlot. The music was a lot different to what we were used to playing, for whereas social events usually call for gentle, calm, refined compositions like “Fur Elise”, the play called for a multitude of different moods. Sometimes the score called for the sort of soft and sophisticated atmosphere that we usually generate, the tune of grandeur in the comfortable surroundings of a stately country house; while at others, the score became a raging inferno of fear and tension, where you were staring right into the eye of danger as it bore down on you. All told, it was a great opportunity for us to explore new musical avenues, especially since it was also the first time that we were all required to perform for the same event.

When you rehearse a musical number, it can be very easy to get lost in the atmosphere and emotions that they stir up – you could be in the midst of a beautiful woodland, surrounded by bluebells, daffodils, butterflies and primroses; or you could be relaxing on the massage table in some beauty parlour, enjoying the soothing feeling of a mare's hooves working the tension out of your body. You find yourself in your own personal heaven, and the real world just ceases to exist until at last you've come to the end of your music. While it's not exactly addictive, it does have the unfortunate side-effect in that you all but lose track of time – very much a weakness on my part, and I should think it's the same with all the rest of them, for by the time we had finished, we had only a minute left before we had to clear the auditorium.

As we packed away our instruments (all except for Frederick, of course, since pianos are virtually impossible to transport on a daily basis), I congratulated the group for all the effort they had put into mastering the score over the past two months and told them that, so long as we kept it up, we would make for a successful play on opening night. “Now remember, everypony,” I reiterated, “our train leaves at 6:45pm on Monday evening, so I want all musicians gathered at Canterbury West Station with their instruments at 6 o'clock sharp.”

The rest of the group promised that they would; but Harpo, fussy as always, seemed very little satisfied. “I wouldn't have minded a little extra time to perfect my music beforehoof,” I heard him grumble.

Beauty Brass looked a little put out. “What is it with you and rehearsals?” she objected. “We've been practising this music for months; I should think we all know it backwards by now.”

“Practice makes perfect,” insisted Harpo, “and we need this to be perfect if we're to make a good impression on the playwrights of Manehattan. Besides,” he added loftily, “two months hardly seems a sensible amount of time in which for us to get the best out of any score, let alone that of a play.”

“Well...maybe not, but it's not as if we're performing for the Princesses,” put in Symphony reasonably.

“It makes no difference,” said Harpo. “Unless we're at our best, the whole thing could end in disaster.”

I could only smile and roll my eyes at his unease. Harpo has always been the more pessimistic member of the group, and if I had a bit for the number of times I've had to set him straight again, I would probably have bought myself an entire orchestra by now. “We'll have plenty of time for rehearsals when we get there, Harpo,” I soothed. “I can appreciate that two days might be cutting it a bit fine, but the actors know their parts, we know the music, so as long as we keep calm and carry on, everything should be fine.”

Harpo still didn't seem convinced, but grudgingly accepted. My cello was safely in its case by then, so I bid the others goodnight before making my way home. At the time, I lived in an apartment on Piccafilly Crescent, half an hour away from the theatre; and walking back home from there gave me ample opportunity to enjoy the peace and quiet of Canterlot after nightfall, disturbed only by the distant sounds of music from afar, no doubt coming from a nightclub somewhere in the city centre. Moments like these, though not perfectly tranquil, allowed me to be alone with my thoughts, to reflect on everything that had ever happened in my life up to this point, for better or worse, and how they had contributed to my quality of life as it currently stood.

Even today, I find it incredible that I managed to build up such a reputation among the Equestrian elite. That Pony Pokey performance should have been my ultimate downfall by all accounts, and for a while, it seemed that it probably would be; but Princess Celestia was quick to set the record straight on the behalf of myself, Frederick, Harpo and Beauty Brass, and ultimately we found ourselves back on the high-society guest list as if nothing had happened. It really does pay to have such a fair-minded and diplomatic pony on your side, especially if said pony happens to be royalty of the highest order; but that said, I would never wish to take advantage of Celestia's inexhaustible kindness. While I may have been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, as are a lot of ponies in Canterlot, my group and I hadn't simply become high-society entertainers overnight, and from my point of view, we're all the better for it. There was only one thing missing from my life, something of which I was repeatedly reminded every time I heard so much as a single note of contemporary music. I came awfully close to it as a teenager, but fate very quickly separated us forever, and ever since that day, I had lived in regret for not expressing my feelings. But should it really matter, I kept telling myself? That was all in the past, and I had to carry on with my life, no matter what the circumstances; and in any event, there was no guarantee that it would have worked out anyway.

But as I entered the condominium, the question mark hovering over my head was quickly blown away by the more pressing issue of carting my personal belongings to Canterbury West; for as a travelling musician, I very rarely find myself travelling light. Therefore, I decided to speak with my landlady about it before I retired to my apartment. As one would expect at this hour, she was relaxing in the front room with a good book when I entered her own apartment on the ground floor.

“Good evening, Miss Hill,” I said as she set her book down and gave me her full attention.

“Good evening, Octavia. What can I do for you?” That was what I liked about Carolina Hill; busy though she was with ensuring rent payments remained up to date among other tasks, she still managed to approach her job with a polite, helpful demeanour.

“My group and I have an engagement with a Bridleway performance starting from next Saturday,” I explained succinctly, “and I wanted to inquire about transporting my luggage to the station.”

“I see,” answered Carolina. “So when do you plan on leaving?”

“My train leaves at 6:45pm on Monday, so I shall require to be present at least half an hour before then.”

Carolina smiled and nodded her acknowledgement. “Very well, Octavia,” she said. “Let me know when you're all packed and ready, and I'll see that it gets taken down at once.”

“Much appreciated,” I replied graciously.

“That's alright, dear. With all that weight on your back, it's a wonder you haven't contracted lumbago yet.”

I could only emit a small chuckle at her little quip. “Well, yes, it is a lot of weight to be carrying on a daily basis,” I mused, “but I wouldn't have it any other way. That case does contain my most prized possession, after all.”

This elicited an amused grin from the middle-aged mare. “More prized even than that high-school friend of yours?” she teased playfully.

Though I tried not to show it, I was a little wounded by her comment. “Well...unless she comes back into my life somehow,” I answered simply before wishing her a good night and taking my leave.

I knew Carolina wasn't purposely trying to hurt my feelings, but I also knew all too well which “high-school friend” she was talking about, and this rather stung my heart, more because of her single-minded parents than anything or anypony else. She had a fantastic career ahead of her, one that she had already realised by this time, and neither her father nor her mother had shown any kind of support; all they wanted was for their business to continue for generations to come, even if that meant ruining their daughter's dreams. That was the primary reason why she had departed from my life – not because of anything I'd done or because our primary tastes in music were like Yin and Yang, but simply because she was under threat from her own family.

She didn't simply stop at running away from her home either, for when I finally saw her again, albeit only on a music festival poster in Fillydelphia, she was a lot different to how I remembered her; though admittedly the unkempt mane and the large purple shades fitted her personality a lot better than the well-groomed young mare she used to be. I still have a photograph of her when we were still in high school, and it compares very poorly with her present image as far as I'm concerned. But not a lot of other ponies are aware that her name was also different before she became famous. Again, it didn't really suit her, and even though I do still use it sometimes, I too have gradually gained an even greater preference for her new legal title. Her stage name is quite inspired as well, but not quite as endearing, I feel.

Having made it through my front door at long last, I set my cello down next to the coat rack and plodded wearily into the kitchen to prepare my supper. My apartment was located on the tenth floor of the condominium, and with the added weight of my prized cello, the ascent was a veritable hike up the face of Foal Mountain, so I was normally too tired to do any serious cooking. Tonight was no exception, and I consider myself fortunate that a simple watercress salad with a side of olives and a cup of tea required very little effort to put together – an unusually basic meal for somepony from Canterlot, some might say, but at least there was enough of it to keep me nourished until the morning.

But life in a Canterlot apartment can be rather lonely and monotonous without somepony to share it with, and even when I have my stereo system running, the music doesn't always succeed in lifting my spirits. I do have a bit of a guilty pleasure in that when I'm feeling low, I sometimes play a bit of light jazz or soft rock; the sort of music that makes one feel rejuvenated and free of care without being loud and bombastic like a lot of modern music tends to be. But tonight was just one of those nights where I had strayed a long way from my happy place, and not even the sound of cheerful music could lift me out of the depths.

Or perhaps it was because of the music I was playing at the time. Fond though I am of contemporary music, Sapphire Shores and Countess Coloratura were always a little raucous for my tastes; which makes it all the more peculiar to some that my music collection should include all the albums ever released by an equally famous artist – and more to the point, the last mare with whom anypony would expect me to associate myself. But again, the music star formerly known as Linsey Woolsey was a dear friend of mine when we were in high school together, and I would never wish to forget her, however little chance there was of seeing her again. And her debut single, “Scratching the Surface”, was such a beautiful soft-rock ballad, one that left a lasting impression on me ever since I first heard it.

Ah, Vinyl Scratch – how I missed you.

Perspective: Vinyl Scratch

[Adapted from Vinyl Scratch's personal diary]

Entry 3707

March 21st

Man alive, it sure has been a busy week. I've been like working my tail off trying to perfect my latest song before it goes off to the producer, been DJing for three birthday parties and a reception gig, and I only had the whole of yesterday to wind down after all that. Sure is a hard life being a DJ, I'm not gonna lie, but hey – why make such a big deal out of something I really enjoy doing? This is exactly what I set out to do, and there ain't no way I'm gonna give it up, no matter what troubles I face or what my parents might think! They've probably got the message already, because they ain't been in contact with me since I gave them the slip ten years ago. Still, what do I care about that stuffy pair of mules? They tried to ruin my life, so they can darn well buzz off and keep out of my life.

Anyways, back on topic before I lose my cool. Today, I'm gonna be heading over to Sugarcube Corner to hang out with Loco, get to know him better and pick out a few songs to play at his birthday party on the 3rd. I've only ever read about him in letters from his Mom, and he seems a pretty nice guy to be with, not to mention really lucky to be working on trains so young. Kinda weird that they should be letting an eight-year-old work at a train depot, but then again, he's a pretty big train fan, so probably just as well.

Now, I'm probably gonna look a right twit when I say this, but I've never really made any songs of my own about trains, so I don't really have anything original to show off in front of Loco. But hey, just because I write my own tunes don't mean I can't play existing ones as well – one of the perks of being a DJ. In fact, I went to Manehattan to grab a few extra albums to add to my own collection a couple of weeks back, and I've now got some real neat songs that I hope Loco will like. Stuff like “Choo-Choo-Ch'boogie”, “Wreck of the City of Manehattan” and all the sing-along songs from Rodney the Railway Engine which again he's like really into, apparently. I've already spoken with his parents as to when he wants to meet up and go through what music he wants at his party and whatnot, and they said to be at Sugarcube Corner for two in the afternoon, so this should be pretty interesting.

Perspective: Locomotion

[Adapted from the original “Wreck of the Bridleway Limited” by Locomotion]

About four days prior to that eventful night, I was playing my favourite train simulator programme with High Score (or Button Mash, whichever you prefer). I'm not much of a gamer compared to him, and generally I only use the computer for surfing the Internet and writing Rodney the Railway Engine fanfictions and so on; but I do still enjoy the odd computer game from time to time. All the same, I did find High Score's attitude to driving a train on a computer game to be pretty reckless. Instead of observing the signals and sticking to the speed limit, he seemed a bit too preoccupied with going as fast as he could get the engine to go, and naturally, I was worried.

“Take it easy, Score,” I tried to warn him. “You don't want to run yourself off the rails, you know.”

“As if!” he scoffed. “These aren't real trains, you know!”

“No,” I replied pointedly, “but they do operate to real world parameters. Now sober up and cut your speed!”

High Score just laughed and tried to go faster. At that moment, however, we both noticed that he was approaching a distant signal (the ones with the yellow arms) at “caution”, and with a yelp, he slammed on the brakes. But no matter how hard he was trying, I knew he wouldn't be able to stop in time; he hadn't shut off steam for a start, and even if he had, he was still going way too fast.

Just half a minute later, with a panic-stricken High Score still trying desperately to pull up, the train overshot a home signal (the red ones that say whether or not you have to stop) at “danger”, at which point a message appeared on the screen saying “ACTIVITY ENDED – SIGNAL PASSED AT DANGER”. Frustrated and disheartened by his mistake, High Score instantly broke down into tears and started bawling his head off – typical crybaby!

“Button Mash, get a hold of yourself, you vidiot!” I snapped, trying to pull him together. It's not often I use his real name, but sometimes it's the only way I can actually get through to him.

“But I lost the game!” wailed High Score. “Now I'm gonna have to go all the way back and start again!”

“No you won't,” I retorted, clicking on the OK button and moving the cursor over to “Saved Activities” as soon as we returned to the main menu. “Haven't you forgotten that I kept pressing the F2 key every so often?”

Before High Score could reply, I hovered the cursor over a tab that said “BRIDLEWAY LIMITED; SUMMER; 10:09:27”, and double-clicked on it to return us to the very section of route along which we had been travelling prior to his Signal Passed at Danger, or SPAD as we call it in the railway industry. But that did little to calm him down.

“WHAT?!” he burst out. “YOU SAVED THE GAME AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME?!?”

“Well, duh!” I chortled. “You never asked me. Now if you want my advice, you'd better stick to the speed limit from now on.”

High Score scowled and muttered something in a language that I couldn't understand – Humgonian, I think he calls it. But I wasn't too bothered, for I had a little trump card that would easily freak him into taking back what he had just said; “Oh, folly terribode, High Scone,” I tutted. “You fallolop at a railwold gamey, and you assubrey you can escapeyho with an offendit upon my own headload?”

That pretty much did the trick; High Score just stared in confusion and went, “Folly terrible...what?! Loco, I don't...”

“Ah-ah...let me explainy!” I interrupted. “Two can plague upon this gamey, High Scone – what comes abode tiltit and round, if you follow my meal. You talkey languey that I never understab, I use wordage incomprehensibole and deep joy of the Unwinese...”

“STOP! STOP!!” hollered High Score. “I CAN'T TAKE MUCH MORE OF THIS NONSENSE TALK!!”

“Then you'd better mind what you say in future, High Score,” I warned him with a cheeky grin, “because there's way more where that came from.”

High Score recoiled slightly. “Okay, okay,” he stammered, “I promise I'll behave.”

“Thank you,” I said firmly. “Now you check your speed before you end up overrunning that signal again.”

With a meek mumble and a roll of his eyes, High Score returned to the keyboard and carefully slowed the train down as he passed the distant signal. “Where did you learn all that gibberish anyway?” he ventured once he had shut off steam.

“Games aren't the only source of weird languages,” I smiled knowingly. “If you've been watching films starring Stanley Unwinny as long as I have, that sort of 'gobblyhoolihoodlee' comes natural.”

“Well, you're welcome to him,” muttered High Score. “That guy's way too weird for my tastes.”

“That,” I said, “would be because you're pretty much stuck in your own little video game world where all that matters in life is being the conquering hero. I, on the other hoof, have a much more open mind – and that's why I see Stanley Unwinny as one of the most unique comedians on this planet.”

“What, because you're as crazy as him?”

“Deep folly for your offendit, High Scone,” I smirked, causing High Score to flinch again. Then, assuming the normal Equestrian language, I added, “Granted, I can come across as being a right nutter, but at least it's about an important part of this nation's transport system and not something as weird as...say, paper clips. Speaking of which, you're nearly at the red board, mate.”

But this time, High Score didn't need to be reminded, for he was already bringing the train safely to a halt just before the home signal. As he did so, I reached over and pressed the space-bar twice, causing the engine to emit two short blasts on its whistle, whereupon he picked up the instruction manual and scanned it carefully with a look of confusion on his face. He then turns to me and says, “Hang on – where does it say about blowing your whistle at a signal?”

“It doesn't,” I replied. “It's just a force of habit as far as the game's concerned; but in the real world, it's a mandatory requirement for drivers to blow a couple of blasts on their whistle if they have to stop at a red signal. If it still doesn't change, then you have to carry out something we railway ponies call Rule 55 – which, before you ask, does not refer to making your own rules on the Internet. It simply means that if the weather's bad, or you've been waiting at a red board for more than three minutes in the case of a clear day, either the guard or the firepony must go to the signalbox so as to ensure that the signalpony knows of your presence and has taken the right precautions to safeguard your train against the risk of an accident.”

“And what are the right precautions, might I ask?”

“Firstly, you have to slip a special metal collar over the handle of the signal lever protecting your train,” I continued, “and then if another train comes along, you have to do what's known as 'blocking back'. All that boils down to is alerting the signalbox in the rear so that they know not to offer you another train.”

“I...yeah, I think I see what you mean,” commented High Score thoughtfully. By then, the signal had been reset to the “all-clear” position, so he promptly released the brakes and set off again, probably still marvelling at my expertise. “Twilight taught you well, I take it?”

I couldn't help but laugh when he said that. Twilight Sparkle's a great source of info, there's no denying that, but trains?! That's like an aircraft historian asking a falcon to teach him or her a thing or two about civil aviation! “Wrong again, Score – I teach her!” I chortled. “The only ponies who have ever had to teach me about railways are Uncle Steamer and my Dad.”

“Uh...okay, whatever. Oh – speaking of trains, any chance you could help me with this new PS3 game that I bought the other day?” added High Score hopefully. “See, there's this stage where I need to drive a train in order to get back to the Neutral Zone, and...well, since you're such an expert on trains...”

That sounded rather appealing to me, and at first, I was tempted to accept. But as much as I wanted to help High Score with this new game, I couldn't, because of a certain other engagement that I had; “Sorry, Score,” I apologised profusely, “can't be done, I'm afraid. My birthday's in a couple of weeks from now, and my parents and I have a lot of planning to do – and that includes a few meetings with Vinyl Scratch.”

High Score goggled in disbelief. “What, DJ PON-3?!” he exclaimed. “But I thought you weren't into dubstep!”

Again, I stifled a chuckle. “Don't be ridiculous, Score!” I retorted heartily. “Vinyl may be a right hip-hop, but that doesn't mean dubstep's the only thing she ever plays! Why the hay do you think I chose her to DJ for my birthday party?”

High Score didn't reply. He just shook his head resignedly and returned his attention to the simulator.

I have to admit, I'd been kinda nervous about inviting Vinyl to DJ for my party myself. When I think of DJs, I tend to think of loud, thumping music that could potentially shatter a wine glass – you know, the sort you hear in night clubs and such. But having said that, I was willing to give her a go, so after a few weeks of hanging out with me and my parents so we could get to know each other better, I agreed to go ahead and invite her.

Few others actually realise this, but Vinyl is surprisingly flexible when it comes to music, something that I didn't realise myself until I mentioned that I was aiming for various styles of music to suit different moods, including the sort that I'd always thought most DJs would have hated with an unbridled passion – classical music. I was almost expecting that mare to scowl in protest, so you can imagine my surprise when she saw the supposedly awkward look on my face and told me, and I quote, “Hey, don't sweat it – it's yo' party, you pick the music, man.”

So anyway, after High Score had gone home and we'd all had lunch, I headed out to Sugarcube Corner, where my party was to take place, so that Vinyl and I could pick out a few musical numbers. When I turned up at the bakery, I could see that it was pretty much business as usual for Pinkie Pie and the Cakes – well, apart from Cup Cake having to take it easy what with how much her size and weight had increased in the last ten months. She and Carrot Cake were expecting their first foal at the time, and she was coming very near the end of her term.

So anyway, as I walk into the bakery, Pinkie Pie trots cheerfully out with a batch of freshly baked muffins, and says to me, “Hi, Loco.”

“Hullo, Pinkie,” I says to her, “how's business?”

But then Pinkie cocks her head in such a way that you'd have thought she couldn't care less, and is like, “I dunno – it's none of my business.”

That rather confused me. “Uh...what?” I asked.

“Nah, we're good,” smiled Pinkie, her bubbly demeanour shining through once again. “But then surely we're always good if we're making tasty treats – I mean, come on, how can that NOT be good?”

At this point, I cheerfully decided, “Ah, forget it,” and turned my attention to Mrs Cake, who had just finished placing a batch of fondant fancies on the display shelf. “Hello, Loco,” she smiled to me. “You been keeping well?”

“Very much so, thanks, Mrs Cake,” I replied. “How about you? Has your foal been alright so far?”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs Cake, beaming in that same caring, motherly demeanour that she always exhibits with me and my friends. “I actually went in for a scan yesterday, and they're doing splendidly.”

“Ah, that's good to...” but I suddenly broke off as what Mrs Cake had just said sank in. “Hang on,” I exclaimed, “did you just say 'they'?”

Mrs Cake simply nodded in reply and redirected her gaze towards her bulging midsection, the smile never once fading from her face.

“You mean you're having twins?”

Another nod confirmed my suspicion.

“Wow!” I remarked, amazed by this revelation. “I've never known a mare to carry more than one foal at a time before.”

Mrs Cake smiled again. “Well, it's not exactly unheard of, deary,” she pointed out, “but yes, it is an unusual occurrence. I must say, though, it's been quite the challenge carrying two foals at the same time,” she added, a hint of weariness registering in her voice.

“Yeah, I can imagine it would be,” I sympathised. My own Mum had often spoken of how easily she had worn herself out when carrying one or other of me or my two sisters, so I could easily see how much tougher it could be for a mare to be pregnant with two foals for the price of one, so to speak. “How soon will they be born, anyway?”

“The doctor says I should deliver in around three weeks.”

“Ah, well that's good to know,” I commented. “I look forward to seeing them. Oh, and speaking of birthdays,” I added, “has Vinyl Scratch turned up yet?”

“You called?”

I turned towards the direction of the voice, and saw Vinyl sitting by the window with a milkshake in her right hoof. “That'd be a yes, then,” I chuckled, and trotted over to Vinyl's table leaving Pinkie and Mrs Cake to go about their business. “Hey there, Vinyl.”

“Yo, Loco, how ya doin'?” asked Vinyl in that cheerful, brash tone that always seems to define her.

“I'm okay, thanks,” I said. “Polishing here, ash removal there, that sort of thing. Yourself?”

“Cosmic, dude,” she responded with a broad grin. “No shortage o' DJ grooves fo' this mare – and I got some real cool music I thought you'd like.”

“Ah, good,” I smiled. “So what you got then?”

Vinyl then gives me this broad smirk as if to say, “Need you ask?” and places a whole load of records onto the table in front of us. There's so many of them relating to trains and railways, of course, that I'm just sitting there and staring at the entire collection, completely flabbergasted by what I'm seeing. “You want trains? We got trains!” she tells me triumphantly.

“Crikey!” I blurted out. “Seems my parents really were talking sense when they suggested that you should DJ for my party!”

“You betcha, buddy!” agreed Vinyl. “So, ya wanna go ahead an' pick out your top ten?”

I chuckled in reply. “More than my 'top ten', I fancy. Go on then; let's give 'em a spin.”

“Alright then,” said Vinyl. “Hey, Pinks, yo' room free?”

“Yes indeed-y!” chirped Pinkie, and led us upstairs to her bedroom, where we could safely go through the music tracks without disturbing the customers.

For a good half-hour or so, we went through the musical numbers like there was no tomorrow. Pinkie had already set up a few turntables, though where she got them from, I have no idea – and before anypony asks, we're talking about DJs' turntables, not the sort on which you turn engines – so all that Vinyl and I needed to do was to play the records and pick out the ones I liked best. She certainly seemed like she was in her element with the livelier ones, including a song by Atomic Colt with my name as its title.

But then we came to a number called “Train in the Distance”, and she seemed to go all quiet and solemn. I didn't really notice at first, since I was more preoccupied with singing the lyrics to myself as the record played – but towards the end of the final chorus, I couldn't help noting a rather downtrodden expression on Vinyl's face, which caused me to tail off in my concern. She was staring sadly down at the turntable, and even with those big purple shades, I could just about make out a small tear glistening in her left eye.

“Vinyl?” I asked anxiously. “Is something wrong?”

As if she's only just realised that she's looking anything other than lively, she brushes said tear away and tries to act as if there isn't. “Nah, I'm fine, kid,” she says, feigning ignorance. “I just got somethin' in my eye, I guess.”

Now I'm not exactly convinced by that statement, but there's no way I want to make her feel like she's under obligation to spill the beans, so instead I says to myself “Ah, what the heck” and carry on looking through the music tracks with her. But even when I returned home a little later in the day, I couldn't help feeling a little worried for that mare. Why was she acting so...off? Was it something to do with the music? Had it touched a nerve with her?

Little did I realise just how close I was to finding out the answer to the whole mystery...

Perspective: Vinyl

Entry 3707 and a bit

Just thought I'd sum up how today went before I hit the hay. Loco was a real nice kid to be with, and it sure was a blast picking out what tunes he wanted to play at his party – not all of them as groovy and funky as what I usually play, although “Come For The Ride” was pretty catchy now I come to think of it, and I'm like real glad he chose “Choo-Choo-Ch'boogie” and “The Locomotion”. Even when we were taking a break, it was strangely cool to learn all that stuff about trains from him; like I didn't know turntables were also used to turn engines until now, and I always thought that driving trains was just a case of shovelling coal and away you go. Turns out the coal needs to be spread out in order to make enough steam, and you're constantly fiddling with the controls as you go along, such things as adjusting your throttle, changing gear and pumping more water into the boiler. I may not be a train nerd in any way, shape or form, but it was still nice to hear how they work and all that.

So yeah, on the whole, pretty good afternoon well spent – except for that one song that I played towards the end of our session that kinda ruined my good mood. I seriously don't know what in the hay I was thinking when I brought along “Train in the Distance”, but listening to it again after something like three years or whatever, it was probably the most stupid thing I could have done. Why, you ask? Because it kinda reminds me of how I got separated from Tavi ten years back. I mean, okay, the only real fallout either of us had was with those stuffy parents of mine, but I can still feel that hole in my heart from having to leave her behind – and trust Mom and Dad to run me through like that!

Damn you both! Me and Tavi had something real sweet going on between us, and you ruin it all by making me choose between giving up my dreams and skipping Canterlot altogether! Now she probably can't even be bothered to remember me because she's so busy playing for all these high-society events, and even if I do see her again, she won't have any time for me! I sure hope you're pleased with yourselves, making my life a living hell! I'm gonna be stuck as a single mare forever, and it's all your fault! I hate you so much! In fact, no – I totally despise you both, and I hope that your fortunes and your cloth factory and your everything else go right the way down the toilet, because that's all you deserve for what you've put me through!

I need a drink...

Chapter 2: The Train Now Departing

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Perspective: Vinyl

Entry 3708

March 22nd

Boy, am I glad to have the Sunday off. I managed to get those thoughts of Tavi and my parents outta my head and get off to sleep okay, but I'm still feeling a bit out of sorts, and my head feels like I banged it against the table or whatever. Stupid hangovers! Why won't those memories just get the hell outta my head and stay out?!

Anyways, sit-rep – I've been giving myself like a gallon of water or something, just so I can get rid of this headache, and it's almost gone by now, but I'm still feeling too tired to do much else aside from sit and watch a bit of TV and stuff. Might go out for a hayburger later, see if Pinkie and Rarity are anywhere about, but for now, I'm just gonna lounge around until I get my strength back. I'm gonna need it if I'm to make that wedding reception.

Now, I'm gonna be blunt and say that I'm a little honked off that I don't have a lot of time to get myself ready for this gig. Basically, there's this couple over in Rainbow Falls who are getting hitched this upcoming Tuesday afternoon before pushing off to Trottingham for their honeymoon, and they were gonna hire Cheese Sandwich to host their shindig, but then he went down with something rotten. Long story short, they've had to hire me instead – at pretty short notice, I might add, because I've only got today and tomorrow to pick out the right songs for the whole she-bang. So yeah, I'm gonna be a bit pushed for time and no mistake. I swear, the way things are going right now, I could totally do with a vacation at some point.

Actually, I could probably do with a room-mate as well. I mean, okay, I like being alone when I'm mixing new tunes and such, but it gets well lonely in this flat without nopony to talk to. I'd go for Pinkie, but she's far happier living in Sugarcube Corner than anywhere else, and I don't really wanna take that away from her. Probably Neon in that case, seeing as he and I both do the same thing – but then on second thought, probably not such a good idea on account of how he can a right player sometimes. You never know he might come back to my flat with a mare in tow, and then they'd get up to all sorts of stuff – in my own bed as well! It certainly ain't gonna be me, that's for sure.

It sure would be nice to find myself a fillyfriend, though.

Entry 3709

March 23rd

Right, I've been going through all my records and all my remixes and stuff, and I think I've got all the right tunes for this wedding gig, but holy Celestia, was that tiring or what. Not only did I have to give myself a head start so I could get what they needed, but it kept me up so late that I didn't get any kind of shut-eye until stupid o'clock in the morning, so I ended up missing lunch because I slept in so late. But hey – at least that's the hard bit outta the way. I'll probably just play them at random or on request, though, or I'm gonna be tearing my mane out trying to create a playlist – and no way would anypony want a scabby slap-head for a DJ!

On the plus side, at least I can go hang out with Loco as promised. We've still got a heck of a lot of planning to do for his shindig, and that includes narrowing down the list of songs and tunes to his absolute favourites, trying to decide if we want them in a playlist or kinda as and when, etc., etc., etc. I gotta admit, he may not be that much into wubs like I am, but he sure knows what he's about. Guess the railways weren't so crazy for letting him clean their engines and stuff after all!

Mind you, I can't complain – I've been doing this whole DJ thing since my mid teens.

