> Apropos of the Sinners
>  by SpitFlame
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> Introduction – Chapter I – Bronze Pocket's First Wife
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INTRODUCTION

A BRIEF FAMILY HISTORY



* * *


A dark and tragic event took place in Ponyville, which is still remembered and discussed among our good folk to this day. I will add that this event occurred many years before even the return of Nightmare Moon, that is, well before Twilight Sparkle and her friends rediscovered the Elements of Harmony, effectively saving Equestria from an eternal night, and so on and so forth. For now I will say that, to study these facts, I must describe them in their proper place.

It started with a family, a family worse than most. First, we must familiarize ourselves with Bronze Pocket, a posthumously famous earth pony and moderately successful landowner. This Bronze Pocket was married twice and had three children: the first two, his sons—Cluster Tale and Nova Steel—to his first wife, a unicorn mare, and his only daughter—Airglow Sky—to his second wife, a pegasus mare. I will note, briefly, perhaps for want of skill, that his three children were not terribly close to one another, and, in fact, none of them were ever raised by Bronze Pocket himself. We will get to the details shortly.

Both of Bronze Pocket’s marriages were a product of bad conduct; that is, he was the type of senseless stallion who was, on the surface, only capable of looking after his own worldly affairs, and, apparently, nothing much else; an abject and muddleheaded type, frequently gossiped about, regarded with disdain even by his friends, but up front treated with a sort of sarcastic reverence, a sort of respect too exaggerated to be sincere.

He grew up to a poor family in Ponyville. His father was a sponger living off the generosities of others. His mother went on to become widowed after her husband could not take his eyes off the roulette table: his compulsive gambling habits led to his irresponsible dealings and eventual murder. Bronze Pocket worked in a small farm before his coming of age, at the same time balancing his education, studied at a publicly funded university for only a year, dropped out, and travelled to Canterlot where he opened a small money-lending business. He made quite a name for himself, and, at the end of it all, landed back in Ponyville to continue his work and debaucheries.

In short, Bronze Pocket started from nothing; his business was small but concise; despite the wealth he managed to amass (proceeding his death, it was discovered that he had been hiding as much as half a million bits) he would often dine at other ponies’ tables, never lend any of his personal money to others, often devolve into repulsive poetry when drunk, and so on.

Bronze Pocket’s first wife, Stardust Gleam, belonged to an aristocratic family stationed in Canterlot, the Ballad Shines, well respected and distinguished. Many have attempted to explain, including myself, how a wealthy and intelligent mare such as Stardust Gleam could possibly have decided to marry such a depraved scoundrel, much to the bafflement of her family. Perhaps Stardust sprang from the “romantic” generation of spiteful and unconventional rebellion. That is to say, Stardust was certainly a strong-willed and independent mare, privileged with both beauty and strength, and, in fact, she may have even wanted to show her independence and overcome the echelons of class despotism, to commit deeds beyond proportion and convention, such as marrying a worthless "peasant" stallion like Bronze Pocket, despite his status as a sponger. This action was evidently an echo of foreign influences, and the affair gained a particular piquancy from elopement, which greatly pleased Stardust. Unfortunately, this all turned out to be nothing but a fit of passion, the turning point in the lives of such ponies where they commit themselves to a certain path by the mere virtue of its picturesqueness.

Stardust quickly discovered her burning contempt for Bronze Pocket. This feeling of intense contempt followed soon after the elopement, and the husband and wife led a wildly scattered life together, full of secrets kept from each other. The only thing on Bronze Pocket’s mind was Stardust’s dowry, the very one provided to her by her family. It is known that Stardust displayed far more generosity and high-mindedness to Bronze Pocket than he did to her, if only to rid herself of him as quickly as possible, while he nabbed all the cash from her every moment he got. Bronze Pocket did everything he could to transfer what his wife owed to his name by means of some appropriate deed, and he would have succeeded, merely because of the contempt and loathing she had for him; that is, his shameless extortions and entreaties aroused in his wife a sort of emotional exhaustion—she was too busy doing whatever she must to be rid of him. Of course, the Shines family stepped in and put an end to all the hogging. It was at this juncture, more or less, where tensions grew too insurmountable, and Stardust fled Bronze Pocket’s house, unofficially breaking off their marriage.

Because she wanted absolutely nothing to do with her husband, not a single reminder, she left her four-year-old and two-year-old sons—Cluster Tale and Nova Steel respectively—in his hooves. Unfortunately, Bronze Pocket completely abandoned these children, not because of malevolence or cruelty, but because he genuinely forgot about them. He threw himself into a life of debauchery and drunkenness, almost every day inviting young mares over or heading over to the nearest tavern for a gamble, tearfully going on rants about his “good-for-nothing” wife, diving into some absurdly personal details about their affairs together, painting himself as the victim, et cetera. Some of these details were so personal and inappropriate it would have embarrassed and disgraced any other stallion worth his salt, but not Bronze Pocket apparently. He was all too willing to act out as the buffoon, have others laugh at his expense, to flatter himself in his own degradations, to play the injured stallion, and to parade his sorrows with adornments.

Stardust Gleam could not find happiness, it turned out, not from any stallion she met, or even her own family, most of whom she outright avoided. Tormented by her time spent with Bronze Pocket, not capable of forgetting all that he had done to her—and prodded by her “romantic” inclinations—she threw herself off a high bank somewhat resembling a cliff, in the middle of a terrible storm, right into a deep and raging river. She perished decidedly by her own caprice. Perhaps if the chosen cliff had not been so picturesque, but merely a flat, dull bank, the suicide might not have taken place at all. But these fits of passion returned, and what better way to go than this. Realism may inflict tragedy in our lives, and the only cure is a little dose of poetic tragedy. When Bronze Pocket learned of his wife’s death he was so enraptured (and so very drunk) that he jumped up on a table and sang to the high heavens—and soon after was kicked out of the tavern.
> Introduction – Chapter II – Cluster Tale
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Needless to say, Bronze Pocket was not a very inspiring father figure. His behaviour was what one might expect. Both his sons, Cluster Tale and Nova Steel, were set up for adoption by his servants—but what else could they do out of pity? They were taken in by a certain pegasus philanthropist, Flash Stream, who just so happened to derive from the Ballad Shines, that is, a distant relative of Stardust Gleam’s. Having returned from Manehattan, he caught wind of these colts, and in spite of his contempt for Bronze Pocket, he took them in under his wing, that is, to undertake their education.

In case you wish to know, Flash Stream, after having exchanged letters with Bronze Pocket, guessed at once that nopony could drag any money out of him even for the education of his own children; that he preferred to pour out in sentimentalities whenever the question was brought up, always fashioning some excuse or other out of thin air. Flash Stream took personal interest in the orphans; if there was anypony the brothers were indebted for their upbringing and education for much of their lives, it was to this Flash Stream, a most generous and humble stallion. He was even benign enough to store away some savings for the brothers, one thousand bits each, which eventually became two thousand with interest. But that is enough for those details.

When Flash Stream consulted Bronze Pocket for this decision, the latter, at first, had no clue what he was going on about, only to be reminded that his kids existed, and that they would only get in the way of his debaucheries. Then Bronze Pocket, thinking it over, decided that it was a good thing, and did not refuse him his formal consent to any proposition in regard to his children's education. He applauded Flash Stream’s sudden display of altruism, even at his own moral disadvantage; but when accused of faking his praise, Bronze Pocket did not rebut, had no need to, and only chuckled the accusation away.

At first Flash Stream offered a joint guardianship of sorts over the children, but Bronze Pocket vigorously refused, insisting on surrendering full custody to the former, signed the relevant documents, and eventually both Cluster Tale and Nova Steel were out of his mane for many years to come.

Cluster Tale positively excelled in magic, even for a unicorn, while Nova Steel, an earth pony, could not relate to him for obvious reasons, but on top of that he struggled in his schooling.

I will say that Cluster Tale grew up to be rather morose and reserved, but certainly not a pushover. At a very young age he came to the realization that he and his brother were not living in their own home, but on the charity and generosity of others, and that their father was a stallion whose name would only bring shame if brought up. Cluster Tale showed an absolutely brilliant aptitude for learning, and at a very young age if I remember correctly. I do not know exactly how, but at age twelve he parted from Flash Stream’s family, from the servants and his brother, after having saved up his earnings, and travelled abroad, passing on to one of those secondary schools, boarding with an experienced and celebrated teacher, and topping all his classes as the brightest and most ambitious.

But Flash Stream, while captivated by the idea that a genius should be trained by a teacher of genius, alas never did make any advanced provisions for payment, owing to inevitable formalities or some such; his unforeseen death four years later—where he fell ill and died in a coma—cut Cluster Tale’s independent education short, which put him in quite a pickle. But lo and behold, Princess Celestia herself, being the wisest in all the land, took heed of Cluster’s talent and, at the end of it all, personally requested him to attend her university for magically gifted unicorns in Canterlot; for years to come he did nothing but study. It must be noted in passing that the young colt never made any attempts to speak with his father, either due to his contempt for the libertine, or his common sense, or a combination of the two.

Cluster Tale was by no means despondent. He managed to find work for himself, even before Princess Celestia aided him. For nearly an entire year he worked full-time to keep himself fed, and on top of that he found the time to study. He didn't make very much at first—writing up twenty-word headlines for one bit an hour, running back and forth on deliveries—until at last he found a publisher who became so interested in his witty and original writings (may have been the headlines) that he offered to publish his first article. This alone went to show the colt’s practical superiority among his classmates, as well as his natural intellect. In addition, he was wise beyond his years, always capable of thinking for himself, and frequently asked for advice by ponies older than him.

In the final year of his education he succeeded in making a name for himself, that is, he attracted the attention of a wider circle of readers. Cluster Tale published several articles on a variety of topics, some he knew very little about (as his speciality was magic and science), but these nevertheless helped in boosting his reputation. One article revolved around a discussion of how our brains are naturally attuned to seek patterns of relations, acting as a psychological mechanism to abate the crisis of living between order and chaos. Or at least that is what Cluster Tale argued: too much order and we get bored; too much chaos and we panic, so we had to live in the middle.

But another article in particular was the tipping point: Cluster discussed how pony magic is extremely malleable in theory, where one could shape one's spells and aura to almost any task; and by achieving higher levels of power, such as that of Star Swirl the Bearded, it would be possible to increase said power by placing contractual limits on oneself. If you conjured a contract to only use spells on a specific day of the month, he had explained, then the potency of your magic would increase tenfold. But no unicorn alive was powerful enough to use these enhancements in any practical sense, to speak nothing of the fact that it was only possible in theory to begin with.

He was known to possess a certain way with words, that is, Cluster could argue circles around anypony on almost any topic, and do so with ease. Many groups considered him to be on their side, certainly mages, but also certain schools of philosophers.

“His pride is subtle,” some would remark when asked about Cluster Tale. Others would add, “He seems to care very little for money, and Princess Celestia herself respects him very much. He very much resembles an artist: he strives to impress himself rather than to impress others. The only difference is that, instead of art, his actions are based upon science and knowledge of magic." Many would conclude, "And if that weren't enough, he's also extremely handsome!”

Cluster Tale’s fateful visit back to his father’s abode in Ponyville—quite a number of years later when he was twenty-seven—came as a surprise, but, once more, I am starting to get ahead of myself.
> Introduction – Chapter III – Nova Steel
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Not soon after Cluster Tale had left (which is to say about three or so years afterwards), Nova Steel also bid his farewell to his caretaker, Flash Stream; and one year after this Flash Stream, like I said, met his untimely demise. The funeral was taken care of by his sisters, though the brothers never did find the time to show up—a fact which both equally regretted. A combination of interpersonal dedications and financial problems impaired their travel times, or so they claimed.

While Nova Steel did not finish his studies—not so much out of stupidity but sheer laziness and indignation—at age thirteen he did get into a military school in Canterlot. He completed an expedition, was promoted, got into a row with a noble on the street while drunk, had his ranks degraded, and was promoted again some years later. He was known to waste money every single day, without fail.

As is the case with such family connections, Bronze Pocket owed a certain sum to each and every one of his children. While Cluster Tale held on to this supposed promissory note, and we shall get to Airglow Sky shortly, Nova Steel all too readily consumed everything that was given to him, and more. He met with his father for the first real time after his first promotion, when he came to his house in Ponyville on purpose to settle with him about his property rights. It seemed, out of the three siblings, that Nova Steel was the only one who grew up in the conviction that he, at any rate,  would be his father’s heir, that is, inherit his property and the like.

It also seemed, again out of the three, that Nova Steel mostly detested his father; he stayed a very short time with him, signed a convoluted contract regarding his family financial rights (without reading it), and left quickly, as soon as he managed to obtain a certain sum owed to him, albeit a relatively small one. Bronze Pocket, however, managed to keep secret the true value of the annual net income of his estate, thus managing to instil a false and inflated image of two things: how much his son was owed, and at what rate could he receive the money.

However, I’m (again) starting to get ahead of myself, and find it that I had better attempt to search for some general sense in this general senselessness. For now let us say that Nova Steel dug himself into a situation which involved his father fobbing off small sums to him, until many more years afterwards, when Nova Steel ran out of patience and visited his father for a second time, to borrow the remaining sum of the money owed to him, only to find out that he had missed the window of time necessary to collect the rest, as much as five thousands bits. To make matters worse, it read in the very contract he signed those years ago that an extremely specific due date was set up to mediate the income owed, and should he fail to meet Bronze Pocket before then, all the value of his property in cash would by extension be transferred to his father. In other words: Nova Steel was—legally—not owed a single bit anymore.

This was all predicated by design, of course. Bronze Pocket was very pleased with himself. Nova Steel was stunned, suspected a lie or a trick, was almost beside himself, read the contract carefully, tore it up, and, as it were, lost all reason. He needed that remaining sum no matter the cost. This very circumstance led to the catastrophe: Nova Steel’s third and present return to Ponyville. He was twenty-five at the moment.
> Introduction – Chapter IV – The Second Wife
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Eight years following Stardust Gleam’s suicide, Bronze Pocket remarried another mare, a pegasus named Petal Breeze. He took his second wife from a very young age, from the far north of Equestria, where he happened to have gone off to for some contracting business. Bronze Pocket, though he led a drunken and debauched life, never stopped investing his capital, and always managed his deals successfully, though of course almost always somewhat shabbily.

Petal Breeze was a little orphan, left without relations in early childhood, when she was found by her benefactress. This benefactress—an old mare from the olden days of Canterlot high society—was also Petal’s mistress, even her tormentress: a miserable pawnbroker, a wealthy hoarder, the widow of a general from long ago, some say she was almost as insufferable as Bronze Pocket. You would think the two were made for each other, gloomy enough as it is to think that.

Nevertheless, Petal was a meek, gentle, uncomplaining mare—who once was quickly taken out of a noose that she had hung up in a cloud. It was nearly impossible for her to endure the depressing and eternal nagging of the old mare, who was apparently not even trying to hide her wickedness in public. Bronze Pocket felt an utter infatuation with Petal, who at the time was a teenager nearing her coming of age. He was a sensualist, who for the longest time had been a depraved admirer only of the coarser kind of beauty and attractive finesse. But Petal’s sheer innocence was too great to resist, and her pathetic eyes cut his soul like a razor. He hastily offered his hoof in marriage.

Most likely Petal would not have married Bronze Pocket for anything if she had learned more about him. But she was from a whole other city, psychologically tortured in her room every single day; she would have preferred to drown as an infant than stay with her pawnbroker of a benefactress. So the poor mare traded a benefactress for a benefactor husband.

The old hag was positively fuming upon learning of this inopportune decision. She lashed out at Petal for nearly a week before she was slated to move out to Ponyville, even hurting her quite badly. Bronze Pocket, with his sickly sweet, insolent eyes, cast a mocking glance at the benefactress on the pick-up day. He laughed, and sprayed saliva when doing so. He got no money, not a single bit, for this transaction; but that did not matter to him. Perhaps his obsession with Petal truly was only a sensual attraction.

Given the fact that he did not receive a single bit for taking the orphan mare home with him, he stood on absolutely no ceremony with his wife. He took advantage of the fact that she stood “guilty” before him, went on and on about how grateful she should be that a stallion like him would deign to save her life, taking advantage, besides that, of her extreme meekness. Young, promiscuous mares would gather in the house right in front of Petal every night, and orgies took place. All Bronze Pocket aimed to do was twist his wife, to revel in her shaking innocence, to see just how far he could push her. He would constantly force Petal into things she felt impossibly uncomfortable with. This young mare, who had been terrorized since childhood, developed a brain fever and died some years later, quite possibly the result of a mental breakdown.

Two years before dying, however, she bore Bronze Pocket his third child, a daughter this time, Airglow Sky, and unfortunately, for the rest of her life, Airglow struggled intensely to remember her mother. Not exactly a face, but just some sort of reminder, an abstraction, perhaps notes of her voice, or the scenery behind her, anything. It was strange to expect a two-year-old to remember their mother, whose name, incidentally, was never brought up in front of her.

Following Petal Breeze’s death the same thing happened with the daughter as with the two brothers: she was completely forgotten and tossed aside by her father, and wound up not set up for adoption, but living in the cottage of one of the servants. The pony who took her in only began serving Bronze Pocket six months after he married Petal Breeze. He was a withered old stallion, divorced from his wife many decades past. This servant’s name was Shovel Rod: a gloomy, obstinate, and frankly stupid earth pony, whose position at the time resembled something between a serf and a butler, albeit a poorly treated one. There are many words to be said about Shovel Rod, but perhaps now is not the best time. We will get to his brief history later on.
> Introduction – Chapter V – Airglow Sky
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I will end this introduction by discussing Airglow Sky. She grew up in the care of this simple-minded servant, who was only capable of teaching her basic things like arithmetic, and eventually gathered the money owed to her by her mother’s dowry. This dowry came from the benefactress, who, I may add, was terribly enraged to hear that Petal Breeze had passed away, and soon afterwards visited Ponyville for the sole purpose of delivering a hard slap to Bronze Pocket’s portly face. Airglow gathered what was ultimately a chunk of the benefactress’ capital—by the latter’s consent, naturally—and went off to get her education.

But Airglow never quite finished her studies. She was a distracted filly, the sort characterized by a curiosity in life, as it were; the type of pony to always be absorbed in thought, absorbed in something inward and important. She reflected her mother in many ways: quiet, never looking to compete with others; at the same time, one could hardly describe Airglow as “shy” or the like. She was terribly kind to ponies, and during her education in elementary school many of her classmates liked her very much, to varying degrees. Her primary characteristic was her supreme modesty and introversion. But because of this things began to change in middle school, when Airglow was teased, not strictly out of malice, but simply naive amusement for the other kids. It was the same in the beginning of high school, though she seemed to be just one of those fillies who were distrusted, sometimes ridiculed, and even disliked by their classmates.

She was dreamy, for instance, and rather solitary. From her earliest childhood she was fond of creeping into a corner to read, and yet over time she became a general favourite in high school. She was rarely playful or merry, but anypony could see at the first glance that this was not from any sullenness. On the contrary, she was bright and good-tempered. She never tried to show off among her classmates. Because of this, the other kids eventually came to understand that Airglow was not particularly proud of anything, and did not take offence to anything. Oh, of course, much like any awkward, quiet colt or filly, she had her fair share of being bullied behind the backs of teachers, sometimes even quite mercilessly, but in the end she never showed signs of resentment, to the point where her bullies left her alone, and the rest were captivated by her.

When she was only fourteen, the funds for her education ran out, and upon realizing that she could no longer afford to stay in high school, she was at last forced to work full-time with Shovel Rod. However, not even this lasted for very long. Almost every day, for hours on end, Airglow sought out work for herself; but who in Equestria would hire a fourteen-year-old filly? Bronze Pocket didn’t even know she existed. And even if reminded, he would absolutely refuse to help; if anything, he was probably too occupied with pondering the idea of a third wife. It was during this deep glum that one of Ponyville’s high ladies, a middle-aged mare who went by the name of Olva Velvet, offered our Airglow an assistant role in the town’s library. That is to say, Olva Velvet was Ponyville’s sole librarian. She was generous, well-respected, even a confidante to some; but she overlapped into a personality of, at times, silliness; she was quite meddlesome, too. She had hysterical fits when frustrated or confused, but she was kept in check by her ill daughter Twinkie, who from the very first day of work Airglow befriended. The two got along very well.

A year later, more or less, Airglow was informed that her brothers (both of whom she had never met face-to-face before) had arrived in Ponyville, and learned vaguely that it was to meet their father in some manner or other. She did not know why they were visiting; strangely enough, they had written only a couple of times to one another, very sparingly, and even then only as a means for establishing long distance ceremony, or whatever you call it. Airglow wanted very much to see her brothers for the first time in person.

Their arrival made a very strong impression on her. She managed to make friends with Nova, but did not have so much luck with Cluster—although that, I suppose, could be boiled down to their disparaging difference in not only age but education. At the same time, Nova spoke very highly of Cluster, seemed to respect his contributions greatly, and often made enthusiastic references to their older brother. This struck Airglow most of all, since Nova was, compared to Cluster, almost uneducated.  And the two brothers were such a contrast in personality and character that it would be difficult to find two stallions more unlike.

This family gathering of sorts was supposed to take place at their father’s house two days from then, largely planned out by Nova who, along with his brother, arrived in Ponyville separately a whole month before. They were staying in separate rented lodgings for some reason. It was during this month that Airglow got to know her brothers.

Incidentally, it was only two days before the Summer Sun Celebration, which was scheduled to be held in Ponyville that year. But I think I have said enough; that is, by now I’ve noted the essentials. Now to get on with the story.
> Part I – Chapter I – A Scandalous Auction
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PART I


PONIES BUSTLE ABOUT



* * *


It was a distinctly cloudy day. This weather schedule was quite bizarre for a place such as Ponyville, a town often characterized by its warm, bright, and even placid configuration. Most ponies were familiar with Ponyville—or at least, they knew of its existence. Perhaps the insignificance of the town, when put up against the backdrop of gigantic hot spots like Canterlot, Manehattan, and Cloudsdale, tended to invite ponies' sympathies; or if that sounds too absurd, it at least invited their good will. That accounts for something.

Yes, yes, at the present moment we will start our story in Ponyville.

A carriage drove up in front of Town Hall: nothing too expensive, only a jaunty barouche pulled by a pair of servants. Inside sat two stallions: Bronze Pocket, of whom you know the details, and Maxim Wingus. The latter was quite the young pony, about twenty-nine years old, educated and old fashioned in his approach to life. Maxim was preparing to head to either Canterlot or to Cloudsdale to finish his studies there in university. The young pony was still undecided. He was thoughtful and, as it were, distracted, but possessed a nice and agreeable face. He had a habit of becoming terribly talkative and impulsive whenever a topic which interested him was brought up, or sometimes for no reason other than to show off.

(Forgive the interruption. Allow me to add, in parentheses: Maxim Wingus, the cousin of Petal Breeze, Bronze Pocket's second wife, happened to be in the neighbourhood again on a visit to his estate as an accountant. He had come from Manehattan, which was where his permanent home was located. I remember that he was more surprised than anypony when he made the acquaintance of the relatively young Cluster Tale, who interested him extremely, with whom he sometimes argued, and with an inner pang compared himself in acquirements. At the moment he was staying in Ponyville to help out Bronze Pocket in his own business.)

Ah, you see, dear reader, what ugly muddleheadedness can escape from me? I am not a particularly good narrator—that, I suppose, is because I happen to be an amateur writer. But anyway, anyway...

Awaiting them there was our Cluster Tale. He happened to be elegantly dressed, but a look of gloomy impatience highlighted his countenance. He had been informed to meet them at Town Hall at half past eleven, but right now it was close to midday, and he truly hated tardiness of all sorts.

The carriage came to an all too abrupt halt and the visitors stepped off. As for Maxim, he looked around with a sort of curiosity that was not without a certain familiarity. He had very little, if any, time to explore Ponyville, but he was forever inclined to display the air of an educated pony who knew what needed to be known at any given scenario. In other words: a wannabe Mr. Know-it-All.

"You're here," said Cluster, with notes of dry irony ringing in his voice.

"Ah, Cluster, you wouldn't believe what a confusion there was!" said Bronze all of a sudden. "Imagine, this old friend of yours just willy-nilly decided to stop for a bite to eat. Then after we took off again, we ended up heading the wrong way!"

"Liar!" cried Maxim, and he instantly flashed his eyes. "I only wanted to get a coffee—to go. You had skipped breakfast. It was your idea."

"Pah, it's all the same to me. Listen, Cluster, we really did get confused on our way, but then again, how's an old stallion like me not going to muck things up, eh? I live far too off from the real Ponyville."

"Ponyville is Ponyville, old-timer," said Cluster, gazing distractedly at Maxim for a second. "Nova didn't come?"

"Oh, I invited him to come alright, but he refused," said Maxim, squinting his eyes at Bronze. "Your dad wants only what's his the day after tomorrow."

"I don't associate with scoundrels," guffawed Bronze, becoming strangely satisfied with himself.

"Except when it's on business!"

"Pah! Don't get business confused with family, you. Ha, ha!"

"Let's get a move on," cut in Cluster. He shook his head, as though attacking Bronze's dignity, and started walking.

"Wait, wait," Bronze hurried to say, "what about an escort?"

"A... what?"

"Sorry, not an escort, but a guide, let's say. Somepony to show us what there is to see in the auction. Don't they, you know, don't they do that?" He stared with a puzzled expression at both Cluster and Maxim.

"We're heading to an auction," reproached Maxim. He gave the old stallion a strange look.

"Yes, yes, but in the magazines they have those auction guides, you know, to meet the new ponies, and... and... right, Cluster, my boy?"

Cluster rolled his eyes. "I know my way around Town Hall, old-timer. Come on."

Bronze simply shrugged.

The three ponies entered through the large double-door entrance. What immediately made itself known indoors was the contrast of noise: a whole lot of clattering and chattering was brewing up in Town Hall. The main room was large and circular; the ceiling looked small from down there. Many rows of benches were set up looking towards the stage, where a solitary podium stood. One could observe all sorts of ornaments, trinkets, vases, ancient books, and so on—all presented within fashionable glass cases.

About half the benches seated ponies, either local or from out of town. Every minute one or two more came in the room, all very well dressed and carrying the air which resembled the propensity for spending money.

Cluster was in a state of two minds, or so it looked. He would invariably have this grey shadow come over his face whenever he engaged in conversation with somepony, but today he looked especially melancholy, even by his standards. When reaching the first bench he gave a terse nod to Bronze and Maxim to follow him up the aisle.

"You know, you really do look like Nightmare Moon," Bronze remarked to Maxim all of a sudden.

"Wh-at?" Maxim babbled in response.

"Your coat is dark," said Bronze with an intelligent face, "and you have this 'I live in the darkness' aura about you. Heh, heh!"

"Do you even know what Nightmare Moon looks like? In what way do I look like her? Have you even seen her?"

"Sure! She was Princess Celestia's sister, but the ponies slept through the night time, much to her chagrin. And much to your chagrin, your face happens to resemble hers. Say, if you could meet Nightmare Moon, what would you tell her?"

"Nothing, damn it. Nightmare Moon is an old filly's tale; she doesn't exist."

"But what if she did? Eh? Eh?"

But Bronze's incoherent remarks were cut short by a very pale, slender-looking stallion of medium height, wearing a light cap and a blue vest. Bronze and Maxim stopped for a moment. Cluster was beside him, apparently having fetched the pale stallion from some nearby corner to introduce them.

This stallion, with an extremely courteous, profound bow, announced in a funny little accent, "Monsieur Spender Spent invites the gentlecolts to dine with the other guests at the dinner room, once auction proceedings are finished."

"The maestro of the family who set up this Ponyville auction was informed of our arrival," added Cluster. "He's curious, and wants very much to make the, you can say, dignified acquaintance of Ponyville's top business-ponies."

"Rapière is my name," said the stallion, bowing once again.

"What are you?" asked Bronze, eyeing Rapière curiously.

"I'm Prench."

"Prench?"

"Oui."

"To the letter?"

"Oui. Will you be joining us, Monsieur Pocket?"

"That I certainly will, without fail," cried Bronze Pocket, overjoyed at the invitation. "And, believe me, we've all given our word to impress everypony. And you, Maxim, will you go, too?"

"Obviously I'll go," said Maxim, nodding. "What else have I come here for? To study the customs, that's what. The only obstacle is... eh, your company."

"Just what Nightmare Moon would say!" laughed Bronze.

"Impertinent old fool!" Maxim observed aloud while Rapière ran back through a door into another room, presumably to carry out another task.

Things were beginning to get set into motion. Most ponies had taken their seats, many showcasing cautious anticipation so common in auction-goers; one of the several glass cases was brought to the forefront of the stage. There were several ponies Bronze was meant to meet, but due to his tardiness this would be delayed to the intermission.

The preparations, while perfectly adequate, testified to the haphazardness of the current setting. The benches were creaky and old. Most ponies present dressed casually for the event, which was quite at odds with how the presenters fashioned themselves. 

All the while Cluster was looking down at a checklist he had brought in with him, eyes weary yet focused, crossing out various items he had written for himself. Earlier that day he had been approached by a royal guard—nothing necessarily official—to discuss his progress on the upcoming Summer Sun Celebration. As expected, things were going smoothly. He scheduled everything perfectly for today—go check up on the food, then the weather patrol, and finally the fashion wear, after the auction—but now he had a bit of reshuffling to get done.

Even when taking this into account, Cluster glanced at his father with unending dubiety, like he wanted to get this over with but was bound by his responsibilities.

Eventually Maxim nudged him. "Hey, so how does this auction work?"

Cluster sighed long but quietly, which left Maxim feeling quite indignant, and replied in an even, apathetic voice, "They'll bring out three lots to start with. Once sold—or not—we'll move into the intermission. Spender Spent will probably appear then, and that's when the old-timer can go negotiate the woodlot."

"The woodlot your father's trying to sell, right? He thinks this Spender guy can help him out against some competitor?"

"Yeah, I guess." Cluster's voice was drenched in even more apathy. "In the meantime, have you got a budget? Are you prepared to bid?"

"I, uh, no, not now," said Maxim, wringing his hoof dismissively. "Maybe later. I'm just here because of him," he finished in a sort of half-whisper, pointing at Bronze; but, noticing Cluster's lack of reaction and the total pointlessness of him whispering, he at once blushed in embarrassment.

"Hey, son"— Bronze cut in —"think you could spot me a couple tens? Heh, heh."

Cluster did not deign to reply, instead paying attention to the announcer pony who took to the podium. He was a large stallion, portly, of spectacular physical health with a soft-looking demeanor. His mane, expertly combed back, gleamed every once in a while in response to the sun rays shining through the window. From the pocket of his suit hung out a little golden chain, adorning his left eye with a shiny monocle.

"Mares and gentlecolts!" said the announcer readily. He immediately gestured to the glass case by his side, containing a statue of what looked like an eagle. "Lot number one is a brass figurine from the famous collection of the Spender family. Rumour has it the statue harbours a treasure inside. Should you destroy the beautiful bauble itself, you can easily prove, or tragically disprove, the rumour. Starting price is fifty bits—a total bargain!"

A mare raised her hoof.

"The blue-maned lady takes it. Any advance?" said the announcer.

A stallion two rows down did the same, saying in a clear voice, "Seventy-five."

"There he goes!" sang the announcer. "Any takers? No? Going once, going twice, going—"

"One fifty," interjected Bronze.

A barely audible rustle shifted among the crowd. Some looked at him in surprise.

"My, my, one fifty it is! Will anypony be challenging that? Going once, go—"

The same mare raised her hoof again, flashing Bronze a toothy grin. "Two hundred."

"My, my, my, such liveliness! Any takers?"

"As if I'm gonna lose to you!" cried Bronze heatedly, carried away in a sort of rapture.

"May I ask the gentlecolt to compose himself," said the announcer calmly yet sternly. "Shall you advance?"

"Two fifty!" cried Bronze again.

"Keep your voice down, you damn buffoon," said Maxim in a barely-contained whisper, glaring daggers at Bronze.

But it was too late. Annoyance became etched into everypony's faces.

"Two fifty," the announcer carried on. "Going once, going twice, going thrice. Lot number one, the mysterious brass statue, sold to Mr. Pocket!"

Unenthusiastic clapping arose. Bronze was now all giddy, feeling his unconfined greed was now at hand. Now the next glass case was carried to the front.

This one was an oil painting depicting Canterlot City from a distance, together with the mountains and splashes of blue for a waterfall. All in all, a pleasant piece, but nothing too impressive.

"Now on to lot number two. A canvas by the royal Blue Blood family, 'A Beautiful Vision of Canterlot.' Hmm, charming. Starting at three hundred bits."

"Three hundred? For that ugly thing?" remarked Maxim to Cluster, giving the announcer a quick, cursory glance.

"A painting from a royal family!" Bronze nearly sputtered, ogling the canvas with his small, sneering eyes. "Four hundred!"

The announcer acknowledged his bid, but his impatience with the old pony was becoming self-evident. "Yes, well, may I remind the gentlecolt that yelling is strictly inappropriate. I ask the gentlecolt to speak with his indoor voice."

More murmuring and shifting glares came from ponies behind them. Cluster looked to be ignoring all of them.

"The offered bid is four hundred. Going once—"

"Five hundred," said another mare from the back of the room.

"We are getting livelier and livelier," said the announcer. "Can I get a six hundred? Any takers?"

"Six, plus interest!" Bronze got fluttered up, even frightened the painting would be taken from him.

"Eh, no interest, but six hundred it is! Anypony? No? Going once, going twice, going thr—oh! The gentlecolt butts in."

"Seven hundred."

"Wha—?" Bronze looked around wildly for whoever had outdone him. He set his sights squarely on the Prench stallion from earlier. "Why you..." He ground his teeth, and flung his hoof in the air. "Nine hundred!"

Two of three gasps came out. The announcer nearly lost his composure, but held himself and said in a clear voice, "My word! Nine hundred. Can I get an advance on that? Going once, going twice, going thrice. Sold to Mr. Pocket!"

The next piece was rather simple-looking. On a small mantle was placed a pair of sunglasses.

"Lot number three, mares and gentlecolts—the rarest of all rarities. At first glance you observe an ordinary pair of lenses for the summer, yet look closer. A frame of gold, flawless polishing, and carved into the sides are enchantments to allow the wearer to not only stare directly into the sun without any retina damage, but to see in the dark as well. Only one hundred of these were ever produced. Once the property of Princess Celestia herself when she went on vacation. Starting price is one thousand. Anypony tempted?"

Hooves started raising.

"Mr. Black Boot offers eleven hundred. Do I have—twelve hundred from Mrs. Biscuit it is. Any takers? My, haven't we livened up. Thirteen hundred from Mr. Pocket. Can I get fourteen hundred? What's this? Two thousand from—"

"Fancy Pants, at your service," said a young, white stallion. He spoke quickly and effusively. He was elaborately dressed, and made his implications clear by standing as straight as possible.

Bronze was dumbfounded. He instantly saw that everypony recognized this Fancy Pants character. But the effect was temporary; with vigour in his eyes he declared, "Twenty-five!"

"Excellent, old chap," said Fancy Pants, chuckling in a friendly way, "but I can do this all day. Three thousand."

"Thirty-five hundred!" said Bronze vindictively.

Fancy Pants shrugged. "Four."

Bronze was struck and, so to speak, in extreme agitation. "F-f-four thousand... and one."

"Aiming low, are we?" chuckled Fancy Pants. "I do so enjoy the everyday pleasantries of strategized competition. I offer five thousand."

"But can it be?" the announcer went on, looking at Fancy Pants with an inexplicable smile. "My word, such liveliness! Can I get fifty-five hundred? No?"

Bronze was seething; he even managed to squeeze out a tear. Maxim observed all this and could hardly contain his laughter. He nudged Cluster once again. "Looks like your dad reached his limit, huh?"

"The sooner we finish this the better," replied Cluster sullenly. He had stored away his checklist and now waited, with boundless resolution on his face.

Maxim looked askance at him. An idea came to him. "Say, you wanna go to the tavern once this is over?"

But Cluster was silent.

"Let us wrap things up then," said the announcer. "The current bid is five thousand. Going once, going twice, going thrice. Sold to—"

"Shameless scoundrel!" exclaimed Bronze furiously, spraying saliva from his mouth. "You, Fancy Pants, are in the possession of too much. Think about the common pony, the common pony!"

"My word, Mr. Pocket, I demand your obedience or I will be forced to escort you from the vicinity," said the announcer in tones of reproach.

"You call me such things?" replied Fancy Pants, straining to understand Bronze. "This is all in the spirit of sport, good chap. Who's to say us ponies can't indulge in the sweetness of spending money? I can assure you there's still much more to come, if you could only—"

"It's a lie, a bold-faced lie!"

Exclamations arose on all sides. Nopony knew what was going on.

Bronze was trembling, though his face, instead of going red, became deathly pale; his left eye twitched involuntarily. He nearly choked, looking for some calculation, the right thing to say.

"I knew this would transpire!" yelled Maxim in a sort of righteous indignation. "Look at how this brute completely and indispensably humiliates and disgraces his family. Right from the start he had some design in mind, a singular plan to brew up a scandal, you can tell just by the way he moves his mouth. He loves his scandals. He keeps track of them, the buffoon! And now, now of all places, here, in this auction, he behaves like such a classless brute... how can it go on like this!"

"Ah, no, it's not like that!" Bronze had become breathless in his excitement, so taken aback was he by Maxim's tirade. "Yes, I confess it publicly, I behave like a brute on purpose, and I regret it. I'm disgusted with myself for my, as was put, 'classless' rage. But you leave much out, Maxim, you deceiver!"

"Me? A deceiver!" Maxim intentionally cried at the top of his lungs, so as to feel as self-righteous as possible.

"This is unendurable!" cried Rapière.

"Hear me, mares and gentlecolts!" said Bronze to the whole audience this time. "I've shed many tears in the name of this establishment. I've lied. I've swindled. I've put on such depraved acts it could make the strongest of mares faint on the spot! But it was all noble in spirit. I bow to my depravity, because only through it can I spread whatever modicum of generosity I can muster. I've donated to many charities. I support the royal guards. But everypony has a limit to his altruism. With altruism comes the other side of our nature: we must take care of ourselves, mustn't we? It's all a stick with two ends: to behave nobly one must wear their depravity on their sleeves. It's a basic law of science, mares and gentlecolts. The more depraved a stallion is, the greater his will to save the world from the modern day troubles of the economy."

But Bronze could not go on. His eyes were glittering and he was breathing with difficulty. But everypony in the room was stirred. The announcer looked austere at the two guards by the front door, made a gesture, and they moved smartly down the aisle.

"Cluster, my boy," yelled Bronze suddenly, in an unnatural voice, as the guards flanked him on both sides and forced him to get up, "how can you just stand there and let them do this to your father? I've acted nobly. I'm the soul of honour, I stand against all this so-called vanity. Please remember me!" he ended dramatically, stamping with both his legs.

With old liars who have been acting all their lives, there are moments when they enter so completely into their part that they tremble or shed tears of emotion in earnest, although at that very moment, or a second later, they are able to whisper to themselves, "You know you are lying, you shameless old sinner!"

For a moment everypony gazed with wonder at Cluster. But he only frowned painfully, and looked with detached displeasure at his father; but almost immediately after the habitual passivity of his expression returned.

"I think we're done here," he said in a soft and, as it were, controlled voice. "The intermission, remember?"

"Of course, of course," the announcer resumed. "And so, the splendid lenses. Going once, twice, thrice. Sold to Fancy Pants!"

Maxim was still in a state of amazement, even after Bronze left the building. He cleared his throat rather loudly, as to draw attention.

"I myself am to blame for that scandalous scene," he said hotly, lowering his eyes. "But I didn't foresee it when I came, though I knew with whom I had to deal. This must be stopped at once! Believe me, everypony, I had no precise knowledge of the details of Bronze Pocket's plan to start a scandal, only intimations. I was unwilling to believe them, and I learn for the first time." Everypony was listening, just what he wanted. He continued in a clearer voice, "A father wants to rob his son's inheritance, not Cluster here, but another. He'd even go as far as to send him to the dungeon, but beneath that, he came to this auction for the sole purpose of a private business matter, and had no obligation in anything else. This is the company in which I had been forced to be present. I was deceived, as were all of you."

But before he could get the reactions he wanted, the door to the dining room opened up. In stepped another stallion, tall and muscular, with a protruding chest and a thick set of eyebrows. It was Spender Spent, the maestro of the auction house.
> Part I – Chapter II – A Friendly Debate
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The whole scene, which had turned so ugly, was stopped when the maestro, Spender Spent, walked in.

"We are now in the intermission," said the announcer in a loud and clear voice.

At first Maxim was amazed, but he quickly shook it off and rose from his seat along with Cluster, as did most of the ponies present. A merry and agreeable atmosphere of chatter began at once, with at least half the audience making their way to the dining room.

Though all this could very well be understood, the irony was that most ponies present were there because they heard many others were invited, and so propriety dictated the rest.

Allow me the fleeting moment to comment on such an upcoming event as the Summer Sun Celebration. Already there were several anecdotes going around town about the way in which Cluster obtained his assignment as supervisor, which most confirmed was the product of an unfortunate argument he had with Princess Celestia. He spoke very familiarly with the Princess—to the point of insolence, some argued—and because of that, the higher-ups in Canterlot had a general distaste for him in spite of his natural talent. True, Cluster could be described as gloomy, sullen at heart; "pensive and aloof of mind," as Nova Steel characteristically described him. But Cluster was by no means ill-mannered to the extent that he hated everypony. Because if that was the case then what did Princess Celestia see in him?

His habit of planning every single day ahead of time and, in a word, possessing an almost cold understanding of everypony he knew, could easily be mistaken for arrogant and complacent bearings. But "complacency" is the last word I'd ever attach to Cluster. Helplessly defiant? Perhaps. Even these descriptions did not surprise Spender Spent, with whom Cluster had become acquainted in the past few weeks. Most ponies in the room knew who he was, but none of them had intended to approach him with any chatter.

With all that said...

Cluster appeared to be full of distinction and consciousness, knowing exactly where to go from there; he had this intent look in his eyes, like he were pondering something. He maneuvered through the room quickly, acknowledging several of the ponies he passed by with short nods.

"That's Monsieur Spent?" said Maxim from behind. "I've been practicing my Prench. Do you think I'll offend him?"

"Spent doesn't speak any Prench," said Cluster. "He just likes to be called 'Monsieur,' is all."

"Aha, there he is," exclaimed Spent, crossing the distance and extending his hoof. "Princess Celestia's charming pupil. How goes the upcoming Summer Sun Celebration?"

"Can't complain," said Cluster, shaking his hoof. "Right now you'll be hosting the dinner, so I believe now's the best time to catch up."

"No need to be so formal, my friend!" Spent laughed merrily.

Cluster arched an eyebrow. "I wasn't trying to... but anyway, let's go inside."

"Wait a minute, where is Bronze Pocket!"

"He bit the dust, that's what," said Maxim suddenly and curtly.

"He what?" Spender Spent instantly became confused.

"He was kicked out for misconduct," said Cluster. "But I know you're a stubborn fellow, you won't hear me out without him."

Spent scrunched his face and stared nose-down at Cluster, and a thoughtful hum left his lips. "No, no, that can't be right. The woodlot, remember?"

"The woodlot," Cluster reassured. "That's due for later. You're scheduled to help me create a final budget plan for the banners. I don't intend to do this last-minute."

"Oh, you misunderstand, I will not deviate from our schedule. Could one of you, in a word, go fetch him? I'll inform security to let him in. Don't you worry, there will be more than enough time to spare."

"Great." Cluster flashed a weak, halfhearted smile. "Maxim, you go."

"What? Why me?"

"Because if anypony here is duty-bound by the Princess herself, and those duties don't include looking around for some old stallion on the pretext of social misunderstandings, it's me. Meanwhile you don't even have to be here. Now go."

Maxim became flushed and could hardly contain himself. But suddenly, as if remembering something, he stopped.

"Well, fine," he said, smiling crookedly. "But if I don't find Bronze, don't blame me."

"Nopony will blame you for that," sighed Cluster.

"Hmm, sure thing," Maxim muttered in an undertone, striding towards the front door of Town Hall. "Would be excellent if he failed to come at all."


* * *


Cluster and the others were already entering the dining room when a sort of dainty process quickly transpired in Maxim Wingus: he felt genuinely ashamed for his anger. He felt within himself that, essentially, his contempt for the worthless Bronze Pocket should have been such as to have kept him from losing his composure. "Can the blame be placed squarely on Bronze's shoulders?" he asked himself. "And if there are decent ponies here as well (this Spender Spent fellow, and the others of gentry, too), then why not be nice, amiable, and courteous with them? I won't argue, I'll even agree with them on everything. I'll seduce the crowd with my amiability, and finally prove to them that Bronze and I are not cut from the same cloth."

The business concerning the woodlot was a controversial one. Where it all went on he himself did not know. Bronze's competitor—the shrewd and spiteful Bang Mang—resided in Canterlot, and for seemingly unknown reasons hated not only Bronze but all of his kids. Bronze was selling the woodlot to the best buyer, and Bang Mang, with the most deliberate intentions, interjected these potential transactions to engage in legal sparring, accusing Bronze of predatory pricing, which was illegal given market regulations.

I could write a whole book, even a lengthy one, detailing all the constituent elements pertaining to this dispute. Whether it really was predatory pricing, or price skimming, or bait-and-switching, it was clear that selling that woodlot would be no simple feat. But... alas, please excuse my inadequacy as a narrator, as I seem to be needlessly digressing.

Back to Maxim and his "amiability," as it were. All these good intentions were further strengthened when he returned to Town Hall twenty minutes later. The furnishings of the dining room were distinguished by a special comfort, of the kind only possible through privatization: cloth-covered mahogany, the floors were painted brightly and cleanly; there were many costly plants in the windows; but the main luxury was, naturally, the luxuriously laid table. Sparkling dishes, drinks and bread of all sorts, perfectly baked goods, while in the background new sets of glass cases were carried out to the main room.

Many ponies were in the room, including Fancy Pants, Rapière, but also one other pony he had never seen before: a middle-aged stallion in a linen suit, who happened to be a councillor, sat right across from Cluster and was staring somehow darkly, yet thoughtfully and professionally, at him.

"Apologies for the delay." Having snapped these words, Maxim bowed respectfully. It was obvious to most—and painfully so to Cluster—that Maxim had considered this bow beforehand and conceived it sincerely, believing it was his sworn duty to express his goodwill.

Spender Spent, though taken unawares, found within himself to reply properly: he inquired about Bronze, to which Maxim said that "he was unable to be found, though perhaps that's only temporary," and, moreover, "maybe he'll come sooner rather than later." Hopefully not, thought Maxim at the same time.

His face suddenly became solemn and imposing, which gave him a decidedly grave look. Then, with his resolute strides, he went over near a window and sat down on the closest chair to him, and leaning forward with his whole body, he prepared to listen at once to the continuation of the conversation he had interrupted.

Indeed, at the moment Cluster was engaged in a debate with this councillor.

"I fully intend to speak with Bronze Pocket," said Spent, "but for the time being let me dismiss that brazen fellow. Cluster Tale here is grinning at us: he saved a very curious article for this occasion, which he wrote himself. Go on, my friend, ask him."

"Nothing special," said Cluster with a certain worldly nonchalance, "but not a joke, either. The prosperity of this country, along with our Equestrian intelligentsia and the much admired harmony which has allowed ponies from all walks of life to coexist peacefully for so many years, has long and frequently confused these results with the rule of Princess Celestia. This confusion, while amusing, is very typical. We could do away with alicorns overall and not only not lose our harmony but even improve it. That is where the confusion lies. Your anecdote, Liquor Alexander," he addressed the middle-aged councillor, "is very typical."

"I ask your permission to drop the subject altogether," said the councillor, "and instead allow me to relay another anecdote about Cluster, a most 'typical' and interesting one. Just last week, at a local gathering, he solemnly announced that there is nothing in this world that could make ponies love Princess Celestia as they seem to do now. And if there is any love and admiration for Princess Celestia, from her subjects, up until now, it has come only from the rational dependence on the sun. And the Princess, being the monarch, obviously has much more control than just raising the sun: she has the final say in foreign  policy, market regulations, government investments, and so on and so forth. Cluster added in parentheses, that that is what all our laws of nature consist of. If we were to do away with Princess Celestia and appoint, say, one hundred of the most powerful unicorns to control the sun and moon, while handing over control of the government to the common pony, then not only would nopony miss the Princess, we would actually celebrate her absence. From this paradox, gentlecolts, you may deduce what else our dear eccentric and paradoxical Cluster may be pleased to proclaim, and perhaps still intends to proclaim. Did I get all that right?"

"The gist of it, to be sure," replied Cluster, not without a hint of irony in his smirk.

"Wait, wait," interrupted Maxim, "let me get this straight: you, Cluster, made the argument that Equestria would be better off without Princess Celestia? So you're anti-Celestia? Is that it?"

"It looks that way," said Spender Spent.

Maxim was dumbfounded.

"My contention only," put in Cluster.

"But that's... palpably absurd," said Maxim, feeling his throat tighten. He was making a conscious effort to maintain the genial and good-natured air he had intended to put out. He fixed Cluster with an extraordinarily baffled gaze. "Aren't you Princess Celestia's pupil, Cluster? Why are you bad-mouthing her?"

Cluster answered, not with polite condescension, as Maxim expected, but with modesty and reserve, and, evidently, without the least ulterior motive.