Entry 3709 and a bit

Just got back from Sugarcube Corner, and it's been going pretty well so far. Loco and I have been going through the music again, he says he'd rather just play the music as the mood requires, so that's one less job to worry about, but I'm still gonna have my work cut out for me because he's been asking for remixes of the Rodney the Railway Engine themes as well. That's gonna be a heck of a lot of tunes to choose from!

But meh – it's not as if I don't enjoy it. I did watch one episode of that series once when I was starting out my DJ career, and I really liked that bit of music where those two little yellow engines were running rings around that big boxy one. It was the sort of music you'd expect to hear in all these really random cartoons where one guy's trying to run away from someone, and that someone keeps appearing right in front of them! I bet my parents would have torn me a new limb if they found out I'd seen something so foalish, but what do I care? It was a funny moment, a good bit of music – that's all that matters.

If this keeps up, though, I'm probably gonna become a train fan in my own right. Why? Because I actually went right ahead and asked Loco to tell me a bit more about trains when we stopped to take a break. He's been telling me all about what goes on around the depot, what kinds of engines there are, and something called “absolute block”. It's basically a system where you split the line into separate lengths, and only one train can run on each one, so if anything happens – like if the train's late or there's been a crash or something – then you can't send another train into the “section” or whatever they call it.

Of course I asked him what happens if a train does crash, and he says to me, “That's when they send out the wrecking train to clear and mend the line.” He kinda lost me for a moment because for some stupid reason I thought he was talking about crashing another train straight into them. Turns out that a wrecking train is actually a really big crane and some flatbeds that are used to clear away wreckage, kinda like a breakdown truck for trains. He's already been out with the wrecking train once, so he knows what it's like going to clear up after a crash, right down to the whistle at the sheds that they use to call the emergency crews together. For an eight-year-old colt, that Loco sure has led an amazing life so far!

Anyways, enough lounging around. I've got an early start tomorrow, so I'd better get packing.

Perspective: Octavia

Apart from a solo performance for a cocktail party on Saturday evening, not to mention packing away my belongings for the long journey eastwards, the weekend for me was fairly quiet. Carolina was the only visitor to my apartment in the space of those final three days, and then only to help me take my luggage downstairs to the waiting cart; but other than that, I was glad of a bit of respite before setting off the following day.

The one thing I didn't send off aside from basic necessities was my cello, for even when I'm not rehearsing a certain tune, I enjoy playing it simply for the sake of my own enjoyment. It's just so therapeutic hearing the motherly hum of string against nylon – you could be in a state of pure despair over everything that happens to be going wrong with your life, but then you hear the cello singing a gentle serenade, and it just seeps into your soul and massages away your woes. Perhaps that is what makes our performances so much easier for me, because from the moment I start playing, I find myself paying a visit to heaven without having to depart this world, and I couldn't be any happier for it.

Perhaps it was because I was growing a little lonely; perhaps the memory was still lingering in the back of my mind since Friday night; or perhaps it might have been to do with the tune I was playing. Whatever the reason, as I was playing that one last piece before packing my cello and setting off for the station, I could see her sitting and listening with her eyes glazed over and a warm smile of admiration on her face, just like she had done when we were still in school together. She was just like I remembered her, with a braided mane and no shades to speak of – again, strangely nowhere near as attractive as she is now, but it brought back a vast catalogue of memories as I gazed back at her with a soft smile of my own. Only when I had finished playing did I realise that she wasn't even there. The seat was empty, and indeed the whole apartment was virtually deserted apart from myself. Deary me, Octavia, I thought as I stowed my cello away in its case; You really need a holiday sometime.

Now wasn't a convenient time for me to stop and gather my thoughts, however, as I had only an hour and forty-five minutes left before my train was due out. I therefore ran a quick check to ensure that I had all my personal luggage to hoof, and once satisfied that all was ready, I went downstairs to bid Carolina farewell before taking my leave.

“Good luck with your musical, Octavia,” she answered. “Hope you have a safe journey.”

Given what was to ensue later in the journey, her last statement was to prove something of an ill omen; but not once did such a thought cross my mind as I promised that I would – again, rather an unfortunate statement – and departed the condominium. All I knew was that it would be a while yet before I would ever see her again, for the performance was scheduled to go on tour around Equestria for a few months after its final curtain call in Manehattan.

The journey to Canterbury West Station took just over an hour, so I arrived almost precisely upon the stroke of six. As is to be expected of a Canterlot mainline terminus, the station was virtually submerged beneath a sea of passengers, porters, ticket inspectors, sleeping car attendants and various other railway workers; but I still managed to locate my friends even amid all the hustle of the evening rush hour. All five were gathered on the station concourse, patiently awaiting my arrival, and our train, the aptly-named “Bridleway Limited”, was standing quietly next to Platform 9 in readiness for departure.

After a quick roll-call, we went over to the luggage office so that I could surrender my cello to the porters and supervise the transfer of our belongings from office to train. Once this had been accomplished, I elected that we make good of the half-hour we had left before departure and treat ourselves to a spot of tea before we boarded our carriage. Among the patrons in the refreshment room, I noted, were a considerable number of high-society passengers who would be joining us on the journey to Manehattan, hopefully with the intention of visiting Bridleway Theatre that weekend; but I didn't endeavour to verify. Instead, as soon as we had made our purchases – five cream teas plus a latte for Frederick and a portion of biscuits for us to share – I took the group straight to a booth on the far side of the room, well out of the way.

Once we were seated, we began making small talk while we consumed our beverages. Frederick had been performing a piano solo over in the West End the previous day, and was in good spirits overall; whereas Harpo seemed a little agitated, quite likely at the notion of taking part in a theatrical performance. To hear him talk, however, you would have thought he cared less about the play and more about his social standing. “I don't understand you, Octavia,” he said petulantly. “Here we have the perfect opportunity to mingle with our regular clients, and you insist on spurning them completely?”

“I wasn't spurning them,” I reasoned, “I just wanted a bit of quiet downtime in which I could talk with my friends. Just because we entertain for the upper classes doesn't mean we're obliged to interact with them all the time.”

That's what I keep telling myself at the very least. Providing music for high-society events pays awfully well, but personally I find that socialising with the elitists can be more than a little demanding, especially when they pass judgement over your life choices; for example, if one were discovered to have leanings towards one's own number, like I do, a lot of socialites would look down their noses at you. It's that kind of shallow attitude that really takes the wind out of my sails.

“Never mind, Harpo,” soothed Frederick, interrupting my reverie. “There'll be time enough for all that once we get on the train.”

“I should bally well hope so,” scoffed Harpo grandly. “Need I remind you, Frederick, that this group has a position to keep up?”

Beauty Brass rolled her eyes dramatically. “We're well aware of that, thank you so very much,” she retorted; although I could detect the faintest hint of a smirk in her expression. “Just because you're still sore about last year's Gala doesn't entitle you to heckle us for...”

“Sore?!” cut in Harpo, abhorred. “We're lucky we haven't fallen from favour after playing that...that childish Pony Pokey atrocity! Honestly, I cannot understand what made Princess Celestia invite that pink ruffian along!”

I sighed heavily and shook my head. Just like Harpo not to overlook such a trivial matter. “Harpo, that 'pink ruffian' just so happens to be my cousin,” I firmly reminded him. “I know she was a bit on the...energetic side, but that doesn't excuse you to speak so ill of her.”

“Octavia, she nearly had our names on the high-society blacklist! How could you be so...ignorant?!”

“Because unlike you, I'm more than prepared to let bygones be bygones,” I defended bluntly. “And lest you forget, said pony is also a Guardian of Harmony, so you'd do well to show her a little respect.”

Harpo simply frowned and muttered something under his breath, probably to do with me having a deranged hooligan for a relative. Rather an unfair assessment, I feel, as the name Pinkie Pie has virtually become synonymous with laughter and happiness since she played her part in the defeat of Nightmare Moon and the restoration of Princess Luna, for whom I have since gained a new respect. But now wasn't the time to be picking arguments with Harpo, I decided, not least because two particularly prominent socialites were seated close by. The ponies in question – Jet Set, a major shareholder in the de Hoofilland Aircraft Cooperation, and his wife Upper Crust – had been present at a great many of the concerts and social gatherings for which my group had performed in the past, and I always found them to be especially snooty around ponies whom they believe to be beneath them. They even had the nerve to discredit the Elements of Harmony at the Canterlot Garden Party, Celestia forbid!

At that very moment, however, they seemed less concerned with us and more with the accommodation with which they had been provided aboard the train.

“It's disgraceful!” Upper Crust was saying. “All we ask is a compartment for two, preferably a private suite with a shower bath, and we find ourselves having to put up with a pair of lowly singles – and not so much as a washstand either! Surely these railways could be a little more organised than this!”

“Indeed!” agreed Jet Set with dignity. “Shameful state of affairs, this; and such a poor excuse for such abysmal hospitality. 'We regret that the Bridleway Limited is almost fully booked, and there aren't any other compartments available,' they said. What in Celestia's name is public transport coming to nowadays?”

Again, I thought their sentiments rather harsh. Equestrian National Railways have always striven to provide high standards of comfort and efficiency to their patrons, and so far, they have done a magnificent job; the compartment of an Equestrian express train is very much the embodiment of a cosy lounge aboard an ocean liner or in a country mansion, and the Bridleway Limited, on which I had travelled many times, was a prime example of the luxury they had to offer. But that said, even trains are literally “Limited” in the number of passengers they can convey, and with the inauguration of “The Legend of the Night” coming up in five days' time, it came as little surprise that there were so few compartments available.

And on the subject of the musical, it seemed that Harpo's stage nerves were once again starting to get the better of him. I hadn't been following the conversation too well I was so focussed on Jet Set and Upper Crust, but he seemed rather reluctant to have any part in the play at all. “I still don't know about this, Beauty Brass,” I heard him protest. “Concerts I can understand, but theatricals...we don't even know if this endeavour will pay off. It's just such a big risk.”

“Well, life's full of risks, unfortunately,” stated Beauty Brass curtly. “One can't be expected to play it safe all the time; if you don't take that leap, you're going nowhere.”

“Yes, but...only two more days left to rehearse? We're just setting ourselves up for disaster here!”

“After rehearsing almost daily for the last two and a half months? Surely even a perfectionist such as you should be satisfied.”

“Always room for improvement, I say,” insisted Harpo.

Frederick was quick to interject at this point. “Not every music group is perfect, Harpo,” he observed; though I could detect a slight inkling of unease in his voice. “Even the Royal Canterlot Symphony makes the very slightest of errors from time to time, and they're some of the most prestigious musicians in the nation.”

Ah, yes – the Royal Canterlot Symphony. To become part of their ranks one day was a long-held ambition of mine, one that I had been working towards ever since I had received my bachelor's degree. I could just imagine myself in first chair cello alongside some of the more distinguished and well-known musicians of the time. Maybe one day, I thought wistfully...

“I mean, yes, we may not have any idea yet as to what the outcome will be,” went on Frederick. “It might be a huge disaster not just for us, but for the Bridleway Company as a whole...”

“There, you see?” interrupted Harpo. “Frederick agrees that it's a bad move, so...”

“Well, no, I never suggested anything of the sort,” rejoined Frederick patiently. “I was merely being rational and realistic. Granted, you may yet be correct in your prediction; but on the other hoof, it could be an outstanding success – one which could well bring fresh fame to our group. Besides that, what reason would any of us have to doubt the shrewd, open-minded judgement of our Octavia Melody Philharmonica?”

“Very well put indeed, Frederick,” agreed Symphony.

“I'll say open-minded,” remarked Beauty Brass. “We could be playing at some gay wedding for a pair of fillyfoolers, and it wouldn't matter in the slightest – not to her, anyway.”

That statement was very much the wasp that left a sting in my heart, and although I was obliged to acknowledge it with a simple nod, I was secretly offended. The trouble with Beauty Brass, and this relates to her outdated morals, is that she tends to be slightly homophobic – not in the discriminatory sense, mind, but to her, the use of the word “fillyfooler” to describe mares like me who “play for the opposite team”, to coin a phrase, is about as offensive as “cheesemonger” or “socialite”. Indeed, while I like to think I'm a calm and collected sort of pony most of the time, there are occasions when I worry what she might think if she found out about my own leanings.

“If anything, Harpo, you should be grateful that you can take your instrument with you,” said Frederick, once again derailing my train of thought. “I have to live with the worry that there won't be a piano available when we get there.”

Symphony laughed. “Frederick, they host musical performances all the time; why wouldn't they have a piano?”

Frederick paused for a moment, and I almost began to wonder if he too was trying to pluck excuses out of thin air. But no – our faithful pianist would never stoop to Harpo's level, and today was no exception. “No particular reason,” he conceded uncertainly. “I'm just being cautious is all. After all, what good would I be to this group without one?”

“You could always try and take up a different instrument as a contingency plan,” I suggested. “Your mother always said you were good with a clarinet, for starters.”

“Hmm...not a bad idea, I suppose,” said Frederick thoughtfully. “I probably wouldn't have anywhere near as much opportunity to play the clarinet as I would the piano, but it's worth looking into.”

I smiled in agreement before returning to the matter in hoof; “Seriously, though, I doubt the playwrights would have included the piano as part of the 'Legend of the Night' score unless they had one available. These theatrical companies usually know what they're doing – even the amateur groups.”

Frederick gave a wry smile of his own. “Most worries just aren't worth worrying about,” he mused, more to himself than any of the rest of us. Indeed, if he was at all worried about Jet Set and Upper Crust, then that was another burden removed from his back; for just as I was taking another sip of my tea, I noticed that the topic of their conversation had shifted somewhat.

“Performing on Bridleway, eh?” remarked Jet Set. “Well, I do declare, this is an interesting revelation.”

“And as part of the 'Legend of the Night' résumé to boot,” added Upper Crust. “I always knew these musicians were cultured enough to deserve a part in a Bridleway performance, but I never thought I would see the day.”

“Yes, I suppose it's worth the inconvenient accommodation to see those six ponies broaden their horizons a little more,” decided Jet Set.

“You could be right, darling,” said Upper Crust.

That actually made me feel a lot happier, and I began to look forward to the opening night on Saturday. Taking part in the musical was nice enough, but to get a vote of confidence from those two, well before the very first curtain call, was high praise indeed. But just as we heard the final call for the Bridleway Limited over the speakers, my good mood was promptly swept away by that pessimistic broom that represented Harpo.

“Maybe we should just pull out,” he said, completely out of the blue.

“What was that?” I asked incredulously.

“I just don't think we're ready for this, Octavia,” lamented Harpo. “It's far too much too soon – we don't even know if this is going to work out for us.”

I could only wrap a hoof around the bridge of my snout at this point and stifle an annoyed sigh. “Well, it's too late to do anything about it now,” I admonished him. “Our rail journey and hotel have been booked, our luggage is aboard the train, and the Bridleway Theatre expect us to arrive on Wednesday morning in readiness for opening night three days hence. You had more than two months' time to change your mind about coming with us, but as it stands, we're now committed to this endeavour – and that includes you. Do I make myself clear?”

For a while, it looked like Harpo had a lot more to say; but having made it clear to him that he had no choice in the matter, I could see he was beginning to relent. In the end, he reluctantly hoisted the white flag and said unto me; “Very well, Octavia. Where you lead, I follow.”

And lead I did. As soon as we had finished our beverages and left a tip for the waitress, we left the refreshment room and took up our compartments at the front of the train; myself in the first sleeping car after the luggage van, while the rest of them went in the second. A further two minutes elapsed while the guard and the porters checked that all the passengers were aboard and the doors firmly shut – until, at 6:45pm precisely, the majestic bellow of the engine's whistle informed us that our three-day voyage eastwards had finally begun. With the anchor aweigh and the mooring ropes released, our stately cruise liner on wheels glided smoothly out of port, out of the city of Canterlot, and onto the open sea that was the main line to Manehattan. What none of us could know, however, was that our train would never make it to the end of the line...

Chapter 3: The Mare Who Hath No Music

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Perspective: Octavia

Ninety minutes in, and all seemed to be going quite well. After settling into our compartments and taking our first meal of the journey in the dining car, we were now relaxing in the bar lounge, each of us accompanied by a glass of the finest wines, spirits and cocktails that the railway company had to offer. Harpo had temporarily excused himself from the group, ostensibly to ensure that his instrument was properly tuned; although one does wonder whether he might have been taking an opportunity to brood without being criticised. Beauty Brass certainly seemed to think so.

“Anypony would think he wanted nothing whatsoever to do with the theatre,” she quipped.

“It's understandable, I suppose,” I conceded, taking a dainty sip of my sherry. “Sitting through an entire pantomime every year can't have done his overall opinion a great deal of justice.”

“Rather a shame, I feel,” mused Frederick. “Most stage shows are nowhere near as juvenile as the likes of 'The Little Seapony' and 'The Prince and the Pauper'. If only Harpo could understand that, it would make things a lot easier for the rest of us.”

“True, but then we all know what Harpo's like,” said Beauty Brass. “No sense of humour whatsoever – or taste, for that matter.”

That certainly was true, I thought with a slight smile. While I'm not exactly an aficionado on comedy myself, I do at least acknowledge that even the wisest and most cultured of ponies can benefit from the odd bit of humour; whereas Harpo would merely turn up his nose at the very thought of it. Furthermore, should he ever find what he believes to be fault with something new, he almost always becomes bent on washing his hooves of it, and it therefore takes a lot to change his tune, excusing the expression. But there was no way I would be letting Harpo's attitude put the blinkers on our part in the musical – indeed, such was my assurance that I readily raised a toast to the potential success of the performance, and to the role we were to play in it.

Unsurprisingly, Harpo was gone rather a long time. After about ten minutes, Frederick was beginning to worry again.

“Harpo's sure taking his time,” he remarked. “Reckon he's alright?”

Beauty Brass snorted and waved a dismissive hoof. “He's fine, Frederick,” she stated in a nonchalant tone. “Same old Harpo, you know – always sulking over what suits him and what doesn't.”

“Well...probably,” said Frederick uncertainly. “I just hope he's not trying to abandon ship as we speak.”

“What, while the train's still in motion? He'd be lucky to survive at this kind of speed!” laughed Beauty Brass derisively.

“I know, but...”

Frederick was promptly silenced as Concerto rested a hoof on his and gave him a small, reassuring smile. He didn't say much unto Frederick – merely a calm, soothing, “He'll be alright, Fred,” that seemed to ease his concern at the drop of a bass note. This was just one of those times when I rather wondered about the dynamic between those two stallions; but for the most part, I simply ignored it and told myself that it was nothing out of the ordinary. Concerto does have a slightly camp side to his character, after all. In any event, he was quite right; for even Harpo knows better than to jump off a moving train just for the sake of preserving his dignity.

He certainly didn't appear to be having an easy time achieving the latter, I realised, for he returned only two minutes later looking somewhat disgruntled. When Frederick asked what the matter was, Harpo explained (with fairly bad grace) that a teenaged mare, distracted by the tune she and a friend of hers were listening to on her Trotmare, had walked right into him in the middle of the corridor and knocked him right off his hooves – quite by accident, I suspected, knowing Harpo's tendency to exaggerate.

“Did they really?” quipped Beauty Brass dryly. “I knew those two were attractive, but I never thought you took that kind of fancy to teenagers.”

Harpo glared at her, thoroughly unamused. “Why should I ever wish to associate myself with such inconsiderate young hoodlums?!” he spat. “There's absolutely nothing to admire about some self-absorbed foal who won't stop listening to that ghastly racket they call music! Honestly, I don't know whose bright idea it was to invent all this...'pop music' flapdoodle, but I'm surprised they haven't been thrown into an asylum!”

If she had been with us right now, Harpo's harsh words would almost certainly have struck a raw nerve with her. They certainly proved to be the stray bullet which grazed the flesh on my own chest; they didn't exactly penetrate straight into my heart, but I still felt the sting as I gave him a disapproving frown of my own. “That's not the way to speak about modern vogues, Harpo,” I chided. “If you don't like contemporary music, that's fine; but there's no call for you to start heckling others just for taking an interest in such media.”

“And why not?!” Harpo ranted on. “These modern music styles are a perfect disgrace to the likes of us real musicians! Why, in Parish Nandermane's Equestria, all such music would be banned and anypony caught playing such drivel would be made an example of in public!”

“Well, that's your hard bun,” retorted Beauty Brass. “Other ponies are perfectly entitled to their own opinions and interests – and besides, what of our old friend Linsey Woolsey?”

But this only added further lumps of coal to Harpo's fire. “What, that uncouth blank-flank tearaway?! There is no way in Tartarus I would ever consider her a friend!” he sneered rudely. “Good riddance, that's what I say.”

The graze on my chest turned into a general ache all over my person as he uttered those cold, unfeeling words. Harpo and Beauty Brass continued to quarrel, and I think I must have heard the latter use that homophobic word again at some point, but I felt far too hurt to even think of correcting them or changing the subject of our conversation. Without stopping to finish my drink, I left them to their petty squabble and wearily retired to my compartment, ignoring the looks of concern from Frederick, Symphony and Concerto as they watched me leave.

Even when I turned in for the night, those terrible bells that represented Harpo's acidic words continued to ring in my head. It was no secret among the group that he had taken a real dislike to her in our youth, but he still never fails to hurt my feelings just by speaking out against her, even if he doesn't mean to – although given the events of that evening, I did start to wonder. To add salt to my innumerable wounds, the sight of her cute magenta eyes, the brash but fond smile on her face, and that stunning two-tone blue mane of hers kept appearing and disappearing in my mind's eye, battling for my attention against an irate Harpo and a disturbed Beauty Brass. For several hours, I lay restless in my bed, seeking sleep in vain; and when dawn finally broke, I awoke feeling as weary as if I'd been awake for three days in a row.

Why did I let her go? Why didn't I at least go with her? And why did Harpo have to be so negative towards that mare as to openly defame her in front of me? Those questions echoed through the canyons of my mind as I heaved myself out of bed and went about my daily needs. Not often do I let such issues get the better of me, but at that very moment, they felt like a rogue rainfall that not even the strongest and most diligent of Pegasi could control. In fact, I felt so lost that I couldn't even bring myself to join my companions, instead opting to return to my compartment and indulge in a spot of light reading in a bid to clear my aching head.

A knock at the door eventually broke my concentration, and I looked up from the romantic novel I was reading to see a worried Frederick entering the compartment. “You alright, Octavia?” he asked of me. “We missed you at breakfast.”

I looked down at my book with a rueful sigh. Frederick has always been the brother I never had, and as such, I was always grateful for his concern in times of emotional struggle especially; but I also felt a little ashamed of myself for having troubled him so. “I'm okay, I suppose,” I answered as nonchalantly as I could manage. “I just didn't feel hungry, that's all.”

But Frederick didn't seem convinced. For all his faults, and even Harpo would readily admit that there are very few, he always seems to know if something is troubling me, and there was no denying that now was one of those times. After a while, I felt his hoof on my shoulder as he gently pressed further, “Was it to do with what Harpo had been saying about her?”

“Among other factors, yes,” I said simply, trying to hold back the droplets of sorrow I could feel building up in my eyes as that same sting from last night returned to my heart. I didn't even need to question whom Frederick was referring to – having confided to him about my feelings shortly before she had left, it stood to reason that he should have been perceptive enough to make such a connection so easily. Even though I wasn't looking at him, I could feel the solemn half-smile on his face as he gazed upon me with subdued sympathy.

“You really do miss her, don't you?” he murmured.

“More than you could ever imagine,” I lamented, staring out of the window into the heavens. I could still feel the warmth of her lips against mine from that fateful final night we had spent together before she left. “If only she didn't feel like she had to run away like that.”

Frederick stooped down so that he was at eye level with me. “I can see how painful this is for you, Octavia,” he said, clearly trying to soothe my broken heart. “She was a good friend to all of us, even if Harpo may have been more than a little antagonistic towards her, and we're all sorry she had to leave you so soon. But then again, it was probably for the best that she did – if she had remained in Canterlot, her parents would probably have found some way of crushing her ambitions...eventually. You wouldn't want that to happen, would you?”

“By no means, Frederick,” I affirmed. If anything, however, such a philosophical sentiment served only to renew the disapproval I felt towards Scarlett Corduroy and Baldachin for having driven her to it in the first place. “I just can't understand how she had to have such heartless parents. She could have been the crème-de-la-crème of every nightclub in Canterlot, and instead they chose to bully her just because she's not the one to inherit their factory! It just isn't fair.”

“Tell me about it!” Rarely does Frederick ever exhibit hatred or impatience, but the tone of his voice clearly told me how annoyed he was with those two ponies. And rightly so, for whenever they attended a concert or a party in which we were playing, they always had something to say about us being a bad influence on her. “The way those two windbags talk, it's as if they have no appreciation of entertainment whatsoever. The mare who hath no music in her is worthy only of treasons, stratagems and spoils, that's what I say.”

And well he might, I thought wryly. It's one thing to open fire upon one small borough just for differing from the remainder of a specific town, but mowing down the entire population is quite another, especially when it affects the ones we hold so dear to our hearts. My only consolation was that the bullet fired by her parents had ricocheted right back in their direction, for when word spread that they had disowned their own daughter, many high-society ponies stopped talking to them – although her musical taste, again, might have had something to do with it as well. It's just a wonder it didn't tarnish their reputation altogether; but that said, even that would have done little to make things easier for me.

“Frederick,” I ventured after a while, “is it wrong of me to be feeling so strongly for a mare of all ponies?” I already knew the answer to my own query, but I still felt the need to hear somepony say it to me out loud, at least for reassurance.

“Not at all,” replied Frederick kindly. “It's not up to us to decide which way your door swings – you're the one who makes the music, so you call the tune. If you really feel that way for Linsey, then what right have any of us to judge?”

Exactly what I keep telling myself time and again, I thought with a small smile; although part of me did wonder whether Frederick might have been talking from experience just then. But at that very moment, my attention was directed rather abruptly towards the open door – and that was when I realised, to my utter dismay, that Beauty Brass was staring upon me with a look of utter shock, her face as pale as an iceberg. It would appear that she had been eavesdropping on our conversation all the while.

The silence that hung over the three of us was so awkward that even the rumble of the train's wheels seemed but a gentle breeze across an empty field, and I began to wish that a hole would open up under my hooves and enable a swift escape. Frederick kept staring between the both of us, quite likely wondering how to try and diffuse the situation, while Beauty Brass remained stock still, her mouth agape as if she wanted to say something but was struggling to form the words. Barely had I begun to try to explain myself when she finally found her voice, choking out a barely audible “B-brandy – bar car!” before backing slowly and stiffly into the corridor, closing the door behind her. Frederick shot me an anxious look before scrambling to his hooves and bolting out of the compartment in pursuit, but I barely took any notice.

Even now, I cannot put into words how humiliated and embarrassed I felt from that unfortunate turn of events. Not only had I let slip of my own emotions to Beauty Brass, one of the last ponies with whom I would ever wish to discuss such a sensitive topic, but I regret to say that a certain other pair of ponies must have overheard the conversation as well, because I heard their voices grumbling disdainfully about fillyfoolers as they passed my compartment. Far from having the weight lift itself from my shoulders, I now felt it pressing hard against my entire body, the emotional nutcracker threatening to crush the delicate little almond that I represented; and all I wanted was to curl myself into a ball and let the angels set my spirit free.

How in Equestria was I going to live this down?

Perspective: Vinyl

Entry 3710

March 24th, 10:20am

Well, so far so good. Just boarded the train, and we're now leaving the station – but boy, am I gonna have a tough journey or what? The guard tells me this thing ain't actually going to Rainbow Falls, but is gonna stop at a place called Horse Junction so that I can catch another train from there, and even when I actually get there, I'm gonna have to lug my stuff halfway across town the village in order to reach the venue. It's times like these that I wish I'd invested in a cart in which to carry this lot, but then they probably wouldn't let me take it in the “break coach” or whatever Loco calls it.

So here's the game plan – this train reaches Horse Junction at about half-eleven, the Rainbow Falls train leaves at twenty to twelve, gets into Rainbow Falls at about half-past, and then it's a ten-minute trot from there to the community centre. That leaves me more than two hours to set up my DJ booth and grab myself a bit of lunch. The ceremony takes place at about three, and then when they've finished, they're coming straight through to the dance hall for the reception party, which is gonna be going on until about half-seven when the flying chariot comes to take them away for their honeymoon. Once that's over and done with, I'll be taking the train back to Horse Junction at about twenty-five after eight, and should be in good time to catch the 9.52 from there. All going well, I'll be getting into Ponyville at about eleven. It's gonna be a pretty long day, I ain't gonna lie, but I think I can manage it – just about.

Entry 3710 and a bit

12:45pm

Sheesh, that was a tough journey. Got into Horse Junction okay, but you wouldn't believe what a faff it was getting my equipment onto the Rainbow Falls train. For starters, I had to drag it all the way over a footbridge to the other platform, and then I find there's not a lot of luggage space to put it, so I'm gonna have to carry some of it with me in the passenger compartment. I kinda got the stink-eye from one or two passengers as well, probably because I stole their seat or something stupid. Or maybe it's to do with me being a DJ or whatever. Stupid villagers!

The trek from station to centre wasn't much better either. I was kinda hoping that there would be a carter service that I could use for my DJ stuff, but no – I had to drag the whole lot across the village all by myself, and not so much as a kiddies' truck to carry it in either! I mean, yeah, I'll probably be okay once I've eaten, but it's a miracle I still have the energy even to crawl over to the nearest food outlet after all that, let alone play music. Still, no pain, no gain – for all it's worth!