"I start from a specific proposition," he said. "This mixing of elements, of Equestria's wellbeing and Celestia's rule, will, of course, go on forever. But the truth is, there's no real compromise to be had, only an illusion. Most ponies would agree that her rule is absolutely just, and nothing can replace her. So, speaking objectively, she's the best we have, and ever will have. But, assume that a completely free market possesses the necessary self-correcting mechanisms to fix any and all problems in a matter of days, while with Celestia's bureaucracy it would take much longer, and to poorer results. I'm not saying that a completely free market is right, but just assume: if one could prove its superiority, then Celestia's rule is no longer objectively good. And because of that, removing her would not only better the country, but our control of the sun and moon could be democratically scheduled to results no single pony could conceive of on their own."

"That doesn't answer my question," reproached Maxim. "You're her pupil. Why say such things? Do you want to hear a counter-argument?" And saying this, he too could not conceal a smirk.

"Unfortunately I have not read a speck of your article, my friend," remarked Spent, "but I have heard such a curious point. Isn't this heresy?"

"And what would Princess Celestia think if she heard you rejecting her rule as you are now?" asked the councillor.

"She already knows," said Cluster.

Seeing that his last comment was not acknowledged, Maxim responded with great indignation, "And what would Princess Celestia say to you, Cluster? This 'mixing of elements,' as you stated, is nothing short of a red herring. Charming little ramblings, really. I've never seen nor heard a pony attribute our country's well-being solely to the Princess. What say you to that? Besides, I have something else to say."

"It's a hypothetical," said Cluster dismally. "To address your criticism, Spender Spent, you really have to understand that words and actions aren't the same thing. For all intents and purposes I could be arguing from a devil's advocate position, nothing more."

Maxim, try as he might to eagerly get into the conversation, could not find any luck. The thing was that he had engaged in some intellectual fencing with Cluster before, and could not calmly endure this seeming negligence from him. He imagined if Bronze were present, he would sit watching Maxim quietly and mockingly, taking pleasure in his irritation.

"And inform us: what happened to be Princess Celestia's say in all this?" asked the councillor.

"Nothing eventful, if that's what you want to hear," replied Cluster all too readily. "But I object that, should society seek heightened development, it'd be in our rational interest to overthrow Celestia and establish—well, decide among yourselves."

"Sheer contrarianism!" exclaimed Maxim, fidgeting in his seat in impatience.

"Clever, ve-ry clever!" Spender Spent, unable to restrain himself, interrupted. "Thinking it over, my friend, I can come to understand your objection. I should go even further and agree on one particular assertion: that free markets are the most efficient way to progress this great country. But to play with such words, especially in light of Princess Celestia herself, is practically impossible, my clever friend. The Princess came here, in a certain period of darkness, and brought prosperity to all races: earth ponies, pegasi, and unicorns. She brought us along through the thick and thin into a modern and progressive time! She lifted the burden of controlling the sun and moon from our shoulders, which, before her, was so onerous as to slow everything else down. Without Princess Celestia we would be at least five hundred years in the past. Besides, you seek democracy, and yet the Princess was given her role by the ponies themselves."

He suddenly fell silent, as if checking himself. Cluster, having listened to him respectively and attentively, went on with great composure, but, as before, open-heartedly addressing them.

"First of all, I'd like to catch you on something that you said: my assertion of the superiority of free markets. I neither confirmed nor denied that sentiment. Secondly, the whole point of my argument is to shine a light on how things can change through time, and how we mustn't remain static. In that sense you involuntarily supported my position. Celestia was certainly appointed to reign by the common pony, but in the end we have something they lacked: hindsight. Celestia helped this country in the past, but now we have made much progress in the realm of science. There's even talk that someday, a unicorn will be capable of pulling off alicorn magic. In modern times our resumed control of the sun and moon would have no effect on the manner in which society forwards itself, because once firmly established we would indisputably do a better job than last time. Ponies chose Celestia to rule over them in the past, but what option did they have? All evidence points to the benefits of replacing Celestia with us ponies. That's the whole point of my article."

"In that case," said the councillor, stressing each word, "you support an eradication of Equestria's government? Or, if not that, you at least support the idea of Princess Celestia stepping down?"

"No, I don't support it."

"No? Then why not?"

"As I said, I could be playing devil's advocate. And why not? Because it's not useful."

"Well, well, I confess that you've reassured me somewhat," said Maxim, grinning. "As far as I understand it, you hold up a utopian ideal, but you recognize that it's an infinitely remote one. Ha, ha! And here I was thinking you were serious about everything you just argued against."

"Even if I'm wrong, that only disproves my specific, biased articulation, and not the whole of the argument itself; and even if the whole thing is false, that doesn't mean it can't be rediscovered some time in the future," said Cluster calmly, without batting an eye.

"Are you serious?" Maxim looked at him intently.

"Given the presupposition that Celestia is the first successful benevolent monarch in our history, and that every monarch eventually gives way to corruption, then Celestia, being immortal, will eventually become corrupt. That's a simple law of nature."

"But you... I... okay, I get it." A halfhearted grin slowly spread on Maxim's face. "I suspect you're simply amusing yourself."

"Is it really true that you hold this conviction of your own teacher?" asked the councillor with the liveliest curiosity.

"And, again, what did Princess Celestia say to you?" put in Spender Spent.

"Yes, I do hold this conviction. Celestia and I shared a conversation, but nothing bad. She wasn't angry with me. Eventually we put it off and I continued with my studies under her wing."

"Do you have any particular dislike for our Princess?" asked the councillor.

"No. I like her."

"And still you believe that she, if not today then sooner or later, will have to be overthrown?"

"Most likely."

"Either you're wise beyond your years, young Cluster, or you're extremely unhappy."

"Why unhappy?" Cluster smiled.

"Because it's likely that you can't reconcile these feelings you have in your heart. You strike me as the type of pony who likes to toy with his own despair."

"Maybe you're right! But, listen," he suddenly and strangely raised his voice, like he were confessing something, "I wasn't entirely joking either."

"Can it be resolved? Resolved in a positive way?"

"I have no idea," Cluster admitted, and at least he began digging into his food, which was only slightly warm by now. "Mm. But look, we can talk about this some other time. Right now, Spent, about the—"

"Ah, yes, yes, right to it!"

The topic was changed altogether, from the moral ambiguity of Celestia's status to budget planning and contracts. But halfway through the conversation, Maxim, feeling in himself a sort of boundless and inescapable resolution, cut in to speak out loud.

"I really have to beg your forgiveness, Mr. Spent," said Maxim in a solemn and respectful tone; his face even blushed. "We arrived by ourselves, and Bronze, to whom you sent an invitation, didn't come. Back in the auction room, being carried away by his unfortunate ramblings, I spoke inappropriately. I mean, sure, that happens"— he glanced at Cluster —"but being aware of that, know that Bronze knows his faults and that he repents, he feels ashamed, and, unable to come to the dinner, asked me to tell you this. Okay, so I lied about not having found him; I did. So, well, that's the truth. To sum it all up, he hopes and wishes to make up for it all later, and now he hopes to forget what happened today."

Maxim fell silent. Having spoken these final words, he felt thoroughly pleased with himself, so much so that not even a trace of his former irritation remained in him.

Having listened to this with a solemn air, Spender Spent inclined his head forward and spoke in reply, "Well, my friend, what happened is what happened. My grandmother told me that. Fine, fine. If he can't make it today, then we'll just have to reschedule. Right, Cluster?"

"Sure."

The weight was lifted from Maxim's chest. Looking up in relief, he once again loved all of ponykind.

And then the door swung open, and there was Bronze Pocket. He stopped on the threshold, looking around at the gathering, and laughed his long, insolent, wicked little laugh, staring them all valiantly in the face.

"They thought I was gone, but here I am!" he bellowed for all to hear.
> Part I – Chapter III – No Breaks
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I think it would do the story some good if we backed up a bit to see what Bronze was up to all this time. He was carried out from the building by two guards, and while they did not get violent with him and made sure he watched his step on the way out, still he exaggerated his despair, acted beyond style for the sake of effect.

"Pah! You swine!" he cried, faking a limp. "I come in, I offer the auction house my money. I'm saving them, you know, saving the children from poverty. I've shed many tears owing to this town. The residents of Ponyville have played a great part in my life! It's formed me, made me a better pony. I've given my life to it. Oh, I'm so under-appreciated!"

After a minute of standing still and glaring at the front door, a change instantly came over him; all these feelings of indignation at once left his mind. He shrugged at last, turned around, and began walking home.

But Bronze Pocket was a simple pony. Arriving home, the first thing he'd likely do is check the mirror, as to make sure no bile rose up in him for the night. Superstitious, perhaps, but not to him. He took a special comfort in the fact that he lived on the outskirts of Ponyville, and therefore did not have to be bothered very often by other ponies. About halfway through it struck him that he was supposed to meet Spender Spent, to have him save his woodlot transaction, or some such. But, owing to these feelings of self-imposed indignation, he rationalized that it would be better to come tomorrow... or maybe even not come at all.

"But maybe not," he told himself, grinning and showing his ugly teeth. "Never let an opportunity slip. I have to perform a cost-benefit analysis."

But before he could contemplate any further the rapid sound of hoof-steps approached. He quickly turned around, frightened for a second, but quickly made out the irritated features of Maxim Wingus.

"Hold up!" said Maxim, catching his breath.

"What an unforeseen circumstance!" cried Bronze shrilly, becoming extremely satisfied with himself. "I know why you're here, Maxim dear. No, no, I'll decline. See! I'll decline, and not them. Home, home—I'll eat at home. I just don't feel able at Town Hall, Maxim, my dearest relative."

"I'm no relative of yours and never have been, you despicable buffoon!" Maxim flashed him a contemptuous glare.

"I said that on purpose to make you mad," Bronze laughed in reply, "because you disclaim our relation, though make no mistake, you're still my relative no matter how you shuffle it. I can easily prove it using the record books. Go back to them, if only to apologize for the mess I made. Even common decency dictates it."

"Are you really leaving? This isn't another lie?"

"Maxim Wingus, cousin of my deceased wife (I forget which one), how could I dare return after what happened? I got carried away. Ask for their forgiveness on my name because of that. You're a fine fellow, you know. Cluster's got a stone heart and a disagreeable disposition. To tartarus with Cluster! Pah! I turned timid, however. How, after such an escapade, could I go to dinner and mess up their sauces? I just can't. It's shameful! Please excuse me!" And he took off once more.

"Celestia knows if he means it!" Maxim stood in doubt, gazing at the retreating buffoon with a puzzled look. The latter turned around and, noticing that Maxim was watching him, blew him a kiss. Then he turned around yet again and at last took a turn around a street corner.

"And just look at brazen-faced Cluster," Maxim said to himself. "He goes off to dinner as if nothing had happened. What a ridiculous conscience. He really is related to Bronze Pocket!"


* * *


"They thought I was gone, but here I am!" he bellowed for all to hear.

It should be noted that Bronze truly did intend to leave and indeed felt the impossibility, after his shameful behaviour, to attend this dinner. But before he reached his house he suddenly stopped and pondered heavily. "It always seems to me, when I go somewhere, that I'm more shameful than everypony else, and they all take me for a buffoon—so be it! Let me play the buffoon." He wanted to revenge himself on all of them for his nasty tricks. "There's no way to rehabilitate myself, so why don't I go and spit on all of them without shame? Ha, ha!" And so, in a fit of impudence, he returned.

For a moment everypony stared straight at him in silence. Maxim, from his very benign mood, immediately turned ferocious. All that had just died out and grown quiet in his heart instantly resurrected and rose up.

"Hello there, Nightmare Moon!" Bronze called out to Maxim specifically.

"No!" he cried. "I just can't and... I simply can't!"

The blood rushed to his head. He even stammered, but he could not be bothered with style and got up from his chair at once to leave.

"What is it that he can't?" Bronze cried out. "That he 'just' and 'simply' can't? Tut—tut—tut! Hey there, Spender Spent! So, are you going to accept me at your table?"

"Might as well now," replied Spent. "Come then, my friend. Cluster and I were just going over the details of your woodlot transaction. Here, grab a seat; there's plenty of food to go around."

"No, no, that's impossible!" cried Maxim, as if beside himself.

"If it's impossible for Maxim, then it's impossible for me—I won't stay either. That is why I came. I'll go with Mr. Wingus wherever he goes: if you leave, I leave, Maxim, and if you stay, I stay. Hello there, Cluster, my flesh and blood."

Cluster scrutinized him with a penetrating stare, but did not say anything.

"Mon ami, mon ami," Rapière called out, but it was in vain.

"My word, this has been an un-charmingly rustic morning if I do say so myself," remarked Fancy Pants.

"I really stung him, Maxim, I mean," Bronze went on. "He doesn't even consider me his relative! Am I right, Nightmare Moon? That's Nightmare Moon over there. Greetings, Nightmare Moon!"

"What's happening? What is this?" voices were heard from all sides.

"Let's go," said Maxim, addressing Cluster.

"No, excuse me," Bronze broke in shrilly, taking another step in the room. "You blamed me for behaving disrespectfully, Maxim. Well, so be it! My relation here prefers to have nobility over sincerity—in Prench that's noblesse sur la sincérité—in his own words. But I prefer mine as sincérité sur la noblesse, that is, sincerity over nobility. Damn your nobility! Isn't that right, Nightmare Moon? Allow me to speak my mind, everypony. I'm a buffoon, I play the buffoon like it's second nature, but also I'm the soul of honour. And Maxim here is nothing short of wounded vanity. And Cluster, whose presence I cherish like no other, whose wellbeing I care for as his father—he's the saviour of Equestria! He is, he is!"

"You literally befoul everything you touch!" cried Maxim.

"Spender Spent, to tartarus with the woodlot. I'll find somepony else, that's what! Confession is a great spiritual sign, before which I'm ready to bow down reverently; but in Town Hall none of that matters. Can it be right to confess aloud? Has it been ordained? But how can I explain to him before everypony that I did this and that... well, you understand what—sometimes it wouldn't be proper to talk about it—so it's really a scandal! No, everypony, one might be carried along with you to the scaffolds, I dare say... At the first opportunity I'll write to the authorities, and I'm taking my son, Cluster, home."

The spirit of folly, which had caught up to Bronze, bearing him on the current of his own nerves into lower and lower depths of ignominy, prompted him with this old slander. He was speaking from confused memory of old slander. But as soon as he had uttered his foolish tirade, he felt he had been talking absurd nonsense, and at once longed to prove to his audience, and above all to himself, that he had not been talking nonsense. And, though he knew perfectly well that with each word he would be adding more and more absurdity, he could not restrain himself, and plunged forward blindly.

"This is... this is disgraceful!" cried Maxim, and he made off to the door, truly intending to leave this time.

"Tut—tut! You're being a little too sanctimonious there, Nightmare Moon. Enough falsehoods. I want the truth."

"Pardon my intrusion," said the councillor, "but if it's the woodlot you wish to sell, as I've understood up till now, then it would be in your best interest to sign a disclosure agreement with Monsieur Spent, and discuss the material as well as legal necessities of your dispute at a more convenient time."

"Talking sense, are we?" said Bronze. "I can talk sense, too. This whole operation is a sham, you hear me! All you high-nosed rich ponies pay lip service to the wellbeing of the country, but in actuality that's nothing more than a golden dream. No, scratch that, it's a fool's gold dream. Fancy Pants, you bleed the ponies, you know it!"

"I agree with Mr. Wingus: this is too disgraceful!" said Spent.

Cluster and the councillor kept obstinately silent. Maxim rushed from the room.

"Well, everypony," said Bronze, "I will now follow my dear Maxim. I'm not coming to see you again. Heh, heh, heh! No, I'll say no more. I'm taking my revenge for my youth, for all the humiliation I endured. Farewell!"

"Have it your way!" cried Spent.

"By the way, like I said, I'm taking my son with me. Come on, Cluster!"

"I am leaving, but not anywhere with you, old-timer."

And Cluster, too, rose from his seat, gave a short bow, and made his way to the door.

"Adios!" laughed Bronze, and the two were off.

"You made me waste my time," said Cluster sullenly to his father.

"Come now, my boy, we got to spend time together."

"You've talked enough nonsense today, old-timer," Cluster all but snapped, "so be quiet. Go home. I'll see you again on the morning of the Summer Sun Celebration, like you and Nova agreed to. I'll be busy for the time being."

Bronze looked askance at his son, but before he could reply, the front door to the auction room opened up, and Airglow Sky stepped in. She had a distracted and, as it were, concerned expression.
> Part I – Chapter IV – The Introduction of a Careerist
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Snappo was a young, pegasus colt, whose self-proclamations did not warrant many virtues. The son of a landowner, and a former publisher for Ponyville's high school newspaper, he was a stormy and, in many ways, desperate soul. Ever since his parents gave him a certain inheritance he was compelled to move out and make a name for himself, feeling the need for independence too strongly. Snappo, having wasted much of the inheritance passed down by his family and feeling too much wounded pride as a consequence, instead became fixated on the idea of journalism. And so, as Ponyville's new journalist, he hung around every street corner, collecting the latest scoop and gossip.

He became a regular at the Golden Oak Library, run by the wealthy and well respected mare, Olva Velvet. It was through this library that he got to know our Airglow, though not to be mistaken, they were not exactly friends, because try as he might Snappo could never find an opportunity to write an interesting story on Airglow, and eventually he gave up talking to her altogether.

As a slapdash journalist his specialty was in drawing out, with the most precise calculations, the meaning of every word spoken from some pony. What better way to go about doing that than with Bronze Pocket himself, a stallion whose reputation was established on wrongdoings and humiliations? Having heard of the auction and proceeding dinner in Town Hall, Snappo fetched his hat and quill and made haste, intending to put his name on any potential story. To him, anything worked; that is, he believed in himself that he could make anything work. This was a trait of such ponies—this total incapacity to keep their desires to themselves; this uncontrollable urge, however, to reveal them at once, if only little by little, when the moment arises, even in all their untidiness.

Finally, I'll characterize Snappo by his obsession with psychologism—which ought not be confused with the academic discipline, psychology. He liked very much to observe some pony, write out caricatures of their innermost thoughts and desires, and whatever they did next he would try to have that fit in with his foretelling. But this didn't exactly come from plain dishonesty; Snappo truly believed that he was qualified to study the whole of society. He was rather soft-hearted and not very intelligent, but self-confident and sometimes extremely conceited in speech, which had an absurd effect, incongruous with his little figure. He attached himself to the new ideas of our generation (hence his psychologism), but never really dedicated himself to them, instead preferring to caricature every idea he espoused.

To sum him up: he wouldn't hesitate to give up his life to a progressive cause; but to spend five or six years doing nothing but study the specific problems? Nothing was more difficult than that!

At the present moment he was on his way to Town Hall when he bumped into Airglow Sky on the way.

As for Airglow, she too heard of her father's attendance at the auction house, as well as her oldest brother, and was resolved to greet them, and to hopefully ease the upcoming tides with her other brother, Nova.

"Are you going to Town Hall?" she asked, overtaking Snappo.

"Yes," said Snappo, grinning. "Let me make an educated guess: you're going to Town Hall too, right? Yes, yes, I know. There probably hasn't been such a banquet as the last auction. I shan't interfere directly, but you go and fork the sauces."

Airglow stared at him, surprised. "Oh, I'm not going to start anything. I just wanna, you know, talk to them."

"Hmm. That's an appropriately adequate explanation, I would say. Give me your educated hypothesis: will both your brothers be there, or only the oldest one?"

"You mean Cluster?"

Snappo's eye squinted at the name. "Um, yes, indubitably. Cluster."

"I... maybe. I was looking for Nova today, but I couldn't find him. I think he's uninterested in the auction itself."

A gleam went over Snappo's eyes, and he chuckled. "Disinterested, Airglow, not uninterested. There's a capitally significant difference." When Airglow said nothing in reply he cleared his throat and spoke again. "Anyway, anyway, I am on my way to utilize the opportunity to construct my story."

"That's good," said Airglow, smiling amiably. "We'll both go together then."

But Snappo scoffed. He evidently had something he was eager to speak of.

"This is capitally significant, Airglow," he cried in a self-important voice. "Aha, an irreverent expression! I know very well about the financial battle between Nova Steel and your father. Most ponies in town know it. Know this, though, because this is of capital significance: to my thinking I have a keen nose; I'm sniffing a crime. Your family stinks of it."

"What crime?"

"A crime will be in your family; I can predict it, because patterns of behaviour run through bloodlines like logs run in rivers. That's always the way with these crazy fanatics; they beg forgiveness at a tavern and then throw the stones. Bronze Pocket and Nova Steel are not so different, woefully so, and yet they hate each other. Somepony, sooner or of later time, will fall to the hooves of a murderer."

Airglow gave a start. "What crime? What murderer? What... what do you mean?"

"What murderer? As though you didn't know! It's superficial compared to a much larger, yet tremendously simple, background. I'll bet you've thought of it before. That's interesting, too, by the way. Listen, Airglow, you always speak the truth, though you're always between two stools. Have you thought of it or not? Answer."

"I have," answered Airglow in a low voice. Even Snappo, for all his pretentiousness, was taken aback.

"What? Have you really?" he cried.

"I mean, I haven't thought about it exactly," muttered Airglow, "but you talked about it in a really weird way."

"Hmm. 'Weird'? Try to keep up, Airglow. The result of this dispute will be inadequately ambiguous. But, anyway, what's of capital significance is to observe how the whole scenario plays out, if you catch my meaning. There's a good chance even Cluster will be tempted by the money owed to him, just like Nova."

"What makes you so sure of that?" asked Airglow curtly, frowning.

"Why are you asking now, and why are you afraid of my answer? It means you admit I'm right."

"You don't like Cluster, I've figured. Cluster won't be tempted by money."

"Hmm. Is that so? Not even a whole one hundred thousand?"

"Cluster aims higher than that. Cluster won't be tempted by thousands either. Cluster isn't after money at all, actually. Maybe he's seeking something else. Maybe something worse."

"Ha, what sort of dream is that?"

While they were talking Airglow went a bit ahead and opened the door to Town Hall, and all ponies present were in surprise to see one another. There was Cluster with their father, heading out.

To switch perspectives for a bit, Cluster instantly took notice of signs of a certain awkwardness in Airglow, as though she had been thrown out of her reckoning or caught in something very secret.

"Airglow, my favourite child!" cried Bronze in a quite unnatural voice. He quickly closed the gap between them and embraced her in a tight hug.

"Oof! Good to see you too, dad," said Airglow with a weak smile, recoiling her head away from smelling his foul breath. "H-hi, Cluster."

"How you doing, sis?" he said, embracing her, too.

"Wait, what happened? What's going on? Are you two leaving?" said Snappo hastily, darting his eyes around the room.

"I'm going home," said Cluster. "Meanwhile I don't care whatever he's up to." He gestured to Bronze.

"Pah! You're impossible, you know that, Cluster?" spat Bronze, giving Cluster a sour look. "Imagine, my sweet Airglow, Cluster here couldn't help to wait for me. He and the others started talking about my woodlot without me. Sheer indecency, that's what! He got so full of it that he decided to leave with me, despite the fact that I'm the one who's in trouble and not him, almost like he wants to make it up to me."

"Believe whatever you want, old-timer. Just don't forget about the appointed time, the day after tomorrow. We all meet at your place to get this whole show over with. But if anypony is late? No dice."

Meanwhile Snappo kept looking around the room, but now he assumed a studied air. The fact that he had missed a potential scandal left him feeling positively irritated, but observing these family ramblings sparked a new opportunity for him; despite his agitations, he tried to conceal this fact and to look as though he were as ready as ever for jesting and irony.

"Well, well," he began, "so it appears what we have on the plate is a door to a new path. Would it go against anypony's interest if I were to enter the dining room and inquire about such past actions?"

Bronze blinked several times at him. "Er, who are you?"

"I go by a plethora of aliases, but for the current moment, which means today"— he tittered at his own supposed cleverness —"I am under the name of Snappo."

"Do whatever you want," said Cluster, not noticing any seriousness in his question.

"Hey, brother, I just came by to ask if everything's alright?" asked Airglow, looking searchingly at him.

"Of course," said Cluster. He leaned forward and planted a kiss on Ariglow's forehead, followed by a pat on the head. "Nothing you should be worrying about. If you'll excuse me, there's some matters I have to attend to."

"Do you know where to find our brother? I've been looking all over town for him."

"Can't help you, sorry. Goodbye and take care." And Cluster trotted off in an almost rude form of haste.

"He's got nothing on me," cried Snappo, though at this point the young journalist (who started taking notes with his quill) was being thoroughly ignored.

"Listen, Airglow, listen," said Bronze, throwing an arm around her back, "I love you very much, but I'm not worthy of your love. Say, do you love me? Do you love your own father, Airglow?"

"I do, dad. I love you."

"And what about your brothers? Do you love them, too?"

"Them, too, dad."

"Both Nova and Cluster equally?"

"I love both Nova and Cluster."

"You really are a sweet little thing." He giggled and lightly slapped his forehead. "Pah! But look at me. Say, Nova is a true rascal, you know. He's gone so far as to threaten me. Oh, Airglow, you brother has threatened his father, with... with physicality!" His voice started to waver; he spoke very tearfully. "It's not right, as Princess Celestia would dictate, not right at all!"

"It's okay, dad," said Airglow in a breathless voice. She rubbed his shoulder for reassurance. "Nova won't hurt you. I won't let him."

"Oh, Airglow, you sweet little thing. You're too much. You remind me of your mother. Heh, heh! Say, Airglow, do your old dad a favour. Come by my house tomorrow morning, would you? Just come by. I'd like that very much."

"I'll try to come."

"Tomorrow morning?"

"First thing tomorrow morning. I promise."

"Good, good!" he laughed, and before they parted ways told her, "Good luck with that good-for-nothing brother of yours. Ech! Goodness, what a mistake he was."

Airglow had far too many sensations stirring in her heart, most of which she dared not prod. In moments like these she would invariably be struck by both the excitement and suspense of an unknown future. Such is reality. She was deep in thought, but quickly realized the time and how she was late for her shift at the Golden Oak Library.

Besides, she still had the rest of today and the entirety of tomorrow to figure all this out. Also, she knew that Olva's youngest daughter, Twinkie, missed her very much. Incidentally, Airglow was her only friend, largely because Olva was an overprotective mother who would never let her crippled daughter out of her sight. Airglow felt great pity for the two of them.

So it was decided. She'd put off these uncertainties for later, and after working with Olva Velvet, she'd use the rest of the evening to look for Nova.

As it turned out, even Snappo was kicked out from the dining room in Town Hall. Apparently he tried to sneak into the room without anypony noticing, which was a totally absurd idea in the first place. So goes these types of wannabe journalists in our time.
> Part I – Chapter V – At Golden Oak
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Airglow soon reached Golden Oak Library, a privately owned, two-story treehouse, the best in town. But I suspect the reader is familiar with it—aren't you?

Although Olva Velvet, the librarian, spent most of her time in Manehattan, where she had an estate, as well as her own house, she still kept her current residence in Ponyville, which she had inherited from the previous owner.

When Airglow opened the front door Olva ran to her.

"Airglow, there you are, my dear!" she began quickly and nervously. "You're late, you know that? Oh, how there's so much to do! We have to reorganize bookshelf E and H in alphabetical order. We've had two hundred ponies come in the last week, so it's good for us. Come in, come in!"

Airglow went on in, first stopping by her room, as was a habit. She had her own little library over her bed, with a collection of her favourite books. Airglow liked very much to stay up at night reading by a candle. Then, going to the main room, she took to the air, scanning bookshelves E and H for any inconsistent placements.

Airglow was fifteen by now. She held Olva in high regard, owing much to her for this opportunity; not only to earn a little money, but for a place to live. That said, she was genuinely surprised when Olva did not ask her about her father, Bronze Pocket (whom everypony in Ponyville knew) when she first applied there. It was as if they communicated without words, and Olva came to the conclusion that Airglow's being there by herself indicated a desperate and woeful case, one into which she eagerly and with dignity poured all her sympathy. If anything, Airglow was even quite glad to have skipped the beat of discussing family matters, owing to the awkward uncertainty of the whole thing.

And while she almost began treating Airglow like she were her own, Olva could not afford to divide any attention from Twinkie, her actual daughter. Twinkie was a young, wild spirit, whose small size and frailty betrayed an adamant will. Olva was practically hysterical over her, almost never letting Twinkie out of her sight, the poor thing. Even this could be understandable, seeing how Twinkie was a cripple, and became paralyzed waist-down since she was four due to a genetic mutation in the spine—something the doctors underestimated. Oh, a desperate case for her, too! And that was why Olva was so very thankful for Airglow, and why she accepted her as an assistant in the library: Twinkie finally had a friend.

A few hours later, when Airglow finished up with the bookshelves, she was carrying another stack of books across the room when Olva came by again.

"Airglow, dear," she said, "do you happen to know anything about the auction house this morning? Word spreads like wildfire. The town looks to be getting excited, and everypony is expecting somepony. But now... do you know that Misty Gem stopped by here?"

"Really?" exclaimed Airglow. "Nova's girlfriend?"

"She was looking for Cluster, with the intention to ask him for advice concerning her relationship. Oh, could you believe it?"

"That's good, I guess."

"I know everything, everything. I've heard all the details of Nova's affair, she told me. Oh, and of all those horrors with that... creature. Revolting, truly, and in her place, I—I don't know what I'd have done in her place! Oh, Celestia! Your brother, Nova, is a fine one, too. Airglow, I'm getting confused, imagine: right now your brother, I mean, not the terrible one, but Cluster I mean, he had such a solemn conversation with her yesterday."

"Misty met Cluster yesterday?" Airglow's eyebrows shot up at this information.

"It's such a terrible tale, a real tragedy. That Nova is wretched, Airglow. How could he have done what he did to such an angel as Misty? One simply can't even believe it. They're destroying themselves, who knows why, and they know they're doing it; Nova and Misty refuse to talk to each other. I need you, Airglow. Oh, you're a good soul! The main thing is, I can't bear it. I'd like to tell you something else, but there's the main thing, too—ah, I even forgot that this is the main thing: tell me, why is Twinkie in hysterics? She's in hysterics over you and I don't know why."

"I'm not in hysterics, mama," Twinkie's little voice suddenly chirped through the opening of the door to one of the side rooms. Her voice was strained, like she were suppressing some emotion. Airglow noticed at once that Twinkie's sparkling eyes were peeking at her.

"No wonder, Twinkie, no wonder," reproached Olva. "Your caprices are going to give me hysterics, too. But anyway, my dear Airglow, she's so sick, she was sick all night, in a fever, moaning! I could hardly wait for Doctor Tubercuhoofis. He says he can make nothing of it, and that we should wait. This Tubercuhoofis never does anything. And ever since he came, Twinkie had a fit and demanded to be left alone."

"Mama, it had nothing to do with the doctor. It wasn't because of him at all that I wanted to move to this room."

"That's not true, Twinkie dear. Oh, go see what she needs, Airglow. Take a ten minute break. I'll allow it."

"Mama, that's not very nice on your part, saying those things about me."

"Twinkie, you're going too far, and I assure you I shall finally take strict measures. Oh, Airglow, I'm so unhappy!"

"But what's the matter with you, mama?"

"Ah, these caprices of yours, Twinkie, your fickle nature, your illness, this terrible night of fever, this eternal Tubercuhoofis and his rates. Eternal, eternal, eternal! And, then, everything, everything, everything... I close my eyes every moment and see that it's all nonsense, all nonsense. But, anyway, your break, Airglow."

"Maybe you can bring her a wet towel, if it's a fever?" suggested Airglow.

"Yes, yes"— Olva nodded ecstatically —"I'll bring that right away, along with a glass of water and some mints. And maybe a colouring book. Only don't get feisty, Twinkie. Anyway, anyway..."

Olva hastened from the room, which was what Twinkie was waiting for.

Airglow crossed over to the room from where she heard Twinkie's voice. She entered and left the door a little open. Twinkie was by the corner, in her wheelchair, with a cloth-covered table in front of her with a stack of cards to play with.

"Are you okay?" asked Airglow softly, sitting down next to her.

"Hi Airglow, I was waiting for you to come," said Twinkie, smiling cheerfully.

Airglow chuckled. "Yeah, here I am."

"I want to tell you something," said Twinkie in a sort of half-whisper, a childlike anticipation blazing in her eyes. "Do you wanna trade secrets?"

"Huh? Secrets?" Airglow cocked her head back slightly.

"Shh! Not so loud, or mama'll hear us."

Airglow, feeling instinctively that the time before her mama's return was precious to her, listened attentively and matched her tone of voice with Twinkie's.

"I read in a book that two best friends share secrets," Twinkie went on, getting all giddy. "We're both fillies, right? Fillies do that together. Can we try it? Please?"

Airglow rolled her eyes, mildly amused; though she was willing to indulge in such a game. "Okay then. Do you want to go first?"

"Okay, okay!" exclaimed Twinkie with great animation. "Here goes—ahem—I think you look really funny with your hair done back." And she burst into a fit of giggles.

"I do look silly, don't I?" tittered Airglow. While she acted with the utmost friendliness, she knew that this overt childishness from Twinkie was being purposefully overblown, and that the latter must have had something in mind that she wasn't letting out.

"Twinkie," said Airglow, "remember that talk we had that one time, about the importance of honest communication...?"

"Wait, wait!" said Twinkie, waving off her concerns. "Now you have to tell me your secret. I told you mine. What's yours?"

Airglow couldn't help but roll her eyes in a sort of halfhearted amusement. "Okay, fine. Here's my secret: I like seeing you laugh."

"That's not a secret, silly!" Twinkie giggled even more, biting her lip to keep from making too much noise.

"Yeah, I know," Airglow sighed, patting her on the head, "but it's true."

"Ha, ha! Let's do another one."

"This is fun, Twinkie, but maybe later." Airglow got up from her seat. "Your mom said you were having a fever? You need to take care of yourself. Have you been brushing your teeth?"

"I have," drawled Twinkie sullenly, swinging back on her chair.

"And you're not staying up too late?"

"No, I'm not." But she started laughing gaily.

Airglow gave her a look. "What's so funny, Twinkie?"

"Nothing, nothing," said Twinkie, looking timidly at Airglow.

The door opened and Olva entered the room.

"I'm sorry for the wait, dear. We're out of mints. But here's a towel for you, and a glass of water. Goodness, look how hot your face is."

Airglow didn't intend to say anything else; instead, she seized the opportunity to head back into the main room. She would talk with Twinkie all she wanted on her day off, but now Airglow wanted very much to concentrate on her work, if only to momentarily forget what was to come among her family.

An hour later and Olva approached her again.

"Airglow dear, thirty minutes before your shift ends I have a package for you to deliver. It's to Misty Gem."

"You want me to go to Misty Gem?"

"She's currently taken residence in Ponyville, don't you worry. Nothing too heavy—it's a new clothbound book from Hay and Noble, very exclusive. It's good for us, you know! Once you've completed that assignment your work for today will be over. I'll let you finish early today."

Airglow paused, pensively looking down. "Do you know if any of my brothers will be there? Just seems, I dunno, kinda weird."

"Hopefully Cluster. Oh, I wish she'd just forget that rascal Nova. That sweet mare can do so much better. Speaking of which..." A devilish smirk spread on Olva's lips. She began speaking mysteriously and importantly, as it were. "Have you set your eyes on any cute colt?"

The phrase "cute colt" appeared to have had the desired effect Olva was after.

"O-Olva!" stammered Airglow, her face flushing red as a lobster. Her ears drooped flat against her skull.

"What's the matter, dear? It's a simple yes or no question."

Airglow sat there plunged in confusion, blushing somehow even more hotly. Her mouth wavered.

"Um, I-I, um, I mean... n-no..." she barely managed to enunciate.

"No? How has no colt approached you yet? What's wrong with this world?"

"Olva, nothing's wrong with this world," said Airglow, furrowing her brow. "I'm just... um... busy, that's all."

"Busy? Doing what? Ah, forget it! Don't answer that, dear, I know how embarrassing it can be. Reminds me of my youth, when I was 'in the game,' as they say nowadays. But it's a shame, really. You're very pretty."

"Yeah, yeah, okay," muttered Airglow, doing all she could to avoid eye contact and get back to stacking books.

It must be noted that Airglow really was ashamed about the thoughts she had about Misty Gem's relationship with Nova, that is, ashamed that for a moment she blamed everything on Misty, and soon realized how rude and ignorant this was. She wanted to believe that nopony was in the wrong, and afterwards came to the realization that Misty must have requested for her specifically, to talk to her. Yet Airglow was grieving, absolutely standing against the idea of meddling in some love affair she knew very little about, especially when she knew almost nothing about romantic love, save for the dozens of novels she read on the subject.

Nearing the end of the day Airglow's commission took her to Neigh Street, and her brother Nova lived close by, yet she never found him home. She decided to ask Misty about Nova's whereabouts, in the hopes that Nova's mere name wouldn't offend her. She expected to get nowhere with that, though it couldn't hurt to try.

Time was passing. The sun was touching the horizon and the shadows were stretching in response. At last she found the house in Neigh Street: a large place, three-stories, painted vibrantly, windows polished and showcasing a wild assortment of flowers. The doorbell was a large, brass ring.

Airglow gulped.
> Part I – Chapter VI – Strained Love
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Misty Gem was currently staying in the busiest part of Ponyville, near the town square, in the house belonging to the widow of a merchant, to whom she paid a hefty rent. The house was large, three-stories, and extremely attractive.

Ah, my bad! I already went over this, didn't I? I really do apologize for being so muddleheaded; I guess such things can be common, where us narrators can get easily distracted and fall into the most muddleheaded of moods.

That said, it's impossible to do without details entirely.

The owner, an old mare, lived a relatively secluded life there with her niece, who was also quite an elderly spinster. Both of them were close to Misty's family, both of whom pleased her relative, the merchant, who was openly Misty's patron. At the start they kept a keen eye on her, but this soon proved to be unnecessary (and even quite out of style, considering how much they were getting paid), and in the end the widow rarely ever met Misty and finally stopped bothering her altogether. True, their families went way back, and not all sunshine and rainbows, but since then much water had flown under the bridge.

All the same, the biography of this mare was only slightly and inconsistently known in Ponyville; nor had anything been learned more recently, even at a time when a great many ponies began to be interested in her "beauty." There had been many rumours of her past, no thanks to the limelight she'd received, though we'll get to the real story soon enough.

"You're a sharp lady," Misty's father would tell her, giving her about eighty thousand bits. "You'll make a path for yourself; but know this, that apart from your yearly allowance, as usual, you'll get no more from me before I pass away, and I will leave you with only a very small fraction of my will." But Misty heartily accepted this decision, and in good time she quadrupled her earnings through trade and the stock market compared to what she was owed.

In the house she had two servants, one a very old cook, from her parents' household, and the other the cook's granddaughter, a pert young mare, about nineteen years old, Misty's maid.

When Airglow arrived she heard the noise of hoof-steps, and the rustle of curtains. Did they hear me from the front yard? she thought. It seemed strange that her arrival could—let alone would—cause much of a stir. Her embarrassment before Misty Gem was due entirely to externalities.

She knocked using the big brass ring. In almost no time the maid opened for her, and she let Airglow inside at once, evidently expecting her presence. She was shown in the drawing room: it was exceptionally well lit, which was a good thing since dusk was settling in. There was much furniture: a little glass table with a flowered vase amid two couches and two chairs, a portiere in the back, a fluffy carpet, and a stool near the high window.

Misty was lying down on her big, clumsy couch with its mahogany back, hard and upholstered. Underneath her front hooves was a white pillow. She was very beautiful in Airglow's estimation, with a somewhat pale face, with pursed lips and hot eyes. Her countenance resembled some impatience, lying as if in anguish. When Airglow came in she jumped from the couch and, smiling merrily, embraced Airglow in a quick hug. Airglow was taken aback by such impromptu actions.

"You must be Airglow," said Misty, earnestly gesturing for Airglow to sit down. "I know. Nova described you to me."

"H-hi, Ms. Gem," replied Airglow at once, willing all secondary thoughts from her mind that had nothing to do with the moment. "I have your package."

"I get that you have to approach me formally, but it's no big deal. You can relax. And please, address me by my first name." Misty smiled in a strangely awkward way, affectionately holding out her hoof to Airglow. "Here, lemme take this off you"— Using her magic she levitated a book wrapped in bubble wrap from Airglow's saddlebag and placed it on a stool on the other end of the room. "But, it isn't just that... That's not why I wanted to talk to you."

She spoke excitedly, almost nervously, as weird as it was for any pony to be nervous in front of Airglow. But something about her face, her gestures and voice, evoked genuine empathy and trust. Airglow allowed herself to loosen her shoulders a tad.

"I wanted very much to speak with you, today of all days," Misty continued.

"Alright then, you set the terms. What did you have in mind?"

"Did you know I'm the daughter of a colonel? He was actually born in Ponyville, went up the ranks, and settled in Canterlot."

"No, I didn't know that."

She was struck, at last, by the imperiousness, proud ease, and self-confidence of the mare—something which likely could not be exaggerated.

"It's something Nova would tell you."

"Misty, wait"— Airglow suddenly turned crimson, eyes downcast —"if this is about what he did... I'm sorry. Just—"

"Why ever are you apologizing?" asked Misty, peering directly into her face with the friendliest of smiles. "Oh, Nova's told me so much about you; he talks about you very enthusiastically and with respect. You'll be happy to hear—maybe not tranquilly happy—that some ponies always remain the same, they don't yield to fate."

Airglow looked up. "What do you mean by that, Misty?"

"Well, first of all, do you know the entire story?"

"Bits and pieces of it, I guess."

"That won't do, sister. You know, we should really call each other sisters. We're practically related."

"Oh, I can definitely see that!" said Airglow at once, and her eyes lit up.

It was with more amazement that she felt now, at the first glance at Misty Gem as she ran into her, that she had perhaps been utterly mistaken. This time her face was beaming with spontaneous good-natured kindliness, and direct warm-hearted sincerity. The "pride and haughtiness," which had struck Airglow so much before, was only betrayed now in a frank, generous energy and a sort of bright, strong faith in herself.

Airglow realized at the first glance, at the first word, that all the tragedy of Misty's position in relation to the stallion she loved so dearly was no secret to her; that she perhaps already knew everything, positively everything. And yet, in spite of that, there was such brightness in her face, such faith in the future. Airglow felt at once that she had gravely wronged her in her thoughts. She was conquered and captivated immediately. Besides all this, she noticed at her first words that she was in great excitement, an excitement perhaps quite exceptional and almost approaching ecstasy.

Airglow's lips twitched with the signs of a happy smile, happy to see Misty in such a mood.

"Maybe you could tell me everything," she said with decision. "There's two sides to every coin, right?"

"Help me now, sister. I'll tell you everything, and then you tell me what's right and wrong. Nova's not altogether lost; I can still save him."

"Right, right!" said Airglow warmly. "I believe that."

"First and foremost: what went down," Misty began to speak at length. "It was a wild night, sister. Although"— her face dropped a bit, recalling the memory more clearly —"maybe 'wild' is just my imagination. My parents were shareholders—I specifically deal in trading bonds. When my mother passed away everything was left to my father. I'm sorry if this seems unnecessary, Airglow, but this is how I met my best friend. He was young, a brand new investor, met my father not soon after the funeral. We immediately took a liking to each other. Oh, it was all very platonic, mind you. I don't think my father liked this friend very much, owing to some silly feud between his family and mine. Hindsight can make things seem so silly.

"Anyway, a year later and horror struck. This friend of mine lost everything, down the gutter. Not a bit to his name. Even worse, he was deep in debt, as high as ten thousand bits. You could say we all overestimated his ability in financial management. His family disowned him. I wanted to help, but I was just barely a young mare at the time, I hadn't much to me, either. My father was tight-hoofed about his spending, refused to step in. That's when Nova came, saw me, saw how I wanted to help my friend but couldn't. He donated to me a full ten thousand bits, no strings attached, simply out of the generosity of his heart. I was... so happy, Airglow. Finally somepony—anypony—arrived unheeded at my doorstep. Well, not long after and we became engaged." She leaned on one side and the couch and heaved a heavy sigh.

"But in hindsight that decision was a fit of passion," she went on. "About a month ago I had another problem. Not a big one, so big that it couldn't be solved. This time things were different, my sister. My grandmother was in the hospital, all the way in Baltimare. She had this thing called brittle bone disease—it means your bones are like glass; they break very easily. One of her ribs snapped and poked her heart, and she was rushed to the medics immediately. She needed surgery—badly. The price was high, but I'm rich, don't forget. So I gave Nova a case filled with ten thousand bits. I asked him for a favour, to travel to Baltimare and pay for my grandmother's expenses.

"But he squandered it in a tavern on the way there. He met another mare, set up a whole feast. Ever since then he gave me this letter." She levitated, from a cupboard, a folded piece of paper, filled from top to bottom with tiny writing. Two of the corners were folded and crumbled, and a third was stained with what appeared to be coffee. Misty placed it down on the table. "I won't read it to you, but the gist is that he 'bows to me.' That's what he said, 'I bow to you. May you never see me again.'

"I read the newspaper about the tavern he stayed at. He clearly spent most of the money I gave him, if not the whole thing. Well," she concluded, "I see that look on your face, sister. What's the matter?"

"He... he cheated on you?" said Airglow, and suddenly broke off. Vague thoughts were going around in her mind—scattered, indistinct. She didn't know what to make of these new facts presented to her.

"Oh, sister, there's so much more to it! He's crushed by it. Nova said, in the letter, that he had lost his honour and that nothing matters anymore. I've known it for a long time now; I telegraphed to Baltimare to make sure, and heard long ago that the money had not arrived. He hadn't sent the money, but I said nothing. Last week I learnt that he was still in need of money. My only object in all this was that he should know to whom to turn, and who was his true friend. No, he won't recognize that I'm his truest friend; he won't know me, and looks on me merely as a reminder of his disgrace. I've been tormented all week, trying to think how to prevent him from being ashamed to face me because he spent that ten thousand. Let him feel ashamed of himself, let him be ashamed before everypony. But why doesn't he understand how much I'm willing to save him, just like he saved my best friend once? Why, why doesn't he know me? How come he acts like he no longer recognizes me? Let him forget me as his betrothed. He's not just a dishonour in my eyes. Why don't I deserve his friendship?"

She spoke these words in tears. Hot, hot tears gushed from her eyes, ruining her mascara.

"I have to tell you," began Airglow, her voice trembling and eyes wet, too, "that I'm looking for Nova today, to talk to him, just talk. A-and I'd really appreciate it if you could help me out, Misty. He may do something he'll regret again."

"Come now, my sister," Misty chuckled in a weak voice, in order to brighten the mood, "you act like his passion is uncontrollable, that he'll even marry that other mare he met in Baltimare."

"You never know," said Airglow mournfully, looking down.

"Be a bit more optimistic, sister," Misty laughed strangely again. "You want to find Nova, don't you? I asked about him, too, though that was yesterday. That night he was in Ponyville's only inn, in the outskirts of town by the river."

"The inn?" exclaimed Airglow. "Shoot, I missed him then. I was there yesterday, though not at night."

"Who knows, check there again. It's pretty dark right now—you see there? That's why we need candles. In the off-chance you bump into Nova, be a sweetheart and tell him what I told you just now."

"Of course, Misty! What kind of pony would I be if I didn't?"

"That's the spirit, sister." Misty grinned, and her teeth shined like perfect rows of white pearls. "Goodness, I really don't want to keep you here too long."

"Thank you so much!" said Airglow, a ray of newfound hope entering into her heart. "I promise everything will be fine in the end."

"Save him for me, Airglow," she heard Misty call out to her. "For me, for you, and for your family. Wait, one last thing, and I promise it'll be quick!"

Airglow stopped short and stared curiously at Misty.

The unicorn levitated towards her a piece of gold paper with black letters. Closer inspection revealed this to be a train ticket.

"I want you to have that," said Misty, as Airglow stored it in her saddlebag. "It's a ticket to a luxury transcontinental train, the Flying Rift Express, first class, made for two ponies. The train is coming to Fillydelphia for the first time next month. I'd go but, you know, the trade business never lets you sleep. I thought you'd like to travel and take somepony with you. Sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

"Thank you so much, Misty," replied Airglow, quite in shock at such a gift.

"Great. If by next month you change your mind you can give it back. That's all; please don't let me hold you here. Goodbye, sister!"
> Part I – Chapter VII – At Nova's Request
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

This so-called inn was really located in the outskirts of Ponyville. By the time Airglow reached the place the dull light of dusk had been vanquished, and the waxing moon glowed in the dark sky. A chilly wind picked up, swiping down the streets in torrents. An ordinary night.

Olva's gonna kill me for being out this late, thought Airglow glumly. But she set the thought aside; besides, this was going to be quick.

This inn was attractive to the eye, well kept, in good order, even with a backyard which grew flowers. The windows facing the street were open, and from them came a strident, unbroken stream of talk, of shouting, almost as though somepony were talking aloud or giving a speech; the voices were interrupted from time to time by the laughter of several other resonant voices.

Airglow entered through the main entrance, and the cook to whom she attended gave her a dubious look. Airglow asked if Nova Steel was present.

"He's in there," replied the cook, much to Airglow's surprise.

In the middle of the drawing room, which was papered with dark blue wallpaper and furnished neatly, though somewhat shabbily—that is, with a round table and a couch, a bronze clock under a glass cover, a narrow mirror in the space between the two windows, under a flat and creaking ceiling—sat Nova himself, who, along with several other ponies at the table, was striking his chest proudly and playing cards with them. Several piles of bits were dispersed next to the cards.

"That's another loss for you!" cried one of them, clearly drunk off his wits.

"Pah! That was just a single draw!" argued Nova, slamming his hoof on the table, causing the cards to jump. "You'll see..."

But he was interrupted when the cook came by and informed him that a very young mare, claiming to be his sister, was looking for him. He flung around and, catching sight of his sister, who was in the corner looking at him with almost glittering eyes, stood for a second as if dumbstruck. Then, saying, "A moment, gentlecolts," he rushed over to her with an obsequious smile and exclaimed, "My illustrious Airglow! You're just in time, just in time!"