I swear, sometimes I feel like the whole world's out to get me. First I emerge into the world to find I've got a pair of bossy stuck-up no-good morons for parents, then I have to quit school and run away from home because they hate me for being who I am, and when I get to where I wanna go, they don't take my music seriously until I finally get a gig through sheer dumb luck! And now I'm having to wear myself to the bone just so that a happy couple can have a good time! I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm like real happy for them and all, but I shouldn't have to practically murder myself trying to get from A to B just because I'm not allowed to take a cart with me. At this rate, I'm gonna be dead by the time I get to my front door.

If only Octavia could be here for me right now...

Perspective: Octavia

The remainder of the journey – or what little there was of it, with the benefit of hindsight – was somewhat less than bearable for me, to put it plainly. The general atmosphere among the group was tepid at best, and where the skies of my subconscious had been reassuringly clear towards the start of our voyage, a dark cloud now blocked most of the sunlight I needed to keep my spirits up. Beauty Brass never said anything, but even with the best will in the world, the discomfort she felt from learning of my feelings was as plain as the snout on her face.

Harpo, on the other hoof, didn't even try. How he found out about my leanings towards a disc jockey of all ponies, I shall probably never know – although I wouldn't be surprised if he had heard it from Beauty Brass. She has never been good at keeping secrets, after all. Whatever the circumstances, he remained coldly quiet for most of the day, and even Concerto seemed far more talkative than him by all accounts. As for Jet Set and Upper Crust, their opinion of me seemed to have dropped like a stone into a deep chasm. Whenever I crossed paths with them, which was far more frequent than I felt comfortable with, either they would stare upon me as if I were the wretched of the earth, or they would simply hold their noses up high as if they were of far greater importance even than the princesses. It made me feel sick to the stomach with shame, but also a little irritated with their inconsiderate attitudes.

It was at dinner that my bomb finally detonated. After all the hardships I had endured, I was hoping for a nice quiet meal to end an otherwise difficult day; but unfortunately, it wasn't to be. Harpo had descended into a bad mood, and was grumbling unceasingly about the play.

“I can't understand it,” he said petulantly. “I join this group for the good of the upper classes, and now I find that I'm to partake in some juvenile sing-along session in Manehattan.”

“Well, hang on, Harpo, let's be fair,” Frederick tried to reason. “We're only exploring new avenues, after all – and in our defence, you did agree to come along in the first place.”

But Harpo refused to be swayed. “I must have been out of my mind. Musicals indeed! Surely we as a group can do better than this theatrical abomination, can't we?”

By this time, I was growing rather weary of Harpo's antagonism, but I also knew that it wasn't the musical he was upset about. He was just being difficult because I had gotten closer to her than he thought I should have done, and was probably just trying to get his own back. “There's nothing abominable about musical performances, Harpo,” I told him sternly. “You're setting your standards far too high.”

“At least I actually have standards unlike certain other ponies I could mention,” replied Harpo belligerently. “I ask you, what kind of classical musician associates herself so closely with a raver?!”

“And one who's of her own gender, for that matter,” put in Beauty Brass with an uneasy frown. “I never had you pegged as a fillyfooler, Octavia.”

It may only have been a passing comment, but it still offended me so deeply that how I managed to avoid leaning over our table and clipping her around the ears is beyond me. “Well, be that as it may,” I stated firmly, “but that doesn't give you the right to insult me for it.”

“What? No, I didn't mean anything of the sort!” blustered Beauty Brass, trying desperately to backpedal a little. “I was only trying to say I...”

“Then don't,” I interrupted, perhaps a little more harshly than I should have done. “I've had to put up with your intolerance all day long, and I just want to be able to let it go and carry on with my life. Does that not seem fair to you?”

Beauty Brass nodded and returned to her meal without another word; but Harpo continued to make an exhibition of himself. “And I'll tell you another thing,” he went on, “whoever cooked this ratatouille has added far too many cashew nuts.”

As expected, this sparked off yet another argument between him and Beauty Brass. “You're just looking for something to complain about!” she admonished him crossly.

“Well, wouldn't you if your group leader had stooped to the level of the gutter?!” retorted Harpo defensively. “It's bad enough that I had to endure that hoodlum Linsey Woolsey, but now I find Octavia has a thing for her?”

My patience had already worn thin by then, and I had half a mind to take Harpo out of the dining car and have some severe words with him about his attitude – but there was worse to come. Only a few tables away, I could hear Jet Set and Upper Crust talking among each other in an obnoxious manner.

“You know,” Jet Set was saying, “if I'd known that a lowly fillyfooler was going to be taking part in this performance, I would never have opted for either of us to go to Manehattan in the first place.”

“Nor I,” agreed Upper Crust indignantly. “Imagine the leader of a prominent music group fooling about with ponies of her own sex. It's a perfect disgrace, make no mistake about that!”

“And with one of the noisiest and most uncouth natural disasters ever to set hoof in Equestria to boot! I've seen more than my fair share of sinful alliances and unnatural attractions, but this is absolutely improper!”

That was when the thin, frayed thread that represented my temper finally snapped. I could feel the blood pumping noisily through my ears, and both my front hooves were clenched tightly with fury until at last, without another moment's thought for anypony else in the carriage, I slammed said hooves on the table, stood up on my hind legs and screamed out loud, “And what's so proper about you windbags deriding ponies you don't even know personally?!” And without even bothering to wait for a reply, I forcefully pushed my plate aside and stormed out of the dining car back to my compartment.

Still trembling with anger and distress, I flung myself unceremoniously onto my bed and buried my face in the soft pillows as I finally broke down into uncontrollable sobbing fits, white-hot tears flowing thick and fast from my eyes. I felt violated, and by my own clientele no less. How dare they speak so horrendously of me after how long my group and I had been playing for them? They didn't even know what it was like to be so helplessly in love with somepony and not have your feelings returned, even though said pony was still alive and well – and all because of a cruel twist of fate. How I wished more than ever that she could still be with me at that very moment...

But who was I fooling, I thought bitterly? I had lost the pony most dear to my heart, we were never going to cross paths ever again, and I only had myself to blame. But then again, that was probably going a little hard on myself – no, if anything, it was more the fault of those uncaring parents of hers for treating her as if she were little more than a puppet. They had blasted a huge crater in both our lives, all for the selfish reason that they wanted to keep their business going, and it would surely take a miracle to repair the immeasurable bomb damage that I had incurred. Why, oh why did so many ponies in this cruel, miserable world have to be so heartless as to do this to their own foals? And how could I ever forgive those two for ruining our lives the way they did?

I must have been in that state for quite some time, because when I finally managed to compose myself, I discovered that the sun had almost completely receded below the horizon, creating a beautiful blaze of coppery orange streaks through the late evening sky. That was when I heard the door being gently opened and felt the presence of a further two ponies quietly slipping into my compartment, one of them sitting herself down next to my bed. I looked up dejectedly, but didn't say anything, even when I saw who said pony happened to be.

“Are you alright, Octavia?” whispered Symphony unto me, her eyes full of concern.

The only response I could manage was to hang my head with shame and sorrow, my eyes closed in an attempt to hold back any further tears. Clearly Symphony must have sensed the pain in my heart, because the next thing I knew, she was resting a gentle hoof on my shoulder as if to ease away the burden they were carrying.

“I'm sorry about what happened in the dining car earlier,” she said solemnly. “We never realised you and Linsey were so close.”

Her observation took me completely by surprise, and I could only stare in disbelief as she frowned sympathetically upon me. “How......how did you know?”

“Frederick told us everything after your outburst,” explained Concerto, breaking his usual laconic façade for what almost felt like one of the few times in his life. “He was more than a little cross with Jet Set and Upper Crust for bear-baiting you the way they did – after you left, he marched straight up to them and berated them for being so selfish as to defame you for your leanings alone.”

“You should have seen the look on his face when he was dealing with those two,” put in Symphony with a wry smile. “I don't think any of us have known Frederick to be so scathing. Never once did he let them get a word in edgeways, and it's lucky for all of us that Fancypants happened to be on the train too, especially when one takes into account how he stood up for you back there. He sends his apologies, by the way.”

But grateful though I was for Fancypants' fortuitous intervention and subsequent apology, it did little to rid me of the pain inflicted not just by those two aristocrats, but by members of my own ensemble to boot. “They had every right to judge me,” I lamented gloomily. “What kind of high-class musician would dare to retaliate against their own clientele in such an unbecoming manner?”

For one of the few times in her life, Symphony took on a mask of pure disdain. “Well, it wasn't as if they didn't deserve it in the first place,” she said feelingly. “True, each is entitled to one's own opinion, but when somepony openly calls another out on superficial details such as, er...your 'preferences', so to speak...that is wholly unacceptable. Your actions were perfectly justified in comparison with theirs, and I'd readily say that to Harpo's face if he ever durst speak out against you ever again.”

“As would I,” put in Concerto gravely. “His behaviour tonight has been nothing short of despicable – heaven knows Frederick has even been considering we part ways with him as soon as the tour is over. At least Beauty Brass had the sense to apologise for offending you so.”

That actually made me feel a little safer inside, knowing that Beauty Brass actually regretted what she had said of me, though it still left a solitary question mark smouldering quietly away in the embers of my melancholia. “I still don't understand, though – how is it that you two are standing up for me as if you know exactly what I'm going through right now?”

“Because we've actually been there – in a manner of speaking,” explained Symphony. A short pause ensued before she let loose an awkward chuckle and added, “Well, one of us has, anyway,” directing a knowing glance towards her brother, who unashamedly spoke up;

“Yes, and that somepony just so happens to be standing right where I am right now. You see...” He looked over his shoulder, cautiously scanning his surroundings for any unseen eyes that might be peering at us from behind every wall of the compartment. “...I actually have similar leanings to yours – as does Frederick, for that matter. You know how he and I had been best friends since high school?”

I acknowledged his rhetorical question with a simple nod, my curiosity piqued.

“Well, by the time we graduated and moved onto university, I had started seeing him in a different light. I couldn't understand what it was at first, but within the space of the first semester, I realised that I had a liking for stallions rather than mares, and Frederick was the stallion of my affections. I was rather afraid of telling him at first, for fear of what he would think of me; and believe you me, I lost an awful lot of sleep because of it. If not for Symphony, I'd still be at a loss as to how to address my feelings.”

“He had been pacing back and forth outside the dormitory one night, and ended up disturbing my sleep,” continued Symphony. “I went outside and asked him what was the matter, and he just let it all out in one fell swoop. It's a miracle he managed to keep his voice down low enough not to wake any of the others! Anyway, I managed to calm him down eventually, and after getting him to tell me again – clearly and slowly – I gave it to him straight and said that the only way he could get to grips with his feelings was to tell Frederick. If he didn't, I said to him, he would suffer the same fate as you did, and would likely never recover from it.”

Once again, I was thrown for a loop. Never in all my life had I known Concerto to be anything but calm; and yet the way Symphony told the story, it was as if he was in a real panic on the inside. He must have done an outstanding job of hiding it, I thought. “So...just let me clarify – you had been enamoured of Frederick since university?”

“Yes indeed,” affirmed Concerto without the slightest hesitation. “And more to the point, it turned out that he was in the same boat as I had been all along. He had been struggling with his feelings even before I realised mine, and was afraid that I wouldn't want to speak to him again if I found out. I can remember the day he and I owned up to our feelings for each other as clearly as if it were yesterday.”

“And how did he react?” I questioned.

“Well, truth be told, he was the one to make the first move,” answered Concerto. “It rather slipped out during lunch hour, so a lot of other students ended up overhearing my confession. Some of them started whispering behind our backs, and one even had the nerve to announce that ponies of my calibre should be restricted to our own colonies.” A small frown briefly crossed his face at the memory. “But that was when that strapping stallion from the year above us, the really popular one who played the ukulele, stood up and openly defended homosexual creatures all over the world. He revealed that he too was into stallions just like us, so if anypony had anything homophobic to say, then they would have him to answer to. I'll never forget that as long as I live. Frederick was still a little uneasy after that altercation, but we managed to work it out in the end.”

I was awestruck, to say the least. Frederick had always been extraordinarily supportive of the bond I shared with her, and now I knew why – and not only that, but in the space of those precious few minutes, I had gained a new respect for Concerto. “So you and Frederick have been dating for nearly seven years straight and...and you never told me?” I asked, still trying to assimilate his story.

“You never asked us,” Concerto clarified simply.

“Not that any of us can blame you,” added Symphony. “They were so subtle about it that even I didn't realise they were an item until three months before we earned our music qualifications. That said, I was probably too focussed on my studies to really take any notice.”

“That's alright, Symphony,” soothed Concerto, patting her shoulder. “At least you were there for me when I first realised my feelings. The important thing is, Octavia, we may not have been where you are now, but we still understand how difficult it must be for you. All I can say is, don't give up on her, no matter what your peers think. Keep believing, and someday you will see her again; and hopefully then will you be able to tell her exactly how you feel.”

The wisdom of his words soothed my aching heart, and despite it being dark outside, a thin shaft of light had begun to illuminate the void of my earlier sorrow. Concerto was right, I decided – she and I may have been but a pair of lone schooners, miles apart in the midst of a vast ocean, but as long as there was still a chance that both of us would put into the same port one day, I would continue to sail for as long as there was a breeze to guide me. “Thank you, Concerto,” I whispered. “I guess I needed that.”

“That's quite alright, Octavia.” Concerto wrapped an arm around my withers and drew me into a comforting embrace, which I heartily returned. “After all, what good is a friend who doesn't at least try to understand you? And don't you worry about the musical – by the time we're finished, even the most high-and-mighty members of our audience will be glad they came to hear you perform.”

I promised them both that I would never let my woes bar me from throwing my all into “Legend of the Night”; and after thanking them one more time for coming and talking to me, Symphony and Concerto tactfully left me to wind down for the night. Once they had exited the compartment, I gazed wistfully out of the window again, wondering where she must be and wishing that she could be there to see me perform in Manehattan that weekend.

In retrospect, it was probably just as well that she wasn't...

Chapter 4: Brief Encounter

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Perspective: Locomotion

The day of the accident started out very much like any other. Having risen from the realm of the subconscious, I spent the morning and most of the afternoon in school, just the same as all my other friends. While I was there, I caught up with them on what was going on in their lives and checked with them if they would be able to make my birthday party; most of them replied in the affirmative, but Lickety-Split couldn't because he and his parents were off to Baltimare that week, and Noi was scheduled to go visit her aunt and uncle too. But no matter – I still had plenty of guests on the list.

The only thing that really bothered me about that up and coming gig was how depressed Vinyl had seemed a few days previously. She and I had met up again after school the previous afternoon so we could finalise what tunes she would be playing, and she actually seemed pretty okay; but it didn't stop me worrying that something wasn't right in her world. That said, it was probably to do with being asked to DJ at some other gig at the last minute, and between going through music with me and picking out a suitable playlist for this other party – some kind of wedding reception, I think she said it was – she was probably a little stressed out. On the plus side, at least she seemed to take a reasonable interest in my line of work – even if it took her a while to get round all the technical details!

Anyway, there's not really much to say about my lessons that day, other than that I would have preferred the Age of Industry for my history class over the early years of Equestria. Diamond Tiara didn't seem too enthusiastic about it either – in fact, I could have sworn she'd brushed it off as boring – but at least I had the common sense to keep my opinions to myself, unlike that trumped-up excuse for an aristocrat!

As soon as school had finished, I headed straight back home, dropped off my saddlebag and grabbed a quick snack before heading out of the house again. But me being Equestrian National Railways' youngest employee and all, it's not simply to play a game of tag or whatever with my friends – nope, I was playing a completely different game, starting from the very moment I arrived on shed.

Ponyville MPD is only about ten minutes away from where I live, so I was there by ten minutes to four. As I was signing on, the Motive Power Superintendent, Max Pressure, came up to me and said, “Hullo, Loco! How are you, young fella?”

“I'm okay, thanks,” I replied. “How about you? Everything running smoothly here?”

“Yeah, pretty much. We did have a bit of a staffing problem when one of my fireponies called in sick yesterday, but at least he's on the mend now.”

“Oh, well that's something,” I remarked. To be honest, the news that one of Ponyville's resident engine-ponies was ill had me a little worried for a second there; without a suitable relief, the whole timetable could be affected by his absence. But that worry was quickly brushed aside as I remembered something else. “Oh yeah, that reminds me – how's the 'City of Cloudsdale' doing at the moment?”

“City of Cloudsdale”, I should point out, was away at Hoofington for overhaul at the time, so Uncle Steamer had been assigned to freight duties until she returned home. We had hoped that she would be back in time for my birthday, but with all the work that needed doing to her, I kinda feared that this wouldn't be the case.

“Still under repair, I'm afraid,” Max answered gravely, at which point I could only stare down at my hooves in disappointment. He then chuckled heartily and went on to say, “Don't worry, Loco – she'll still be able to make your birthday, and so will I.”

“Boy, am I glad to hear that,” I mused with a sigh of relief. But it wasn't just about “City of Cloudsdale”; since Max Pressure himself had talked the authorities into allowing me into the railways' employment on Uncle Steamer's behalf, he was perhaps one of the most important ponies in my whole life, so it was only natural that I should invite him to my party. “No way would my birthday be complete without you or my favourite engine around.”

“As if I'd have it any other way!” chortled Max. “You make plenty of time for cleaning duties, so it's only fair that we make time for you in return.”

“Fair point,” I agreed with a hearty grin. “Anyway, talking of cleaning; what's my first job?”

“Well, we've just had a visitor come in from Wyomane that needs to be readied for her return run. We've got Oily Rag and Steel Polish working on the old girl, but I thought I'd give my youngest employee a chance too. You up for it then?”

I looked back towards the running shed behind, and grinned broadly when I saw a massive 4-6-6-4 locomotive idling peacefully on the far right. “I love a Challenge-er!” That's the name of the class to which that engine belonged – Challenger.

“Okay then, Loco,” laughed Max, visibly amused, “I'll leave you to it. See you later, kiddo,” and he strode cheerfully back to his office while I went to make a start on the Challenger.

Cleaning an engine is no trip to the seaside, especially on something as big and heavy as a Challenger where you've got twice as much locomotive to work on; but I enjoy it nonetheless, and having something in Ponyville that you don't normally see this side of Canterlot made it all the more worthwhile. With three cleaners working on the same engine, we had the Challenger ready to head home within about two hours, by which time her crew had already returned to take her away. Both stallions were pretty impressed with how well a little colt like me had managed on such a gigantic machine as this, and after thanking us for tending to their engine, they backed her out of the shed and set off towards the goods yard to collect her next train.

After that, I went and did a few odd jobs around the depot for the next half-hour or so. Rural though Ponyville may be, there's always something to keep us busy at the depot even if we don't have anything to clean, be it shovelling on the coaling stage, tapping an engine's wheels and rods with a hammer to check for faults, or just checking the trackwork around the site. I brought out a wheelbarrow full of hammers, jacks, pick-axes and other tools for some “platelayers”, as we call them in the trade, returned with a few life-expired bolts and spikes from the siding they were repairing, helped another driver oil round his engine, and then I went to go grab a bite to eat in the depot canteen.

Once I had eaten, I returned to the shed and helped Oily Rag prepare No. 2509 “City of Coltenburg” for a late-night passenger turn. The long-distance trains, both freight and passenger, often stop here in Ponyville to change engines, so we have to maintain a decent stock of locomotives to cover all traffic requirements, including at least four express engines. “City of Cloudsdale” is just one of them, but others on Ponyville MPD's books at the time were “City of Coltenburg”, No. 2549 “City of Las Pegasus”, No. 2527 “City of Neigh Orleans” and two of the older Castle Class; No. 2405 “Ponyville Castle”, and No. 2412 “Trottingham Castle”.

Tonight, the prestigious Bridleway Limited would be stopping here on its way to Manehattan. It was “Coltenburg's” turn to pull the train, so Oily and I had to have her spic and span by around 10pm. Even though there were only two of us this time round, we managed to get her in pristine condition after just two and a quarter hours, after which Oily went to sign himself off before heading down to the nearby tavern. I, meanwhile, went outside to see if Uncle Steamer had returned yet; in “City of Cloudsdale's” absence, he had been placed in charge of Mustang Class 2-10-0 No. 729. A bit incongruous for a top-link driver, if you ask me, but at least it kept him busy.

Uncle Steamer had been working a mixed goods train back to Ponyville from Fort Maine that day, and as luck would have it, was just bringing the 729 back onto shed as I came out. He brought the engine to a halt just across the depot from the sheds and waved cheerfully in my direction, whereupon I trotted over to him.

“Hullo, Uncle Steamer,” I called as I reached his cab. “How was your journey?”

“Not bad, I guess,” he says. “Yourself?”

“Yeah, I'm good. Just finished getting the 'City of Coltenburg' ready – and you won't believe what came into our yard earlier today!” I replied eagerly.

Uncle Steamer chuckled as he got down from the footplate. “Surprise me,” he challenged casually.

So while Uncle Steamer starts oiling round, I'm standing there and telling him about this engine that came here from the other side of the country – and I tell you what, he was really amazed when I mentioned that it was a Challenger. I didn't quite get his full response, however, because at that moment, Max came across the depot and stopped next to the 729 with a serious look on his face.

“I've just had a call from San Fratello regarding the No. 651 Block Coal,” he told us. “One of the engines at the head of the train has failed, and we need the 729 to bank her up the grade as far as Buckskin Head.”

Uncle Steamer seemed uncertain. “Well, I don't mind working a few hours overtime,” he replied doubtfully, “but I don't know if Promontory can cope after an eight-hour shift on a mixed freight run.”

Promontory, I should point out, is Uncle Steamer's regular firepony, and with “City of Cloudsdale” out of commission, he too had been having to make do with the lesser runs until the old girl could be brought home again. But firing a heavy freight engine, oddly enough, takes a heck of a lot of effort compared with an express loco, so I was hardly surprised when I looked into the cab and saw him wearily mopping sweat from his brow.

“I'm aware of that,” replied Max gravely, “but yours is the only engine available at such short notice, and we must clear the road for the Bridleway Limited. You'll just have to make do with your nephew as a backup.”

“Why Loco?” objected Uncle Steamer. “There's no way he'd be able to fling in the same amount of coal that Promontory can – he's only a colt after all.” He then gives me an apologetic look and says, “No offence.”

“None taken,” I replied reasonably, “but in fairness, Uncle Steamer, I am a unicorn, and I do know simple levitation spells. All we need is for me to hold the shovel aloft with my magic, and then Promontory can fling in the coal as he sees fit.”

Max nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds like a plan,” he mused. “You're sure you'll be able to manage, Loco?”

“I'll do my best, sir,” I promised.

“Good,” said Max. “That settles it. You'd better get a move on then; that coal train should be arriving in less than twenty minutes.”

None of us had any intention on dawdling, of course, so as soon as the Super' was done talking, we scrambled back into the cab and set to work preparing for our impromptu banking turn. Within only a quarter of an hour, the engine had been turned, the brasses oiled and the tender replenished, and we crossed over to the goods yard just as the coal train entered the reception sidings at around 9:07pm.

The No. 651 Block Coal is one of the heaviest freight workings on this part of the network, and generally requires three engines to bring it across the Buckskin Mountain section between Ponyville and the town of Delamare, which takes the main line to an elevation of 7,015 hooves above sea level at Winsome Peak Summit. Today, only two were actually on the train, both of them Mustangs from Trottingham MPD. We paused for a few minutes while Max briefed us and the crews of the leading engines on what we would be doing, and once he was finished, Uncle Steamer brought the 729 round to the back of the train. Then, with me guiding him, he gently buffered her up behind the brake van and waited while I returned to the cab.

“It's going to be a pretty long shift, Loco – and a tough one too,” he said as I clambered aboard. “I hope you're feeling up to it.”

“You can rely on me, Uncle Steamer,” I replied emphatically.

Uncle Steamer chuckled and ruffled my mane affectionately. “That's my boy,” he cajoled.

At that very same moment, we heard the deep, throaty blast of the leading engines' whistles. Uncle Steamer replied with his own, and slowly but surely, the coal train, with our engine pushing behind, steamed determinedly out of the yard, over the points and onto the open line.

Perspective: Vinyl

Entry 3710 and a bit more

9:56pm

Boy, what a day this has been. The wedding guests and the happy couple like really enjoyed themselves at that party, and the bride was kinda gushing over how much she loved my music and this, that and the other, which was like real cool, man – but there was just so much about that reception that kinda made me think. Mostly about what things might have been like if me and Tavi had stayed together and stuff. I mean, yeah, if I stayed with her, my cruddy parents would have really gotten under my skin, but at least I'd still have somepony around who I really love. Those two ponies what just got married are real lucky that way.

I didn't even bother stopping for dinner because there was more than enough party food for them to offer me a plate before I went home, which was nice of them. Just as well, seeing as I've got so much stuff to carry back to my pad – and nopony to say “Welcome home, Vinyl” as soon as I walk in through the door. Why does my life have to be so lonely?

Anyway, just a quick update on how things are going – got to Rainbow Falls Station okay, and they actually had a luggage compartment this time, so that was good. But as soon as we were about halfway, we had to slow down for a cow on the line, and we got in around ten minutes late, which is a little rotten, but I still had well over half an hour to wait for the Ponyville train, so that was okay. Had a bit of an accident with my equipment, though, because my saddlebag opened up by itself just as I was getting off, and the train staff had to go ducking under the coaches so they could get my records back. I sure as hay hope they ain't damaged.

So yeah, I'm on my way home now, and I tell you what, I am well exhausted. I'm gonna need a serious lie-in tomorrow at this rate.

Perspective: Octavia

If I had been hoping for an easy night after all that had happened in the dining car that evening, I was to be sorely disappointed; for while I was reassured that there was still a chance that she might yet return to my life, she was still plaguing my thoughts after I had turned in. I didn't want to disturb any of the others since they were probably sound asleep by then, so I decided instead to take a promenade to the observation car and back in the hope of clearing my head.

All was quiet out in the corridor, save for the metallic hum and the hypnotic rhythm of the wheels over the rail joints. Occasionally the locomotive would add to the composition with a regal wail of its whistle, indicating that we were approaching a crossing, a station or a tunnel, and the sight of the dimly lit countryside dancing past the windows seemed to add to the peaceful, gentile atmosphere. I may not have been much of a train fanatic, but even I will readily admit that the mere sight of one racing through pastures green and prairies golden has a certain romance all to itself.

But even the romance of a train journey can be disturbed sometimes, when a yellow signal light or the final approach to a station slows the shooting star until it becomes a mere drifting cloud. It was just as I had reached the last coach before the observation car that I felt our pace beginning to slacken, and looking out of the window, I noted a sprawl of sheds and additional tracks on either side of the train. Beyond these lay a cluster of endearingly rustic residential buildings of various shapes and sizes, with a tall oak tree just visible over the rooftops. It looked very much like something I had seen in one of my travel brochures once; but I couldn't quite place my hoof on where.

The train came to a complete stop as I entered the observation lounge, and I looked out of the window again to ascertain our location. The station wasn't all that well illuminated (quite naturally, I thought to myself, for there would hardly be any passengers awaiting their train at this time of night), but I could just make out the name of the station as Ponyville Central. I allowed myself a small smile at the realisation that we had broken our journey in the very home-town of the Guardians of Harmony, and for a while, I couldn't help but wonder how my dear cousin was keeping herself. Not often did I get the chance to meet up with her, and never once had I actually visited this town. Perhaps it might be an idea if, at some point, I could actually arrange a little sojourn to Ponyville and see for myself what life was like for Pinkie Pie and her friends. If only I could have known just how soon that would be.

I was still feeling a little restless at that time, so after gazing upon this beautiful, bucolic backwater for a few minutes, I turned and headed back towards the front of the train. The onboard catering staff were busily loading extra provisions aboard the service car as I passed through, and to the right of the train, I could see the engine backing briskly towards its shed, presumably for some well-earned rest. If only sleep could come to me as easily as to a locomotive, I thought unhappily, for I was still no wearier now than when I had turned in. Oh well, perhaps some light refreshment in the bar coach would help. I would have to give my teeth another good clean afterwards, but if it helped me sleep, then so be it.

The minutes ticked slowly by as I sat solemnly in the lounge, gently sipping away at a sweet Martini. Another engine came clanking past, and I could see from the headboard that this was the one which would be conveying us on the next stage of our journey to Manehattan. It was almost identical to the other engine, and I also noticed that both were named after Equestrian cities; the first one was named after Fillydelphia, and this one bore the name “City of Coltenburg”. Quite an interesting theme, I mused.

After around half an hour of waiting, another train pulled into the other platform. It was little more than a slow passenger train, so I paid it little mind at first, opting instead to obtain another Martini – but shortly after I returned to my seat, the most extraordinary thing happened. The other train had only just left, and at this point, I couldn't help but gaze curiously around at my surroundings. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw...her. That stunning white unicorn with her amazingly unkempt mane and magenta eyes, and those trademark shades of hers perched over her forehead – nothing like the Linsey Woolsey I used to know, but still far more beautiful than I could ever have bargained for. She was working frantically and hastily to gather her belongings together, and for a fleeting moment, I was sorely tempted to pursue her, just so that I might at least verify that this was the same pony. But my entire person seemed to lock solid at the mere sight of her, and by the time I managed to encourage myself to move, the train was already drawing out of the station, and I could only watch in dismay as the shutter slowly descended over my window of opportunity.

Not that it really mattered, I tried in vain to console myself, for I had nothing to gain from breaking my journey so abruptly. She was probably far too famous to even notice me by now, and I couldn't afford to let the Bridleway Company down at any rate, even at my own expense – they were surely onto a winner with their new musical, and as they say in theatrical circles, the show must go on. It was just a pity Harpo couldn't respect that; but then Harpo was but a lone, unheard voice among a far greater demographic, and his opinion of the theatre was of little consequence to the broader social interest.