"Good to see you, big brother," said Airglow amicably, and the two shared a quick hug.

"Look, you see those good-for-nothings down there? They're swindlers, sister. Swindlers to the bone; and I spit on them! Pah! So, anyhow, what is it?"

"I spoke with Misty Gem," said Airglow, meeting his gaze.

Nova blinked rapidly, as if coming to his senses.

"Re-ally? You spoke with Misty?" His face fell a little.

"She wants to... well, in short... she—" Airglow stammered, searching for the perfect way to phrase it.

"Wait here, little sister," hushed Nova. "We should discuss this outside."

He strode over to the card table where his friends were waiting for him (although "friends" is a bit of a stretch).

"Oh, how vexing this all is!" moaned Nova, stacking up his cards. "It's time for me to cut the ribbon, as they say."

"What?" said one of the ponies. "Who says that?"

"Never you mind that," Nova continued. "So, gentlecolts, how much do I owe?"

They muttered among themselves and started counting the bits. At last one spoke out, "Seven stacks, plus seven hundred... sixty-five... you're looking at eight ninety-five exactly."

"Excellent estimation as usual, gentlecolts," said Nova; and he leaned in, taking on quite a different tone. "I just happen to not be, eh, very liquid right now."

"As usual!" snapped the one next to him angrily. "What kind of pony can spend two thousand bits in a single night?"

"I admit it requires skill!" Nova began to laugh.

"Why do you play if can't pay, Nova?"

"Ah, I was sure I was going to win this time."

"Pfft! Will you pay or not?" they shouted at him.

"Come now, gentlecolts, show some finesse, I implore you," said Nova, swiping his hair back in a show of style. "Have I not lent each and every one of you bits? Haven't I never demanded to be paid back? Gentlecolts, this boundless strain you all give me—it consumes my heart like a heavy mist!"

But they had enough. The stallion from across the table, the gruffly-looking one, with a deep and ill-pronounced voice, said, "Listen here, Nova. You know what they call ponies who refuse to pay their debts?"

Nova gave him a sly and, as it were, vague look. "What do they call them? Actually, forget it. I don't need the answer. Time is marching, gentlecolts, and I must catch it before all goes dark. Such is the riddle of life: so much to do, so little time. Farewell!"

We swept the remaining bits he owed and stuffed it in his saddlebag, preparing to leave. But he didn't take more than two steps before the gruffly stallion jumped up, passing by the table, and through clenched teeth he cried in a sort of rush, "Thieves!"

Nova turned back, utterly baffled.

"That's what they call 'em! Thieves!"

"How dare you slander my good name!" cried Nova in extreme indignation, as though unable to contain himself.

The steaming stallion roared and rushed at him; but Nova responded with extreme precision. That is, he stepped back, cocked his hoof, and hurled it unexpectedly into the stallion's face. A loud blow, the crunching of bone, his face caved in and he fell to the ground, totally unconscious; blood began to spill from his mouth.

All the mares in the inn squeaked in fright.

"Madpony!" the cook from before yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Pah! I spit on it!" retorted Nova in threatening tones, and he at once made his way to the front door.

"You think this is over?" cried one of the others from the card table; every feature on his face was twitching.

"A mere trifle of life," replied Nova. "Besides, you all saw it! He came at me. He—at me. Pah, pah! Put the damages on my bill, good gentlecolts. Come, Airglow," he said quickly to her, exiting from the building.

Everypony gave Airglow a dirty look. She chuckled nervously, face turned crimson, right before vanishing from sight, tailing her brother.

"Ech! And I thought this was a decent establishment," remarked an elderly stallion, before taking down another shot of brandy.


* * *


It had occurred to Airglow that Nova was, in a word, stalling for time. Or perhaps not even that, but searching for a certain swiftness of mind before the fixed date to speak with their father on the day of the Summer Sun Celebration. For Nova gambling was not uncommon, but it looked like the phantom of impatience had possessed him wholly. He spoke without refrain, yet in short breaths, laughing and flashing his burning eyes.

They walked for a bit—really less than a minute—and came full stop under a solitary lamp by the roadside.

"So, little sister, your searching has been rewarded!" he declared with determination, setting his sights involuntarily upwards, as if he were preoccupied with another thought.

"Nova, I..." Airglow began choking. The corners of her lips quivered. "Everything'll be okay, you hear me? Everything's one huge misunderstanding. I talked to Misty, she says it's not your fault completely, that she still wants your friendship."

"Wait, Airglow, wait"— With a rapid gesture he put a hoof 'round her shoulders and pointed to the sky. "You see the stars, sister? What mesmerizing brilliance, what stars! I have a name for it: a white night! There are certain gears, these little variables, which exist for every pony, and in between every relationship: that which determines the fabric of reality. Ours is clean, smooth, functioning. Oh, I love you so much, little sister!"

"Gah! N-Nova..." Airglow struggled to breathe from his tight hug. "Nova, I think you're drunk again."

"Oho, whatever you say," he said, assuming a jovially pensive expression. "So, you spoke with Misty, and learned that she wants my friendship? Ah, I've come to terms with that already."

"Wait"— Airglow's face lit up —"you knew?"

"No, I didn't know. But why let the future surprise you, little sister? The future is determined; it's fixed, a constant, like the bottom of a whirlpool, a fate to be accepted on all terms. The future can't change the past, now can it?"

"I mean, maybe if you reinterpret the past..."

"An interesting thought, little sister. Look, here I am, with a handkerchief (a metaphorical one, that is); I can twist them into a rope in a minute, and braces besides, and why go on burdening this planet, dishonouring it with my vile presence? Then you came, and—good graces to Celestia—you, of all ponies, who I love more than anypony."

"But Nova, about Misty—"

"Yes, Misty Gem. Oh, what an angel she is, little sister! She deserves better than me. Yes, yes, my friendship. I dishonour her, I ruin a part of her life, and friendship, you say? So be it. Oh, Airglow, I have such a story, such a tale as is my own. It's hard to believe real life can contrive such tragedies, but, in a word, it's real. Fantastical, but real."

"You have your side of the story, and Misty has hers, which she told me. Maybe you can give me your way of looking at things."

What worried Airglow more than anything was that, incredible as it seemed, her brother appeared perfectly pleased with his supposedly worsening position.

"Look closely, Airglow," Nova started speaking somewhat sorrowfully, a total change to his demeanor just seconds ago, "I won't tell you my side of things now. You'll learn of it tomorrow, but not now. Now is the time for an unbound defiance of the current order. I seek a higher order, Airglow, darling. You won't understand everything now, but know this: not all the money is lost. I didn't spend it all."

Upon hearing this Airglow's face brightened, finally finding something new to latch onto.

"That's great, Nova. So there's an even bigger chance you can make up with Misty."

"No, little sister, no. The tides are high and frothing like clouds; there's no way to cross them at the moment. I squandered the ten thousand—is that so? No, I only squandered half. And our scumbag of a father owes me five thousand. Five and five—a sum total! I can only go so low as to reveal my face to Misty once I've proven that I'm not a thief. I'll pay her back, Airglow; as Princess Celestia is my witness, I'll redeem myself, I'll pay it back, every last bit, every copper, everything.

"And about that 'fatal day,' little sister... I was drunk, and there was that beast, oh, that sensual beast. But I was sobbing. I was sobbing then, kneeling to Misty's image, because I deserve all the suffering in the world. But—pah!—I said I would tell you tomorrow, not today."

And he looked down and sank into deep thought.

"Yes, I am a scoundrel, a thorough scoundrel!" he said suddenly, in a gloomy voice. "It doesn't matter whether I cried or not, I'm a scoundrel! Tell her I accept the name, if that's any comfort. Also, tell her that I accept her friendship, but only once I've paid everything; if she intends to save me somehow beforehand, she can forget it. Come, that's enough. Farewell. It's no use talking! It's not amusing. You go your way and I mine. And I don't want to see you again except as a last resort. Farewell, Airglow!"

He softly pressed Airglow on her chest, and still looking down, without raising his head, as though tearing himself away, turned rapidly towards town.

Airglow looked after him, unable to believe he would go away so abruptly.

"Stay, little sister, one more confession to you alone!" cried Nova, suddenly turning back. "You see right here—there's a terrible disgrace in store for me." And as he spoke he pulled out a coin pouch, filled to the brim with bits. "Two-fifty bits in total. Here."

"But why are you giving me that?" said Airglow in faint surprise.

"I need you to do me a real solid, Airglow. See, first take this. There. Now, you must make a delivery for me, Airglow dear, you must, my life depends on it!"

"Y-your life!" Airglow nearly shouted, fear in her voice.

"Shh! Shh! No, not my life, per se—that was mere hyperbole. No, I need you to deliver it to a young stallion for me."

"But Nova, I can't. It's really late right now, and I'd get in trouble, and—I mean, please don't mind my asking, but why haven't you made this delivery yourself?"

"I wouldn't be able to, they'd never let me in. I'd be chased out at once! And even if they let me, I can't bring myself down to it. How could I?"

"Nova?"

"I don't intend to dive into the nitty-gritty, but know that I did a pony some wrong, I brought him great misery, and my soul is tormented for such an act. I can never forgive myself. Well, and so, to reconcile I'm giving him two-fifty bits—from my own account, naturally. It's the only way I know how to pay. And so, go and... He very much lives in poverty, Airglow. He needs these bits, and his aunt is a real ragamuffin. Go, save the dear lad for me, beg forgiveness in my name."

"Okay, okay," said Airglow, still trying to array the scattering of her mind. She stared at the coin pouch with some a grey shadow over her face; these bits, which represented so much suffering in her family, and now she was about to deal in it, too. "Okay..." she said again in a low voice. "Where is he?"

"Near the end of Hay Avenue, fifth block to the left, a homely little abode, small and compressed to the point of picturesqueness. You can't miss it. So that's that, little sister. Thank you. Away!"

And he suddenly retreated, this time for real. Airglow, still a little shaken, made her way towards the assigned location.

"What's gotten into him?" she wondered wildly. "Nopony can seem to agree on anything anymore. But... no need to be a pessimist. I'll let things take their course, and everything'll get better. Hopefully..."


* * *


Airglow positively refused to believe that she was in any significant grief. That is, she perfectly entertained the thought in her head of what imminent grief there'd be if all went astray, but she would keep in mind that not all was lost, and, moreover, it was no good being a pessimist. She was, in many respects, a realist and an opportunist, and far more intelligent than ponies gave her credit.

A pessimist sees the glass as half empty, but an opportunist drinks the glass when given the... opportunity. No surprise there.

These fleeting details left her in quite the temporary stupor. What was everypony scheming? Now that, dear reader, is a question worth considering.

Say, dear reader, forgive such abrasive bluntness from a lowly narrator as myself, but what is your life philosophy? How do you—actually, nevermind. I would hate to break the flow of the story anymore than I have. We will get to these high and mighty questions later on in this story, sooner rather than later. Back to Airglow.

It was nearing ten o'clock. At last she found the house in Hay Avenue, a decrepit, lopsided little house, with only two windows looking out onto the street, and a barren little courtyard. Indeed, the house of this young stallion turned out to be something of a cottage.

Airglow was about to knock the iron door knocker when she was struck by the unusual silence behind the door. Yet she was sure this was the place. Like Nova said, "You can't miss it."

Either he's asleep, thought Airglow, or maybe he heard me coming, and he's waiting for me to open the door. Here goes the knock. And she knocked five quick times. An answer came, though not right away, but up to ten seconds after.

"Who are you?" somepony shouted in a loud and forcedly angry voice.

Airglow's legs went a little cold; she stood there for two seconds, was about to respond, but suddenly the door opened all the way, and as if by habit she stepped across the threshold. She found herself in a room that was more spacious than she imagined it would be, but extremely cluttered, with all kinds of, not only furniture, but junk and domestic chattels. There was a black stove. From the stove to the window on the left, across the entire room, a line was strung, on which a few pieces of rag were hanging. There were blankets to the right, some more dirty than others, and in the corner a single lamp that burned brightly.

There were many more things to describe, but I shall not bore the reader with such details. Just know that, for all intents and purposes, it was a challenge just to move from one end of the room to the other without bumping into something.

The door closed, revealing behind it a pegasus mare, very much middle-aged judging by the white streaks in her mane, with visible bags under her eyes. Obviously this was the same pony who shouted, "Who are you?" from behind the door, since there was no other female in the room. She rushed up to Airglow, stopping just half a meter away.

"What do you want, filly?" the mare demanded, though the meekness in both her eyes and posture was quite out of proportion with this show of aggressiveness.

"I'm looking for a young stallion, is he here?" asked Airglow steadily.

"Oh..." The mare's face softened up. "Yes, yes, I think I know who you're looking for. Did he do something wrong?"

"No, not at all," Airglow hurried to say, but paused. "I mean, I'm not sure exactly, I've never met him. I just want to give him something."

"Right there." And the mare, in a slow gesture, showed Airglow to a bed opposite of the stove. Not fully a bed, but only a single mattress placed square on the floor.

Indeed a young stallion—whose gaunt face more resembled a colt's—was seated half upright on the bed, with a thin pillow behind his back. His face was very thin and yellow, which contrasted unnaturally with his brown coat; his extremely sunken cheeks gave away his sickly condition. What struck Airglow was the look in his eyes—intensely inquisitive, and at the same time very haughty. His countenance as a whole expressed a sort of insolence, and at the same time—which was really weird—an immense cowardice. He looked like a pony who had been submissive for a long time, but had suddenly jumped up to try and assert himself. Or, another way of looking at it, like a pony who wanted to hit you but was all too afraid that you'd hit back.

"That there's Pyre Opus," said the mare. "I'm his aunt, Blue Opine."

"Who are you and what do you want with me?" he asked shrilly. In his voice could be heard wavering cracks, now spiteful, now timid, faltering, unable to sustain its tone.

"I'm... Airglow Sky..." said Airglow in reply, looking very attentively at him. "I'm here to... I mean, Nova Steel sent me."

Pyre muttered something incoherent and shifted uneasily in the bed.

After a few seconds Airglow realized he wasn't going to say anything, so she spoke up, "I'm his sister. He wanted me to give you this." And she presented to him the coin pouch, with two hundred fifty bits.

This immediately caught the attention of the aunt, who, with a burst of energy crossed the room and stood before Airglow.

"What's this?" she asked rapidly and, as it were, angrily but also fearfully. "What are you pulling, little lady?"

"It's not like that," said Airglow, realizing that she was not trusted and spoke with a certain sincere friendliness to remedy that fact. "My brother caused your, um, nephew here some trouble. This is just compensation, I think."

"You think?" said Pyre mockingly, and with a rude gesture he turned his head. "She doesn't know anything, auntie. You... what's your name again?" He looked at her.

"It's Airglow. Airglow Sk—"

"Leave me alone, Airglow. I don't want you here. I don't need your pity, it's an insult."

"An... insult?" Airglow cocked her head in confusion. "I'm not trying to insult you."

He kept silent. She sighed glumly.

"Listen," she said, "you must be very angry over whatever Nova did to you, and in effect you would be very angry at those associated with him, such as his siblings. But please know that my brother apologizes deeply, and that he's in great agony over it. That's why he asked me to deliver these bits to you... to help you... in your, um, situation."

"It's an insult," said Pyre again; but he could not get another word out before stifling a violent cough. Then he coughed four more times—"Hem! Hem! Hem! Hem!"—and he exhaled slowly. "I won't be insulted."

"He's dying," said the aunt.

Airglow was taken aback. "What?"

"Of consumption," said the aunt again. "This rascal coughs and coughs, and I'm forced to care for him. The parents hit the road not long ago."

"Auntie," said Pyre in a croaking voice, "may I ask your reason for telling her that?"

"What's it matter to you anyway?"

"You're insulting me, auntie, and I don't approve of it. Hem! Hem!"

The aunt shook her head in disapproval, and she heaved a great sigh.

"Can I at least know what Nova did to you?" asked Airglow with greater emphasis.

"Questions are an insult," retorted Pyre. "An insult."

"Quiet, you. Airglow, right? If you really want to know, your brother dragged him out of Ponyville's inn last week, dragged him out onto the streets and thrashed him in public."

"He what!" Airglow's eyes widened. "Why would Nova do that to him?"

"I said he's just like his father," said Pyre. "No difference, just like him."

"Really?"

"The truth entered him and crushed him into powder. Hem! But that doesn't matter. It's an insult, too."

"I swear to you," said Airglow as sternly as she could, "that I'll make my brother come before you and bow to the ground in forgiveness. If not, then... then... then he's no brother of mine! I swear to you."

"Don't bother!" coughed Pyre. "Unless you want to insult me in the process." And suddenly a new, much darker expression came to his face. "I don't just mean this particular instance is insulting. Everything is an insult. Life is an insult, directed right to your face. Nothing is ever fully justified, only maybe half justified. Yes, your swine of a brother thrashed me, publicly, but so what? So what if there are witnesses? You think I care about witnesses? They're all an insult, too. These words ponies tell you, these charitable nothings and false altruism—it's nothing but a horrible, horrible joke. How can anything be properly described, properly justified, if everything is relative, and anything can be interpreted in an infinite number of ways? What's evil, for example? Evil is just a word. Under the skin it's simple pain. For some mercy and pity is victory. You may sacrifice, you may endure, and when given the chance you'll—hem!—you'll forgive. But what if you leave the door open, and it turns out the object of your pity is irredeemable? I'm not responsible for my misdeeds, nor is my aunt. Will you say your sentimental nonsense to a dying pony? Hem! Hem! It's an insult. Everything is an insult!"

He stopped short with a catch in his throat. Every feature in his face was twitching and working; he looked extremely defiant. He was in a sort of frenzy.

"I think I understand it all now," said Airglow softly and sorrowfully. "You must be in so much pain, and nothing in your life has gone your way. Now I understand..." she repeated thoughtfully. "But just... know that my brother regrets his actions, and it's your call if you don't want his forgiveness. By the way, if you don't want these bits then that's alright with m—"

"No, no," said Pyre in a strange voice. He heaved himself up and snatched the pouch from her hooves. "There, you happy? Now go!"

The aunt simply shook her head and strode over to the other side of the room, as if looking for something to occupy her.

Airglow looked at Pyre for a long time. She opened her mouth to say something, but when none came, she settled on a halfhearted sigh.

Then, she bid the ponies a farewell and made her way out of the cottage. Night had deepened, and so she took to the sky and flew as fast as she could back to Golden Oak Library.

Just as expected, Olva berated her for coming home so late, and went on for nearly five minutes on who would take care of Twinkie if something were to happen to her. Airglow apologized profusely, saying it wouldn't happen again. This apparently satisfied Olva, who in turn apologized on her part, and kissed her on the cheeks.

Twinkie was already passed out on her bed. Airglow didn't want to wake her, so she went straight to her own room, and eventually she fell into an uncomfortable sleep, not exactly in anticipation for tomorrow.
> Part II – Chapter I – A Narrator's Self-Interest
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


PART II

A PRIORI; A POSTERIOR



* * *


Do you recall, dear reader, the question to which I addressed you?—What is your life philosophy?

Most of this chapter will be devoted to grappling with the nature of such a question, and so, owing to common decency, I must apologize in advance if that subject does not strike your fancy. Now, to be sure, I'm well aware that I will not be able to hear the reader, and so the question posed is, in essence, a rhetorical one. Go figure.

But to understand and even study these existential troubles is almost a prerequisite for what's to come. I do hope, from the bottom of this narrator's heart, that this won't pose too much of an obstacle for you. If you've read this far then I'm very confident in your intelligence.

Say, intelligence is a tricky little beast, isn't it? It doesn't help that it takes a lot more than intelligence to act intelligently; but, to mix in a little poetic spite, intelligence all on its own can be counterintuitive. Oh, dear reader, what lavish praise, what positive attention, shall be adorned upon the intelligent individual for their intelligence. It's expected, really, like the end of a formula. But a bad analogy: formulas are by no means the ideal method in determining the nature of our development.

You know, dear reader, I believe that the intelligent individual will invariably fall in love with their own creation—a double-edged sword, that is! This would be, what you may call, the arrogance of the intellect. The schools will say that every soul is a creative one—but that's a lie, isn't it? A worse lie than statistics! We all know that creativity constitutes a gem in the rough—and doubly so for intelligence.

This estimation is a most unseemly one, dear reader, and especially so for the so-called arrogance of the intellect. What good is intelligence if all it will lead to is arithmetic? Formulas and more formulas. What do the formulas dictate? That if all our desires—all our rational faculties—were adjusted in such a way that they coincided perfectly with our self-interest, that would bring about eternal prosperity. Do we owe the decline of suffering to our intellect? To these formulas of a bygone era?

No. "And why not?" you may be so good as to inquire. But, to start off properly, it is not my intention to paint a picture of my beliefs while muddying the opposition's. That would turn me from a bad narrator to a very bad one. But these formulas are objective, pillars of reality, blind to the subjective. We can, at the very least, discuss those.

Let us suppose that all of our rational faculties and psychological inclinations were set up as so they followed our self-interest, and nothing more. What would become of it? Can it be, is it even plausible, that the desired utopia so longed for throughout our history—can it be that such a dream would be ushered in? Shower us with riches untold; grant us infinite economic prosperity; give us every conceivable luxury. Can you attest to such a golden dream? No, stupid question. Is that golden dream desirable?

After all, this abdication of suffering and the bringing forth of a paradise follows perfectly in line with our self-interest, or so argues the intellect. These formulas of logic and rationality—would they not please our minds if it came to pass that, owing to this golden dream, all that there was left to do was eat, sleep, and busy yourself with the continuation of your species? That's what you want, I suppose—to remove, one by one like threads from a loose sheet, these inherent vulnerabilities and limitations so characteristic of our existence. "That's exactly it," you declare, in a show of confidence much greater than my own. Fine then. The perfect utopia, the golden dream, as it were, is yours.

But still, out of sheer ingratitude, you would risk it all. If for nothing else than to prove that a mere formula holds no sway over your free will; you would go stark, raving mad, breaking everything, tossing aside your favorite luxuries and burning this heavenly soil into ash—dust to dust, as they say. You would risk everything, just to prove a point. Consider, dear reader: what makes you think that having everything you ever wanted would satisfy you? What if being dissatisfied is what satisfies you? What if these impossible imaginations of ours—these vulnerabilities, these limitations, these sources of unending suffering—what if that is precisely what gives your life meaning?

Dear reader, would you give up the will to live in order to settle in prosperity? And what has the intellect to say? Now, you may be so good as to agree with the former question, stating that our self-interest in and of itself would abate such a catastrophe, and therefore the most golden of dreams would be put into place. In such a case, economic and social prosperity are the sum total of all that is needed in the material world. But individuals, from all walks of life, will knowingly act against their self-interest. This is a recorded fact. Is your free will no longer necessary if it does not act in accordance to your self-interest? Naturally. The only reason we ask ourselves these questions is the symptom of a lack of rational self-interest. Before we can invent new suffering for ourselves, the formulas would step in before they could be acted upon, and rational self-interest would immediately take its place.

Good heavens, dear reader. What sort of life is that? If all our lives are predicated on perfect formulas and perfect calculations, and we were rid of our ability to act with ingratitude, then, out of unfathomable spite, we would intentionally rid ourselves of our reason—just to prove our point! What sort of life—or even better—what sort of meaning is there left, the sort of meaning mediated by our free will, when everything is a case of arithmetic? That is no life at all!

No life at all.

And so, dear reader, as a display of intelligence, the intellect will argue with arguments; and how terribly intelligent these arguments are! But arguments are nothing more than a priori conclusions to ideal presuppositions. In short: ideas.

Tell me, from where will the intellect obtain these ideas? Oh, believe me, creating an original idea all on your own is no easy feat. Instead, what every intelligent soul will fall towards, is this: they will stretch their skin, as far as it can go, and into the pores let enter ideas from foreign intellects whom they admire. When these ideas enter into their being, it possesses them like a phantom. And by the end, the intellect will be chock full of ideas not their own, but act as if they came up with them! Even as I say these words, dear reader, I confess that even I am a thief of ideas. Originality is so very difficult!

But enough of this. Enough, enough. These are all words from our fellow Cluster Tale. It was he who wrote such devastations and circulated them through the minds of our good ponies.

Cluster Tale had, since yesterday, re-established his hold on things. The Summer Sun Celebration was practically finished. A few more check ups—on the food, the weather, et cetera—and Princess Celestia would be given the green light to fly on over. In any case, there still stood in his consciousness the matter of the family meeting tomorrow. He awaited with not a bated breath. We will get to this sooner rather than later.

But anyway, it would do us some good to return to the current story, in the interest of both time and pacing, and, by extension, reaffirm my status as narrator. That would be most appropriate, wouldn't you agree? So...


* * *


Morning came as a seeming slow burn. The clouds had been cleared, and the air was nice and warm.