As the town faded away into countryside once again, I found myself staring wistfully up at the moon, watching it drift serenely above the quiet, darkened land with countless stars twinkling softly all around it. I broke out into a solemn refrain, softly reflecting on the calmness and lack of stress in all the millennia of its existence, and how I wished my own life could be that little bit easier. Yes, I had finally seen her in person after ten long years, but only very briefly, and there would be little hope of being able to talk to her even if she did remember me. Was this how my life was meant to be? Was I truly destined to drift through an endless sea of sorrow and regret, my log book riddled with laments about what might have been?

Perspective: Vinyl

Entry OMG I think I'm going crazy!

Something o'clock at night

No way! This can't be happening! I seriously did not see what I thought I saw about twenty minutes ago or whatever! It's all just a crazy dream! It must be!

Got into Ponyville at about eleven at night, got off the train, got my stuff out of the break coach thingy, train pulled out while I was sorting it all out, and when I looked up, there was this other train waiting right the other side of the station – and that's when I saw this grey mare sitting in like the bar coach! It can't possibly be Tavi! There's no way it could be her! I mean, yeah, she looked like Tavi in like every single detail, but no way could that have been her sitting in that train! I must be losing my mind or something! Somepony wake me up! I can't take too much more of this!

Why is it that everything around me seems to remind me of her now?! And why are those flipping parents of mine creeping into my thoughts as well?! Can't they just get the hell outta my head and leave me alone! I need sleep!

Ugh, this is useless! I need to go grab myself a few beers!

[The following text consists of crossed out drunken ramblings. The publishers have attempted to interpret these to the best of their abilities, but cannot guarantee an accurate transcription]

Tavi, babe, you bring much wubs to my cute little liver and I can't ask for a better pony than you to be my special somepony who fills my brain. Those weirdos what born me into this thingy can go destroy themselves if they think I'm gonna go make cloth for their posh friends, so take that, you stuffed toys! You want carpet, Crazy Diego got carpet! I got nothing, no friends, no family, just some wonderful sick beats and a cosy little apartment with all the wubs that a wonderful mare with a pink note thingy can come over and play the violin thing with me all night long. I'm a lonely little lady and I hate you so much for shoving my life down the storm gutter.

You wanna know something, diary? I'm such a cuddly little imbecile that I could just swallow a whole doughnut served with chips. If I'd known you was gonna come to life, I would have brought some bread along, and we could have had some soldiers, and that pink elephant can go stuff himself up the chimney if he don't like it. Dunno where I put my trousers, because somepony just burped in my face with a cannon, and now I got some shiny sharp stuff on the floor. Thank you so much for speaking random, little breezies, you are so tasty I could just hug your pollen and not even bother go to school because I am so weird. Anyways, you want the sweet shop, you better go find the lolly first, or you're not gonna be awesome enough to say hi to a sparrow. You make me feel so love~[long pen mark, presumably the result of Vinyl passing out]

Perspective: Locomotion

The job of boosting those two engines and their coal trucks up the gradient definitely wasn't an easy one, that much was obvious before I even thought about volunteering for such a job at short notice. At a total distance of around 50 miles with a ruling gradient of 1 in 85 for most of the way, the climb from Ponyville to Buckskin Head, 6,902 hooves up, is one of the most difficult sections of main line in Equestria, so even the most capable engines find it rather taxing, especially with heavy loads. Throughout the journey, I kept an eye on the coal train and the line ahead from the right-hoof side of the cab, using my magic to help Promontory keep his shovel aloft at the same time while he transferred the coal from tender to firebox.

But even the use of magic to assist with shovelling can be pretty hard work, and by the time we reach Horseshoe Curve, about 55 miles out from Ponyville, I'm so tired I can hardly concentrate. Fortunately, we're approaching the head of the climb by this point, so it's not long before the gradient starts to ease off.

“That's it,” said Uncle Steamer, easing back the regulator. “We're nearly over the top now.”

“Aw, good,” I panted, leaning heavily against the cabside. I was exhausted by this time; that firing turn had really knocked me for six, and not only was I short of breath, but my fur was absolutely matted with sweat. All the same, I was more than satisfied with my own efforts, especially when I heard the two engines upfront whistling their thanks. As the coal train's tail lights receded into the darkness, I nodded modestly with a quiet reply of “You're welcome,” and then sat back as we coasted effortlessly along behind them.

Chapter 5: Mixed Signals

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Perspective: Locomotion

The 729 paused at Windy Vale for a few minutes to allow the coal train to clear the following section, and as soon as we were given a “green eye”, as we railway ponies call it, Uncle Steamer drove her onwards until we reached Horse Junction, 57 miles away from Ponyville by rail. Horse Junction is perhaps the loneliest part of the whole route, but quite a busy station nonetheless; the Rainbow Falls branch line starts here, and there is also a turntable for the use of banking and pilot engines from either side of the mountains. Because of its somewhat exposed location, the turntable is surrounded by a wall of sleepers to prevent a repeat of a rather bizarre mishap almost a century ago, when the fierce winds blew it out of control and sent an engine spinning.

We arrived at Horse Junction about quarter to eleven, well over one and a half hours after leaving Ponyville. Two other engines had already arrived from the opposite direction, a Centaur Class 2-8-2 and another Mustang, and while the latter was being turned, the former was simmering quietly by the branch-line platform. As soon as we had come to a halt on the lay-by loop, Promontory got down from the cab and went to speak with the signalpony about how long we would be up here. While he was gone, Uncle Steamer turned round and congratulated me on a job well done.

“Monty and I might not have made it up the grade if it hadn't been for you,” he told me. “I owe you big time for this.”

“Thanks, Uncle Steamer,” I replied, still a little weary. “I tell you what, though, I could really do with a day off after all that.”

“I'll bet,” mused my uncle. “Never mind; as soon as we get back to Ponyville, you'll be able to get a good night's rest and maybe a lie-in tomorrow morning.”

I smiled weakly in response as I mopped some of the sweat from my face, and the two of us sat back to await Promontory's return. It was a cool, quiet evening, and the gentle simmering sound of the 729 seemed rather calming – almost hypnotic, even. I gazed laxly out of the cab window, half-closing my eyes as I enjoyed the stillness.

“Whose engines are those just being turned?” I asked after a few seconds. I knew it was of little consequence, but I was just curious is all.

Uncle Steamer paused, also taking a peek out of the cab. “That'd be Nos. 669 and 1074 of Delamare Sheds,” he explained at last. “They must have been working similar turns to our own.”

That, I thought, would make perfect sense; springtime traffic requirements meant heavy loads on most of the goods trains, so naturally more engines would be needed to help them over the heavier gradients, including those on both sides of the junction. This in turn meant that Switcher, the signalpony on duty that night, would have a lot more light engine movements than usual to deal with.

Switcher, whom Uncle Steamer and I know personally, is a competent and dedicated worker, but not the sort who's used to working night shifts. The only reason he was working the box that night was because the one who usually worked the 10pm to 6am shift was on vacation for a week, and there was nopony else to take over in his absence.

Promontory soon returned from the signalbox, and told us that Switcher was just crossing the Mustang, No. 669, back to the branch-line platform and would attend to us as soon as the Centaur, No. 1074, had been turned. Since we were to be held in the loop for a further quarter of an hour, I decided to head over to the station and phone home to tell my parents where I was. I wasn't all that long at the station building; once I had explained to Dad about my emergency firing turn, he just said “Okay, I'll see you when you get back” and promised me an easy day afterwards, and then I went straight back to the 729, where Uncle Steamer and Promontory had fried some eggs, hay bacon strips and hash browns for the three of us.

After letting a semi-fast passenger train through, the 1074 crossed over to the turntable and was turned around to face the direction of Delamare. That done, it returned to the branch-line road to rejoin the 669, and the two engines paused while an eastbound goods train stopped to drop off some wagons. This left the station less than a quarter of an hour later, and as soon as a westbound goods had passed through the station, the the two Delamare engines moved out onto the Down line and up to the “advance starter” (the final signal before entering a specific section of track) to wait for the eastbound train to clear the road ahead. Shortly afterwards, we too were cleared to cross over to the turntable road.

Perspective: Octavia

The encounter at the station left me even less able to sleep than before, and I spent another quarter of an hour sitting glumly in my compartment, having given sleep up altogether. In the end, I couldn't take any further torment – I had to clear my head somehow, and the only way I could, I realised, was through the one thing I had been putting off for fear of reprisal by the railway company. Furtively checking that nopony else was in the corridor, I quietly picked my way to the luggage van, right at the front of the train, and began searching the racks for the one possession that meant anywhere near as much to me as she did. I could only hope I wouldn't disturb the other passengers with what I was about to do...

“Can I help you, ma'am?” asked a voice. Taken unawares, I spun round and saw the guard standing right behind me with a perplexed look on his face.

I suddenly felt rather awkward. “Terribly sorry, sir,” I stammered, trying to explain myself. “You see...I was wondering if...could you possibly tell me where I might find my cello?”

The guard paused for a moment, and then smiled kindly. “Play the cello, do you?” he said. “Why, did you feel like playing something?” I merely nodded in reply, endeavouring to apologise most profusely for the intrusion; but before I could, he added, “Well, ma'am, you're most welcome to play it in here. I'm quite partial to a bit of cello music myself,” and he guided me to the shelf where all my belongings were stowed away. I was most grateful for his patience and assistance, and even happier when I withdrew my prized cello from its case. Hello, old friend, I thought blissfully as I began playing a gentle, heartfelt solo sonata which I had intended as my own special serenade for her, but sadly never completed before she departed Canterlot.

The musical number in question, which I call “Opera con Amore” despite it being a sonata, has never been played in public for the sole reason that I wanted it to remain ours and ours alone, even if we never met again. It was meant to consist of three movements – the first, lasting six minutes in total, was a retelling of how we first met, how our relationship built up, and how I had cherished her mere presence; whilst the second, a shade less than eight minutes long, reflected on all the hardships she had faced. I could never find the motivation to write the final movement after she left, and while I eventually rewrote the second one to express my hope that I would be reunited with her for all time, the overall composition was but a shadow of its former self, and one that brought solemn tears to my eyes whenever I played it.

But at the same time, it brought a small, sad smile to my face. She was such a wonderful young mare, nothing like the musicians with whom I work, and I was lucky to have met her at all, no matter how briefly. By the time I brought the music to its de facto climax, the therapeutic effect of the cello was starting to soothe and lull me into a state of relaxation, and the guard was clearly enjoying the sound of my cello, so I continued my performance with a recital of one of Bach's finest works. This in itself lasted a good quarter of an hour, all without the slightest hint of disturbance to the other passengers; and by the time this too had finished, I finally felt like I would be able enjoy the nice, peaceful, plentiful, undisturbed slumber that I sorely needed. Since the guard was busy writing what I believed to be a report of some kind, I decided that it would be inappropriate to thank him at his busiest, and instead I quietly packed my cello away, returned it to the shelf among all my other luggage and took my leave.

Perspective: Locomotion

Once the 729 had been turned, we drew off the turntable and waited for Switcher to pull the signal “off” for our return journey. Another westbound goods train had already been signalled through, so we were kept here for a further half-hour until both trains had cleared the section. As we stood behind the signal, I gazed patiently upon the two Delamare engines waiting behind the advance starter, hoping to catch them setting off for Delamare MPD.

But they didn't – the signal remained at “danger”, and the 669 and 1074 stayed firmly put. After about a quarter of an hour, I began to worry; those two had been standing there for well over twenty minutes, yet nopony from either engine had gone back to the box in accordance with Rule 55.

“Something on your mind, Loco?” I snapped out of my reverie and saw Uncle Steamer looking upon me with an expression of concern.

“Those light engines,” I explained, a little uneasily. “They've been standing at the advance starter for nearly twenty-five minutes now, and I still haven't seen anypony go back and alert Switcher.”

Uncle Steamer blinked, and looked out towards the other engines. “Yeah, that is pretty odd,” he agreed; but before he could say anything else, we heard a dull clunk, and the next thing we knew, the signal had risen to the “all clear” position. The two engines each gave a barely audible toot on their whistles, steam hissing from their drain-cocks as they set off for their home sheds. Uncle Steamer promptly let his guard down with a small smile; “Ah well, at least they're off home now,” he mused.

I nodded in reply, but somehow I still had a bad feeling that those two engines were headed for disaster. Only when they were halfway over the Horse Gill Viaduct, immediately to the east of the station, did I notice something even more disturbing.

“Hang on a moment,” I exclaimed, “shouldn't that signal have returned to danger by now?”

“What's up, Loco?” Promontory crossed the cab with a confused look on his face.

“You know those two light engines that had arrived here before us?” I said anxiously. Promontory nodded his affirmation. “Well, they've been signalled off, but the advance starter is still at clear.”

Raising a perplexed eyebrow, Promontory leaned out of the cab. “Good grief, you're right, Loco!” he remarked. “Same with all the other Down signals, for that matter! What the hay does Switcher think he's up to?”

“I dunno, Monty,” said Uncle Steamer, “but he can't have just pulled them off and left them unless another train was due.”

That was when alarm bells starting ringing inside my head with ever-increasing volume. What if there really was another train coming? What if Switcher had accidentally sent it straight into a trap with the two light engines as the bait? A distant whistle, long, deep and powerful, confirmed my worst fears, and with what I suspect might have come across as a pale expression of dread, I glanced back at Uncle Steamer.

“What is it?” he asked.

I found it difficult to say anything I was so trepid, but I still managed to get something out nonetheless. “How long will it take those two engines to clear Hock Hill Tunnel?” I stammered.

Uncle Steamer paused. “All the time in the world, I'd say. Why do you ask?”

I didn't say anything, but simply cocked my head towards the direction of the whistle. We couldn't see much, but there was a thick plume of smoke and steam rapidly approaching the station.

Promontory goggled in horror. “It's the Limited!” he blurted out.

And it was. The mighty City Class engine that I'd been helping to prepare only four or five hours previously was pounding her way across the vast Buckskin Mountain countryside, and behind her were the eleven coaches that made up the Bridleway Limited that night. All three of us watched the train with growing tension, praying to Celestia that Switcher would realise his mistake and reset his signals to danger – but it didn't happen. The express came closer and closer, and still the signals remained in the “off” position.

“Something's not right,” I said grimly as the train approached the Down distant. “Wait here, guys, I'm gonna go to the signalbox – try and work out what Switcher's up to.”

“Okay, but see if you can stop the train by hoof signal first,” instructed Uncle Steamer as I started to descend from the cab. Deep down, I wasn't sure that anypony on the footplate would take me seriously even if I did try to warn them, but I nodded obediently and ran towards the main line with my front hooves raised high, yelling for them to stop.

As chance would have it, the driver, John Bull, was leaning out of the cab to get a better view of the signals; but just as I feared, when I tried to intervene with my own, he didn't seem to realise that it was meant as a warning. He just waved cheerfully at me, and the next thing I knew, the throaty bark of “City of Coltenburg's” exhaust became louder and more vigorous as he opened up the taps for the short climb to Winsome Peak Summit, seven miles away to the east of the junction. All I could do was watch helplessly as it passed the advance starter and rumbled over the viaduct towards Hock Hill Tunnel and the unsuspecting light engines.

Realising that a collision was now all but inevitable, I turned and did what I knew I should have done in the first place – I went to the signalbox to warn Switcher of the danger. As I approached, I saw that he was in the process of signalling to the next box along that the train had entered the section, and was about to reset his signals as per the standard procedure. Fat lot of good that'd do now, I'm thinking to myself as I enter the box – if he'd only known to do so before the Limited passed through, then we wouldn't be in this mess!

Just as I'm about to speak up, though, Switcher stops what he's doing and turns to face me. “Hullo,” he says. “Sorry I had to keep you waiting for so long; I was told to give those two extras priority over all other trains. The road should be clear for you and your uncle to return home with the 729 by now.”

“Never mind the 729,” I blurted out, trying my best not to lose my cool, “do you realise what you've just done with those two light engines that were supposed to be headed for Delamare?”

Switcher gave me this odd look as if I'd just asked him the most obvious question imaginable. “They'd already left for Delamare half an hour ago,” he replied, clearly confused.

“No they hadn't!” I retorted indignantly. “Those two engines were still waiting for a green eye after twenty-five minutes. They didn't move off until you lifted the boards for the Bridleway Limited, which, by the way, is now headed straight for them.”

Somehow, I got the suspicion that Switcher thought I was having a joke with him, because he just scoffed in reply, muttered something like “Youth of the day” and turned to his log book. “Look, they're already well on their way back to Delamare,” he insisted, showing me the relevant page. “There's the entry that says so.”

But when I looked into the book, I couldn't see anything about the two engines leaving. I kept shooting incredulous glances between Switcher and the book, wondering if perhaps I'd missed something – but all the signs were there. Eventually, I fixed upon Switcher, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “What entry?” I asked dubiously.

Switcher turned the book around, apparently so that he could find the entry he was talking about. “The one that says they've left the...oh,” he said, cutting himself off in mid-sentence.

“The latest entry I can see that relates to those two engines is the one where they crossed over to the main line,” I explained bluntly. “There's absolutely nothing in there about them leaving the station.”

An awkward silence followed for a few seconds. It was Switcher who eventually broke it; “I think I'd better call up Winsome Peak and see where they are,” he replied, and turned to his telephone.

“Yes, I think maybe you should,” I agreed firmly. “For all we know, those two engines could be sitting ducks by now.”

“I'm sure they're fine,” muttered Switcher; but even I can tell by the tone of his voice that my warning has sown a seed of doubt in his mind. He certainly wouldn't have gone ahead with calling up Winsome Peak Signalbox if it hadn't. “Hullo, Semaphore? Where are those two light engines I sent on?”

Through the speaker on his phone, I can just about make out the reply from the Winsome Peak signalpony as being, “What are you talking about? You haven't given me any.”

A look of consternation then spreads its way across Switcher's face, and he promptly adds, “Has the Bridleway passed through yet?”

“No sign of it just yet,” replied Semaphore.

That was probably the moment when Switcher realised what he had gotten himself into. He set the receiver down on the desk and stared at me, a look of horror stamped on his face.

“I told you,” I said in a fearful yet slightly reproving tone.

Predictably, though, Switcher refused to believe that there was no saving the Limited, and instead stared anxiously out of the window. “There's still time,” he nervously tried to convince himself. “Surely they can still clear the section before the express catches them.”

“Not from where I'm standing they won't,” I murmured. In my mind, I could already picture what was happening, almost as if I was there to see the whole thing for myself; the screeching of brakes, the frantic puffing sound of the two light engines desperately trying to escape the massive top-link predator racing towards them, the terrified shrill of the whistles...louder...louder...closer...closer......

Perspective: Octavia

As I left the luggage van, I paused to look out of the window again, taking in the sight of the vast mountain scenery through which we were now travelling. The wild, barren peaks towered above the train, and in the distance, one could just make out the most majestic rainbow waterfall spilling out of a cloud and down towards the tallest of these mountains. It was little wonder that both of these had earned the name of Winsome.

We were passing through another station at this point; I could tell by the dim display of lights dancing past the train like a swarm of fireflies, and judging by the powerful staccato of the locomotive, we were shortly to surmount an uphill gradient beyond. I was just about to head back to my compartment when, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something unusual – running alongside the train was a red unicorn colt of around eight or nine years of age. He was dressed in the same uniform as most of the engine drivers I'd seen in my time, and appeared to be shouting frantically, though what he was saying I couldn't hear over the rumble of the carriage wheels. I could only stare in confusion, wondering what he was trying to tell us, or why the railways would even let somepony so young work among their ranks in the first place. Surely a railway was not the sort of environment you could call foal-friendly...was it? And wasn't there legislation against this sort of cheap labour?

Then again, I decided at last, there was probably a logical explanation for what I had seen just then. He was probably just playing around in the yard, pretending to be a railway worker, in which case he would probably be in serious trouble with his parents when they found out. That said, it would hardly account for why the driver of the other engine didn't come running over to pull him away from the track, or how he had managed to obtain such an accurate reproduction of a driver's outfit. The ones I usually saw at foals' fancy dress parties were far too whimsical to resemble an authentic cap and cravat. In the end, I dismissed it as none of my business and promptly moved on.

Within another minute or so, the rumble of the train, the barking sound of the engine and the clicking of the rail joints increased in volume as we entered a tunnel, the vast scenery briefly giving way to bricks and rock. Loud though it was, it seemed to lull me even further towards my forty winks, and I decided that now was the time to retire to my snug, warm bed. I stood up gingerly and was just about to make my way down the corridor when I heard the locomotive whistle again, this time a lot more urgently. I thought nothing of it, however – it was probably just for another level crossing. The first I knew of anything wrong was a sharp jolt beneath my hooves, and the cacophonous screeching wail of a banshee as the brakes came hard on.

Suddenly wide awake and on the alert, I remained stock still for a brief moment, wondering what was happening. A second jolt, a much louder screech and the renewed bellow of the engine's exhaust were all it took for me to realise the full gravity of the situation – the train was headed for disaster! This sent me into a panic, and my first reaction was to find the nearest window and see whether it was a rockfall, a monster attack, a stranded train...or even sabotage. I bolted back to my compartment, praying to Celestia that the rest of the group and I would come out of it alive – but just as I was crossing the doorway's threshold, the deafening sound of thunder rang out in my ears as the train lurched violently, and I was flung right off my hooves. My head hit the wall with an agonising thud, and before I could even begin to react, the train lurched again, and I keeled over onto my front left leg with a sickening crack. The last thing I remembered as I was overcome by the excruciating pain was the clanging and screeching of metal, the screams of alarmed passengers and the raucous hiss of escaping steam as the train finally came to rest...

Perspective: Locomotion

At last, I heard a rumble in the distance, as if a high-explosive bomb had just gone off. “That'll be it now,” I muttered fearfully.

Switcher was so alarmed by this that he sounded dangerously close to hysteria as he picked up the phone again. “Semaphore,” he wailed, “has anything arrived yet? Please say there has!”

But once again, the reply was far from what he wanted to hear. “Nothing through yet – wait...I think I heard something just now. Sounds like something's gone into the ditch about a mile or so to the west of my box.”

Almost catatonic with guilt and despair, Switcher slowly hung the telephone back onto its holder and turned to face me once again. He didn't say anything at first, but his expression spoke volumes to me – the very instant Semaphore had finished speaking, he had clearly realised, just as much as I had, that it was all over. The silence that hung over the two of us was almost deafening.

“Well?” I prompted at last. Even though I had been the one to speak first, it still staggers me to think how startled I was at the sound of my own voice just then.

Somehow, Switcher barely seemed able to speak, and even though he did manage to reply, I could almost see his trepidation as if it were a real-life object, something you could touch with your own two front hooves. If indeed you could, I swear to Celestia that it would have felt cold and painful. “Loco,” he asked me in a low, quiet, slightly strained voice, as if he was trying to fight back tears, “will you go to the stationmaster and tell him......I'm afraid I've wrecked the Bridleway Limited?”

I didn't reply – I just legged it out of the signalbox and galloped at full tilt towards the stationmaster's house, hoping to goodness that nopony had been hurt...

Chapter 6: Sifting Through The Wreckage

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Perspective: Locomotion

It was almost midnight when I reached the stationmaster's house, and I knew he would most likely be in bed by then. All the same, I had to alert him to the disaster no matter what it took, so as soon as I reached his front door, I started banging on it as hard as I could and yelling for him to wake up, trying my hardest to grab his attention.

Eventually, I heard a muffled groan from somewhere within the house, and an upstairs window slid open.

“Who's there?” asked a somewhat groggy voice.

“It's me – Locomotion,” I called. Again, the stationmaster was a stallion with whom Uncle Steamer and I were acquainted, though to a lesser extent than Switcher. “We've got an emergency between here and Winsome Peak.”

The stationmaster nodded grimly in acknowledgement. “I'll be right down, Loco,” he replied, and shut his window again. Only a few seconds later, I heard the sound of hooves clomping down a staircase, and the front door opened shortly after. “What's the trouble then?”

“Well, sir,” I began, “we think Switcher may have gone and crashed the Bridleway Limited into a pair of light engines he'd misplaced earlier. I happened to...”

“Hang on a minute,” he interrupted promptly, “when you say 'misplaced', what exactly do you mean?”

“He left them on the main line ready to head back to Delamare,” I clarified, “but he probably got distracted and forgot all about them until I told him what had happened just a few minutes ago. They didn't get a green eye until about twenty-five minutes later; I don't know if they even realised it was intended for the Limited rather than for them, but they certainly went ahead and left for home in any case.”

“Didn't they signal their departure to Switcher?”

“They did whistle, but I'm not sure Switcher actually heard them,” I answered. “If he had, he would have dropped the red boards before the Limited was anywhere near the station. I tried using hoof signals to warn the express crew, but the driver just waved back at me and advanced his regulator.”

“Right,” said the stationmaster, “thanks for telling me about it, Loco. I'll go up to the box and advise Switcher at once. Is your uncle around by any chance?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, yes he is,” I affirmed. “He and I had completed a banking turn from Ponyville about an hour earlier, and we were just about ready to head back down the hill when those two engines left.”

“Then go back to your engine and tell Steamer that I need him to take me to the crash site,” ordered the stationmaster. “I'll fill out a wrong-line order for you in the signalbox.”

“Okay, sir,” and I galloped back to the station as fast as my hooves could carry me, with the stationmaster close behind.

I returned to the 729 just after midnight. She was still waiting on the lay-by loop, quite close to the Down platform, and Uncle Steamer was leaning out of the cab with a worried look on his face.

“Hullo, stranger,” he remarked as I scrambled into the cab. “Where have you been?”

All that hard running had left me pretty winded, so I could barely speak I was panting so hard. “Limited...crashed...stationmaster...had to...inform...”

“Okay, Loco,” soothed Uncle Steamer, “catch your breath.”

I instantly obliged, collapsing onto my haunches and resting my back against the front of the tender.

Promontory gazed grimly out of the cab, probably focussing on the spot where the 669 and 1074 had been standing prior to the whole fiasco. “So the Limited really has gone into the ditch, huh, Steamer?”

“So it would seem,” agreed my uncle gravely. He had returned to his seat and was facing the controls, so I didn't see his expression; but from the tone of his voice, he too seemed a little shaken by the turn of events.

“I don't get it,” went on Promontory, pulling his head in again and looking over to Uncle Steamer. “How could Switcher have just forgotten about those two Delamare engines?”

Uncle Steamer paused. “They can't have adhered to Rule 55,” he replied. “Only the advance starter would have come off if they had.”

“Yeah, but shouldn't Switcher have slipped a collar over the appropriate lever?”

“I don't think he did, Monty,” I said, still a little short of breath but a lot more able to speak by this point. “There wasn't anything in the log book about him using one, and the way he was talking, he must have thought he'd already dispatched them.”

“So he didn't even think to block the Limited back to Windy Vale?”

“Nope.”

“Crikey!” remarked Promontory. “Talk about a grave signalling error! I tell you what, I wouldn't like to be in his horseshoes when Max Pressure and the stationmaster hear about this.”

At that moment, Uncle Steamer must have remembered that I'd been gone a lot longer than any of us anticipated, because he turned around and asked of me, “Did you say you'd gone to tell the stationmaster about the accident, Loco?”

“Sure did,” I affirmed. “Switcher sent me there shortly after we heard the collision from the signalbox. The stationmaster said he was gonna go fill out a wrong-line order form at the signalbox so we could take him up the line and investigate.”

Promontory looked a little perturbed when I mentioned that we were needed to try and find the stricken train. “Well how do you like that?” he muttered. “I've been up for about sixteen hours, twelve of which I've spent on the 729, and now I found out we're gonna have to stay up all night because the Limited's in the ditch.”

“Don't really have a choice, Monty,” said Uncle Steamer unhappily. “Ours is the only readily available engine for miles; nopony else will be able to get another one up here for at least an hour.”

“You might have a point there,” mused Promontory. “But what about Loco? It's way past his bedtime already, and that banking turn of ours can't have helped matters either.”

Uncle Steamer paused again. “Well we can't take him home just yet,” he replied at last. “We might still be needed to help any casualties that the crash might have claimed, and as I said, there aren't any other engines that can take over from us as yet. Are you okay with that, Loco?”

I took a moment to consider this. True, I was liable to tire more easily than the others, being the company's youngest employee and all, but then again, there would surely be plenty of stranded passengers out there who would need all the help they could get – and passengers, as far as I'm concerned, must always come first. With that in mind, I steeled myself for what I knew would be a long, grim night, and turned to face Promontory and Uncle Steamer. “Guys,” I stated resolutely, “any way in which I can help those passengers, I'd be more than willing to go. If that accident is as bad as I think it is, there are probably dozens of lives that depend on us from here on in.”

Uncle Steamer looked rather stunned for a few seconds, and at first I thought he was going to question my decision – but then he smiled broadly and patted my withers. “Attaboy, Loco,” he encouraged me, and I modestly returned the smile.

A few minutes later, the stationmaster joined us in the cab, and we set off along the Down line in pursuit of the Limited. We were only travelling at a maximum of ten miles an hour, so even if we didn't manage to stop in time, we wouldn't do too much damage to ourselves or the 729; but Uncle Steamer didn't want to take too many chances, so I volunteered to keep an extra eye on the road ahead from the tender. Not the sort of thing I'd recommend to most foals, but in a situation like this, needs must.

It only took us less than ten minutes to get to the crash site, but to me, it felt like forever. We drifted sedately across the viaduct and crawled laxly through the tunnel, me biting my hoof with concern as I watched the track slowly slide beneath us like a conveyor belt – until, at last, I saw a red light shining through the darkness. Squinting in an attempt to get a closer look, I could just about make out the outline of the observation car at the rear of the express.

“There they are!” I crowed down to the cab. “I can see their tail lamp up ahead!”

Uncle Steamer leaned out of the cab, probably to verify that I was right. “Well spotted, Loco,” he called back to me at last. “Hold on – I'm setting the air,” and the next moment, I felt the 729 gently coming to a stop just a few yards short of the stricken train. As soon as we were stationary, I carefully picked my way down the coal pile and rejoined Uncle Steamer, Promontory and the stationmaster in the cab.

“Right,” said the stationmaster, “let's go and inspect the damage. Promontory, you stay here and keep steam up.”

Promontory nodded in reply, and Uncle Steamer and I disembarked from the engine, followed closely by the stationmaster. As we made our way towards the front of the train, the scene that befell my eyes was absolutely harrowing! The last five coaches were still on the rails, but the remainder lay at odd angles, riddled with dents and scrapes and half a dozen other forms of damage. One of the bogies appeared to have been ripped clean off, and was now lying upside down next to the service coach in the middle of the train, the front end of which had derailed along with the other five coaches in front of it. Miraculously, although the front buffers of the service coach had overridden, or “locked”, with those of the bar coach in front of it, the rear buffers had remained face to face with those of the dining car behind as they should have done.

The third coach lay on its right-hoof side across both running lines, and the first sleeping car, second from the front, appeared to have telescoped into the luggage van – in other words, it had banged into it so hard that it had smashed through its bodywork. Beyond their crumpled remains, the “City of Coltenburg” was sprawled out against the side of the cutting, battered and forlorn, a far cry from the proud, muscular and thoroughly immaculate machine that I had been preparing at Ponyville just a few short hours ago, and just ahead of her were the two light engines that only three quarters of an hour ago had been waiting to head back to Delamare, both of which had also been damaged and derailed by the sudden impact.

As I gazed upon the wreckage, the wailing and moaning of injured passengers seemed to echo in my head, and I felt myself going weak in the legs. “Cinders and ashes!” I exclaimed breathlessly. “What a mess!”

Uncle Steamer nodded gravely. “Terrifying, isn't it?” By the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice, I could tell that he too was having a tough time trying to put up with the shock of the whole thing. And I don't blame him either – I'd seen train crashes before on video, and when I was much younger, they sometimes had me running from the TV room in terror they were so graphic. If those crashes were anything to go by, then to actually see the aftermath of such a horrible accident up close would probably be enough to make even the most hardened rescue worker shudder. A gravelly voice from nearby promptly cut off my train of thought, and I looked up to see John Bull, the “City of Coltenburg's” driver, limping towards us from the wrecked second coach.

“John!” exclaimed Uncle Steamer. “Are you okay?”

“Just about, Steamer,” groaned John. “A few bumps and scrapes here and there, but I'll survive.”

More than a few bumps and scrapes, I thought as I looked him over. Judging by the injuries he had sustained – a bump on the head, grazing on his left arm, bruised ribs – he'd had a pretty lucky escape.

“I tell you what,” went on Uncle Steamer grimly, “it's a good thing we happened along. We saw the whole thing from the turntable siding.”

All of a sudden, my fears seemed to give way to anger and annoyance as I remembered my earlier attempt to stop the Limited. I kinda lost control of myself at that point and butted into the conversation without any warning whatsoever; “What was the meaning of ignoring my warning, John?!” I burst out. “Had you gone crazy or something?”

A look of shame spread across John's face. “I...I didn't realise you were trying to warn me of anything,” he confessed. “I thought you were just waving an overenthusiastic greeting.”

“I most certainly was not!!!” I snapped back. “You know perfectly well, John, that both front hooves in the air means 'stop'!”

“Well yeah, but all the signals were at green when I passed through the junction,” protested John pathetically. “I had no way of knowing that you intended it seriously.”

“So?! It still counts as a SPAD...”

“Okay, okay, stop bickering, you two!” interrupted the stationmaster before my fury could develop any further. “John, have you evacuated all the passengers from the derailed coaches yet?”

“Well that's just it – we can't.”

“Why not?”

“There's no way of getting into the second coach, and the third one is in a pretty awkward position,” explained John. “The ends of both coaches have compacted together in such a way that there's very little room to get from one to the other, and I'm not sure it'll be big enough for a full grown stallion to get through. We would have cut part of the side panelling away, but we don't have anypony capable of such a job.”

“What about the third coach?” asked the stationmaster.

“That in itself is a bit of a tight fit now that the coach is on its side,” John replied. “It'd take somepony the size of a foal to get those passengers out safely.”

At that moment, Uncle Steamer's eyes lit up. “Funny you should mention that, John,” he remarked. “Need I remind you that we've got one right here?”

I looked up at Uncle Steamer in anxious anticipation. While John and the stationmaster had been talking, I'd been staring at the wreckage in the almost frantic hope that there was some way in which I could help; but when Uncle Steamer mentioned that I would be small enough to get them out of the second and third coaches, I immediately saw my chance.

“What, Loco? But he's just a colt!” objected John. “You send him in there, he'll probably come out traumatised!”

“I'm well aware of that, John, but there's no other way,” replied Uncle Steamer grimly.

“Uncle Steamer's right, John,” I added firmly. “It's either I go in there and risk being scarred for life, or we wait until the wrecking train arrives and find that there are so few passengers still alive that it wasn't worth the wait. Now what's it gonna be?”

John paused for a few seconds. He still seemed pretty reluctant, and at first I was expecting a response that would warrant a long and pretty ruthless lecture; but in the end he nodded and said, “Of course you're right, Loco – we must rescue those passengers no matter the cost.”

“My point exactly!” I stated triumphantly.

“Right,” said the stationmaster, “I'll let the passengers know what's going on. Steamer, you take the last five coaches back to Horse Junction as soon as I'm done.”

“Will do,” and Uncle Steamer galloped back towards the seventh coach, which he would detach from the derailed portion of the train before coupling the 729 to the observation car at the rear. The stationmaster followed, while John helped me climb into the third coach to begin my rescue mission. All the lights had gone out when the train had crashed, so I had to illuminate the corridor with my own horn in order to see properly. Perhaps it was a good thing I wasn't alone in that coach; a little way behind, John's firepony Coal Heaver was on hoof to assist if need be, and if nothing else, it reassured me to know I would at least have a bit of moral support.

I hadn't gone very far when I heard somepony crying hysterically for help from one of the compartments below me. “Hang in there, sir!” I called above his terrified screaming. “I'll get you out! Stand back!”

I knew the door would have been locked some time before the accident in order to allow the passenger some privacy, so it was no use trying to open it by hoof. Using a crowbar that John had given me, I began hacking away at the door until finally I had prised it open. The passenger was in a right state when I reached him, and even with the knowledge that he was safe, he wouldn't stop babbling and whimpering in fright.

“Oh, disaster! Oh, the equinity! Oh, the hundreds of lives endangered by this accident!” he howled as Coal Heaver and I helped him out of the compartment. “I'm gonna be having nightmares about this for months! Somepony, please tell me this is just a bad dream!”

“Calm down, sir,” I tried to soothe him. “You're gonna be okay. It's just a minor bump, that's all.”

“Just a minor bump?!” wailed the passenger. “It could have been the end of the world! I could have been burned to the ground! The ground could have swallowed me whole! Anything could have happened to me!”

That, I thought, was a bit of an exaggeration; but nevertheless, I could only sympathise with him as Coal Heaver guided him out of the coach and over to a small triage we had set up on the lineside. The poor guy must have gained a pretty awful fright to have become so hysterical, and if I'd been in his horseshoes, I probably wouldn't have been that much better myself.

That pretty much set the tone for the remainder of the rescue operation. The coach was made up of eighteen small sleeping compartments called “roomettes”, nine on each side of the corridor, along with a toilet on one side and an attendant's compartment on the other. After helping the first passenger, I worked my way along the coach, prising open door after door and helping passenger after passenger scramble out of their respective roomette. Some were surprisingly calm and collected; some, like the first one I'd rescued, were in an absolute state of hysteria; and others seemed pretty angry and abrasive. Two of the compartment doors above me, however, felt like there was an immense weight preventing them from moving, so after a few moments' worth of struggling, I gave up and moved onto the next compartment along.

There was one particular passenger I can recall – a mare by the name of Upper Crust, if I remember correctly – who reacted very stubbornly when she saw who her rescuer happened to be. She was in Compartment D, near the front of the coach, and didn't seem to realise the full gravity of the situation even when I broke through her door.

“You okay, miss?” I asked, pulling the door open.

She gave me this really dirty look as if I was little more than a street urchin. “And what, might I ask, is the meaning of breaking into somepony else's compartment?” she demanded.

I was most offended by that mare's attitude. “Well how else was I supposed to get you out of here?” I replied, trying to sound reasonable. “This coach is on its side – you need help.”

Upper Crust looked down her nose at me with a snooty scowl. “You're the one who needs help, little colt, thinking you can intrude on other ponies without their permission,” she said curtly. “Just who do you think you are anyway?”

“An employee of the company, that's who I am,” I retorted sharply, “so you'd better watch your lip, miss. And no; I don't need permission to come in and rescue other passengers. I repeat – this coach is on its side, and you need help.”

“What? Some impertinent little runt such as yourself?” scoffed Upper Crust. “Don't make me laugh – who in their right mind would employ an eight-year-old hooligan in any business, let alone a railway?”

If looks could kill, I suspect the one on my face at that very moment would have more than done the trick. I was almost ready to fire an energy bolt from my horn in retaliation; but instead I just glowered at her and thundered, “Look, are you going to cooperate, or do I just have to leave you there?! Because nopony else is gonna pull you out in my place!”

To this day, I still can't believe that my outburst was enough to force that pompous, overstuffed hay-bag into submission. I think I did a pretty good job of hiding my amazement as she reluctantly took my hoof and clambered out of the coach, but like I said, it still staggers me to think that I managed to exhibit such incredible powers of persuasion that night. Still, it didn't do that much to suppress her attitude as I found out when, with my help, we finally managed to get her out of the coach.

I suspect John must have overheard the conversation from the back of the coach, because as soon as we reached the corridor connection, he comes up to us and says, “Okay, miss, what's your problem with a little colt working among the ranks of stallions like us?”
Upper Crust let out an annoyed groan. “Don't tell me you're as unbalanced as this little runt,” she muttered crossly.

“I heard that!!” I barked severely. “If you weren't some feeble...”

“F-f-feeble?! Now look here...”

“No, you listen to me! You put me down for being a mere colt, you offend a second member of the company, and now you have to act as if you're the one who has been subjected to unprovoked insults?! Well, let me tell you, 'Your Majesty', you're nothing but a spoilt, idealistic brat with ideas millions and millions of miles above your station, thinking you can verbally assault us railway workers and get away with it!”

“And since when does a snotty little nopony of a colt qualify as a railway worker?!” demanded Upper Crust rudely.

“Since about eighteen months ago,” John spoke up sternly. “Our Locomotion was hired personally by our very own Motive Power Superintendent, Max Pressure, so if you think you can make fun of him and get away with it, you've got another thing coming. Now come on, you need medical attention.”

At that moment, a light grey unicorn stallion emerged from next to the fourth coach, his expression an uncanny combination of relief and annoyance. “There you are, Upper Crust,” he said thankfully. “I was worried you might have been trapped in your compartment.”

“I was,” replied Upper Crust sourly, “but then this impudent little colt came and dragged me out – made all sorts of disgraceful comments about me, and then these other ponies...”

“Well you started it,” interrupted Coal Heaver. “If you had been a little more gracious with Loco, you wouldn't have had to suffer the humiliation of being put back in your place. As it is, you risk losing your compensation for your rudeness to employees of the railway.”

The grey stallion turned and glared at Coal Heaver. “You...how dare you!” he exclaimed. “You'll be hearing from our solicitor about this!”

“Oh yeah?!” I snapped back. “Well you'll be hearing about it from the company!”

“Leave them, Loco,” soothed Coal Heaver, “they're not worth it. Let's just get back to helping those other passengers.”

Part of me still wanted to march up to those two windbags and bellow every single insult I knew of; but I knew Coal Heaver was right, so I was like “Ah, what the hay – just get on with it, Loco.” With that, I went back inside the coach, picked up the crowbar and began hacking away at the next compartment.

Mercifully, the remaining three passengers in that coach were by no means as difficult as that Upper Crust and her husband, so I experienced no further trouble with uncooperative passengers. Quite soon, I managed to claw open the last remaining roomette and free the passenger trapped within. He was a brown Earth stallion with a light tan-coloured mane and tail and two quavers for a Cutie Mark, and he seemed pretty worried as he gingerly stepped out, because he was muttering something to himself about the fellow members of his music group. I couldn't quite understand what he was getting at, but I quietly reassured myself that I'd find the answer in the next coach along.

The second and third coaches had come to rest in such a way that their corridor connections were almost perpendicular to each other, leaving only a squarish access hole that I could just about squeeze through. While Coal Heaver helped the anxious passenger out of the third coach, I tossed my crowbar into the second and wriggled through the gap – not a very comfortable experience, I can tell you that much.

As I finally pulled myself into the second coach, I could see that the door of the attendant's compartment, first on my left, had been left open, and the compartment itself was empty. With that in mind, I made my way forward to the first roomette on my left and started hacking it open – but when I finally did manage to gain access to that coach, I was startled to find Roseluck, Daisy Jane and Lily Valley, of all ponies, lying stunned on the compartment floor. Heck, I was so taken aback that I just uttered their names in disbelief, at which point Lily came to with a groan – but just as I was about to ask if she was okay, she suddenly sat up and screamed loudly, almost busting my eardrums.

“What is this?! Where am I?! How did I end up here?!” she hollered, overtaken by hysteria as is not unusual.

Again, the noise boomed around the coach with such volume that I had to cover my ears up to avoid being permanently deafened. “PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, LILY!!” I shouted. That promptly shut her up, and I resumed my calming, level-headed tone as I continued; “You're gonna be okay, so just calm down. We're doing all we can to get you out of here.”

“What happened?” Daisy was the next to regain consciousness.

“Yeah, how did we end up sprawled out over my compartment?” added Roseluck, holding her head.

“Well, to put it bluntly,” I replied gravely, “your train has run into a pair of light engines that were making their way home.”

Lily sprang to her hooves. “Oh my gosh!” she gasped. “Is everypony else alright? What about those two...what do you call them...light engines?”

“Lily, please, let's not start losing our heads,” I interrupted calmly. “We've got most of the passengers out already, so there's no need to overreact.”

“But what if some of the passengers have lost their heads already?” objected Roseluck fearfully. “They could have lost arms, legs and tails as well. What if they've been...well...killed?”

I couldn't help but shudder at this point, knowing full well just how right she might be. But there was no point in further alarming our passengers over what, for all they knew, might merely be a false alarm, so I replied, “I don't think we've had any fatalities as yet, Rose, so please, try to relax.”

“Relax?!” wailed Roseluck. “How can I relax when it's all happening so quickly? The shrieking whistle, the groan of the brakes, the sudden impact...the horror! The horror!” and she immediately broke down into frightened tears.

For a while, I could do nothing more than stand in the doorway, trying to work out a way in which I could reassure the three flower salesponies. I certainly couldn't guide them out of the coach for medical attention because, as I said, there was no way anypony other than me would be able to get through the rear corridor connection. At that moment, I heard somepony tapping on the window. Looking out, I could see John Bull and two unicorn platelayers standing on the lineside, gesturing to me that they were going to magically cut out a side panel from the coach and asking me where to start. I pointed to my left, indicating towards the empty attendant's compartment, and they nodded in reply.

“What was that about?” asked Daisy.

“They're gonna cut this coach open so I can get you out of here,” I explained. “They'll let us know when they're done.”

Roseluck pulled her tear-stained face from her hooves. “Then...we're gonna be freed?”

I merely nodded in reply, whereupon Roseluck's sobbing gradually began to subside.

After a few minutes, we heard a clang from outside as the panel finally fell off the side of the coach. John and the platelayers then came back to our window and gave me the hooves-up to say it was okay to start bringing passengers out. I replied with a wave and led the three shaken mares towards the attendant's compartment, where John, Coal Heaver and the light engine crews helped them out of the coach and over to the triage.

While they were at it, I went back into the coach and was just about to start prising open the next compartment door when I noticed that another, about two doors away, had been left slightly ajar; but what really caught my eye was a tuft of grey fur, which only just poked out of the roomette and into the corridor. Puzzled, I dropped my crowbar and ran forward to investigate – but when I got into the compartment, the sight that met my eyes came as such a bombshell that I just stood and stared, mouth agape, for what felt like an eternity. Then, in a state of shock, I uttered the following words......

“Holy smoke!!!”

There, lying unconscious on the compartment floor, was a grey-coated mare of around twenty-five, with a dark grey mane and tail and a pink treble-clef for a Cutie Mark. Her eyes were closed and her breathing shallow. Her left arm seemed a little twisted, and there were some nasty bruises on her head and chest, the former of which also appeared to be bleeding. Quickly coming to my senses, I yelled out loud for John, Coal Heaver or anypony else to come and help me; but they must still have been over at the triage, because nopony replied. Realising that I was on my own, I decided then and there that I ought to try and revive the stricken mare myself. A quick check of her pulse revealed that she was indeed still alive, so I began shaking the mare vigorously in a bid to awaken her...

Chapter 7: The Angel of Salvation

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Perspective: Octavia

In the darkest depths of my subconscious mind, I found myself lying alone and injured in the midst of a rocky wilderness, with no other creature to be seen for miles around, sentient or otherwise. The sensation of a dozen daggers pierced mercilessly through my left arm, and my head pulsated with equal measures of pain, causing me to let out a yell of despair and agony for somepony to help me. But no-one did, and I could feel white-hot tears stinging my eyes as I began to fade away.

But that was when I felt my world begin to tremble vigorously, and an anxious, youthful voice called out to me, pleading for me to wake up. It almost sounded like she did in her more vulnerable moments, and the image of her began to fill my head as I gingerly gathered my senses and opened my heavy-lidded eyes, whereupon the shaking ceased. The blur slowly cleared from my vision, and through the darkness that still reigned over me in the literal sense as well as figurative, I could see a little colt standing over me with an expression of worry on his face; while all around the both of us could be heard the anxious clamour of ponies and the fizzling sound of a flame cutting through metal.

“What happened?” I asked, still unable to comprehend why I was lying in pain on a hard floor.

The colt sighed with relief. “Cor, am I ever glad you're still alive, miss. That must have been a lucky escape for you.” He spoke with a thick Trottingham accent, almost a Cockney.

“What was?”

“Your train's gone and crashed into a pair of light engines,” the colt explained gently. “You must have been knocked out by the impact.”

I gazed into his face, trying to ignore the ache in my head as I tried to recall the events that had led to my loss of consciousness. There was something strangely familiar about this colt as well, I noticed; he was red in colour, which almost concealed the few bleeding scratches he seemed to have acquired, and his tattered cravat bore the same emblem with which the locomotives and coaches were emblazoned. That was when I realised that this was the same unicorn colt I had seen running alongside the train at the last station, and that he hadn't actually been playing at all – he had been trying to warn us of the danger ahead.

As the realisation flowed through my mind, so too did the memories of the accident. “...yes, it's...it's all coming back to me now. I had just been checking my luggage, and I thought I might take a walk through the train...I couldn't sleep, so I thought it might clear my head a bit...” I was briefly overtaken by a wave of dizziness, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness for a few seconds before I managed to will myself awake again. “...but just as I was leaving the luggage van, I...I heard this wailing noise, and there was a jolt beneath my hooves. I made my way back to this very compartment to try and see what was going on; but just as I was passing through the doorway, there was a much sharper jolt, and I was knocked off my hooves...that's about all I can remember.”

“I'm guessing that's when you banged your head?” said the colt, forcing aside the palpable bout of mild panic that had crossed his face upon seeing me waver.

“Yes,” I affirmed. “I must have struck the wall when I keeled over.”

The colt pulled an anxious frown of understanding. “Can you walk?” he asked.

I looked down at my left arm cautiously. There was a noticeable patch of dull crimson staining my fur around the cannon, and the entire appendage felt like it had been caught under a hydraulic press. “I...I don't know,” I replied uncertainly. “I can certainly try.” Deep in my mind, however, I knew that that was much easier said than done. And I was quite right too, for as I tried to move my injured arm, the stabbing sensation increased tenfold until it became a fierce burning feeling that shot all the way into my shoulder. With a loud, pained whimper, I let my arm give out underneath my weight and collapsed onto my barrel, the impact exacerbating my agony even further and bringing tears of anguish to my eyes. “It's no good,” I choked out, barely able to speak. “I can't get up. I think I've broken my arm.”

The colt clenched his teeth anxiously. Once again, I could make out the slightest inkling of panic and uncertainty in his eyes as he began to realise the extent of my injuries; he clearly didn't want to leave me alone, but both of us also knew that he daren't try to move me of his own volition. He eventually fixed upon the linens that lay strewn untidily across my bed. “Right,” he said resolutely, “there's nothing else for it. I'm gonna have to improvise.” He tentatively stepped over me, climbed onto the bed, and to my utter confusion, began tearing the sheet apart.

“What are you doing?” I inquired.

“Making up a few bandages,” came the colt's muffled reply as he continued to rip strip after strip away from the linen cloth.

I peered hesitantly at the makeshift bandages, silently wondering whether the railways would be at all pleased to find that a colt had been vandalising their own carriages. “But...wouldn't it be better to get them out of the first aid cabinet?”

“No can-do,” said the colt gravely. “The front of that coach has been crumpled inwards; so there's no hope of reaching the first aid box now. Besides, there's no point in letting you sit here until your wounds heal.”

Of course, I thought with deep dismay, the first aid box would have to be located in the one part of the coach that can no longer be accessed. Now I was left with no choice but to allow a young novice to treat my wounds, and all with absolutely no first-aid equipment whatsoever – just the bare minimum of whatever he had to hoof. Sensing my anxiety, he laid a comforting hoof on my good shoulder and said unto me, “Try not to worry, miss. I may not be a trained first-aid pony, but I know what I'm doing.”

The anxious yet soothing tone of his voice seemed to comfort me with the knowledge that, while visibly uncertain of his own ability, he at least had an idea of the basics of first-aid, and was willing to do what he could for me. I nodded faintly in reply, and he set back to work taking pieces out of the bed sheets before applying them to the worst injured parts of my body, leaving my arm till last. After he finished wrapping up my chest, where I noticed that I had cracked a few ribs as well, he carefully examined my arm with a slightly lost expression, as if trying to locate the changeling among the crowd of ponies. Before I could ask what had caught his attention, he galloped out of the compartment, and came back brandishing a crowbar. Taken unawares, I held out my right arm in self-defence and mentally prayed for mercy.

“Whoa, whoa, it's okay!” he exclaimed in a frantic tone; and at the same time, a dull thud registered in my ears. “I'm not trying to hurt you – I just brought this in as a splint!”

Daring to open my eyes, I noticed that the colt had released the crowbar from his maw, and was now keeping his distance from me with an anxious look in his eyes, almost frightened. A wave of embarrassment washed over me as I calmed my racing heart, berating myself inwardly for thinking he had suddenly become unbalanced.

“Sorry I startled you like that,” the colt went on. “I just...this was the only thing I could find. I'll try to go easy with it, I promise.” Without another word, he stepped forth and levitated another length of linen bandage with which to swaddle my arm, and once the crowbar was in place, he used another two strips of linen, tightly rolled, to tie both ends of the length of steel in place. I winced as the pressure singed my broken limb, but I knew that it would be better to endure the pain than to contract tetanus from the thin layer of rust, and I certainly didn't want my arm to become deformed in the aftermath of this accident.

I couldn't be certain whether it was to do with the discomfort of my injuries or a severe loss of blood, but as the colt was tending to my wounds, everything around me started to blur until my vision was but a dull grey haze. The sound of her voice echoed in my head, desperate and tearful, calling out to me from the deepest recesses of my memory and imploring me to stay conscious. Other voices joined in, voices which I instantly recognised as members of my group – Frederick with the same gentlecoltly anxiety he exhibited in the tenser moments of our lives, Harpo clearly overcome with guilt and fear, and Beauty Brass in an almost terrified tone of remorse and despair.

Another voice invaded my subconscious mind, and I looked up weakly to find an off-white Earth stallion standing in the doorway, his tattered cravat and the bruises on his face clearly indicating him as one of the engine drivers involved in the accident. The colt gently rested my arm in the sling he had made and looked up, clearly relieved to see him. “Cor, thank Celestia you turned up, John. One of the passengers has broken her arm and banged her head against the wall. I need help getting her out; she's not doing too good right now.”

The pony he referred to as John looked me over, his brow furrowing. “Looks serious. Stay with her, Loco, and see that she stays awake. I'll go see if I can find something to carry her on.” He bolted out of the corridor without another word, and the colt was left to hover over my damaged frame. He returned barely a few minutes later, two adult unicorns following closely with what appeared to be a makeshift stretcher fashioned from a sheet of metal and some bed linen. The colt stepped aside as the three stallions carefully shifted me onto the stretcher and laid me on my back, covering me over with a clean bed sheet and tying me securely down before levitating me gingerly out of the coach and onto the grass beside the line.

Now, looking all around me at the general scene of confusion, I realised the true extent of the collision, and how lucky I was to have survived the impact. Several ponies were sitting at relatively close quarters, most of them complaining of injury, and others were wandering around aimlessly, trying desperately to seek their loved ones. Upfront, the engine in charge of my train leaned heavily against the slope of the cutting, whispering mournfully like a soldier wounded in battle, its two comrades standing protectively over it in spite of their own injuries. The coaches lay at odd angles, and I noticed that the front end of mine had almost completely folded in on itself, destroying the luggage van ahead of it. Had I remained standing in the entrance vestibule, I realised with deep dread, the impact would very literally have been the end of my line.

As it stood, however, it probably wouldn't be very long before I truly expired, for I was in such a frightful state of delirium that even my breathing was becoming somewhat laboured. The colt stayed by my side, gently filling my ears with words of encouragement that I would survive yet and pleading for me to hold on. I couldn't quite understand why, but his presence alone instilled a sense of safety that pierced through the film of fear and anxiety that had threatened to smother me, as if he were the Angel of Salvation sent from Eden to guard over my soul and preserve me for another decade or so to come. Perhaps it was because I had been closer to death than at any other point in my life.

After what seemed like an age, the puffing and clanking of another engine echoed through across the mountains. Through bleary eyes, I gazed towards the source of those heavenly sounds of the angels that had come to our rescue; two engines pushing a crane, a coach and some flatbeds, with some pale green coaches situated between them which I surmised must be some form of ambulance train. From the coach in front of the leading engine, a rugged-looking Earth pony jumped down and trotted across to where I lay, a grim expression of anxiety stamped onto his face.

“Loco,” he called out, “you okay?”

“Uh...yeah, Max, about as okay as can be expected, I guess,” the colt replied after a brief hesitation. He was already flagging by then – quite understandably, given his age and the time of night.

“What happened then?” asked the stallion. “I heard there was a bit of a mix-up with train movements.”

I listened with growing amazement as the youth hurriedly explained to his elder about the accident. This stallion was clearly in a position of authority, to hear him talk; and yet not only did he know this colt personally, but he was also treating him like a respected employee of the company, and not just some juvenile trespasser. Was this colt really more than what he seemed? Could it really be that they trusted him enough to work among their ranks? The answer evaded me, but I was most relieved to hear that we would soon be on our way to the nearest hospital.

One by one, the railway workers gently hoisted me and the other passengers aboard the ambulance coaches, the little colt briskly following suit of me, watching anxiously as the medical staff moved me across to another stretcher and administered me with some painkillers. It would turn out that he lived in the town near the hospital in question, and seeing how late it was, he had opted to secure a ride home. Eventually, the train set off back down the mountains, filling the both of us with a great sense of relief. The colt, by now almost as disoriented as I was, stood up wearily and turned to make his way down the coach, murmuring something to himself about leaving me alone to recuperate; whereupon a fresh wave of panic washed over me. Unfamiliar though this little pony was, I was almost terrified at the prospect of being left alone again, for fear of what might happen if I lost consciousness again and nopony was there to help me.

“Wait,” I said, holding out my good arm in desperation; my voice taking on the tone of a little filly who had just arisen from a nightmare.

The colt stopped and turned to face me again.

“Can you...” I broke off, suddenly hesitant to ask any more of him than he had already done for me. “Can you stay here and keep me company? Please?” I pleaded with him. Come to think of it, I wondered inwardly, where in the world were Harpo, Frederick, Symphony, Beauty Brass and Concerto? Had they too managed to escape with their lives? Or were they still trapped in the train, desperately waiting for somepony to come and rescue them? Please, Celestia, I prayed, let them be alright...

“Well...yeah, okay then,” said the colt at last, and sat himself down next to my stretcher. “I guess I could do with a bit of company myself after all that.”

I could only sympathise, looking at the tiredness in his eyes – tonight had been nothing short of bedlam, and it was a wonder that the likes of a little colt such as him could have coped with all this pandemonium. But dear Celestia, what a trooper he was, working so selflessly to save the lives of myself and all those other helpless passengers – how he had managed to win such a position of trust among the railways was still beyond me, but I was truly lucky for him being there, and so were my fellow travellers...