But Airglow was already awake. She managed just four hours of sleep and still felt in herself a sort of latent energy to drive on, not sensing the least trace of weariness in herself. Her mouth had dried up, so she went to get some water, making sure not to wake anypony. Having been refreshed and livened up, she at once got her saddlebag ready and waited for the sun to rise; in the meantime she took out that golden ticket Misty bestowed upon her.

"A train ticket, huh?" she thought out loud, as was her habit. "Hmm... the Flying Rift Express, transcontinental." She flipped it  to read the text on the back. "Goes east, then parts up to the northern lands, and returns from the west. There's first, second, and third class. This is gold, so it's first class. For rich ponies only."

A line of pleasure briefly appeared on her lips, but it vanished just as quickly.

"Misty was really nice to offer this to me, but do I need it? It's for two ponies, so maybe I can give it to Olva and Twinkie? No, Olva would never let me run the library by myself, and besides, I don't think even I'd trust myself."

She reminded herself that this train was reserved for the upcoming month, and as such, she didn't need to stress over such trifles so soon. There would be time for that later. Eventually the sun came up, and she took off, bidding a farewell to Olva at the kitchen.

"Wherever are you heading off to, dear?" asked Olva.

"My dad's house. I'll be back in time for my shift, don't you worry."

"Her father...?" Olva muttered to herself, looking down with a lost expression. "Airglow's father, that nasty Bronze character? Hmm. Oh, think nothing of it, you silly mare."
> Part II – Chapter II – At Her Father's
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The house of Bronze Pocket was by the outskirts of Ponyville, as previously mentioned. It was old but not decrepit: one-storied (not including the attic), painted a brownish-red, and with a grey iron roof. It was extremely spacious, very roomy. It had all sorts of closets, all sorts of nooks and unexpected little stairways. There were some rats scrambling about, but Bronze was not altogether angry with them. "It just means it's not so boring in the evenings when I'm all alone." And indeed he had the habit of dismissing the servants back to their cottages for the entire night and locking himself up in the house. Other times he'd invite two or three mares over, seducing them with his money, and have "fun" for hours on end with the servants still there. There was a particular cottage right beside Bronze's house, the one which housed Shovel Rod.

This one was solid but not very spacious. Bronze appointed the kitchen to be there, though there was a kitchen in the main house: he did not like kitchen smells, and food was carried across the yard winter and summer alike. To add, the house had been built for a large family: it could have accommodated at least a dozen ponies. But for the moment, only Bronze took residence there; two if we include Shovel Rod.

We must say a little more in particular about the auxiliary Shovel Rod. An old earth pony, he was firm and unwavering, rigid in mindset, and persistently and directly pursued his point, provided that this point stood before him as a stubborn truth. Generally speaking, he was honest and incorruptible, but awfully irrational and prone to superstition. When his wife passed away he decided immutably to move to this area of Ponyville and serve in this house, telling himself that "to atone for the loss of his beloved he must seek honour," and that "duty and honour could be found in work." But even then, all he was good for was the servant role. His cutie mark was a dirt-covered shovel. What were ponies supposed to make of that?

It was all the more strange (and ironic), because his wife had hated Bronze, and she had almost never held her tongue in criticizing him. And still, perhaps for the sake of Airglow, Shovel Rod moved into that cottage. Besides that, Shovel knew that he had an unquestionable influence over Bronze. He felt it, and was right. A cunning and obstinate buffoon, Bronze Pocket, while he had a very firm character in certain things in life, nevertheless showed, to his own surprise, a rather weak character in certain other things. And he knew which ones; he knew and was afraid of many things. Sometimes in life you must be on your guard, and that was difficult without a servant like Shovel.

There were even moments when Bronze would have been unable, perhaps, to explain this remarkable need for a close servant that he would sometimes, all of a sudden, momentarily and inconceivably, begin to feel in himself these occasions which were almost morbid: most depraved, and, in his sensuality, often as cruel as a wicked beetle. Bronze at times suddenly felt in himself, in his drunken moments, a spiritual fear, a moral shock, as if his soul were fluttering in his throat. In those moments he would be glad to have a close-to-hoof servant, one who was devoted and put up with all his depravity. It happened that Bronze would go to Shovel's cottage in the middle of the night, wake him up, have him come over, and then Bronze would begin talking about perfect trifles, and would soon let him go, oftentimes with a little joke or play-on-words, and would drink there and go to bed himself.

Something of this sort happened when confronting Airglow. That is, Airglow "pierced his heart" because he, Bronze, lived in such depravity, and yet his daughter condemned nothing. Moreover, she brought something unprecedented with her: a total lack of contempt for him, the old buffoon—and, to the contrary, a perfectly natural affection—despite the fact that he deserved none of it. This came as a surprise to the old lecher, who until then had loved only his impropriety. Even then Bronze admitted that he understood very little of it, but even so, he did not care to understand it.

I must also mention that Shovel Rod, while clearly despising Bronze's behaviour, defended his second wife, Petal Breeze, against Bronze himself and against all who would chance to speak a flippant word about her. His sympathy for the unfortunate mare became almost sacred to him, so that even many years later after her death he would not tolerate the slightest of badmouthing about her from anypony at all, and would at once object to the offender. On the inside Shovel was a pompous and taciturn stallion, delivering himself with non-frivolous and simple words. It was remarkable with how little he spoke, making it difficult to know if he liked you or not. But he truly did like Airglow most of all, for whom he had been the caretaker. He hated Nova, and disliked (but not quite hated) Cluster.

But now I've realized the lengths to which I have gone to portray a character as minor as Shovel Rod. My apologies.

To return to the present morning, Airglow had honoured her father's request and went to his house first thing in the morning. As she was nearing the house, she remembered how Bronze had insisted very much the day before to come sooner rather than later.

"I wonder why?" she asked herself. "I guess dad wants to tell me something, maybe in secret. I dunno. He must have meant to word it differently, but he was so excited yesterday that he couldn't manage it," she decided. Nevertheless she was very glad when Shovel Rod, who opened the gate for her, in answer to her question, informed Airglow that Bronze was in the living room.

"But he's acting in his usual ways," answered Shovel somehow dryly and mysteriously, and right after he withdrew inside. Airglow foolishly thought nothing of it and followed him.

She came into the foyer, which was the largest room in the house. By the main table there was a stack of debit and credit accounts, previously scrambled through the night before, as well as an empty plate and a mug half-filled with coffee. At least half the chairs were pushed significantly backwards, with one even tipped over. Despite there seemingly being nopony present, it was not silent.

A cacophony of laughter, squeaking of a bed, and drunken remarks and curses were ringing from another room down the hall. One wild and malicious voice was unmistakable: Bronze's shrieking reached everywhere in the house. Drowning along his voice Airglow could not recognize the guffawing reproaches of two or three mares. The laughter and senseless noise continued for some time. Airglow stood by the door, feeling unbelievably awkward and weak-kneed.

At last she made out Shovel's bark. "Oi, Mr. Pocket! Mr. Pocket!"

It took a few attempts before Bronze wailed back, "Eh! W-what is it?" The sound of the mares died down significantly.

"Airglow is here," replied Shovel venomously.

"Who!"

"Airglow, your daughter!" And, cursing under his breath, he left the room.

For nearly a minute everything was silent, then Bronze, sounding more wicked and irritated now, said, "Okay, okay. You two can leave." A few giggles responded, then he said again, "What? No. Go grab your stuff, I don't care. Go, for Celestia's sake. Ech!"

Another half minute and two mares of distinct appearance, their faces lightly puffed up with makeup, came out the room, still smirking, and walked by Airglow without even acknowledging her. Airglow could not even will herself to look up as they passed by, so uncomfortable she felt.

Finally Bronze came into the foyer, donning a silk robe. There were almost unnoticeable red smears alongside his cheeks. The old stallion was aware of this himself—and, naturally, aware of all that had just transpired, including the interruption—and upon sitting down he shot Airglow an unfriendly and decidedly irritated glance.

"The coffee's cold," he cried sharply, sipping the mug. "I'm not offering you any. Today I had a nice piece of toast, but nopony is getting anything. Why are you here?"

"You asked me to come," said Airglow.

"Oh right, yesterday I told you to visit me. Pah! It's all nonsense. You've troubled yourself for nothing. I knew you'd drag yourself here first thing if I told you."

He spoke with the most unwelcoming and hostile feeling. Meanwhile he changed seats, sitting in front of the accounts, shifting through them as if for diversion.

"Everypony is cheaper than a beggar," he observed sententiously. "So, what's with you?"

"I'm worried about my brothers, and about you," said Airglow in a low voice, but her father didn't hear her.

"Cluster upbraids me every moment with being delirious," he said suddenly. "He's doing his best to win over Nova's financial situation against me," he added spitefully, and, twisting his mouth, he looked at Airglow.

"Did he tell you that himself?" asked Airglow in profound surprise, taking a seat next to Bronze.

"Yes. I mean, no, I can read it in him; a father knows how to read his son, and Cluster's no different than a pup in my eyes. What else is he coming here for? Pah! I tell you, Cluster wants me dead just as much as Nova does, but he won't admit to it."

"What? Dad, how can you say that?" Airglow was terribly dismayed.

"Your brother Nova is a scoundrel, and he won't get a fig out of me. Let it be known that he signed that contract, and so he missed the assigned date due to pick up his remaining five thousand. I need that money more than anypony, more than the poor." As he continued he began pacing the room back and forth. "I want to live for a long, long time, as long as Princess Celestia if I could. But unlike Princess Celestia, eventually I'll get unbearably old and disgusting, and then they won't come to me by their own choice, and that's why I'll need my dear money, all of it, every bit. So now I'm saving up more and more, for myself alone and nopony else, do you hear? So don't ask me for anything, because I won't give it. And now Nova comes along, demanding the five thousand that I, legally, don't owe him. It's unjust, I tell you! How can a pony treat his father so cruelly! Cluster, too. Ech! Cluster is extremely intelligent, but he's a scoundrel just like Nova. He's silent, and he stares coldly at you in silence—that's how he gets by."

Airglow listened to him in silence, too ill at heart to say anything.

"And even with Cluster," cried Bronze again, "oh, Cluster hardly even speaks to me. But, you see, Nova asked him to act as a mediator between this financial dispute that I've been tangled up in. Tomorrow morning they'll come, and Cluster will judge. To tartarus with Cluster! That's just what I'm afraid of, and Cluster's keeping an eye on me to see that I don't keep what's rightfully mine. He's a scoundrel, your Cluster!"

"You're very irritable; maybe it's because of whatever happened yesterday," observed Airglow. "Why don't you go and lie down?"

"Heh, it's funny how you say that," Bronze suddenly remarked, as if it had just entered his head for the first time, "you say that, and it doesn't make me explode, but if anypony else said the same thing I'd get so very angry. With you I have moments of peace and kindness, otherwise I'm a plain evil pony."

"You're not evil," said Airglow, smiling in earnest at him.

"But listen, I truly meant everything I said. From the bottom of my soul, I meant everything. Nova won't get a bit from me. Like I give a damn what he's going through; all the better, he needs to be taught a lesson. In the past he would come to me, frequently, insolently borrowing money from me but never paying it back." And acting on those words, as if in a fit of anger, he raced to the other end of the room, opened a cabinet, and pulled out at least a dozen old papers. "Look, these are all cursed promissory notes. Look how much Nova owes to me. Look, look! But he has the gall to demand another five grand?"

"But don't you technically still owe him five thousand, and he just missed the date to collect it?"

"That's pure conjecture!"

"But isn't it from his mom's dowry?" she added calmly.

"Lies!" cried Bronze, throwing the promissory notes to the floor in angry discourse. Ungovernable rage was ablaze on his face and flashing eyes. "That's what both your brothers tell me! They're liars! I can’t believe I’ve raised two liars, I’ve harboured two liars in my house! Celestia is laughing at me, spiteful Celestia! She read my vanity, and I've been sent two horrible sons! A death sentence! I've been given a death sentence, because I'm going to die from shame!"

Airglow nearly jumped back at the sudden outburst, but she maintained her composure and looked as if to be in contemplation.

Bronze paced the room quicker than before; eventually the colour returned to his pale face. He gave a long sigh and made his way back to the table.

"Say, how about a little brandy?" he said. "Have some cold coffee and I'll put in a little bit of brandy. It improves the taste, my dear."

"No thanks, I'm not in the mood for anything," replied Airglow at once. "And you'd better not have any brandy either, it's not good for you," she advised with caution, looking intently into the old stallion's twisted face.

"Pah! True enough, I suppose; the truth hurts. Still, still, a single shot won't hurt anypony."

He got up once more and went to a cupboard, opened it, poured himself a glass, drank it off in a single toss, then locked the cupboard and returned to the table.

"Ech! So, that's enough for me, my last one."

"Do you feel alright now?"

"Hmm. I'm well off, there's no worry there. But listen, listen—I've asked Cluster to help me with my woodlot, I've asked him to go to Appleloosa to take care of it for me. But he won't go. Why? Is he spying on me? Is Cluster the dangerous one? Pah! They're all scoundrels. I refuse to acknowledge Cluster. He's not our kind at all. Why should I leave him anything? I won't even leave a will, so forget it! And with Nova I'll crush him like a cockroach. I squash black roaches at night in my slippers: they make a funny little 'pop' noise when you step on them. And your Nova will make the same 'pop,' too. Your Nova, because you love him for some reason. But that's okay, dear. I don't care who you love. If Cluster loved him that'd be a whole different story; I'd fear for myself then. But Cluster loves nopony, thank Celestia for that. Cluster's a puff of dust and nothing more. The wind blows and the dust vanishes. But anyway, anyway... do your old stallion a favour, eh? Go see Cluster when you can, ask him about my woodlot, and why he won't go."

"I... I'll ask him," Airglow murmured.

"No, forget it. I changed my mind. He's dead-set in his ways, and there's no changing it. He wouldn't help me in order to save Equestria. It was yesterday that such foolishness crept into my noodle." Bronze began waving his arms around in emphasis. "Did you know that Nova brags about killing me? Right in the taverns for all to hear, too! He really wants to murder his own father just for five grand. And he's serious, you know. Don't think that fool is kidding around. Ha! I'll make mud out of him!"

With these last words he flew into a rage again.

"And you can go, too, there's nothing for you here," he snapped feverishly.

Airglow strode over to him and kissed him on the forehead.

"What are you doing?" Bronze became slightly astonished.

"Uh, nothing. Just kissing you goodbye."

"And me, too, I'll do the same!" he cried, and leaning in he kissed her on the forehead. "Listen," he called out as she was leaving, "come tomorrow morning, at eleven o'clock, that's the scheduled time! It won't be special without you. You have to come!"

And right when Airglow left he stepped away from the table, to the cupboard, and drank another glass of brandy.
> Part II – Chapter III – Serpent Eats Serpent
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that day, Airglow—still with a heavy heart—began her shift at Golden Oak. She started off normal, just like any other day, but as time marched forward she suddenly felt within her an inexplicable and, as it were, irrepressible urge, and was even personally consumed by a certain motivation to speak with Cluster once more, if only to get certain complexities out of the way, many of which she had not yet fully grasped. I will not make any conscious attempts to justify or explain Airglow, because I think her actions, or at least their results, can speak solidly for themselves. She was making the smart decision: to gather as much information as possible before the dreadfully imminent day.

Most of that day, right till mid-evening, was a typical one. Twinkie was in hysterics again for some reason, although it was even worse because she kept demanding things be brought to her, and when her request was met, she would immediately flip on her decision and positively reject it. Heated arguments with her mother would invariably erupt, and Olva would fix Twinkie with her sharp, alert eyes, and that meant trouble! At one point it even scared off a customer. Only Airglow could calm them both down.

Dr. Tubercuhoofis had come by again that morning, but it was only for a short while. He was an extraordinarily kind gentlecolt, generous with his spending, learned, and slow to anger. It was easy to arouse his interest, that being to help as many ponies as possible. He was very well recognized in the town of Ponyville, and for good reason. But because he was always so busy and hard to keep still for more than an hour at a time, this, in relation to Twinkie, left Olva in a state of nervous excitement. Sometimes, when Twinkie had a particularly heavy coughing fit, Olva would whisk Airglow away to the pharmacy for some pills, and greet her back with unexpected cries of rapture, like she had been gone for a whole week.

In any case, as Olva told Airglow that evening, Tubercuhoofis concluded that "while the analysis is insufficient, there is a certain predictability in these symptoms, and so I would not worry very much, and, in fact, would even be grateful; I except a good recovery in no time." And so on and so forth.

"By the way," Olva went on, "do you know that accountant fellow? Mr. Wingus, I believe, an acquaintance of Cluster's. His thirtieth birthday is coming up, and he's paying a pretty penny to have it hosted here in Golden Oak. It won't be for another two weeks, but, ah, just to let you know. Hush, hush, it's not the particulars that concern me. Hush."

"But I didn't say anything..."

"Ah, Airglow, it'll be something magnificent and festive, we have to plan for it. Many ponies will come, we'll all be dressed wondrously, the champagne will be brought, a chandelier raised like diamonds in the dark, and they'll see me for who I truly am. But not for another two weeks, so we must prepare. Ah, I'm getting confused with all this; I'm an old mare, so it's allowed for me. For now I just have to focus my energy on Twinkie and start a budget plan."

Airglow came to think that Olva, while not too upset, was all in pieces, and it was perhaps possible that everything had indeed become mixed into a lump in her head. She'd help out, of course, and maybe even invite a pony or other.

But now was not the time to be thinking about that. Her shift shortly came to an end, and finally she set off.


* * *


Airglow was crossing the bridge towards Neigh Street, en route to where Cluster currently lived.

In going to see her brother Cluster, she found herself in a most incomprehensible position, namely one of aimlessness. You see, although I (perhaps all too hastily) decided that I was not going to explain, justify, or excuse her—as a narrator I ought to possess more dignity than that—I find that it is still necessary, for the further comprehension of the story, to understand certain things. Let me say this much: Airglow, in wanting to reconcile her brother's relationship with their father to avoid any catastrophe, at the same time took the realist position and expected no miracles, at least not an expectation frivolous in its impatience. Airglow did not need miracles then for the triumph of certain convictions, not at all. She was not naive. She was quite capable of assessing the situation and coming to rational conclusions. For this very reason, she wanted to talk to her brother about the upcoming "family meeting" to get his insight. She wasn't anticipating anything terribly productive, but it was worth a shot.

She came up to his house, the one he rented out not too long ago. It was two-storied, made of white-painted wood, and very well-kept. The windows, normally prone to glimmers in the sun, presently stuck out as very small and unseemly dull in contrast to the wooden planks. Airglow knocked on the door three times, and there almost immediately came a response.

"Not in the mood for favours," she heard Cluster's voice, which rung with an unrecognizable preoccupation to it.

Is he distracted with something? "It's me," said Airglow. It was silent for a few seconds; then the lock behind the door rattled, and it opened to reveal Cluster Tale.

"Oh, it's you," said Cluster in quite a different voice. "I thought it was... well, nevermind. You need something?"

"No, I just..." Airglow dropped her eyes, pondering. "I just stopped by to ask y—"

"Why don't you come in first? I can tell this won't be very quick, and so what good is talking to somepony like this?"

"Thanks, I'd love to," Airglow hurriedly put in. It seemed like she wished very much to be on more familiar grounds with Cluster, but could not figure out how.

The living room itself was large, clean, and in order. There was a hearth, but no fire; bookshelves lined up against the walls; an old-fashioned mahogany sofa, on which Cluster made Airglow sit down, opposite to a row of four mahogany chairs at the end of the room, right where the wide carpet ended.

"Did you speak to dad today?" she asked, trying to get comfortable.

Cluster came up and set a tray of biscuits down on the table, in the middle of the room.

"Want one?" he asked impassively.

"No thanks. I had a big lunch."

"No room for dessert?"

"I'm... good. Thank you, really."

Cluster sat next to her, cast a glance at her direction, then down to the tray he set.

"Last I talked to him was at the auction. You sure you don't want a biscuit, sis?"

"No, I'd better not," she said in reply, smiling amiably.

"Anyway, that's not all. You wouldn't believe what the old-timer told me not even a week ago. He said that he's afraid of you." Saying this, Cluster's lips suddenly twisted, his brows furrowed. "Can't really detect any plausibility in it. He's afraid of a dove like you. Nova talks about you a lot, you know. He says you're like a cherub. But with the old-timer it's harder to take seriously."

"Dad said that?" inquired Airglow, evidently perplexed.

"Oh, don't be mistaken," said Cluster. "He's not physically afraid of you. What can you ever do that's dangerous? A bunny wouldn't be afraid. He told me you make him feel like he's being judged by the Equestrian High Council whenever you're near him. You make him feel self-conscious."

Airglow bent a long, wondering look upon him and a shadow seemed to dawn on her face.

"What?" Cluster gave his sister a hard look. "You feel bad about it?"

"I don't want to bring him any more trouble than he has on his hooves," she exclaimed somehow sadly, tapping her hooves together.

"Of course you'd say that." Cluster used his magic to snap a biscuit in half and munched down on it. "I'm finding myself in an ever-growing pool of chaos. It's stupid, really. It's almost like there's a whole constellation of stupidity brewing up between Nova and the old-timer. First Nova's girlfriend, Misty Gem—they've got their own debacle that I don't intend to be a part of—then the inheritance dispute, and now Maxim is seemingly getting involved, to which I've gone to some lengths in keeping him out. What is this?"

"Actually, that's just what I wanted to discuss with you, Cluster," said Airglow, sounding more hopeful now that the elephant in the room was bluntly addressed.

"Really now? Who do you side with then? Perhaps you're also part of this whole constellation after all; but, perhaps that constellation is only a chemical molecule."

"Nopony, I side with nopony."

"He was right about you—Nova, I mean."

"Brother, please, I don't know what to do," said Airglow, eyes glittering beneath her eyebrows. She did not look at Cluster, however, but looked away to one side of him. "I love Nova, and you too, and—and I don't know what to say anymore. I keep telling them to forget about it, the money, it shouldn't mean anything. It's tearing our family apart. Did you know Nova is seriously thinking about killing our dad, all because he won't give him the money? Murder... just for that, and I... I can't even think about it."

Cluster sighed, concealing any signs which revealed his true thoughts on the matter. His countenance took on a decidedly studied air.

"You're worried about them, right?" he said. "Hmm, but it could turn out to be a win-win outcome."

"Really?"

"Sure. Nova asks him for the money, he refuses indefinitely. Nova'll murder the old-timer in response, then he'll get tossed in the dungeon for it, and that's both of them gone."

"Cluster, what are you saying!"

"Serpent will eat serpent, and it ought to serve them both right. No more pests."

"Stop! You don't know that!"

"Relax, I'm joking," said Cluster very suddenly; the gloominess on his face gradually passed into an expression that became more and more ironic. "What's the matter?"

"Why are you making light of this?" asked Airglow, her ears drooped low. "You have any idea how many nights of sleep I've lost just thinking about what'll happen between Nova and dad? I can't take it."

"For Celestia's sake, didn't I say I was joking?" he added nonchalantly. "Look, the moment Nova went up and demanded to settle the dispute with a dialogue was his tragic error. It's tough reasoning with the old-timer; he's too boneheaded for that sort of work anyway, he's not cut out for it. He's past his prime, clearly. Tomorrow morning we'll go to where we agreed upon and have our conversation, just see what happens. I'll keep an eye out. Say, you know why I'm here, do you?"

"Didn't you send me a letter saying Princess Celestia needed somepony t—"

"Yeah, yeah, that's the Summer Sun Celebration, and as the supervisor I'm nearing completion. Lot of details you don't need to know. I mean the other reason."

"Er, no, I don't know the other reason."

"A month back—something like that—Nova wrote to me, saying he needed a mediator between him and the old-timer so the dispute didn't spiral out of control. I told him Celestia was sending me on this celebration business, which takes place in Ponyville this year, and using that coincidence we fixed a date together."

"Oh, dad told me that, actually. This morning, even. That makes sense. You agreed to it in advance?"

"Not even just for that, believe it or not. The old-timer also needs me for something, requested that I travel to Appleloosa to negotiate sale prices with a rival of his, something to do with a woodlot. Told him I'd think about it." Cluster ate the second half of the biscuit. "Mm, but knowing that stallion, he'll probably cheap me out on any compensation."

"I guess I understand. Dad asked me to come tomorrow, by the way."

"Did he? Go ahead, come. What difference will it make?"

Airglow raised her head, thought for a second, and leaned back against the sofa. She did not want to show it, but there was a look of agitation on her face.

"So, you know the lot of it," continued Cluster. "Excuse me now, I've a book I need to finish reading for today, a long one about the history of alicorns dating back some six millennia; I only have four chapters left. I let you in out of generous habit. Anything else you need?"

"Brother," said Airglow apprehensively, suppressing a shudder in her shoulder, "did you really mean it? 'Serpent will eat serpent.' Is that how it is?"

"You can't seem to let go of that joke, eh?" His eyes suddenly flashed. "Forget it, sis. I've been in a bad mood lately, mostly thanks to Nova's pestering. True, he said he's thinking about killing the old-timer; but don't you worry. Of course I won't let him be murdered. Just who do you take me for? I'll protect him. I'm the only one in the family with magic, after all."