Perspective: Locomotion

The next hour went by like a blur for me, no doubt because I must have dozed off on the way. I had initially considered going and sitting somewhere else in the train so as to let the grey mare get some rest, but she pleaded for me to stay, saying that she needed a bit of company to help her recover from the shock of the accident. The weird thing, I feel, is that she seemed to trust me even though she barely knew me – I mean, really, how can anypony feel so safe with a pony they've only known for something like half an hour? All the same, I myself could only sympathise with this pony, and in any case I was too tired to get into an argument, so I tactfully complied.

In the meantime, the ambulance crews of Ponyville Hospital had been alerted to the disaster and were awaiting our arrival. As soon as we pulled up alongside the platform, they gathered round the coaches and set to work helping the casualties over to the station forecourt, where several carts were waiting to take them away; but even with the knowledge that these badly injured passengers were in capable hooves, I never let the grey one out of my sight until she was safely loaded onto one of the carts. The last thing I said to her before the cart set off was, “There you go, miss, you'll be alright now.” She never said anything, but gave me this soft, weak but visibly grateful smile in reply, as if to thank me for all I had done. Tired and shaken though I might have been, I could only return the smile as I watched her being carted off to the hospital.

By this time, having been awake for more than eighteen hours, my tiredness was really starting to catch up with me. Perhaps it was lucky for me that Uncle Steamer had only just booked off by then, otherwise I'd have keeled over from exhaustion before I was within a hundred yards of my nice, warm bed. He too was rather worn out, but it didn't stop him from carrying me home on his back. Once we got there, he went and explained everything to my Dad, who had been up all night and waiting anxiously for me to return, while I staggered upstairs. After all I'd been through that day, the climb almost felt like a long, hard slog up Mt. Canterlot, and I think it was only through delirium that I managed to reach the top without help. Only when I was in my room did I finally allow myself to black out, and the last thing I remember was collapsing onto my bed before plunging into the realms of Dreamland.

No doubt some of you must be wondering why I hadn't been traumatised by the turn of events, and why I seemed to remain unrealistically calm and collected for my age. Truth be told, deep down, I was indeed traumatised, not least because I had failed to warn them of the oncoming danger – heck, it's a wonder I'd managed to maintain any composure at all after that – but I was also upset at myself for those unfortunate passengers who had been killed and injured in the crash. It's a difficult feeling to describe – it's sort of like you wish you'd tried harder to save them even if it meant risking your life; but at the same time, you know full well that there was probably no way you could have averted disaster, and that makes you feel helpless too.

Even now I was safe at home and tucked up in my nice warm bed, I couldn't help brooding over what I could have done to reach them quicker, and that's probably what led to the horrible dream I experienced that night. Picture the scene, if you will; there's this commuter train making its way towards one of the Canterlot termini, it's all packed with merchants, office workers, shoppers, etc., and I myself am at the controls with an adult as my firepony. We're going well at first, but then the train approaches a home signal, I start to apply the brakes, and all of a sudden, everything just spins out of control. For no apparent reason, the tank engine I'm driving doesn't seem to want to obey her controls, and no matter what I try – air brake, handbrake, reverser, whistle, even shouting a warning – I just can't stop her. As if that's not enough, I can see another train waiting to depart the next station ahead. I try my darnedest to slow her down, but then she hits a sharp curve and I'm thrown out of the cab. I manage to pick myself up, but can only watch helplessly as she ploughs right into the back of that other train.

Next thing I know, I'm standing in the dock of a law-court with hundreds of angry eyes glowering upon me, and no-one's letting me speak up in my own defence. Even the judge seems biased against me, because he's openly berating me for having crashed this train and killed over a hundred passengers, and won't even hear me out when I say it wasn't my fault. He then throws me in a dark, damp dungeon cell way below Canterlot Castle, where an angry mob are standing outside and hurling insults at me. Again, I'm trying to protest my innocence, but nopony seems interested, and eventually I become overwhelmed with terror, despair and humiliation to the point where I'm just curled up into a ball, hugging my stifles and sobbing hard as I plead for mercy...

“STAND ASIDE!!!”

At the sound of those two words, I looked up. It was then that I saw the baying hecklers vanish instantly along with the walls of my cell, and I noticed a certain dark blue alicorn mare stepping forth out of the shadows, a soft, soothing smile adorning her face. “Greetings to you, Locomotion,” she said kindly to me.

I stared in confusion. “Princess Luna?! What are you doing here?”

“I sensed that you were experiencing emotions of guilt and despair after what happened earlier tonight,” explained Luna, “and thus I took it upon myself to come and offer you solace.”

By “what happened earlier tonight”, I quickly twigged that she was talking about the accident with the Limited; but this only served to deepen my shame, and I couldn't even bring myself to look at her face I felt so unworthy. Instead, I looked sadly down at my hooves, struggling to fight back tears. “I'm sorry, Luna,” I faltered. “Truly I am. I...I did my best.”

“And you did very well indeed, my gallant young subject. Most ponies of your age would have been wholly incapable of remaining level-headed under such pressure; and on top of that, twenty of our other subjects owe their lives to you.”

“Yet nine were lost because I didn't reach them in time,” I murmured, and this time I think I must have let a few tears loose. “I should have reached them sooner, maybe tried harder to stop the express at Horse Junction – then I wouldn't have even had to rescue them in the first place.” I paused for a second, gritting my teeth bitterly. “A fine railway worker I turn out to be! Max Pressure should never have taken me on!”

Luna's smile faded, and she took on a solemn, sympathetic expression. “Dear young Locomotion,” she whispered unto me, “many a little filly and colt I have visited in their dreams, but of all those I have seen since my return from the moon, never have their feelings pained my heart so much as yours. You with greater potential at your age than some older ponies within your main area of interest, and yet you put yourself down because of a collision for which you cannot be blamed?” She rested a gentle hoof on my withers. “I realise the severity of the accident and the guilt with which you are burdened, but you must not put yourself down just because nine other ponies had passed over to the afterlife. All were beyond hope long before you arrived; no matter how hard you tried, nothing in your power would have enabled you to save them.”

I carried on staring at my hooves, unable to think of an appropriate response.

“I can see it might be difficult for you,” Luna went on, “but you must not despair over the unlucky few. After all, you have still saved a number of lives just by being there to begin with, and that alone is something to be proud of. I assure you that your Superintendent and your uncle would tell you the very same.” At that moment, I noticed her beginning to recede into the darkness, her soft smile present once again. “Rest yourself, child; you shall need it after your harrowing experience.”

I reached out a hoof to try and plead for her to come back, but she didn't seem to be taking any notice, and even my voice seemed to stall when I tried calling out to her. At the same time, I began to feel all dizzy and weak, and everything seemed to blur as the Princess of the Night slowly faded into the shadows, leaving me lost and alone once again. That was when I woke up and noticed how damp my pillow had become from all the tears I must have been shedding.

Chapter 8: Consolations and Repercussions

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Perspective: Locomotion

I did of course manage to get back to sleep, but my dreams were still plagued with the guilt and sorrow and helplessness I felt for those dead passengers, and coupled with my unusually late shift, I didn't wake up again until the following afternoon. When at last I did, I found myself feeling all weary and depressed, almost like I had aged several years in the space of one night. Perhaps it was lucky for me then that, as I later found out, Dad had already explained to Miss Cheerilee about the accident and asked if I could have the day off; but then again, I'm almost prepared to admit that maybe being in school might have done me a bit of good – basically just given me something to take my mind off all these guilt issues I was going through.

As it was, I had so little to do that I quickly forgot Luna's wise words and slipped into a depression as the memories of the previous night continued to haunt me – heck, I couldn't even bring myself to write anything on Rodney the Railway Engine I was so troubled! Even if I had, it'd probably have been a disaster fanfic, and that wouldn't have done my self-esteem any good either. Only when school was out for the day did I bring myself to leave the house and head down to Sugarcube Corner, where some of my friends were enjoying an afternoon snack.

Lickety-Split was the first to notice me as I came in. “Hey there, Loco, you alright?” he asked, a look of concern on his face. “We all missed you at school today...”

“Yeah, and you missed the craziest thing since Discord's reign!” interjected Alula brightly. “Snips and Snails were trying a bit of magic at recess, a sort of firework spell like the ones Trixie used when she came down here, and guess what? They only succeeded in blowing up a small rock near the sandpit!” Overcome with hysteria, she toppled off of her chair and rolled about on the floor with raucous laughter.

Normally something as comical as a blunder by those two bumbling unicorn colts would have had me in stitches too – no offence – but after what I'd been through, it sounded a lot more gruesome than humorous. All the same, I tried to force a small smile as I went to get myself a snack of my own. “Yeah – hilarious,” I murmured.

Lickety-Split noticed the dryness in my tone, and I think this must have worried him even further. “Something wrong, Loco? You seem a little bit off,” he remarked.

“Nah, I'm good, Lickety. Just had to put in a bit of overtime at the sheds last night,” I replied, not having the heart to tell him what had happened to the Limited.

High Score raised an eyebrow and gave me what I can only assume was a cheeky smirk. “And you wonder why we all do so much better at school than you!” he ribbed. “You know, you really ought to lay off the trains sometimes, Loco, and tune into reality.”

This struck a raw nerve with me, and my immediate response was to bang my hoof on the table. “I am tuned into flipping reality!” I snapped, glaring harshly at him. “Anyway, how can I help it if my shifts at Ponyville MPD drag on longer than they should do?! Tell me that!”

But that only fuelled the fire, because next thing I knew, High Score was smugly going, “Tut-tut – all work and no play makes Locomotion a dull colt.”

“Alright, Score, that's enough,” chided Lickety-Split, promptly stalling any further unwanted remarks. High Score's expression didn't change in the slightest, but he immediately turned and began talking about something random with Alula as if he hadn't said anything to me at all. “You sure you're okay, Loco old pal? The way you're behaving, it's like you'd just lost a family member or something.”

“Yeah, and I bet there are probably plenty of others who already have,” I thought aloud.

“Oh yeah! Yeah, I think I know what you mean,” exclaimed Alula with an enthusiasm that made me cringe. “Yeah, Dad had been reading all about it only this morning. There wasn't a lot in it, but from what he'd been saying, there was this really big crash up in the Buckskin Mountains...” and before we knew it, she was babbling on about train collisions and passenger fatalities and all the sort of stuff that I really didn't want to be thinking about at this very moment. And what sickens me about it all is that she didn't seem anywhere near as perturbed as she did eager about the whole thing! I mean, really – what the hay is that filly's problem?! Does she even flipping realise what she's flipping talking about?! This a serious train crash we're talking about here, not some slapstick visual gag with a house falling down!

Eventually, it got to the stage where I just couldn't take any more. Unable to control myself, I stood up with a frustrated growl and stormed out of the bakery. No doubt that lot must have been really startled, like, but I didn't really care at this point – I just wanted to get away from all that crash talk and clear my head of all those horrible mental images from that fateful night. As soon as I was outside, I just ran and ran and ran until I was at the top of a hill some way out of town.

Even in my state of anguish, I couldn't help noticing that the hill gave a brilliant panorama of the Equestrian countryside. It certainly offered a good view of the railway line stretching outwards from Ponyville in both directions, towards the inland port town of Portpaddock in the west and the Buckskin Mountains in the east. For a while, I was just sat there gazing out across the land, enjoying the peace and quiet (or at least enjoying it as much as I could, given how upset I was) and not having to bother with anything or anypony in particular – just sort of being alone with my thoughts. And then, just like that, I collapsed into a crying, trembling heap of despair, sorrow and flesh.

It's rather a cruel irony, isn't it? How you do your level best to get so many ponies out of danger, and yet when you reflect on the whole thing, you don't look upon it as an act of heroism – you just torture yourself simply because the accident happened in the first place, even if it wasn't your fault, and all this because of the unlucky few who were beyond help. You feel like you don't belong in this world, and you wonder what might have been if you had never existed in the first place, or if somepony else had been in your place at the time.

I don't know how long I was out there, but after what seemed like ages, I could feel another presence close by. I looked up and noticed that the sun was slowly edging towards the horizon, at which point I realised it must be getting on a bit – not only that, but Max and Uncle Steamer were making their way up the hill towards me. For the life of me, I can't understand why Max Pressure of all ponies would be coming out to the middle of nowhere just for some nopony like me, especially with all those train movements and maintenance jobs that need dealing with. In any event, I was so ashamed of myself that I buried my face in my forelegs again and pretended not to notice.

“You alright, Loco?” The gentle tone of concern with which my uncle spoke did little to soothe my sorrow, and it was only when I felt Max resting a comforting hoof on my withers that I broke out of my pathetic stupor and slowly brought myself to look at them.

“You're having a really hard time dealing with this, aren't you?” he said softly.

The only reply I could manage was a tearful nod. I don't think I'd ever felt so worthless in all my life, so to say I was “having a really hard time” was probably an understatement in my book. Both Max and Uncle Steamer must have guessed as much just by the look in my eyes, because they then spent the next few minutes or so sitting quietly by my side, kind of like they were trying to comfort me with their presence alone. That worked, to a degree, but I still felt upset with myself about the whole affair.

It was Max who broke the silence first; “I can understand how you might feel, kiddo,” he told me. “I've already had to deal with some pretty nasty accidents myself – none as bad as what happened last night, mind, but it still messed up the timetable a fair bit, and I still had a few casualties to take care of.”

Deep down, I was glad to know I wasn't alone in my sorrow, but Max's solemn revelation still didn't make me feel any better. I just didn't have the strength to carry on with the railways, even though I'd already proven far more competent and dedicated than most foals of my age. Closing my eyes, I simply let the question slip through my lips; “Max...do you ever think Ponyville MPD would be...better off without me?” I stammered.

Max's immediate response was to give me this rather startled look of dismay. “How in the world can you say that?” he exclaimed. “You who's done outstandingly for your age, making out like you wanna quit? Where's the railway enthusiast we all know and love?”

“So what if I'm a railway enthusiast?” I objected pathetically. “I don't belong with you guys, even if I have been doing well for myself. I mean, when was the last time you heard of some incapable little runt like me working on Equestrian National Railways?”

That must have thrown both Max and Uncle Steamer for a loop, because even though I wasn't thinking straight at the time, they could both see my point; most ponies don't join the railways until after they've made it out of high school at least, and the only reason Max had taken me on in the first place was because Uncle Steamer had gently talked him into it – or at least that's what I thought back then.

“Well...can't remember when I last heard of such a thing,” admitted Max, “but what does it matter? The whole reason Steamer and I took you under our wings was because you're so full of potential – always have been since you were less than half what you are now. I ask you, how many engine-ponies have taken to railway work as well as you have?”

“And yet I failed to warn John Bull about a pair of light engines,” I countered, silently cursing John for having ignored my warnings.

“Hey,” soothed Max, patting my back reassuringly, “don't beat yourself up about it so. You did at least try – if anything, it's John's fault for not realising the intent behind your actions.” He paused for a few seconds before continuing; “I'd heard all about the accident from the Horse Junction stationmaster, and from what he told me, you weren't at fault by any means. In fact, I'm really proud of you for how you helped all those passengers out of the front coaches – and for keeping your cool throughout the rescue operation.”

I gave Max a look of disbelief. “What, even though I lost a further nine?”

“Yes.” This came from Uncle Steamer. “Even if you had managed to rescue them, you'd only have been in time to run a post-mortem. And what about that grey mare in Compartment J, Coach 1? Why wouldn't she be grateful for your being there?”

“Perhaps,” I replied, unconvinced, “but it's not as if I deserve any credit for all that. Let's face it, there's no way I'll ever make a decent railway worker.” Another tear escaped my eye as I gazed up at the darkening sky, sombrely lamenting over my supposed failure;

“Out along the rails I rode,
Guided by the moon.
Many a trusty locomotive I rode,
A dream that ended too soon.

Now I know the path I tread
Is one I'm unprepared for...

And I'll be railroading no more.”

But there was no way Uncle Steamer would let me believe that. As I finished that last line, he shuffled a little closer to me and wrapped his arm around me, adding in a couple of his own lyrics in an attempt to raise my spirits;

“Think of all the lives you've saved,
All the brave things you'd done...”

Somehow, I found that way too far-fetched; I'd never done anything brave in my life as far as I could tell, and last night's rescue operation hardly qualified in my book. I looked away bitterly, feeling tears well up in my eyes again.

“Bravery nothing! I was merely a burden
With each and every run.

Never will I rule those rails
On a City Class 4-6-4...

And I'll be railroading no more.”

That was when I felt Uncle Steamer's free hoof trying to gently lift my head from beneath my chin. Reluctantly, I turned to meet his gaze, and was met by an expression of deep compassion and determination as he released me from his hold and pointed down the hill.

“No!
That's just not true!
Loco, we all believe in you!
You're a master of steam;
Someday, your foalhood dream
Will come true!”

And as I looked to where he was pointing, it gradually became clear that he meant every word of it. As it turned out, me, him and Max weren't alone – several of the other drivers and fireponies, those hard-working and dedicated ponies I'd always looked up to since I was just a yearling, had gathered around us and were smiling appreciatively upon yours truly. I was rather confused at first, but as I looked each of them in the eye, I could see that they really did have faith in me. They didn't just think I would reach the top of the ladder one day – they actually wanted me to. It's a rare thing for an eight-year-old colt to experience, and it really humbled me to know I had so many faithful supporters at Ponyville Motive Power Depot. Within just a few moments, my sorrow had all but melted away, and I directed a warm, grateful smile to my uncle, uttering one final lyric before wrapping my arms around him and letting my tears flow freely again...

“Who says I'll be railroading no more?”

Perspective: Vinyl

Entry 3711

March 26th, 11am

Ugh! I can't believe I just did that! Just opened up this damn diary, and I find that I've been spewing all sorts of drunken trash all over the page after my last entry! I'm never gonna get over that, I really am not! How could I have let myself get so flipping plastered like that?! Why is it that every time I think of those [long stream of profanities redacted from this edit] that I call my parents I have to get myself [censor] wasted! It's just stupid!

Okay, I'm calm again. So anyways, just so you know what happened after I spouted all that garbage – I dunno how long I was out, but I got woken up at around stupid o'clock by this incessant whistling sound that just wouldn't stop. I got up, went out into the street and stomped over to where this noise was coming from so I could yell at them to shut up and let me sleep. Turns out it was coming from the engine sheds, and as soon as I got there, there were ponies running about the place and getting a whopping great big crane thingamajig ready to go out. That was when I stopped being cheesed off with them and realised that something like really awful must have happened somewhere. I just stood and watched them for something like ten, fifteen minutes or whatever until they left, and that was when the whistling stopped as well.

But this is where things really fell to pieces. As soon as it left, I just lost it and started yelling out about this “terrible accident” or whatever – and then a police officer comes up to me, says I'm disturbing the neighbourhood and then drags me back to the police station because I'm drunk. End result – DJ PON-3 is now in rehab!

This well and truly sucks out loud! As if me being reminded of my parents wasn't enough, now I find I'm in some loony bin just for trying to get them outta my head! How am I gonna live this down?! And what in the hay is Loco gonna think when he finds out there won't be any music at his party? I'll probably be lucky if his own parents even think of letting me play for him after they found out I've let myself get plastered.

Why has my life gone so wrong?

Entry 3711 and a bit

1pm

This is well embarrassing. I've just had my first therapy session, and I tell you what, I did NOT enjoy it one bit – I mean, yeah, the therapist was like real nice and all, and she didn't judge me for what I had to say about why I let myself get so hammered and all, but how can you not reveal everything about your private life and not feel all cagey about it?! If it'd been my parents, they'd never have let me live it down – heck, I'd hardly be surprised if they made a flipping example of me! Those two idiots would never understand confidentiality if it came and slapped them round the ears!

Still, it's their fault I'm here in the first place, ruining any chances me and Tavi had of properly hitting it off! On the plus side, at least I've managed to get it all off of my chest and tell somepony why those mules stink so much, and the odd thing is that I feel kinda glad I managed to let it all out. Probably wouldn't have if that mare hadn't been so persuasive. Not like it's gonna make a lot of difference, though, because I'm gonna be stuck here for another two/three weeks or something or nothing just so I can get off of the booze.

Even when they let me take a walk round the place, I felt kinda hemmed in by loonies. Like, there was one who kept winding me up by mimicking me, and another was barking in a way that made me think there was a dog in the room...it was well freaky, and not in a good way. I'm used to Pinkie being random and all, but all those other ponies properly scare me – and I ain't joking either! ~~If it weren't for all the doctors and other staff, it would have been like I was the only properly sane pony left in the whole world~~. Aw, sweet Celestia, I did not mean to write that! Now somepony's gonna tell me I've lost my mind as well!

Entry 3712

March 27th

Same old therapy session trash as yesterday. Can't be bothered to go into detail.

Actually, no, I tell a lie – I just remembered that Pinkie dropped by earlier and was going on about how sorry she was that I had landed myself in rehab and so on. She even offered to throw me a party when I got out (big surprise) and promised to put in a good word for me with Loco's parents. Dunno if they're gonna buy it, though. I mean, heck, who wants a drunkard to DJ for a foal's birthday party?!

Not that it's likely to happen anytime soon, anyways. Pinkie said that Loco had been out rescuing passengers from that train wreck three nights ago, and she had had to hang fire on his party until he was feeling better. Apparently one of her cousins was in that crash as well, but what really confuses me is that she was talking about her as if I wouldn't take her getting hurt all that well. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm real sorry about the crash and her injured cousin and all, but how can Pinkie expect me to be all shocked and terrified and “OMG please let that pony be okay” about somepony I don't even know?

Or was it somepony I already met some time ago and have forgotten about? I dunno. But yeah, for Pinkie's sake, I sure hope her cousin's okay. Still, whoever this pony is is probably luckier than I am right now, stuck in a loony bin for stupid amount of time with ponies telling me “Cut down the booze” and “You gotta move on with your life” and “Stop thinking about this other mare, you're just gonna make yourself miserable because you'll never see her again, and even if you do, you'll never hit it off with her because you're both different” and all that trash.

It's gonna be a long few weeks.

Perspective: Octavia

My recollections of the journey to the hospital were regrettably sparse, but I do remember that the colt never once left my side between the scene of the accident and our final destination. He and I slept through most of it, and when at last we awoke and saw the glow of the station lights illuminating the train's surroundings, we found an army of paramedics awaiting our arrival, their ambulances filling the entire forecourt and the adjoining street. Only when I was safely offloaded from the coach and transferred to one of the ambulance carts did the weary colt part company with me, wishing me a complete recovery before trudging home. Minutes later, my ambulance arrived outside the hospital entrance, where the doctors transferred my stretcher onto a waiting gurney before wheeling me away to the operating room.

I could vaguely remember the mild sting of the scalpel against my flesh as the surgeon carefully pieced my broken bones together, but mercifully I blacked out again before it could evolve any further. When I finally returned to the land of the living, my head still aching dully from the effects of the painkillers, I found myself in a private recovery ward with my arm in a cast. The bedside table was bedecked with greetings cards, and in their midst sat a small bouquet of my favourite roses; while on the other side of my bed sat Frederick Horseshoepin in person, the anxiety in his expression giving way to relief as I gathered my awareness and greeted him with a weak smile.

“Hello, Octavia,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

I closed my eyes, running a mental diagnostics check before replying simply, “Rather drowsy at the moment, Frederick.” Even now, through bleary eyes that had remained unexposed to the light of day for quite some time, I could see that he too had sustained injury from that dreadful crash that had befallen us only... “How long have I been out for?”

“Only two days or thereabouts,” answered Frederick. “But by Celestia, were you lucky to make it out alive. According to the doctors, you'd lost so much blood that they needed to transfuse you before they could even begin to operate.” It was clear from the tone of his voice that he had been brooding over my welfare the whole time, mentally pleading for the powers that be to spare me from the Harbinger of Death, to renew my life-force for a further few decades of life among the mortals; much like how I had been pleading for them to bring me and her back together somehow, to spare us both from a life of virtual solitude and enable our relationship to flourish. That alone touched my heart, despite the pang of sorrow I felt for my Romeo being banished from the town in which my world resided.

“What about the others?” I asked tentatively.

“They're all okay, and so am I – well, aside from having sprained my right knee and bruised my shoulder. They had to treat Harpo for a broken nose and a fractured hind leg, and Beauty Brass is still suffering from frayed nerves; but apart from that, it's mostly just small cuts and bruises.” Looking into his eyes, I could detect the slightest hint of unease in his expression, the look of the puppy that had been caught ravishing one's favourite slippers. It was as if he wanted to tell me something else, but couldn't find the words. “I won't lie, Octavia, I had never been so scared in all my life. Even stage nerves couldn't compare with the fear I felt for you all that night.”

I managed a weak, wry smile in response. “Then thank Celestia for that little colt coming to my rescue,” I murmured.

Frederick blinked. “Come again?”

“I couldn't be too sure, considering how much pain I was in, but I could have sworn by the princesses that a little unicorn colt had come to my aid in the aftermath of the crash,” I elaborated. “He was red in colour, he wore an engine driver's neckerchief, and his Cutie Mark was a wheel and chimney. He bandaged my arm, chest and head with pieces of bed linen, and kept watch over me all the way back here.”

“My word!” exclaimed Frederick, visibly amazed. “That must be the same colt who helped me out of my compartment. What was his name? He deserves recognition for this.”

But unfortunately I was in such a weary state that the colt's name had completely escaped me – indeed, I couldn't even remember for love or money whether I had heard it at all, which was a pity. Thankfully, Frederick quickly realised this and opted against pressing the matter any further. “Oh well,” he mused thoughtfully, “I'm sure he'll get his dues by the end of the inquiry. I only wish I could thank him in person for what he's done.”

I couldn't agree more with his sentiment; but at the same time, I felt a little disappointed that our journey had come to such an abrupt halt and left us marooned on a proverbial island far away from our port of call, unable to complete our voyage for Manehattan. “I guess Bridleway won't be having an easy time finding a new group,” I observed solemnly.

“They aren't,” replied Frederick. “From what I've heard, half of the audience for the opening of 'The Legend of the Night' were travelling with us at the time of the accident, so they've had to postpone until next month at the earliest.” He looked down at his hooves, the look of regret slowly returning to his face. “Maybe a little longer, unless they can provide the required instruments.”

“But Frederick,” I protested, taken aback, “I thought we'd already discussed the piano issue...”

“No, Octavia, this isn't just about the piano,” interrupted Frederick, “it's to do with the entire group. He paused again, almost afraid of what he had to say next. “The thing is...how can I say this......you know how proud and protective you are of that cello of yours?”

I nodded wordlessly, wondering where he was going with his explanation; but secretly, I too was beginning to experience a pang of dread. The fate of my cello had been the last thing on my mind that night, mostly the result of my own injuries, and even when I was being taken away for medical attention, I never once thought to ask. Now I was almost afraid to find out.

“Well...I'm afraid you no longer have one to call your own. They pulled the remains out of the luggage van only a day after we were hospitalised, and...to cut a long story short, not one of our instruments has survived – not even Beauty Brass' sousaphone.”

The fear in my heart turned into a mild sting of grief at this crushing revelation. Apart from her, my erstwhile 2003 Harmonic Strings cello had been the one thing I held most dear to my heart – and now that too was gone, crushed to a heap of matchwood and broken strings amid countless items of ruined luggage, its deep and soothing music silenced for good, the motherly touch of its melodic hoof no longer reaching out to soothe away my sorrow. It was like losing a close family member, one who had stood by one's side throughout one's foalhood, through good times and bad, for better or worse, in sickness and health.

“I'm so sorry,” said Frederick, his voice barely a whisper, his eyes trained downwards with remorse.

My only response was a sombre nod as I attempted to restrain my tears; though clearly with little success, as Frederick promptly drew me into a gentle embrace, rubbing one hoof between my shoulders in a bid to soothe away the pain of my lost cello. But precious and delicate as they may be, musical instruments are only material objects by the end of the day, and if one breaks or becomes worn out, it can eventually be replaced, whereas life itself cannot. Granted, I would feel my loss very deeply over the coming weeks, but with so much money saved up from all our previous concerts, I could soon purchase myself a brand new cello – the important thing, I tried to console myself, was that we were all alive.

About an hour later, Frederick went to see how the rest of the group were managing, promising to visit me again and wishing me a swift recovery before he left the ward. For the rest of the day, and throughout the night, I found myself drifting in and out of sleep, the embers of the crash still glowing dully in the back of my mind. Far from the intense pain I had felt on impact and for several hours thereafter, my broken arm now felt numb and lifeless, so much so that I had to gaze upon it several times to reassure myself that it was still there. I couldn't imagine how terrible my life would have become if I was unable to play my own music, cello or no cello; and if my arm was so far gone that it had to be amputated, my days as a cellist would have been exhausted forever.

As matters stood, the nurse told me the following morning, I would require at least a fortnight of bed rest before I could even get up and walk around, let alone play a musical instrument of any description. Any disappointment I might have felt at the time, however, became little more than a small grain of sand on a vast beach of reverie as my thoughts turned back to my friends, none of whom I had yet seen aside from Frederick. Granted, the latter had informed me that they had come out no worse for wear than I had, but I still couldn't be too sure until I had had a chance to talk with them. But that chance had to wait a little longer as all five were preceded by none other than Pinkie Pie, who had already heard all about the accident long before I had awoken. I was pleasantly surprised to see her, and even more so when I learned that we had been hospitalised in her home-town of all places. Pinkie, for her part, had been fraught with anxiety upon hearing the horrific news of my misfortune, and was most relieved to see me alive and well. She even added a few balloons to my bedside table and apologised for making a fool out of us with her Pony Pokey request, which was very thoughtful of her. We spent a good half an hour catching up on the goings-on in each other's lives – I won't go into detail, however, as Pinkie does tend to ramble a fair bit, and with all due respect, none of our exchange was of much consequence.

Beauty Brass was the next to visit. I was a little perturbed at first; our interaction immediately prior to the crash was still fresh in my memory, and I almost expected her to have a lot more to say about my leanings. It came as yet another surprise, therefore, when I noticed a look of shame in her expression. A lengthy silence reigned over us as we both tried to find our voices.

“Uh...hi, Octavia,” stammered Beauty Brass after a while. “How are you feeling?”

“I've felt better,” I answered, lacking the courage to look her in the eye, but trying to sound sincere nonetheless.

Another pause ensued before Beauty Brass spoke up again; “Listen, Octavia...I've had more than enough time to think about my behaviour after hearing you were...uh...that your...ah......”

I promptly raised a hoof to silence her. “It's alright, Beauty Brass,” I interrupted, trying to diffuse the situation before either of us could say anything to hurt the other's feelings. “I won't hold it against you if you wish to resign from the group.”

“Resign?” Beauty Brass suddenly looked dismayed. “Heavens, no, Octavia! It's me who happens to be in the wrong, not you!” She paused yet again, calming herself down before pursuing her point still further. “The events of the last few days have made me realise how insensitive I have been, and I'm truly sorry I hurt you the way I did. You must understand, I do want to be able to accept fill...uh, I mean...homosexual ponies,” she explained ruefully, averting her gaze and brushing a hoof against the floor, “but I just don't understand them as well as you do. That's why I reacted the way I did.”

Her admission of the error of her ways caught me unawares, and I almost didn't believe she was trying to make amends for her own misdeed; but at the same time, the sorrow in her voice was so genuine that I couldn't bring myself to hold a grudge against her. “So...you still wish to remain as part of the group?” I asked tentatively.

Beauty Brass shook her head. “You're a wonderful composer, and an even better friend; I could never bring myself to resign over some petty difference of opinion. All I ask is if you can forgive me for speaking ill of your...'orientation', so to speak.”

Touched by her reappraisal of our friendship, I smiled warmly in response. “Of course I can,” I replied simply. “You're a very good friend too, Beauty Brass, and it means a lot to me that you wish to continue our professional relationship.”

Beauty Brass returned the smile in kind, wrapping an arm around my withers in a friendly embrace. Only then, as I returned the gesture, did I fully realise how badly she was suffering from her own ordeal, for I could feel her entire frame trembling ever so subtly, like an old wooden bridge in an earthquake. Such a cataclysmic shock-wave had clearly damaged her supports, and only Frederick and I could provide the scaffolding that would keep her intact until she had recovered. That said, it was a wonder she managed to avoid weeping into my fur.

We remained that way for a few minutes longer until she had pulled herself back together, after which we both related to each other our own stories of the accident. It turned out that Beauty Brass had also been having trouble sleeping, and had resorted to a spot of light reading; only to be interrupted halfway through the book by the same deathly banshee scream of brakes as I had heard shortly before impact. Leaning out of the window, she glimpsed the engines plodding along mere yards away from our own, and after a brief terror-induced seizure, threw herself onto the floor and braced herself for impact. In this way, she had saved herself from serious physical injury, unlike me; but mentally, she was so dreadfully scarred that the nurse had had to sedate her in order to calm her nerves that first night. One could only sympathise with her plight, especially after being subjected to a similar misfortune.

Eventually, our conversation came to an end, and Beauty Brass opted to let the others talk to me before I was left to rest myself. But my surprises for the day weren't quite over, for my next visitor was neither Frederick, Concerto or even Harpo, but a red unicorn colt whom I instantly recognised...

Chapter 9: When Somepony Loved Me...

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Perspective: Locomotion

The next few days for me were...kind of all over the place, to say the least. Even after talking to Uncle Steamer and Max about the accident and how I felt, I was still feeling a little delicate the following day, which would probably explain why I couldn't concentrate as well as I'd hoped during school. Heck, it's a good thing Miss Cheerilee had already agreed to advise the rest of my class against mentioning the whole fiasco!

But more than that, I arrived home that afternoon to find a member of the Railway Inspectorate waiting for me. Now, when I say the Railway Inspectorate, I refer to the ponies who investigate into railway accidents and make recommendations designed to prevent such mishaps from ever happening again – or at least reduce the risk. He basically wanted to get mine and Uncle Steamer's side of the story, get a bit of info on what we thought might have happened.

To be honest, I was a little uneasy as he began interviewing us – not because of my part in the crash, but because I was so much younger than all the other railway employees. Thing is, I've always had inspectors pegged as being very stern and rigid, so I was worried that he might think me too young for railway service and order for me to be kicked out of Ponyville MPD – and then that really would be the end of my career. But much to my surprise, he didn't seem all that bothered; not only had I acted appropriately when I realised what was about to happen, he reasoned, but from what Uncle Steamer had told him, I was more than responsible enough in a railway environment to carry on working for them. To top it all, he actually praised me for my efforts once I'd finished telling him how I helped those twenty passengers out of the front coaches.

So yeah, by the time he'd been and gone, I was feeling a little better about myself – maybe even a little satisfied with my own bravery. All the same, I still felt I needed a few more weeks to get over the shock of the whole thing, and so my parents and I decided to postpone my birthday party. It was just as well, really, because later that day, Mum found out that Vinyl Scratch was in rehab after overdoing it with the alcoholic drinks. That in itself came as a surprise, and I found myself lying awake in bed half the night, trying to work out why she would do such a thing.

But it was the grey-coated mare with the broken arm and the treble-clef Cutie Mark who stuck in my mind most of all. I hadn't seen or heard anything of her since returning from Horse Junction, and I found myself brooding over her continuously as the week went by. How bad were her injuries, all told? How long would it be until she was fully recovered? Would she ever recover at all? Those queries plagued my thoughts day in and day out, and in the end, I resolved to go and visit her in hospital as soon as I had a suitable opportunity.

It wasn't until the weekend that said opportunity finally arose, and that Saturday morning, I headed over to the hospital and asked to see the mare in question. Now, I think the receptionist must have been a bit confused by my request, because she gives me this really odd look like she doesn't know what I'm talking about; but then I explain that I was the one who rescued that pony, and she lets me go speak to her. “But try not to overwhelm her,” she adds. “She needs her rest.”

After promising that I wouldn't, I trotted along the corridor to the lobby just outside the post-anaesthesia recovery ward. There I saw a couple of Earth stallions sat nearby, one of whom I recognised as the last passenger we'd pulled free from the second coach; from the bandages he was wearing, I could tell that he must have been among the worse injured of the lot. Just as I was sitting down, he gazed upon me and said, “Oh...good morning.”

I didn't say anything, but gave a polite nod as I took a seat.

“Pardon my asking, young one,” the stallion went on tentatively, “but would I be right in thinking you were the colt who helped me out of my train a few nights ago?”

“Uh...yeah, I guess you might be,” I affirmed.

The stallion gave me a grateful smile. “I thought as much.”

That was when the other stallion, a slightly richer brown with an even darker brown mane and tail and a single golden quaver on each flank, seemed to realise; “Wait, that's the pony who rescued you? Well, I never did!” he remarked.

I allowed myself a small smile of my own for a few seconds, but my face promptly fell again as I was overcome by regret. “Yeah, sorry about the crash,” I answered ruefully.

“What are you apologising for?” objected the darker one. “Frederick and I never heard anything to suggest it was your fault, young 'un; in fact, he'd been telling me earlier that you'd done wonders helping him and all those other passengers. Nopony can fault you for that.”

“The way Octavia was talking, she certainly couldn't,” put in the other pony. “She'd been telling us just a few minutes ago how you patched her up and stayed by her side while they lifted her out of the carriage.”

I was rather taken aback when I heard the name “Octavia” being mentioned. While I hadn't actually met her before, I knew her and the rest of her group by reputation, and we even had some of their records at home, but actually hearing her name brought me to a stunning realisation. “Hang on just a minute!” I blurted out. “You don't mean that...that grey mare with the broken arm was...the Octavia Melody Philharmonica?!”

Both stallions nodded.

“Then...you're part of her group?”

“We certainly are,” affirmed the darker stallion. “I'm Concerto, and this here is Frederick Horseshoepin. We were on our way to Manehattan to provide the music for a Bridleway performance, and...well, I think you know the rest.”

I certainly did – and I tell you what, I was so flabbergasted by that revelation about the injured passenger who turned out to be Octavia that I couldn't think of anything else to say at first. To think that I'd been tending to a cultured and highly renowned musician all that time and hadn't realised up till now! That's like working on an antiquated old 4-4-0 from the 19th century and learning that she once held the land speed record!

“From what the hospital staff had been saying,” went on Frederick gravely, “she wasn't doing too well when they brought her in – apparently she needed a transfusion before they could operate on her arm. In fact, if it hadn't been for you...well...let's just say things could have been a lot worse for her.”

An ominous shudder coursed down my spine. “Doesn't bear thinking about,” I muttered solemnly. Then I looked up at Frederick and asked, “How is she doing now?”

“Still a little out of sorts, to be frank,” replied Frederick, “but at least she's on the mend now.” He paused for a few seconds, almost as if he was deep in thought. “By the way, I never did ask what your name was.”

“Oh...Loco, short for Locomotion.”

Frederick nodded in response before continuing; “Locomotion...I can't thank you enough for how you helped us that night. Octavia's always been like a sister to me, and I don't know how I would have coped if I knew she was gone.”

“It's okay, Mr Horseshoepin,” I said modestly. “I'm just glad she's still alive to tell the tale. I'm not sure I would have been able to forgive myself otherwise.”

“You're a true equinitarian, Locomotion,” praised Frederick softly. “I hope you never lose that gentle spirit of yours.”

That actually humbled me so much that I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. I know there are some ponies who get all conceited by their own acts of heroism, and all the praise they get for it – heck, that's especially true of Rainbow Dash sometimes – but in this case, I just felt so overwhelmed that some really important pony should think so highly of a veritable country pony like me, and all because I'd helped someone close to them. “Well...thank you, sir,” I managed to stammer.

Frederick said no more, but smiled appreciatively as another pony, a sort of light blue mare with brown mane and tail, exited the ward. Seeing that nopony else was getting up to go inside, I took that as my cue to go in and see how Octavia was doing.

Octavia was almost half-asleep when I entered her suite, but still awake enough to notice my presence. Her arm was now in a plaster cast, and there was a vase sitting on her bedside table with some flowers in it, along with a few “get well soon” cards.

“Hullo, miss,” I greeted, making out like I didn't know her name out of politeness. “How are you feeling?”

The grey-furred mare gave me a dozy half-smile. “Much better, thank you,” she replied. “You are...the little colt who bandaged me up after the train crash?”

“Got it in one,” I affirmed. “I'm Locomotion, but my friends call me Loco.”

“I'm Octavia – Octavia Melody Philharmonica.”

“Ah, just like those two stallions were saying,” I remarked. “Yeah, I've heard of you – that cellist from Canterlot who plays at all sorts of formal events, am I right?”

Octavia looked amazed. “You know about my group?”

“Oh, yeah. The rest of the family and I have taken quite the liking to your music, and we've even got some of your records at home. Never thought I'd be helping you out of a wrecked passenger carriage, though.” I allowed myself a small, awkward grin at this point as I thought of how weird it was, dropping in on somepony I didn't know just because they'd been hurt in a train crash. Even weirder was that I already felt something of a kinship with this mare – both of us had been deeply affected by this accident, her physically and me emotionally, so it actually felt strangely right somehow. There was a brief pause between us, which Octavia eventually broke;

“So...am I right in assuming you like trains?” she asked, almost cautiously, as if she wasn't sure how best to continue our conversation.

I couldn't help but smile at that little query. “'Like' doesn't even begin to describe how I feel about them,” I said. “I'm just...so passionate about railways it's untrue.”

“And...you actually work for them?”

“Well, I don't really wish to boast about it, but yeah, I do work for them. I'm actually quite lucky compared to most railway buffs,” I went on, “because the railways don't usually employ ponies of my age group. My uncle and the local Motive Power Superintendent see a lot of potential in me, though, so they made an exception.”

Octavia smiled again. “You've certainly got the enthusiasm to go with it,” she remarked wistfully. “You remind me of a unicorn mare I used to know back in my high-school days.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Another railway enthusiast?”

“No,” replied Octavia. “Her name was Linsey Woolsey, and she was a budding young musician, just like me. She liked all kinds of music, but particularly rock, dubstep and the like, and wanted to become a DJ one day. But her parents didn't approve of her ambitions. They owned a really big fabric manufacturing business that they wanted her to inherit when she was old enough, and wouldn't let her anywhere near a musical instrument. Even when her Cutie Mark appeared and marked her destiny as a musician, they refused to accept it.”

That was the sort of thing that really infuriated me, and I made no secret of it as Octavia told me about this friend of hers. What in the hay kind of ponies would force their own daughter to go against her own Cutie Mark – her life dreams, even?! Here she was, keen on making a name for herself in music, and yet they insisted on keeping her under the shadow of their business! In Locomotion's Equestria, anypony who did that to their own offspring would have been fined half their fortune for it. But all that aside, for some weird reason, Octavia's description of this Linsey Woolsey pony was sounded strangely familiar, almost as if I'd met her before.

“I had tried many times to talk some sense into those two, and so had a pony from this very town who...I don't know if you know her, she runs a shop called the Carousel Boutique.”

“Who, Rarity? Yes, I know her,” I observed. “Matter of fact, her little sister Sweetie-Belle once told me that she'd gone to Canterlot for a bit of work experience before opening Carousel.”

Octavia affirmed that with a gentle nod before continuing; “No matter how hard we tried, they still wouldn't give in, and ultimately Linsey decided to turn her back on them completely. A few days later, they sent her off to a finishing school in Fillydelphia, and she bought her ticket for some other place instead. It was a hard choice for both of us, but it was the only way she could escape such a cruel fate.”
Another wistful sigh escaped her lips, and for a moment, I thought I could see a small tear forming in her eye. “So...she ran away?” I asked softly.

“Yes, Loco, she did. It was one of the saddest moments I'd ever been through, and it still pains my heart just thinking about it.” Octavia closed her eyes and sang me this absolute tearjerker of a song, presumably thinking back to all the good times she and this mystery mare had shared. That was when it dawned on me – friends they may have been, but through time and separation, her feelings for this other pony had grown far deeper, and I could see as much from her expression. It's often said that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and there, right in front of me, was my prime evidence. She didn't just miss this other mare – she loved her.

“Goodness, Octavia,” I whispered as her song came to its climax, “that must have been an awful thing to go through.” I wiped away a few tears of my own. “I'm so sorry.”

Octavia smiled sadly. “You don't need to be sorry about it, Loco,” she soothed. “Some things just aren't meant to be.”

“Yeah, but still – to lose somepony so close to you and not realise how you felt for them until too late? That's a really cruel thing to have happen, especially to somepony so cultured as you,” I protested.

“Maybe, but there's not a lot we can do about it,” said Octavia solemnly. “If anything, I should be grateful for what I have now, and particularly for your being there when my train crashed. I can't thank you enough for it.”

“Oh...don't mention it. We railway ponies have a duty to our passengers, after all.” At that moment, the matron came into the suite and said it was time to leave. Just before I did, something occurred to me that I hoped might make us quits while at the same time allowing us more time to forge our new friendship. “Actually, Octavia, I know this sounds a bit...premature, but I'm gonna be throwing a birthday party in a few weeks' time. If you want, I could add you to the guest list.”

Octavia pondered, and for a moment, I couldn't help but wonder if I might have jumped the gun a little. “Well...I won't be able to entertain,” she said at last, “but I suppose I could come. Are you sure that'll be alright?”

“Of course it will. It'd be an honour to have a Canterlot musician attending my party. If you like,” I added helpfully, “you can think of it as your way of repaying your debt to me for helping you out in that crash.”

“Oh...well, in that case, it'd be my pleasure.”

“Thanks. I'll let you know when we'll be holding it. Anyway, see you round, Octavia, and I hope everything goes well with you.” And so, after a final thank-you from Octavia, I left her to rest in peace and headed home.

Incredibly, it didn't take all that long for the Railway Inspectorate to complete their investigation and compile their report, which was published only five days after my birthday. It turned out that Switcher, not being used to night shifts, had been so preoccupied with the westbound freights that he had forgotten all about the 669 and 1074, and even forgot to slip the vital collar over the handle of the main starter signal lever, which would have prevented it from being pulled off for the Limited. This in turn meant that there was nothing to remind him of their presence, or even to send the blocking back signal to Windy Vale.

To make matters worse, there had been a fatal misunderstanding on the part of both drivers. The pony in charge of the trailing engine, Iron Duke, was an experienced stallion with 20 years' service under his cinch and a strict sense of protocol which, in this case, had worked against him; for it was his belief that the crew of the leading engine, 1074, should act on Rule 55 first. With any other crew, this probably would have worked out fine, but the engine just so happened to be under the charge of a passed firepony – in other words, a firepony who is also permitted to drive engines should the need arise. The pony in question, Truro, was aware of Rule 55, but had rarely ever been stopped at a signal in all his life, and was therefore under the impression that it didn't apply within station limits. Ironically, Truro's wife (I never did catch her name) just so happened to be Iron Duke's firemare that night, so it's a wonder she never thought to advise him of his misgivings.

John Bull later filled me in on his side of the story. Following the somewhat mixed signals from me and Switcher (excusing the pun), he kept the “City of Coltenburg” going at full power in readiness for the final gradient before Winsome Peak Summit, completely oblivious to my warning. The train roared through Hock Hill Tunnel and round a sweeping curve before crossing the Lundy Viaduct beyond – and that was when he saw, to his horror, the two light engines plodding laxly along only a few hundred yards ahead of him. Frantically, he shut off steam and slammed on the brakes; but it was already too late to stop, even though Iron Duke had seen him coming and turned on full steam. Coal Heaver only just had time to jump clear, but John stayed put until the impact threw him off of his seat and into the controls, luckily without serious injury.

Switcher openly admitted full responsibility for not ensuring that the two engines left on time, or holding the Limited back while they cleared their section. He was subsequently discharged from his duties, taking up a new job in a telephone exchange office in Albaneigh, while Truro and Iron Duke were relegated to fitters in Delamare MPD. I do feel a little sorry for Iron Duke, though; the last I heard of him, he had resigned from his post out of pure shame for his part in the accident, and was working as a builder in Suffolk. I can only hope he's doing okay at the moment.

The news media and the Railway Inspectorate report heralded me as the hero of the Horse Junction accident, and for quite some time afterwards, I found there wasn't a single pony who didn't have anything to say about my involvement in rescuing those injured passengers. I felt humbled by all the praise, but also a little trapped by all the attention, and in the end, my parents had to take me for an impromptu vacation in Hollow Shades in order for me to properly gather myself, with Max generously paying all the required expenses. When we returned home a week later, I was relieved to discover that the fuss over the previous month's fiasco had all but died down, so I could finally go about my life as per normal.

One little loose end still remained, however, in the form of my birthday party. Vinyl was out of rehab by the time we returned, so my parents quickly arranged for the party to take place around the end of the month; and this time, all my friends were able to attend as I'd been hoping for. As for Octavia...well, in the interim between the accident and our absence, the whole family had gained a pretty good friend in her, so after she was discharged from the hospital a few days after I returned, she remained true to her word and booked herself into one of the local hotels for a week. If nothing else, she observed, it would be a good excuse to catch up with her cousin. I've got to admit, I was absolutely stunned to find out that she, a cultured Canterlot cellist with a high-class background, was related to Pinkie Pie of all ponies! That, however, was nothing compared to the surprise I got on the actual day...

Chapter 10: A Day For Surprises

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Perspective: Octavia

There are some who might say that lying bedridden for days on end in a hospital ward can often become tedious and lonely, while others would argue that it allows them plenty of time in which to contemplate over certain issues which, in this day and age, tend to fly right over our heads. In the time I spent in hospital following the accident, I found both to be quite true, for most of my time was spent in solitude apart from routine examinations by the medical staff. Although Frederick, Locomotion, Symphony, Concerto, Beauty Brass and Pinkie Pie came to visit as often as they could, their visits were still separated by long periods of sorrow, regret and even fear as my mind drifted between her time in Canterlot, the future of our musical careers, and that dreadful collision that had nearly cost me my life. I was most grateful when, a week later, the doctors recognised how distressed I had become and sent me for hour of counselling each afternoon; but that said, I was still sobered by the thought of several other survivors in equally delicate states of mental health to my own – possibly far worse.

Over the course of those counselling sessions, I gradually became better acquainted with said victims, and learned more and more about the tales of their own survivals. One passenger, a flighty unicorn stallion from Fort Maine, told us how he had been startled out of his sleep as the coach rolled over, instantly collapsing into a frenetic nervous breakdown; while another explained that the destruction of the front coach had left her husband comatose, and she was terrified that he might never wake up again. Just listening to those anecdotes filled my eyes with tears at the hardships that all those ponies had been through in the space of that one night, and I found myself reflecting time and again on how lucky we were to have survived at all.

Aside from the counselling, I received a visit in the first week from a railway official conducting a government inquiry into the accident, who interviewed me for my own account of what happened that night. When Locomotion came to visit me again a few days afterwards, accompanied by his mother, he explained that he too had been visited by the same stallion; and I'm sorry to say that, after the stress of the accident itself and the interrogation that followed, he was in heartbreakingly low spirits. Even today, I truly feel sorry for him after seeing him so glum – no eight-year-old colt, mature for his age though he may be, should have to shoulder such a heavy burden of distress. It was very little surprise, then, when his mother explained that she and his father were to take him for a week of restorative sojourn.

A full three months were to elapse before I myself could finally recover from the trauma of the accident, though it may have been even longer but for certain circumstances which I will not yet divulge. On the upside, it wasn't long before I was deemed capable of walking around for long periods without the use of a wheelchair; and a few days later, on the 22nd of April, I was finally discharged from the hospital, albeit with the cast still holding my left arm intact. Locomotion had already returned home from his holiday by then, and when he came to visit the day before I was released, he informed me that his party would be taking place on the following Sunday; thus, remaining true to my word, my first priority upon leaving the hospital was to book into a hotel for a fortnight.

Now, I must confess that I hadn't seen anything of Harpo since our less than amicable altercation in the dining car, so I was a little dubious as to whether he would be best pleased to see me again – particularly as nopony had said anything unto me regarding his attitude of late. By this time, I probably should have known to expect the unexpected; but it still came as a surprise to me when, shortly before I took my leave, he approached me with an unusually solemn glint in his eyes.

“What-ho, Octavia,” he greeted in an absent-minded tone.

“Uh...good morning to you too, Harpo,” I replied uncertainly.

“Yes, it is a good morning...all things considered.” Harpo paused for a few seconds before continuing his speech; “I appreciate your feelings regarding...well, certain other ponies...and I can see you're more than a little disappointed in...er, 'them' – but I just want to stress that I didn't intend for any hard feelings. I fear my earlier reaction to you and...her might have been a shade unjustified, and I really do hope you understand.”

To say I did understand what he was implying wouldn't have been entirely true, for while I appreciated the apology, I couldn't quite fathom how it was that he had gone from being spiteful and judgemental to behaving like he regretted his every action towards me; or even why he felt the need to conceal his remorse behind a thin, almost transparent curtain of self-importance. What, in the four weeks we had spent here, could have changed his demeanour so abruptly? Could it be the result of frayed nerves following the previous month's calamity, or had he simply been using his time wisely and considering the ramifications of his acting out so atrociously? So overwhelmed was I with this mysterious change that all the response I could come out with was a quiet, perplexed murmur of, “What gives?”

Harpo looked away in a snooty manner. “You wouldn't understand even if I told you. All I want you to know is that my way of thinking at the time was more than a little flawed, so if I ever have a problem with her ever again...well, feel free to ignore my every word,” he stated with dignity. “And I understand as well if you don't wish to forgive me for my abysmal behaviour.”

My mouth hung agape as he hobbled away down the corridor without another word. I had never known Harpo to be so humble before now, yet here he was, willingly admitting to have drunken the poison while it was uttered unto him, yet at the same time refusing the antidote simply because he felt undeserving of it.

I didn't have much time to ponder over this admittedly confusing enigma, however, as most of my time thereafter was spent growing further and further acquainted with Ponyville. It wasn't quite the hustle and bustle of Canterlot, but in a way, that was what made it all the more endearing to me; it was peaceful, the natives were extraordinarily friendly, the local produce was of a quality that would make any city pony goggle in disbelief, and I enjoyed exploring every avenue of this charming provincial town – so much so, in fact, that I quickly began to grow fond of the place. I even took the opportunity to visit Rarity at her boutique the day before Locomotion's party, and we spent a good few hours talking about all that had been going on in each other's lives over an impromptu dress-fitting session, followed by a spot of tea. The dress was nothing particularly fanciful or extravagant as one would expect in good old Canterlot, or even of the most prized dresses in Carousel Boutique, for that matter, but a simple, light blue gown with my Cutie Mark embroidered onto each flank. It was casual, and made me feel like I was one with the rest of the town, instead of some self-absorbed city pony with precious little time for the simpler things in life.

While we both enjoyed our little social engagement, I couldn't help noticing a coy, cryptic look in Rarity's eyes when I happened to mention a certain other pony – the look of a mother concealing an extra special Hearth's Warming gift to her little foal. Even when I left, her parting words unto me were, “Have faith, my dear, and fate may yet be on your side,” accompanied by a knowing wink that left me in complete suspense...

Perspective: Vinyl

Entry 3713

April 17th

Okay, first off, sorry I haven't been writing in this diary since late last month. I would have kept this thing up to date, but when my therapist saw that I was keeping one, she suggested I write in another one so she could better understand my feelings and why I've been drinking so heavily. Probably wouldn't have even bothered if she hadn't been so persuasive – I mean, I know they're confidential and everything at these places, but you try writing down your thoughts on a bit of paper when you know somepony's gonna be reading through them later. It's just embarrassing!

Still, at least now she understands how I feel about having to part with Octavia and how my parents were like “no way do you get to live your own life, you belong in charge of our factory, and nopony has the right to complain about it”. I ain't gonna lie, there were many times when I had tears in my eyes while I was telling her my story about how I ran away from them. I needed a lot of counselling throughout my stay in rehab, and I'm still kinda down about the whole thing, but funnily enough, I actually feel better for having let it all out. Maybe it's because they've helped me find new ways of coping with those memories of my parents and how much I miss Tavi. Still, I dunno how long I'm gonna be off of the booze, considering how much she means to me, but hey – can't let it get to me, I suppose. I mean, let's face it, I'm probably never gonna see her again, so I might as well try and get on with my life.

Anyways, sit-rep – I'm now out of rehab and going through all my mail, seeing what gigs I've got and so on. Doesn't look like I'm gonna get one anytime soon though, because at the moment all of them are kinda out of date, and it looks like I'm behind on the rent again too. Ah well, at least I have enough in my bank account to cover it. I just hope Loco ain't upset about his birthday party.

Entry 3715

April 19th

Well, what do ya know? Just had Loco's parents drop by this morning, and it turns out he didn't feel well enough to go ahead with this shindig of his. They'd been away in Hollow Shades for a week so he could get over the whole thing. Poor little guy must have been through a real tough time, same as me.

Anyways, they've rescheduled his party for the 25th, and this is what really surprises me – they still want me to DJ for him! They said they'd heard all about my past from Mr and Mrs Cake and thought I deserved a second chance. I mean, seriously, I can't believe they had the guts to look past me getting sloshed and let me off the hook, but I can't thank them enough! Just thank you both for doing this! Thank you so, so much!

Good thing, then, that my next gig is just a cute-ceañera on the 23rd and not some massive great big weekend concert. So, first things first, time to get some playlists together...

Entry 3721

April 25th, noon

Well, today's the day. The bakery's been decorated, the cake's been baked, the buffet table's all laid out with food and drink, my DJ station's all set up, and all I need now is to wait for Loco and his folks to turn up. Been talking with Pinkie for a while now, and she's been getting like real shaky all over and stuff. Says her Pinkie Sense is going nuts and there's a real doozy about to happen, but she doesn't know how or when. It's not somepony knocking her Pinkie Sense, I know that much, but she's only ever had that once or twice, so I dunno.

For the record (no pun intended, LOL), Mr and Mrs Cake are over in a different part of Ponyville dealing with this real big order of cakes for some other pony, and then they're gonna go spend the rest of the day in the park. Kinda makes sense, really, considering how I like to play my music loud and stuff – I mean, I'm no momma myself (yet), but it must be real tough to have somepony kicking your insides like hell just because you've turned it up too loud. Mind you, Mrs Cake seems to be enjoying all that kicking, so maybe some unborn babies do like loud music. I sure hope mine do – if I ever have any, that is.

But yeah, everything's been set up, so now I reckon it's time to go grab myself some lunch.

Perspective: Octavia

Only on the afternoon of Saturday the 25th of April did the truth finally reveal itself, in a way that would make this particular day the most memorable in my entire life. I was still a shade apprehensive of the whole endeavour, but not because it was beneath me – far from it, in fact – rather, I felt unworthy of such generous hospitality from the pony who had safeguarded me from such an untimely end. And surely he himself was venturing a little outside of his comfort zone, especially after all the stress he had incurred and how dreadfully it had affected him? But oh well, I told myself resolutely as I left the hotel in my new dress – a promise is a promise.