"Right."

Airglow thanked Cluster for letting her in, waved a quick goodbye, and strode off. But she was not satisfied, and in hindsight felt that this little talk constituted a wasted opportunity. On the way out she noticed a paper with writing on the floor, just beneath the stool—strange, considering Cluster's immense orderliness.

"Hey, Cluster," she called to him, picking it up. She managed to catch a glimpse of some of the text before he caught hold of it with his magic. 'I'm analyzing my situation, but it's not looking too good. I think I... a close friend...' And a few other mistakable scribblings.

"Oh, thanks," he said, laying it flat on the mantelpiece. "Goodbye."

And Airglow was off. As evening drew to a close she had almost forgotten about Nova's promise from yesterday. "I will tell you tomorrow," were his words, more or less. But she never found him that day.
> Part II – Chapter IV – The Family Dispute
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following day rushed in like an unprecedented storm. Airglow had not been feeling particularly inspired or at ease, and her conversation with Cluster yesterday did not help to remedy these feelings. All the negative elements had been adding up and meshing hideously—the unquenchable contempt between Nova and her father, threats of violence and even murder, Cluster's ambiguous remark ('serpent will eat serpent'?), and the total dejection which rested in the soul of each and every one of her family members.

It was a Sunday morning, a little over half-past ten. Airglow left Golden Oak even more broken and dejected in spirit than when she last spoke with Bronze. Her mind was splintered and scattered, as it were, while she herself felt at the same time even afraid to bring the scattered pieces together and draw a general idea from all the contradictions she had heard in the past two days. Still, still—not all was lost. She had to witness what the future had in store.

And so, in that morning, she went to Bronze's house as per requested, and found her father at the table with Cluster. The table was laid more like a dining table than anything, but there was clearly no dinner to be seen.

I just now remembered something, that is, I forgot to provide the reader with a physical description of the drawing room in which the table was laid (the drawing room and not, strangely enough, the actual dining room). It was the biggest room in the house, almost too spacious in my opinion. The furniture was very ancient, which resembled that sort of old-fashioned pretentiousness you only read about in novels. Fancy mirrors in wooden frames, with old-fashioned carvings, hung in the spaces between the high windows. The walls, covered with yellow and burgundy wallpaper, were now cracked in many places. There was that oil-painted canvas Bronze had bought at the auction, placed on the wall; it was awfully out of place, though Bronze was pleased with it.

Speaking of Bronze, he went to bed very late that night, at about one in the morning, and until then he would pace around the room or sit in a chair and think about his debit and credit accounts: he had been investing in bonds and was now trying to pay off his note payables. Staying up late at night was a habit of his. He was frequently alone, which left him feeling rather spiteful and disagreeable. This morning he was clearer of mind, more certain of things, and not at all agitated.

The ponies present were having coffee. Cluster sat opposite of Bronze, and he too was sipping on some coffee; though Bronze had added far too much vodka to his own, which gave it a positively repugnant smell. Shovel Rod and another servant stood near the table, the latter being unusually animated. Bronze was roaring loudly with laughter. From the front hall Airglow heard his shrill laughter, by now so familiar to her, and she concluded, Doesn't sound like he's drunk, only in a benevolent mood. That's good.

"There she is! Here she comes!" cried Bronze, terribly glad to suddenly see Airglow. "Join us at the table, take a seat, dear. Have some coffee—it's dark roast, dark roast, and it's hot, it's good! I won't offer you any brandy, let alone vodka, because it's not good for you. Hey, Sandy"— he called to the servant, a young, frail-looking stallion —"get more coffee beans and brew them up."

Airglow refused the coffee and sat down next to Cluster.

"It'll be served all the same, if not for you then for us, with a dash of vodka," went on Bronze. "So, Airglow, did you have breakfast at your library?"

(Speaking of libraries, Bronze had a whole book-room in his house, with at least two hundred volumes on all sorts of topics. But they only collected dust; he had hardly read a book in his life. The room was largely ignored.)

"Yeah, I ate this morning," said Airglow, who in truth had only had a serving of jam. "But maybe I could have some bread?" she added, noticing the bread-filled basket in the distance.

"Absolutely, my dear! Would you like that with butter?"

The servant brought a plate with two slabs of bread, and Airglow spread the butter herself with the silver utensils that were also brought to her.

"Anyway"— Bronze playfully slapped the table —"Cluster was talking to Sandy and Shovel here about Princess Celestia, though they hardly understood a word of it. I have my own commentary, too."

Cluster gave Bronze a solitary, sidelong look, and took another sip of coffee.

"What is it?" asked Bronze.

"Oh, nothing. I'm sure you've got your commentaries all prepped up," replied Cluster.

"He said some in-ter-est-ing things," Bronze addressed Airglow this time. "He wrote an article about our Princess, made a case against her domain or whatever. What did you think about it, Sandy?"

The servant was silent.

"Answer me, fool!"

"It was... funny," replied the servant.

"Well, there he goes. And you, Shovel?"

"It's all lies," Shovel drawled, giving Bronze a sour look. 

"If you want to prove Cluster wrong, go to the library. Heh, heh!"

"What did Cluster say?" asked Airglow.

"Celestia is in a strange position, that's all," said Cluster. "Should she be dethroned, or not?"

Airglow cocked her head back, staring at Cluster with the most marked confusion. "Princess Celestia is the greatest pony in the whole world. She does everything for us. Why be dethroned?"

"Because her rule is based on power and nothing else."

"Lies, curse you!" snapped from Shovel unexpectedly. His face was pale with vexation.

"Pah!" said Bronze, waving him off. "You hear that, Airglow? Read his article, it's quite the treat. A drop of vanity and a dagger to the heart—that's how these ponies think. I believe you spoke sincerely, Cluster. You're a naughty pony, Cluster, but sincere. Take all these princess-governed hierarchies and abolish it at once. Bring ponies to reason, start a true democracy. Abolish it, abolish it."

"But why abolish it?" asked Cluster.

"So Celestia no longer rules over us, and the truth will flood forth like it should."

"But if this 'truth' floods in, you'll be the first to be... abolished."

"Wh-at?"

"Modern civilization wouldn't exist if it were not for Celestia. She upholds the current moral law. Without it, there would be no reason to not go murder and steal; and, if anything, it would fall within our self-interest to commit the most heinous of actions should we be left to our own free will. In short, without Celestia everything is permitted on all accounts."

"Pah! You're probably right. What a buffoon I am. Would you believe it, Cluster, that such buffoonery torments me in my feelings? No, you don't, I can see it in your eyes. You believe I'm just a buffoon. Airglow, do you believe that I'm only a lowly buffoon?"

"No, I don't believe that."

"And I believe that you believe it. Not so with Cluster, who declared that Princess Celestia's rule is based solely on power. All hierarchies are based on power, isn't that right?"

"That's not true," said Cluster at once, and a gleam came to his eyes. "Not every hierarchy is a power struggle. Some hierarchies are based on competence."

"For example?" Bronze bent forward.

"For example, modern businesses, which have nothing to do with power. The executives climb to the top because they possess the best foresight. But with Celestia..." He trailed off, feeling that his point had been made.

"Your word is worth a piece of gold, son," laughed Bronze.

"You're anathema and cursed even now," broke from Shovel suddenly.

"Wait! Stop, Shovel, no abuse!" cried Bronze. "Goodness, Cluster, this all feels tantamount. Tell me, my boy, however did you end up as Princess Celestia's prized pupil? Why is she so interested in you? What have you done to endear yourself to her?" he added, turning to Cluster.

"Nothing specific," replied Cluster. "She was impressed with my latent magical abilities. That's what my cutie mark represents: I specialize in destruction magic, although I can perform other feats, like teleportation or transmutation. She saw potential in me, in comparison to my classmates, all of whom were and continue to be prime fodder."

"Prime fodder?"

"The better ones always succeed the bottom ladder-dwellers. Surely you understand, considering your line of work."

"Don't give me any of that, Cluster. I for one know that you can't stand me, or anypony else for that matter. Still, Princess Celestia has taken to respecting you. I wonder how that goes. Say, is your relationship with the Princess worth talking about?"

"No, it's not."

"Still, still..." But he interrupted himself with another shot of vodka.

"You've had another glass," said Cluster emphatically. "That's enough."

"Wait, wait, I'll have one more, then another, then I'll stop. But I wasn't finished! Still you say that everything is permitted, Cluster. But only if Princess Celestia is taken out of the picture?"

"Everything is always permitted in theory, with or without Celestia. Removing her would simply cement that fact."

"Airglow, why are you blushing?" Bronze gave her a long look. "Don't be bashful, child. Tell me, do we need Princess Celestia?"

"Yes, we do," replied Airglow at once, and a sad smile appeared on her lips. "She's the wisest in all the land."

"And tell me, Cluster, for real this time: do we need Princess Celestia?"

"No, we don't."

"Airglow, is the Princess incorruptible? Can she ever be corrupted?"

"No, it's not in her nature to be corrupted."

"What say you, Cluster?"

"She'll succumb eventually, one way or the other. She's still a pony, after all."

"Hmm..." Bronze dropped his face, assuming a pensive expression; after a few seconds he looked back up. "I bet Cluster is right. Goodness, just imagine what we would do without the Princess. Tell me, Cluster, for the last time: do we need her?"

"For the last time—no we don't."

"But is she moral?"

"She is."

"Why is that?"

"Because she says so. Celestia sets up her own moral code, and that's how she governs the country."

"So who's laughing at us ponies then? Who? Who?"

Cluster shrugged. "Must be Nightmare Moon. But..."

"But what?"

"She doesn't exist."

"And like you said, civilization wouldn't exist if not for Princess Celestia?"

"Right. And there wouldn't be any vodka either, nor brandy, so I'll have to take it away from you."

"Wait, wait, wait," Bronze pleaded, but to no avail. Cluster lit his horn and levitated the beverages to his side of the table.

Bronze scoffed and waved his hoof.

"Pah! That's how you are!" he said with irritation. Then, with a slight exclamation, he lowered his shoulders and smacked his lips. "I bet I offended Airglow," he said again more softly. "You're not angry with me, Airglow? My dear daughter, my sweet daughter!"

"No, I'm not angry," said Airglow. "I try to understand you. Maybe you have a good heart, too."

"A good heart?" cried Bronze joyfully. "Goodness, that's the best I've gotten. Tell me, Cluster, do you love Airglow?"

Cluster nodded. "I love her."

"Well said!" The drinks Bronze had had up till now were beginning to manifest their effect on him; his speech was gradually becoming more slurred. "I'm getting all hoofy-tippy now. Ech! Cluster, why won't you go to Appleloosa for me? I asked you to go, for a day or two, but you won't go. I need to sell that woodlot no matter what!"

Cluster rolled his eyes. "I'll go tomorrow if you're that desperate. But don't keep insisting."

"You won't go. You want to keep me in check, you want to ruin me, that's what you want! You're a wicked soul, that's why you refuse to help me!"

The old stallion would not be still, and he even started to thump his hind-legs on the floor. He had reached that level of drunkenness at which some alcoholics, who until then had been perfectly calm and tranquil, now wish to get angry and make a scene.

"What kind of look is that, Cluster!" reproached Bronze, gnashing his teeth. "Why are you staring at me? Your mouth is silent, but your eyes say, 'You're a rotten twig!' Suspicious, malicious, impudent... You look at me and it's clear you're planning something, but Airglow looks at me and she's as innocent as a butterfly. Airglow doesn't hate me. Airglow, don't love your Cluster. He's wicked, wicked."

"Please, dad, don't say those things about him," said Airglow all of a sudden, quietly yet insistently.

Bronze lapsed into thought and suddenly a cunning smile spread on his face.

"Maybe I'll stop, maybe I won't," he said. "Oof! Don't be angry with an old buffoon like me, Cluster. I know you don't love me, but please, please don't be angry. Go to Appleloosa for me, and I'll bring you presents. I'll even show you a young wench there. She's a pearl, just like Airglow. And you, Airglow, you're just like your mother... you and Cluster's... your mother... but not Nova's mother, unlike you two..."

"But we, I think, have different mothers, wouldn't you agree?" said Cluster, flashing an angry glare at Bronze.

"What... you do...?" Bronze blinked several times, giving Cluster a lost look. "But you and she... I mean... oh, right, right!" He smacked himself on the forehead. "That's right, you and Airglow have different mothers. Oof! My mind just went blank as never before, my friend. Ah! Yes, yes, both those mares are buried in the backyard. Not the first... we couldn't find her body, I don't think... but still, there's much to discuss."

Apparently there was not much to discuss, because before anything else could be said, the doorbell rang. The young servant answered it, a few voices were in exchange, and half a minute later Nova appeared in the room. 

"I have arrived just in time," said Nova in a clear and, as it were, strained voice. "I am now here to settle our account."

Everypony in the room, save Cluster, stared questioningly at him. He approached the table with his resolute strides, slowly and as if indecisively, as if trying to maintain a pedantic composure, set his saddlebag down and took a seat. The time had come.

Strangely enough, Bronze, who had been relatively merry and had laughed so much, ended up frowning. He scowled and slammed his hoof on the table.

"Clear out! Go, out, out!" he shouted at the servants, who withdrew at once.

In that moment another fear began to stir in Airglow, of quite another sort, something more immediate, in the moment. But this she was unable to define.

"Great," said Cluster, and he cast a glance at the clock. "It's eleven, on the dot. You're in luck, old-timer."

"You look tired," said Airglow to Nova. "Did you run here?"

"Such are the jumbles of nature. Ha, ha!" cried Nova, raising a hoof. "I meant to come earlier, Airglow darling. No, I haven't gotten into another row; don't believe that phantom." And quite instantly his face darkened when he set his sights on Bronze. "Only you. I am here only for you."

Bronze sluggishly fidgeted in his seat. He fixed Nova with a contemptuous, tired, and sullen gaze.

"Here's where we're at," began Cluster, getting out of his seat, and pacing back and forth in front of the table. The tone of his voice betrayed an unmistakable haste to it. "Bronze and Nova are in a dispute over five thousand bits. Bronze claims the money is legally his and no longer owed to anypony. Nova, on the contrary, claims that he's been cheated, and that surely he's the rightful owner of those five thousand. Let me go over the legal necessities."

And Cluster explained the whole history which led up to this dispute—that is, the lump sum owed to each child, the actions taken by Nova to collect his fair share, the jurisprudence of how courts would treat the matter, and the basic municipal laws in regards to such a dispute, because this happened to be a civil case and not a criminal one.

Cluster spoke clearly and precisely, without wasting so much as a word, and using relatively simple language so that nopony got confused. He explained everything very well in a matter of five minutes.

"Eight years ago a contract was produced," Cluster continued, and on these words he levitated a paper from his saddlebag and placed it on the table. "It reads, fifth paragraph: 'all that is owed to one Nova Steel, regardless of current position, will be collected on such-and-such a day and on such-and-such a time, or, if failed to comply, all proceedings will be reduced and, consequently, the sum of the owed inheritance will be transfered to Bronze Pocket's chequing account,' and so on and so forth. The signature at the bottom is Nova's."

"You see!" cried Bronze, and he heaved himself up. He spoke with a sort of ecstasy. "The rascal signed it! That signature was the end of you. Heh! I knew you would underestimate me, but that I still had to play fair, so I used your weakness against you. It's all over."

"I'm not finished," said Cluster imperiously. "The contract was produced on this date, eight years and two months ago, using a private typewriting firm, instead of a public one."

"So what?" Bronze raised his eyebrows.

"With public firms you must pay annual premium taxes when filing your income tax returns. You can only use public firms if ineligible for the private plans. You always managed to pay your annual taxes."

"And?"

"When using a private firm, unlike the public service sector, you'll get personalized mail every year discussing the specifics pertaining to your usage of their services, and the transactions will be made then. I took the liberty of visiting the very company you hired for this contract and had them do a little preliminary sniffing. Under the name 'Pocket, Bronze,' a noticeable gap appeared, beginning that same day, eight years and two months back."

"Damn it, Cluster, get to the point!"

"To my understanding, you managed to get away without paying them for this contract, and hung on the hopes that nopony would find out. But, unfortunately for you, I did my research. In other words, as goes Equestrian civil law, this contract is null and void."

"It's what!" cried Bronze, beside himself with fury. He was even clutching the edge of the table. "What do you mean, it's 'null and void'? What does that even mean? Says who?"

"Says Equestrian law, old-timer."

Bronze was dumbfounded and stared wide-eyed at the orator.

"As you can see," began Nova proudly and triumphantly, striking his chest outwardly, yet speaking evenly and gravely, conscious of his victory but being bounteous, as it were, with the vanquished foe, "there is no other way to divide this stream. It's gone on long enough, but justice is imminent, a true justice, a higher justice. And I spit on you, father!"

"Still now you lie!" cried Bronze at Cluster. "I knew it, I knew it from the start. You want to ruin me. I'll grind you to ash, you hear?" And he turned to Nova once more, declaring, "You won't get a bit from me, you scoundrel! Wait, wait, that's not all. The promissory notes, Airglow! Remember the ones I showed you? Nova owes me thousands."

"And how do you expect to be paid without paying me first?" rebutted Nova.

"Go to Misty Gem for money. She's rich and young and eager, a real aristocrat. Say"— a thought suddenly struck him —"why aren't you married yet? Go and marry that mare!"

"You swine, don't you dare mention her name!" yelled Nova. He was trembling all over. "I long for it, true, with the curve of my soul and even with my ribs, but... I..." He heaved a deep sigh and scrunched his face. "I'm afraid she might not love me."

"Pah! Those are trifles!" guffawed Bronze. "This is marriage, not romance."

"For now I wish only to settle my mother's account."

"And like I said, you won't get a bit from me!"

"Must I take this to court?" reproached Nova threateningly, instantly wavering on his composure. "I demand to be given what is rightfully mine!"

"Court, you say?" Bronze stared nose-down at him, and suddenly, with a wild look, he smiled mockingly. "Go, go," he raised his voice. "Go to the courts! Make a public spectacle. Drag our family name into the dirt."

"You did that before we were born!"

"S-coun-drel!" cried Bronze madly; every feature on his face was twitching. He jumped up and knocked his chair over.

"Stop it, both of you," Cluster nearly shouted, but he managed to keep his indoor voice. "We're getting nowhere with this. Let's back up. Nova, what exactly did he tell you on that day?"

"His word is worth less than the dirt his mother was buried under!" cried Bronze.

"For the sake of Princess Celestia herself," interjected Nova heatedly, hardly able to contain himself, "how is it that such a pony is allowed to live? Where is the justice in it all? How can he go on disgracing the world with his filth?"

"Good gracious, Nova, I wish dueling was never outlawed, because then I'd challenge you on the spot... at four paces... with crossbows!"

"Ha, ha, splendid! I would get to kill you with no repercussions."

"Scoundrel!"

"Swine!"

Both were, at this point, screaming tremulously. Bronze in particular was gasping for breath.

"P-please calm down," Airglow tried to speak commandingly, but she was not heard.

"Shameless impostor!" Nova roared.

"He says that to his father, his father!" Bronze cried in a voice not his own, looking around wildly, as if seeking confirmation for his bloated indignation. "You'll never get those five thousand! I have it hid in a small chest, specifically from you. Heh, heh!"

"Five thousand? In a chest?" Nova slammed his hoof on the table with all his might, causing Airglow to nearly fall off her seat. "You dare, scumbag? You dare tempt me?"

"S-s-scoundrel!"

"Damn it, where's my five thousand? Give it now!"

"You'll never lay your stinking hooves on it!"

By this point Cluster had lost all patience. But instead of an angry outburst, as you might expect, he was overcome with tremendous apathy to see any of this end, pushed into it by a hatred for both Bronze and Nova. He got up from his chair, shaking his head to himself.

"I need a drink," he said in a weary yet pronounced voice.

"Wait!" Airglow called out for him, all the while her brother and father went back and forth on each other in the background. "Where are you going?"

"To the kitchen," he said. And he turned the corner and left the room.

What did I get myself into? Cluster wondered when he stopped by the magic-powered fridge. He opened it, took out a bottle, and poured himself a glass, something less strong than what they were having before.

I gotta focus. Celestia will be arriving in only a few hours, near Town Hall. I better go greet her. Who knows how much pointless praise she'll have to endure from everypony. As long as that's done—

But the flow of his thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a loud crash, followed by a squeak from Airglow. Cluster couldn't even get a single sip of his drink; he set the glass down and rushed back into the drawing room. Bronze had sunken to the floor. He was a bit hurt, but not much, only pushed aside with force. He kept crying out, "He hit me! He hit me!" while Airglow tried frantically to help him up.

"Where is it!" cried Nova from the other room down the hall. Judging by the noise, several things were being broken, trashed, tossed around. "Where's my five thousand!"

Damn, I turn my back for a second... Why now? thought Cluster.

Upon hearing Nova, a wicked change came to Bronze's face. He forced himself up and shouted, "He's after the chest! The chest with the five thousand. Somepony stop that thief! Catch him, catch him!"

Several of the servants ran into the room, including Shovel Rod.

"What are you chasing him for?" Cluster shouted angrily at his father, holding him back with a hoof. "He'll really kill you! Is that what you want?"

"Let go!" Bronze broke free. He was spluttering, and seemed to be driven beyond his wits. He rushed towards the hall, but only covered a third of the distance when Nova suddenly reappeared; with a swift hoof he delivered a solid blow to Bronze's face.

Airglow cried in terror, nearly brought to tears. Bronze sunk back down to the floor; he let out a shrill moan. Nova was about to hit him again, but Cluster wrapped his whole body in magic.

"You nearly killed him!" shouted Cluster.

"Serves him right!" cried Nova, gasping and struggling against the magic. "And if he still lives, I'll come back and kill him for real!"

"Get out!" said Cluster and, opening a window, hurled Nova out of the house into the grass.

There came a thud, and a few seconds later they heard Nova once more, crying at the top of his lungs, "Pah! I spit on it! I'll return, father, if not for the five thousand then to kill you. So watch out, because I do not repent. Watch out for your dream, because I, too, have a dream! I curse you to tartarus!" And he trotted away.

The servants, meanwhile, lifted the old stallion and put him in a chair. His face was severely bruised and bloody. His right eye, which had tanked the blow, was swollen and unnaturally purple. Airglow ran to get water.

When all was said and done, and Bronze was taken to his bedroom, only then did tensions lower. Airglow returned to the drawing room, unbearable anguish highlighting her face.

"Good grief," sighed Cluster, slumping down on a chair.
> Part II – Chapter V – Mothers
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"If I hadn't pulled him away," said Cluster in a quiet voice, after she entered the room and sat next to him, "he really might have killed the old-timer right then and there. There wouldn't be much left for the imagination if that were the case."

"Let's hope that never happens again," exclaimed Airglow.

"Why 'never'?" Cluster continued in the same voice, his face twisted maliciously. "Who's the bad guy here? It's not clear, in my opinion."

Airglow started.

"Look, of course nopony will die under my watch. I won't let it happen anymore than I did just now. But, anyway... Stay here if you'd like; I'm going for a walk."

Airglow did not object as he left the house.

She sat there, lost in a train of endless thought, totally unaware of the time. Her mind was fragmented; whenever she thought of an idea in regards to her current situation, its conclusion would only form halfway before another idea took its place. She felt like she wasn't able to grasp much of anything. Eventually the sun reached a certain height to shine on her face through the window. She immediately became aware that she had been sitting there for nearly an hour.

Airglow got up at once and went to her dad's bedroom; she sat with him behind a screen for at least another thirty minutes. The old stallion suddenly opened his sunken eyes and gazed silently at Airglow for a long time, evidently recollecting and pondering. Then, out of the blue, an extraordinary agitation appeared on his face.

"Airglow," he whispered warily, "is Cluster there with you? Where's Cluster?"

"He... went for a walk," began Airglow, hesitating, remembering that this was over an hour ago. He didn't even say if he'd be back. "It could be that he's keeping watch, so Nova won't get near you. He'll protect you, he promised me that."

"Bring me my mirror,” he said, and Airglow began looking around. "No, no, there, that one. Bring it here!"

Airglow found one of those small folding mirrors that stood on a desk nudged in the corner. She brought it over to him. Bronze looked wearily into it: his nose was certainly broken, his left eye swollen, and purple bruises swept up half his face. That was some punch. His face was carefully covered in bandaging.

"What did Cluster say?" he asked after a pause, looking fearfully at Airglow, yet grabbing her hoof like she were his last salvation. "Airglow... my dear... my only daughter"— something new began to occur within him, a stirring, even physical change occurred in his physiognomy, which was out of proportion with the rest of his disposition; genuine tears shone in his eyes —"I'm afraid of Cluster. I'm more afraid of him than anything else. I can't bear it. It's only you I'm not afraid of..."

"Don't be afraid, dad," said Airglow soothingly, rubbing his shoulder. She smiled. "Cluster is upset, that's all. He'll protect you."

"And what about my five thousand, Airglow? He ran to it! My dear angel, tell me: did he snatch my five thousand?"