Locomotion's party was to take place at 4 o'clock, which allowed me plenty of time for a leisurely stroll through the town centre before reaching the venue – a place known as Sugarcube Corner, if my memory served me. Along the way, I noticed none other than Harpo enjoying tea and rock cakes at a nearby café with a stallion I had never met before. The pony was similar in colour to Harpo, but in reverse with a darker, bluer mane and tail, and his Cutie Mark consisted of two quavers. His overall appearance wasn't perfect, but it certainly wasn't repulsive either; and his general demeanour was one of a simple, laid-back, middle-class pony without a care in the world. That was precisely what confused me, for Harpo should have been looking down his nose at this unlikely companion of his; and yet here he was, talking with this other pony as if they had been friends throughout their whole lives.

As I stared in amazement, the mystery stallion happened to notice me out of the corner of his eye. “Hello, hello,” he remarked, taking me rather by surprise. “Who's this, Harpo?”

But as soon as he saw me, Harpo's face took on the awkward look of the terrier that had been caught ravaging the slippers. “Oh, why, Octavia!” he exclaimed. “My word, this is unexpected, isn't it?”

Personally, I should think “unexpected” would have been putting it mildly. I was so taken aback by what I was seeing that I couldn't manage any kind of response – at least not until the other pony began whistling casually in an obvious attempt to break the silence. “Uh...Harpo,” I asked dubiously, “who is this?”

“Um...nopony in particular,” stammered Harpo, his mask of pomposity rapidly faltering as he attempted to diffuse the situation. “He's just...a random pony I met while I was in town! Yes, we'll go with that...”

Before I could even begin to question why he would be acquainting himself with such a pony, the stallion laughed and gave Harpo a playful slap on the back. “Aw, come on, Harpo!” he chortled. “You've known me way longer than that! Or maybe you took an even harder wallop to the bean than you make out. Remember how we used to swap instruments sometimes whenever I came to visit?”

“Wait a second!” I interrupted, suddenly realising the connection. “Do you mean to say you've been friends with Harpo before now?”

“Since we were foals,” replied the stallion heartily. “And we're not just friends – I'm his first cousin Noteworthy. Octavia, I presume?” and he held out a hoof for me to shake. I accepted it with a polite nod, but was still greatly bewildered – first Concerto telling me he was in a relationship with Frederick, then a little colt working for the railways, and now I find that Harpo, just like me, had extended family living in a rural town! Whatever next, I wondered, Beauty Brass taking the same interest in mares that I do? I gazed back at Harpo, who seemed to shrink behind the table with shame.

That was when the puzzle pieces finally fell into place. This Noteworthy pony was clearly a close relative of Harpo's in terms of friendship as well as kin, but it was equally clear that Harpo himself, quite naturally for the aristocrat he aspired to be, was extraordinarily sensitive about being caught fraternising with a so-called “commoner”. While it never has been or ever will be a major source of embarrassment (and again, I am writing from experience with this statement), there was no doubt in my mind that he was even more mortified than I was bemused. In fact, the only thing that could possibly damage his self-esteem any further would be if Noteworthy happened to be one of those ponies.

“So, er...you play music as well?” I asked innocently, breaking out of my reverie and paying Noteworthy my undivided attention.

“Heck, yeah!” said Noteworthy heartily. “Country or rock, mostly, but I do dabble in a bit of jazz from time to time. I'm pretty good on the guitar, and I even helped young Harpo get the hang of string instruments when he was a colt. I never boast,” he added modestly, “but I'd say I did a good job of translating my guitarist skills to the harp, wouldn't you, cuz?”

But Harpo was too humiliated to affirm or deny that fact. His pride was all but shattered, and only a few small shards remained underneath the thickening layer of mud that was slowly smothering him. “Alright, Octavia, you've found out my secret!” he mumbled bitterly, with a tint of guilt standing out among the dulling colours of his emotional portrait. “Feel free to smear my name as much as you like! I brought this on myself!”

By now, I couldn't help feeling sorry for the poor stallion. Ignoring his injured admission of defeat, I merely smiled sympathetically in response. “Harpo,” I stated with solemn resolve, “for how long have you known me?”

“Since the age of eleven,” said Harpo, still refusing to look in my direction.

“And when was the last time I condemned somepony for having a relative of lower standards than us, even behind closed doors?”

Harpo fell silent again as I stood and gazed knowingly upon him, allowing the information to sink in with him. His loss for words was all the reply I needed.

“There's no shame in being a high-class harpist with a rock guitarist for a cousin,” I soothed after a while. “The trouble with you, Harpo – as I've emphasised many times before – is that you expect far too much of yourself. Sometimes you just have to accept that your social standing, your fame...goodness knows, even your musical talent is but of insignificant importance compared with basic friendship, camaraderie and family honour. I, for one, think it's really nice that you get along so well with your cousin; but by the end of the day, it's hardly up to me to decide whether it's disgraceful or improper, any more than...those two ponies,” I added, suppressing a scowl, “had a right to heckle me for my own orientation.”

“But...surely, after all the things I said...”

“Well, yes, you had been more than a little disrespectful regarding my feelings for her, but I would never wish to hurt those of any other pony, regardless of whom they happen to be,” I interjected. “All I ask is that you try to be a bit more tolerant of said subject in future.”

After another pause, Harpo nodded gravely. “I'll do my best, Octavia,” he said. “I'm awfully sorry about your cello, by the way.”

I smiled again, this time a little more wistfully as the vision of my splintered cello flashed through my memory. “Never mind, Harpo,” I replied sadly. “These things happen. I can soon purchase another one.”

Harpo said no more, but gave me a rare smile of his own. With that, I bade him and Noteworthy farewell and continued in the direction of the bakery, quietly reflecting on how much humbler he had become since the accident. It was astounding to consider how much of a difference a single relative could make to his personality, especially one of a lower social standing – and whom I had never known before, for that matter. Given his class-consciousness, it was perhaps understandable on reflection that he should have been so reticent about revealing that he had such a pony in his family; but it also made me feel happier with the knowledge that, despite his pompous façade, he too knew what it was like to have somepony so close to you who couldn't have been more different. Noteworthy's tastes in music were a world apart from his, yet they had somehow managed to make their relationship as cousins work, and even to this day they are still maintaining a healthy correspondence. If only the same could be said for me and her, I thought wistfully...

Perspective: Locomotion

Needless to say, the week leading up to the 25th was somewhat hectic, what with all the planning and decorating that needed doing at Sugarcube Corner and half a dozen other things. Can't say Pinkie minded very much, though, and Vinyl already had all the songs and tunes that I wanted her to play, so all was ready and waiting by the time my friends and I arrived that evening. Rather wisely, perhaps, none of them said anything about the accident, but instead asked how I was doing and wished me a happy birthday. All the while, I kept scanning the crowd eagerly for the guest of honour.

At last, less than five minutes into the party, some hushed whispers of astonishment from told me that the pony in question had arrived. Briskly, I made my way over to the door as she entered the lobby. “Hey, Octavia,” I greeted cheerfully.

“Good evening, Loco,” answered Octavia with a friendly smile. “Many happy returns.”

“Thanks. Sure glad you could make it. How's your arm?”

Octavia gazed down at her left foreleg, still in its cast. “Not quite fully recovered, but it's certainly improving. So how have you been keeping yourself?”

“Not bad, I guess – aside from having to deal with the stress.” I stared down at my hooves, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.

“I quite understand,” said Octavia kindly. “The feeling has been mutual, I assure you.”

That instantly made me feel better about myself. Without further ado, I proceeded to introduce Octavia to my all friends, many of whom were pretty mystified that I had managed to befriend an esteemed classical musician so easily. Kinda figures, really; even in those days, classical music was probably about as popular with foals as nursery rhymes with hardcore video-gamers (I'm looking at you, High Score!), so they probably wouldn't have even heard of her. Sweetie-Belle, on the other hoof, was one of the few who actually enjoyed her music, let alone recognised it, so she and Octavia were soon chatting like old friends.

In fact, it was while the three of us were chatting that Vinyl began playing a particular favourite of mine. I began lightly bobbing my head and tapping my hoof against the floor as it played, but promptly paused when Octavia remarked curiously, “I don't think I've ever heard this one before. Has this only just been released?”

“No, it's been out for a few years now,” I replied with an eager smile. “It's one of my favourite Rodney the Railway Engine songs, 'Really Useful Engine'.”

“Is that so?” Octavia looked impressed. “I never knew that a foals' television series could come up with such enjoyable songs as this.”

I could kind of understand where she was coming from. Rodney the Railway Engine is a great series, and I will readily defend it to the day I die; but you wouldn't really expect any upper-class pony to appreciate it in anything like the same way that I do. Even Octavia had never truly heard about it until one of my visits to her in hospital.

“Yeah, well, that's the thing about Loco,” put in Sweetie-Belle with a broad grin. “Anything that relates to trains, he's right in his happy place! You know the weird thing, though?”

“No, what?”

“He doesn't usually do well with loud music, and yet he's making this a kind of disco gig,” explained Sweetie-Belle. She did have a point, I must confess; it was for that reason that I'd asked Vinyl to play it at a lower, more tolerable volume, and also why High Score and so many others had been taken aback by me choosing her to play that music at all! “We all knew he was into trains, but we never thought he'd be having music at his party.”

“You think you were surprised?” I quipped. “I never dreamed in all my life that I would be collaborating with a DJ of all ponies!”

Sweetie-Belle nodded in agreement. “Yeah, just as well we even had a DJ living here in the first place,” she pointed out.

“You have a disc jockey living here?” asked Octavia, bemused.

“Oh, yeah,” I replied, cocking my head towards the DJ station. “She was the one who helped me pick out all the songs for my party. Goes by the name of DJ PON-3, but her real name's Vinyl Scratch.”

And that was when the most extraordinary thing happened. No sooner had Octavia turned her attention to the mare in question than her eyes widened and seemed to gloss over, almost as if she was under some really powerful spell; while at the same time, Vinyl looked up from her turntables towards Octavia and seemed to freeze in place, transfixed. Everypony else stopped what they were doing and turned to gaze at them in twos and threes; and even I was so taken aback by the inexplicable turn of events that I couldn't help staring either...

Chapter 11: A Musical Reunion

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Perspective: Octavia

My heart skipped a beat, and everything around me seemed to fade from existence, until all that was left was a soft pink void with my long-lost love standing at the other end. Even the music was reduced to a faint hum in the background as my galleon slowly drifted across the water, towards the island that held the flame of my teenage years. Though her dark shades concealed her expression, her body language showed clearly that she too was gazing upon me in disbelief, almost like she wanted to reach out to me, albeit a little afraid to do so for fear of it being but a mere dream. Even I couldn't ascertain whether this was truly happening to me or I was still in a coma; but with closer proximity came an ever-increasing clarity that I could no longer ignore, and at last, I managed to choke out that one solitary word that had caught in my throat... “Linsey?” I whispered.

She lifted her shades, revealing an awestruck glint in her magenta eyes. “Tavi? Is that really you?” The use of her old nickname for me prompted another flutter in my heart as she slowly made her way round her station, never once averting her gaze. Unable to formulate a comprehensible reply, I affirmed her query with a simple nod – and then, in a split second, our floodgates burst open and all my decorum vanished as the two of us embraced. I didn't even care that other ponies were staring in confusion at us, or about the discomfort I was causing in my broken arm; this was a long overdue moment for which I had been craving so sorely, and now it had finally come to pass.

“Oh, Linsey,” I wept, once we had composed ourselves, “I can't even begin to tell you how happy I am to see you again.”

“Again?!” Locomotion's confused tone snapped us both back to reality, and I hastily released her from my forelegs, remembering where I was. “You mean to say you know each other already?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” I affirmed unashamedly. “You remember what I told you in the hospital when you first visited me?”

“What, about that...close friend of yours who ran away from home?” said Locomotion. Inside my head, I could only giggle at his naivety; he was clearly attempting to avoid touching any raw nerves, as any real gentlecolt would, but he still couldn't seem to fit the puzzle pieces together, bless him!

“And who has now fulfilled her ambition as a DJ?” I added as a subtle hint.

Only then did Locomotion finally crack the code, and he stared in astonishment at the white mare by my side. “Wait a minute – you're Linsey Woolsey?”

“Well...used to be; and I'd rather you didn't call me that, kid.” A noticeable cringe of embarrassment crossed her face at the mention of her previous name.

“So...that friend Octavia told me about was you all along?!”

Vinyl nodded in reply, her expression turning solemn. “Yeah – so it would seem. I dunno how much she told you about me, but....well, let's just say my parents were absolute......they didn't give a toss what I wanted to do with my life. That's kinda how I ended up here – and why I changed my name to Vinyl Scratch,” she explained, turning to gaze upon me with a glimmer of remorse in her eyes.

“But why did you never write me?” I questioned. “Did you just forget all about me, or...”

“No, Tavi,” objected Vinyl, “I could never get you outta my head even if I tried. It's just...first off, I was kinda carried away with trying to start off my career, and second...” She gazed down at her hooves with shame, tears welling up in her eyes. “...I never wrote down your address. I see now what an idiot I am for missing that out – all my life, I'd been thinking about how much I missed you, and what I'd give to have you back in my life, and how different things could have been if those damned llamas what call themselves my parents hadn't sent me packing like this! I never did forget you, Tavi – if anything, I've fallen for you and fallen hard since we parted. Leaving you behind was the stupidest mistake I'd ever made, and I'd do anything to make up for it. I really would.”

I was so full of emotion by this time that I could barely hold back my own tears any longer. To actually see her in the flesh after so long was a miracle in its own right, but seeing the beautiful young mare she had become, hearing her pour her heart out to me, filled me with a warmth that I never thought I would ever feel again. Conversely, the tone of her voice seemed to imply that the price she had had to pay for fame and fortune had impacted much harder upon her than she was letting on, so any joy I felt was tainted with inklings of dread and sorrow for whatever she might have done to herself during that time. But what in heaven's name was she trying to hide? Dare I even ask what it was? After all the hardships we'd been through, there was only one answer...

“Please excuse us, Loco,” I managed to say once I had found my voice again. “Vinyl and I need a moment to ourselves.”

Locomotion was so moved by what he was witnessing that he could only nod solemnly in reply. I did feel a little guilty for having put a damper on his party (completely out of the blue, just to make that crystal-clear), but there were still a number of unanswered questions that I didn't wish to bring up in a public setting – questions that I couldn't possibly withhold any longer. Judging by the agitated look on Vinyl's face as I led her outside, it wouldn't be long before she buckled under the pressure herself.

Sure enough, as soon as we were out of earshot, Vinyl grabbed hold of me in an embrace far tighter than I had ever experienced and began sobbing feverishly into my shoulder fur, as if she expected me to fade away the moment she let me go. Not that I had any intention of leaving her so abruptly, of course; but her distress still managed to deal a tiny crack to my heart, and I finally let my tears flow freely as I hugged her back. Thus we remained until Vinyl finally spoke, in a low but fervent whisper;

“Tavi...thank you so much for remembering me. You dunno how much it means to me, seeing you first time in a zillion years.”

“Shh, it's alright,” I whispered back, trying my utmost to soothe her broken feelings.

“No, really,” continued Vinyl, still sobbing, “I'm surprised I managed to last five minutes away from you. Sure, I had loads of friends and I'm still making pretty big bucks even now – but it just wasn't the same without you around, not even when I had Pinkie helping me with all my music stuff.” She sniffled loudly, and I felt her tensing up with what I suspected must have been deep frustration. “No wonder I ended myself up in that damned rehab!” she murmured bitterly.

It was that last word – rehab – that left an ominous tickle in the back of my mind. “You mean...psychiatric submission?” I stammered, pulling away. As I did so, I noticed an expression of fear in Vinyl's eyes that mirrored my own – clearly, I realised, she was as scared of explaining herself as I was of learning what she had done to warrant a visit to a rehabilitation clinic.

Vinyl guiltily hung her head in reply. “Only that one time not long ago, but yeah.”

Overcome with shock and dismay, I could only stare blankly upon her for a moment before finally forcing out that one word; “Why?”

With a heavy sigh, Vinyl closed her eyes and turned her head away, seemingly preparing herself for an interminable fusillade of angry words. “Well...I'll tell you why,” she replied uneasily, “but you're gonna have to hear it right the way through. See, back when I left Canterlot, I didn't really have anywhere in particular in mind – I just picked a station at random and took it from there. Pinkie let me stay here at Sugarcube Corner rent-free, but I had no end of trouble getting my DJ career kick-started, and even when I did get it going, I still had you in the back of my mind the whole time. Even those lame parents of mine kept creeping into my thoughts at all the wrong times, and it just drove me up the wall! When I hit 18, I started taking a flask of whiskey with me wherever I went, so if I ever started thinking of you, I could take a sip to stop me getting into a tizzy – only a small one, mind.”

I acknowledged her defence with a shaky nod, not liking where this was going one bit.

“But back in my pad, it's a different story. I don't have anypony to share it with, so it gets lonely in there pretty quick. That's when I really start to go at the booze, and more than once, I've woken up on the floor with a massive hangover and several empty bottles on the floor. There was one time I came home after a gig in Rainbow Falls and saw somepony on another train who looked just like you. I kinda went into a panic, ran off back home and tanked myself up until I was drunk off of my flanks,” Vinyl went on. “Then I was woken up by a whistle from outside, came outta the condo, and saw the...wrecking train or whatever Loco calls it, being taken out. Then a cop came and took me away and...I think you know the rest.”

I choked back a horrified gasp, my right hoof springing upwards and over my mouth as I recalled that fateful final station stop before the crash. So it was her on the platform that night – and I hadn't even dared to acknowledge her with a friendly wave. I had just left her to intoxicate herself to the point of losing her sanity, and the Bridleway Limited to convey me and my group to a sticky end. How could I have been so...blind? “Oh, Lin...Vinyl!” I faltered, mentally reminding myself that she had long since changed her name. “How could you do this to yourself?”

“I'm sorry, Tavi,” whispered Vinyl, not daring to look at me. “I guess I wasn't thinking straight at the time. As soon as I saw what I thought was you, I thought I must be losing my mind.”

“But...that was me!” I blurted out. “I was travelling to Manehattan to partake in a musical drama performance, 'The Legend of the Night'. I even saw you myself when my train stopped at Ponyville.”

That was enough to break Vinyl out of her repentant reverie, and she gazed back at me in pure disbelief. “You...that was actually you?”

“Yes. It was my train that crashed in the Buckskin Mountains that very same night. I did catch a glimpse of you at Ponyville, but I couldn't be too sure it was you either.” I stared ruefully at my cast, deeply upset with myself for having let it come to this in the first place.

“Is that how you ended up with a broken arm?” asked Vinyl tentatively.

“Unfortunately, yes; and lost my cello to boot. I really do wish I hadn't restrained myself so, otherwise I would have spared myself of both.”

All fell silent again as I let Vinyl take in the information with which I had presented her, all the while berating myself for having hurt her – and myself – so badly. Vinyl seemed to understand exactly what I was thinking, because after a while, she put a hoof under my chin and slowly lifted it to meet her gaze.

“Hey, don't sweat it, Tavi,” she said unto me with a gentle, sympathetic smile. “Train crash might happen to anypony. I'm just glad you made it out alive – I don't think I could have lived with myself if you'd been smashed along with your cello.” Her eyes began to brim with tears again as she drew me forth into another hug. “I'm so happy you're back in my life, and I never wanna leave you again.”

“Nor I you,” I agreed, holding onto her with all the pent-up emotion that I had been unable to channel for far too long. “I really have missed you, Vinyl.”

“I've missed you too, Tavi.” Vinyl nuzzled me softly and ran her left hoof up and down my back, gently massaging away all the long years of pain, sorrow and regret that had plagued me so heavily. My grip tightened around her barrel as further tears flooded my eyes, not enough to restrict her breathing, but enough to reassure the both of us that this was truly happening – we were meant to be, and we finally were. This was how it always should have been; me and my foalhood friend, whom I had long since come to realise was far more than just a friend, in the loving, caring relationship that I had always yearned for. All I needed now was one final gesture to seal the deal...

I drew back slightly to gaze into those beautiful magenta eyes of hers, and we spent a minute or so just gently embracing and sharing breath. As we did so, I leaned towards her ever so slowly until our noses were touching – and then, like a firework exploding in my chest, my heartbeat seemed to increase tenfold as our lips met for what was only the second time in our lives. It was the moment of pure, untainted bliss that it should have been in the first instance, a feeling sadly negated by the excruciating knowledge that she would be leaving the following day. This time, I didn't have to worry about anything of the sort; now that I had managed to rekindle my relationship with Vinyl Scratch, formerly Linsey Woolsey, I would do my utmost to ensure that that relationship continued to flourish for as long as I lived.

Perspective: Locomotion

As the two mares exited the lobby, I turned back to the rest of my guests and apologised profusely for the unexpected “intermission”, promising that I would resume the party as soon as Vinyl felt ready. There isn't really much worth adding here, apart from me having to explain what was going on – although I will say that Scootaloo's reaction was pretty comical if a little inconsiderate! But yeah, most of it was just me and the others talking among ourselves for a quarter of an hour, until at last Vinyl and Octavia returned. The warm smiles on their faces as they approached my table told me everything I needed to know – they had rekindled their relationship, and were a couple once again.

Vinyl was the first to speak up. “Loco,” she ventured softly, “thanks a million for bringing Tavi back to me. I dunno how you knew about us, but...thank you, just...thank you.”

“Oh...that's okay, Vinyl,” I replied modestly. “To be honest, I didn't even know you two had a history in the first place. I just thought Octavia would appreciate my offer of friendship.”

“I most certainly do, Loco,” put in Octavia wholeheartedly. “If you hadn't invited me to this party, goodness knows if I would ever have seen Vinyl again. We owe you a great debt of gratitude for this,” and she gently pulled me into a grateful hug, which Vinyl promptly joined in on. I could only smile as I returned the gesture; though unable to formulate a verbal response, I felt it wasn't needed at this point. All that mattered right now was that they were back together.

Perspective: Vinyl

Entry 3721 and a bit

11pm

Dear Celestia, Luna and every other god and goddess in existence, I can't thank you enough for putting my whole life back to how it should have been all these years. I was expecting another night of partying at Sugarcube Corner for a foal what just turned a year older, and then Octavia of all ponies walks in – and it turns out Loco knew her all along too. Okay, so maybe he didn't even know Tavi and I had a thing going on back when we were teens, but he sure took it pretty well. That little guy's really gone out of his way to bring us back together – even if he didn't realise it – and me and Tavi owe him big-time for this.

I'm surprised I never heard about her from Pinkie first, though, 'cause it turns out Tavi was that cousin of hers what got caught in the train wreck. When I asked her why she never told me, she was like “I got a lot of cousins, Vinyl, you should'a been more specific”! Typical Pinkie Pie! But hey, what does that matter? Today is the happiest day of my life, and there's no way I'm gonna lose my love ever again.

Epilogue

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Perspective: Octavia

The events of March 24th 2009 remain a real tragedy in the eyes of many, especially those who were either directly involved in the collision or had lost loved ones as a consequence. But I like to think that, as irrefutably disastrous as it might have been, the Horse Junction accident was but a miracle in disguise, for had I not been on the Bridleway Limited that night, heaven knows whether Vinyl and I would ever have crossed paths again. Instead, the dying embers of our past relationship gradually regained their old glow and began to evolve into a strong and steady flame.

But even miracles can have downsides. In my case, the loss of my cello and the physical and emotional trauma I had incurred meant that I was unable to attend the opening of “Legend of the Night”, which in turn led to the performance being suspended until my group and I had fully recuperated; but they also deprived me of my primary coping strategy, and I will confess that there were times when my composure simply collapsed without warning. Vinyl was a great source of support during that time. Whenever she and I were in each other's company (which was quite frequent), at the slightest hint of sorrow or distress on my part, she would either draw me into a meaningful embrace or play one of the more soothing or romantic records from her vast collection – not necessarily classical, but still of the right atmosphere to soothe away my hurt feelings and bring the light back into my cavern.

As she and I became reacquainted with one another, so I learned of and became accustomed to the eccentricities she had developed during her time in Ponyville. For example, there are some who describe her as being inventive with her music, and after seeing how she “washes” her dishes with bass beats (or “wubs” as she terms them), I can't disagree with that sentiment; noisy though it may be, it actually works surprisingly well at, to use Vinyl's words, “cleaning the dishes on a microscopic level”. Neither, for that matter, can I even begin to emphasise how touching it was to discover that she has amassed an entire catalogue of records under my name, and often plays them when thinking back to our teenage years.

My vacation in Ponyville ultimately spanned over three months, with Vinyl offering to accommodate me after my hotel booking had expired. But all good things must come to an end, and in mid-July, by which time my physical wounds had all but healed, I received a letter from Bridleway to inform me that they were premiering “The Legend of the Night” on the 25th of that month. Vinyl and I were sad to have to part company again, but I promised her that I would one day return to her, and that in the meantime, no matter where our lives took us, I would remain in contact with her. That was when she showed her dedication to our relationship in perhaps the most touching manner possible – by presenting me with a beautiful new Harmonic Strings 2009 cello. “You were the music that kept my record playing all my life,” she told me, “and I want to be the one who helps you make that music for as long as we live.” I've never forgotten those words.

“The Legend of the Night” proved to be a major success story for Bridleway, enjoying a well patronised tour of Equestria for two months after its premiere. Our final port of call was in my old home of Canterlot, where Princess Luna herself attended the final performance; but none of the accolade we received that evening could compare with the gratitude I felt for seeing Vinyl seated in the front row, watching me with a warm smile. That was when I came to the most important decision of my entire life – though my profession lay among the ranks of the most distinguished musicians of Equestria, my future lay with the one whom I used to know as Linsey Woolsey. Thus, six weeks after the tour came to an end, I too bid Canterlot a solemn farewell before following her hoofsteps towards a new life in Ponyville.

Vinyl and I have never looked back since then. As the years passed, so the flower of our love continued to blossom until, eight months ago at the time of writing, she finally built up the courage to ask me the question I had been hoping to hear for so long. After all we had come to mean to each other, after the emotional monsoon that had swept across the plains of my existence for ten long years, after the joy I had felt from returning to her embrace once the rains had passed, the answer had to be – yes. This in turn provided me with the inspiration I required to finish off my own gesture of dedication to my foalhood sweetheart, that most special of all of my compositions that had remained unfinished ever since her departure from Canterlot. To the ballad of a lonely heart came a fitting final movement, a serenade that told of two lovers reunited and gradually brought closer and closer, until, seven years on, they were inextricably bound together in a merry matrimony.

Where our lives will take us from here, nopony knows. We've already been considering adding some fresh new lives into our own, and I'm still hoping to join the ranks of the Royal Canterlot Symphony one day. But one thing is for certain – my life has never been anywhere near as complete as it has with Vinyl Scratch.

Perspective: Locomotion

Thus ends the story of the Horse Junction Rail Disaster – how a signalling error led to the loss of nine passengers' lives, how a further twenty survived thanks to the efforts of an eight-year-old colt about to turn nine, and how one of them ended up reunited with the love of her life despite almost losing hope of ever seeing her again. But for Octavia Melody Philharmonica and Vinyl “DJ PON-3” Scratch, this was just the beginning; after that fateful night, their relationship continued to flourish, and now, seven years since, they have finally gotten married. While I'm still not much of a music aficionado nowadays, I still maintain a good friendship with both of them, and sometimes I actually go and visit them just to kinda hang out and catch up with what's going on in their lives, etc. They've been considering starting a family lately, and even asked if I wanted to be the foal's godfather.

The accident did little to blemish the reputation of the Bridleway Limited, thankfully, and it still sees service from Canterlot to Manehattan and back via Ponyville. And as for me? Well, I'm still part of Equestrian National Railways to this day, and have been working as a driver for just under three years. It's been a heck of a journey to get this far, and I've still a long way to go before I get to take charge of express turns alongside Uncle Steamer, but I'm still doing him and Max Pressure proud, which is saying a lot for a sixteen-year-old stallion.

It's amazing to think – youngest employee on ENR at the age of eight, later their youngest firepony at eleven, then their youngest driver at fifteen, and now I'm on the road to becoming the youngest top-link driver in history. I owe Max and Uncle Steamer so much for helping me get this far in life at such a young age. I also owe a lot to my new fillyfriend, whose idea it was for me to share my story of the accident with the whole world. She has been helping me through a rough spell of depression following a near-death experience of my own, one that has already gone down in the history books as a major turning point in Equestria's international relations.

Thank you so much for being there for me, Hornette. I will always love you.

Perspective: Vinyl

So that just about wraps it up, everypony. Me and Tavi are now back together, we've been living under the same roof for seven years, and now we're gonna be spending the rest of our lives together. Sure, we're also spending a fair bit of time away from each other when gigging in other towns and cities, but hey – at least I don't have to worry about losing her anymore.

Only thing bugging me now is what happens when Tavi finally gets her place in the Royal Canterlot Symphony. Does that mean we have to move back to Canterlot? I'm not really sure I wanna leave Ponyville after how much I've come to love it, and neither do I really want anything to do with my parents ever again, after what they've done to me. That said, Tavi tells me that Dash and Soarin live a long way from Cloudsdale and are still part of the Wonderbolts, so maybe she could work something out for her and the orchestra. Still, only time will tell.

Of more importance right now is Tavi's wish for a foal. We've already got the same spell what Lyra and Bonbon used to conceive Tootsie Flute, but there's still a heck of a lot of planning needs doing before we're ready to start a family. But hey, that's all in the future. Nothing more I can do right now than enjoy what I have.

That's all, folks!