"He didn't get anything. But... well, the financial dispute ended prematurely, so the money is still up in the air."

"But he didn't get it, right?"

"No, he didn't."

"He didn't take my money, he didn't, he didn't!" The old stallion roused himself joyfully, as if nothing else could have made him happier than that. He grabbed Airglow's hoof and pressed it firmly to his chest. A tear ran down his cheek.

"I wasn't joking," he said. "Please, please don't be angry with me. Do whatever you want, I permit it, but please don't hate me. You're all I have. My head aches, Airglow... Airglow, ease my heart, be an angel, tell the truth."

"You mean whether he took the money or not?" said Airglow sorrowfully.

"No, no, no, I believe you, but... go to Cluster yourself, find out how he sees himself in this family, as soon as possible. I must know. What? Can you do that for me?"

"I'll ask him," murmured Airglow, ears drooped low.

"No, he won't tell you anything," said Bronze curtly. "He's like a statue. He won't tell you anything to do with me. I bet he's shameless. Did you know, Airglow, that Cluster has never cried before? Even when he was born his face was as apathetic as it is now. No tears, of any kind, nothing. He's stone-cold, right down to the soul."

"I'm sure he'll warm up eventually."

"How do you know?"

"I just do."

"And with Nova... Ech! Nova's got an evil liver, I tell you. An evil liver."

"An... evil liver?" Airglow tilted her head in confusion.

"Evilness has to come from somewhere, right? It's in the liver, you can feel it, inside you. I once knew a tradespony with a funny little beard, and he was a cheat. Whenever he lied his beard would shake—that's the sign of an evil liver. And Nova's no different. He's got an evil liver in him, and it spread right to his bones!"

"That's, um, unfortunate."

"And Nova has no money, not a drop, which is why he came to me. He's looking to blow it all on the roulette tables again. And find out what's going on with his girlfriend, and why they're not engaged. And with Cluster, too. Except maybe don't. You can go now, my angel; I'll be fine. For the moment I must think."

"Goodbye, dad." And, leaning forward, she kissed him on the forehead as she did yesterday.

Passing through the front yard, Airglow found Shovel sitting on the ground by the fence. He wasn't doing anything, so she approached him and inquired about Cluster's whereabouts. He looked at her for a few seconds, smiled kindly, and said that Cluster could be found in the backyard, although this "backyard" was a little ways past the real backyard and resembled more a graveyard than anything else. About two dozen ponies had been buried there, including Petal Breeze, as well as a small memorial tomb to Stardust Gleam.

She walked down a long depression in the dirt that was used as a path, and into the yard she spotted Cluster. He was standing before his mother's memorial—a small one, made out of a single block of stone with carved inscriptions and a few dead flowers.

Airglow waited to get close to talk to Cluster, feeling that calling him from a distance would be terribly awkward. But when she covered half the distance, she stepped on a twig and, seeing that he knew she was there, said in a low voice, "Hey, Cluster..."

He turned around, but he looked like he were distracted when gazing at her, as if he were looking over her shoulder. She caught up and looked down at the tombstone.

"Are you gonna come back?" she asked.

"Come back where? To the house? No."

"I guess you're done for today then," said Airglow, forcing a little affability into her voice.

Cluster dropped his eyes for a second and turned around to face her. Airglow became embarrassed for some reason.

"I think I understand it all from those exclamations just now," he said. "Nova, most likely, won't step hoof here for a long time, and will try to find more money by some other means. I bet the old-timer asked you to talk to me, right? Well, he's done in."

"Brother, what's all this horror between dad and Nova come to?" exclaimed Airglow.

"I can't guess for certain, so I won't. What I can tell you is that every happy family is happy for the same reason, but every unhappy family is unhappy in its own unique way."

A soft sigh involuntarily left his lips; he twisted his face for a second, and a cold light seemed to flicker in his eyes. He immediately became conscious of himself.

"As you can see, I came by my mother's grave. I thought I could get something out of it, but in hindsight it's stupid. Maybe it was worth it. But why bring worth into it? I guess I'm just burning time."

An awkward silence hung in the air.

"How was your mom, by the way?" asked Airglow suddenly, in order to say something.

"Could've been better."

Airglow was not entirely encouraged by this response.

"I mean," she said again, furrowing her brow, "what did she do for you and Nova?"

"She did nothing that I'd care to bring up in conversation. But what's it all good for?"

"Huh?"

"Mothers and fathers, I mean. We're individuals, sis. Blood doesn't mean anything unless you make it mean something. That's the tragic force in all this. I don't need a father, so I sure don't need a mother."

"Cluster"— Airglow frowned —"you can't say that."

"I can't?" he said readily, hunching his shoulders.

"It's the truth. You just can't, okay? Everypony needs love."

Cluster scoffed and turned sideways, putting a hoof on Stardust's tomb.

"You really don't get it, do you? It has nothing to do with needing love or any of that; obviously ponies need love," he said. "Though, is it every other day in a four-year-old's life when their mother comes into their room while they're playing with their little brother, starts choking them, fighting back the struggle, whispering repeatedly, 'It's okay, baby, mama will meet you in the afterlife. Let's get away from this world before he gets back.' Has she tried to drown you in the bathtub for the same reason? It's in bad form that these nasty habits reside. She left us early on, hurled herself off some cliffside, because of him. She lost her mind because he neglected us."

Airglow opened her mouth to reply, but thought better of it. A new kind of sorrow was enveloping her. She looked at Cluster with untold pity, and she felt an immense urge to hug him.

"But never mind that, how was your mother?" he added suddenly and dryly, staring piercingly at Airglow.

"I don't know," she muttered, and she half-consciously began surveying the area for her mother's tomb. "I never got to meet my mom. But, Cluster," she raised her voice, taking a step towards him, "no matter how bad things are in a family, it's still your father and mother, your brother and sister, not enemies, not strangers. At least—maybe—once a year—they'll show love for you, even if it's not obvious, because everypony is different and expresses their love differently. And you still belong here, in your family."

Cluster gave her the strangest of looks, like she were a total stranger to him. He felt like one of them was biding their time. He looked down once more, then back up, and blushed slightly, as if saying, "Moralize all you want, it won't make a difference. But..."

"If I were a father and had a daughter, I think I'd love my daughter more than my sons, really," he began obliquely, as if talking about something else, to divert her.

"Why is that?" she asked, smiling somehow vaguely.

"I don't know. I just would. A father may be stern as a stump, a stern and severe stallion, but he'll be down on his rump for his daughter. He'd kiss her hooves, and even admire her. She'd dance at a party for five hours, and he'd stand in the same spot for five hours, unable to take his eyes off her. A father might disown his sons and ship them off to the royal guards, but he'll go mad over his daughter; I can understand that. She'd get tired at night and go to sleep, and he would wake up and start kissing her while she slept. In the cold he'd walk with his own fur, act spitefully with everypony, but for her he'd spend every last bit, he'd give her presents, and he'd be happy to see her happy. I don't think I'd be able to handle seeing my daughter get married."

Airglow looked curiously at him.

"I don't know why," he said again. "Maybe I'd get jealous. I admit it's all nonsense, and I'm just raving. But I think, before giving her away to another stallion, I'd wear myself out with worry. In the end, though, I'd be happy if she married a pony she truly loved. It's funny, really. To a father, the stallion his daughter loves the most always seems the worst. That's how it is. A whole lot of harm is done to families because of it."

"But what about the other way around?" Airglow managed to pick up. "Is there any mare you love?"

He was silent for five seconds. A little wind swept by and carried up a swath of leaves.

"No," he said at length.

"Nopony?" she pressed. "Nothing?"

"No, not nothing, but..." He was talking more calmly, more at ease, but it was short-lived; quite a new look of irritation came to his face. He shook his head, as if disapproving of something, and began walking out of the yard. Airglow tagged behind him.

"I have a duty," he continued, more gravely than before. "Celestia will be arriving in two, maybe three, hours. I don't want to waste any more time than I already have. Goodbye."

Airglow wanted to say something else, but he was walking so fast that she had to start jogging so as to not lag behind.

She stopped by the fence in the front yard, and watched low-spiritedly as Cluster walked far ahead, without slowing down, without turning around, and soon he turned into another road, then another, and vanished from sight.

One thing was for certain: she resolved to wait for the Summer Sun Celebration and talk to Cluster then.
> Part II – Chapter VI – An Ardent Confession
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Something almost bordering on despair was in Airglow's heart, which had never happened to her before. One main, fateful, and insoluble question towered over everything like a mountain: how would it end between her father and her brother Nova with that forsaken five grand? Now she herself had been a witness. She herself had been there and had seen them face each other. However, no matter which way this could be shuffled, only Nova would, in the end, turn out to be unhappy, completely and terribly unhappy. A disaster certainly lay in wait for him now. Other ponies might have turned out to be involved in all this (such as Misty Gem), something Airglow never imagined could happen and wished incessantly against. There was even a mysterious element in it.

Would Cluster hold to his promise and protect their father? There was something painfully concerning, almost terrifying, in how he seemed to be acting, and it was enough to evoke trepidation. Why would her father be scared of Cluster? What did it all mean? It pained Airglow to ponder such questions.

It was very strange: earlier she had set out to see Misty in great embarrassment, but now she felt none; on the contrary, she wanted very much to see her again, to tell her all that had happened that morning, as though she expected Misty to give her guidance. And yet to convey this message was more difficult than last time: the matter of the five thousand bits was seemingly decided, and Nova, now feeling himself without any hope, would not hesitate to plunge any further into the abyss of chaos.

If you want my opinion, I will say that Airglow did not feel particularly apprehensive of either Bronze or Nova. That is, in spite of all the wild and obstinate shouting that poured out from both stallions, she understood quite well that this was a product of passion, and very little else. In fact, this characteristic, studied in psychology and previously seen in Bronze's first wife, was the so-called fit of passion; so common they are in the more stiff-necked, self-absorbed, and impulsive ponies of our generation. That's just it: a mix of impulsivity and sensuality is indeed toxic, if not fatal. Such was the case with our Nova.

Airglow, however, did not have to wait very long to encounter Nova once more. She was on her way back to Ponyville (that is, away from the outskirts and into the denser part of the town) when a hoof suddenly and unexpectedly tapped her shoulder. She froze for a split second, turned around, and was greeted with an unmistakably booming voice

"Hello there, Airglow!" said Nova, staring point blank at her with extreme fixity.

"N-Nova!" she stammered, feeling slightly dazed.

"Ha, ha! You didn't except me, did you? Well, so give me the truth, crush me like a bug! Did our father decide to press charges? Eh... what's the matter?"

"Nothing, Nova... Just that you startled me. And... and... Dad's blood today was..." Airglow began to cry. She had wanted to cry for a long time now, and it was as if something suddenly snapped in her soul. "You hit him in the face... cursed him to 'tartarus'... could have even killed him... and now... here... you're acting as if nothing happened. Just... why?"

"Hush, darling, no need to languish so much!" he added hastily, striding up beside her. "Don't be ashamed of your tears, dear sister. Tears are good; they invigorate the soul. Without tears life wouldn't be worth living, that's what!"

"Okay... but..."

"Don't you recall, right outside the tavern? 'Tomorrow I will tell you'—but that was two days ago! I broke my promise, so I apologize. It completely slipped my mind, as so many things do nowadays. Ha, ha! As a bold kind of compensation, I will tell you today; right now, as a matter of fact."

"Tell me what?" said Airglow, wiping her tears away and feeling less stressed now that he spoke so familiarly with her. "You don't mean...?"

"That fatal day. I will give you everything, to the last verse, so that you can view the whole picture, and then you'll judge me finally. I can only take your judgement to heart, and nopony else's. So, understand now?"

"Your 'side of the coin,' is that it?"

"But what else? Wait, wait, explanation to follow; but this is more or less a secret, known to few. Let's go! Over there, that bench, you see? Behind that bush, you see? Let's sit down first. But first, oh, I want to kiss you!" And he pecked her once each on both cheeks.

"Okay, okay, I get it," said Airglow quickly, fighting back a smile.

They took a seat on a yellow bench, stationed between a bush and a tree. They were completely alone.

"My heart is such an uncommon place to be in," began Nova. "But goodness, I could really go for a brandy right about now!"

"Nova"— she gave a deadpan look —"focus."

"Right, I was going to tell you... but right away! And so, don't worry, I haven't been drinking. I'm just relishing, as that brat Snappo once said."

"Snappo?" Airglow cocked her head back. "He's a journalist. What's he got to do with this?"

"He wrote an article, didn't you hear?" Nova gave her a pensive look. "Hmm, it has been a long time; I guess nopony has read it. This article was about our father, his 'irrepressible' habits, as it were, in the liquor stores and the taverns, and with me and the money... but I'm rambling incoherently. One day Snappo might even become famous and still 'relish.' Oh, what foolishness! I could take you, Airglow, and press you to my heart till I crushed you, for in all of Equestria... I really, really only love you... understand!" He spoke this last line with a show of ecstasy glittering in his large eyes.

"Only you," he continued, throwing both hooves in the air, "and nopony else, except one other."

"Misty?" said Airglow in a sort of hopeful conclusion.

"But it can't be Misty, it's impossible! No, the other is that 'sordid mare,' the one I have fallen in love with, and she's the end of me. But I also hate her. Pah! You know, love and hate are not opposites, but complements. You can fall in love with a pony and still hate them. The opposite to love is, in fact, apathy. Remember that! I say it now while I can. I'll look at you and go on talking, because the time has come to relay my side of the story. By the way"— he smiled good-naturedly, as if all traces of animosity had left him —"I've decided that we really should... that is, we really ought to speak softly, because here, here of all places, the most unexpected ears may turn up. 'The walls have ears'? Pah! The air has ears. I'll explain everything, including the sequel and the post-sequel, and et cetera and more et ceteras. I've dropped the anchor, sister, and as a consequence I long for you, for your judgement. It's necessary even, because as Princess Celestia is my witness I'll fall from the clouds, because one of these days life will end and begin. It's a deep pit, guarded by the abyss watchers; grossly incandescent! Have you ever felt like you were falling into a pit such as that one? Well, I'm falling right now, but I'm not afraid. Me? Afraid of a little darkness? Ridiculous! I'm ecstatic. Say, let's praise nature: see how amazing pegasi can be? See how clear the sky is, not a cloud in sight, the weather is perfect, and the sun shines so perfectly as to lift you into the aether. Say, where were you going to just now?"

"Uh, to the... Golden Oak Library," Airglow lied, who in truth was going off to see Misty; but right after she chided herself, feeling terribly ashamed for lying.

"Oh..." Nova's posture dropped a bit, but he instantly heaved himself back up. "I actually was going to ask you to see Misty for me. Can you do that?"

Airglow felt even more terrible for lying, seeing as how she really had nothing to hide.

"Sure!" she said all too happily. "But... wait, what?" Her face immediately assumed a pained expression. "Did you really want to send me to her?"

"Ha, ha! I see that you understand everything, or at least most of it. But not a word, not a word now. Don't pity me, and please don't cry!"

Nova hopped off the bench, thought for a moment, and sat back down.

"She sent for you herself, is that it?" he asked.

"She ordered a book from the library, and asked for me to deliver it. She was awfully excited to speak with me."

"Aha, so that's how it is. She did send for you, because she wants my friendship, like you told me. Things are beginning to get unstable, Airglow. The tides are moving in and out. I must bow out to her."

"Huh?" Airglow picked up on that last phrase not without a pang of surprise. "You're going to 'bow out' to her? Wait"— she suddenly recalled —"Misty told me that you wrote her a letter, saying those exact words. Nova, are you going somewhere?"

"I mean our relationship, Airglow. I know that look; you're pitying me, aren't you? I cheated her. I was going to save her grandmother in the hospital, in Baltimare, but I squandered the bits she bestowed upon me. How could I go back? Even if she's forgiven me, it'll all begin anew. It simply won't work. You can't break these sorts of cycles."

"I know you must feel that way, but..."

"But what?"

"Nothing," she replied disappointedly. Really, what else could she say? She was a fifteen year old filly, not a relationship counselor.

"But, that aside, why kick against the pricks? To begin properly, I must, so to speak, recount the facts—my facts, of course.

"I have always led a wild life, Airglow, although back then this was doubly so. Father says I used to pay my way into mares' hearts, to seduce them, but that's all hogwash. I did no such thing! As for what really went down, that, in fact, never required a single bit. Money is an accessory, sister, a fever of the soul. When I got to Baltimare, and I stopped at that tavern, there she was: that beast. Her name is Bouquet Rose. Oh, what a beast she was! I threw mouthfuls of money around—music, noise, and the feast. I even started giving bits away for free; anypony could have come to me and asked, and I would have obliged. The ladies used to love me, not all, but most; but I, in any case, prefer dirty back lanes, the dark ones that never see the light of day. I love the back lanes, with their remote little crannies, because there I can be myself. I'm speaking metaphorically, sister. I don't mean any physical back lanes, but moral ones, the back lanes which reside in your heart. If only you could see me then... you'd know that I'm related to father. Pah! I spit on all this depravity.

"At the time I found Misty in quite the nasty predicament. A friend of hers was neck-deep in debt, and her father refused to help. So... I went to her one day, I explained to her that I was a street guard, and that I overheard everything. I saw flames burning in her eyes then—not weak flames, but powerful ones, the flames of a proud and sensitive soul. I told her that, should she ever need the money, to just come to me. Well, and so, a day went by. Then another. And another. Then a week. Two weeks. Three. Four and a half. A little over a month in, right after a training session, I found her waiting for me in my lodging. 'I'm here,' she said, 'because of your convictions.' But what did that mean? Right, right, I promised to help. 'I need you, Nova,' she said, 'I need to save my friend.' Well then, 'How much?' I asked. 'Ten thousand,' she said, quietly, yet that proud flame burned ever onwards in her dark eyes! And you know what my first instinct was? To play it all off as a cruel joke. I wanted to say, 'But madame, that's too much. I only meant fifty, at most eighty, bits. But ten thousand?' The look on her face would have been priceless. I know, I know, I'm a terrible scoundrel for thinking such thoughts. Why are you blushing, Airglow?"

"I'm not blushing at that exactly," Airglow suddenly remarked, "but because I'm the same as you. I'm also terrible."

"You? Well, that's going a bit too far, don't you think?"

"No, not too far," she said hotly, pressing a hoof to her chest. "The steps are all the same. I'm on the lowest step. You're above me. That's how I see it." (This was how bad she felt for pointlessly lying to him.)

"But surely it's not like that." Nova became evidently puzzled.

"Well, maybe not, but it's close enough."

"But can you help it?"

"I don't know."

"Stop, Airglow, stop, my dear! I want to kiss you again, just because. That rogue Bouquet has an eye for stallions like me. And she—perhaps—knows about you, and wants to 'eat you up.'  I'll stop, I'll stop! From these flyblown margins let's move onto the next tragedy. The thing is, very few ponies know about Bouquet in relation to me and particularly Misty. Not even our father knows. You'd be the first. Well, except Cluster, of course. Cluster knows everything. He's known it for a long time, which is why he wanted to win the financial dispute for me. But Cluster is a grave soul."

"Cluster is grave?"

"Very much so."

Airglow was listening with great attention.

"I have always been under some observation, especially with the Royal Guard. My colonel took a strong dislike to me. He kept finding fault with me, but whatever. To tartarus with that old geezer! And besides, ponies still stood up for me. I was proud. And right to his face I would deliberately fail to show due respect. But that old colonel was not so bad, really, even hospitable, and he had a wife with three daughters. One was a maiden, and lived with her father together with an aunt. They were both simple and meek. The third daughter I never met. And the second—that happens to be Misty Gem. Everypony loved her, and we used to chat quite a bit."

"Wait," Airglow interrupted, "didn't you say that you first met her when she wanted to help her friend? That's what I heard, anyway."

"Ah, my apologies. You're as right as ever, dear sister. I think I misspoke. I knew Misty Gem before, but we were never close in 'that' way. It only became so after I lent her ten thousand. But then the authorities came to talk about her friend. 'He's short ten thousand of government money.' She was terribly depressed. 'Don't worry,' I said. 'I won't tell anypony. On that account I'm like the grave, but just in case: when they ask him for the ten thousand, and he loses everything because of it, then instead of having to face it all, why don't you secretly send me your institute mare? I've just received money; maybe I'll fork some out for you.' 'You're terrible!' She went away in a rage. But I kept shouting that I'd help her.

"Strange things do happen. Nopony noticed her coming into my place. I rented a lodging from two widows of local officials, and they respected me greatly. Misty came in and looked squarely at me, her eyes defiant, yet irresolute. Then, she told me what I told you. I thought of playing my joke, and she would run away, but no. I didn't keep her for long; I turned around, went to the table, and signed a ten thousand bit bank note. I folded it, gave it to her, all in profound silence, and she bowed before me and was off like the wind.

"Then? Well, then her father found out, and I... well, I became her fiancé."

"Huh? Her fiancé, just like that?"

"I became her fiancé two months after those events, and not at once. I offered her my hoof, and after much contemplation, much back-and-forthing, we became an item, so to speak. Then the incident with her grandmother in Baltimare, and my recklessness, and now... here we are."

"What now?"

"Now I've called you today to send you to her—this very day—to send you to Misty—to confirm, not from a letter, but from an actual pony—that I bow out."

"But weren't you going to pay her back?"

"I only have five thousand. I need the other five."

"But is that even possible?"

"That's why I'm sending you, because it's impossible. How could I tell her myself?"

"And where are you going?"

"To the back lane."

"To Bouquet then!" exclaimed Airglow mournfully. "There's no need. I'm convinced that Misty loves you, Nova."

"Pah! Misty loves her own virtue, not me." The words broke involuntarily, and almost malignantly, from Nova. He laughed, but a minute later his eyes gleamed; he flushed crimson and struck his hooves together.

"I swear, Airglow," he cried, with genuine anger at himself, "that, as Princess Celestia governs this great land, I swear that though I smiled at her lofty sentiments, I know that I am a million times baser in soul than she, and that these lofty sentiments of hers are as sincere as an angel's. That's the tragedy of it—that I know that for certain. I'm done for, I'm afraid."

They were silent for some time, and all these squalid arguments subsided. Then a sort of realization awakened within Airglow, a point of fact which she had temporarily forgotten and concluded that it could be relevant in the moment. After all, what was there to lose?

"If it makes you feel any better," she said suddenly, after the long pause, "Misty gave me a ticket to a train. It's for two ponies. You want to come with me?"

"What's that?" Nova's ears perked. "What train?"

"The... uh..." She looked up, straining to remember. "The Flying Rift Express. It's a luxury transcontinental. Do you know it?"

"Do I!" cried Nova, smiling widely. "Ahem! Yes, yes, I know it. The Flying Rift. Wait, wait, this is it! This is my chance! It goes all around Equestria."

"Half of it, actually."

"Eh? Which half?"

"In the north."

"Perfect!" cried Nova again, and he jumped from his seat. "Redemption is still on the table!"

"Wait, really?" said Airglow in great excitement. "That's amazing to hear. What do you have in mind?"

"Ha, ha! Don't worry about the details, Airglow." And, sighing happily, he kissed her once more. "Just know that not all is lost. But for now... hmm..." A devilish grin appeared on his face. "For now tell Misty what I told you: that I officially bow out. I don't want to assume too much. But if all goes well... hmm... we'll see in the long run."

And then, in a sort of newfound fury, as if drunk, Nova came right up to Airglow, grasped her shoulders, and began shaking her.

"Do you know, you innocent filly, that all of this is raving, impossible raving, because here's the tragedy! I tell you, Airglow Sky: I can be a mean pony, with passions mean and ruinous, but a thief Nova Steel can never be! When Misty gave me the money for the hospital expenses, she asked me to post it in my name, so that nopony in Baltimare would know. That's when I met Bouquet Rose and spent it all on her. Later I pretended that I had raced to Baltimare and back, but I didn't present her with a postal receipt; I told her I sent the money, but nothing; then word spread about Bouquet and I, and Misty found out. That's why I bow down to her. And, besides that, that's why this train is my last resort."

"Nova, what's the matter with you!" exclaimed Airglow, jumping up from the bench and staring at Nova, believing that he had gone mad and had decided to rob the train.

"What's wrong? I haven't lost my head or anything," said Nova, looking at her intently and even solemnly. "For now I thank you, dear sister. I know the train leaves next month. We will see each other then, or a bit before, I suppose. For now I'll sit and wait. Until then..."

This signaled an end to their conversation. They kissed each other goodbye and departed. Airglow, deep in thought, went back to Golden Oak, to grab a bite to eat, then head off to Misty's place.

Wait, so I am going to Golden Oak first, she thought, which means I technically wasn't lying. Huh...
> Part II – Chapter VII – No Good Reputation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

At the library she was greeted by Olva, who had run up to her in the foyer.

"Airglow, your brother is here!" she began quickly, slightly nervous.

"Who? Cluster?" exclaimed Airglow. All secondary thoughts left her for a moment.

"Yes, Cluster."

Airglow was momentarily stunned.

"Wait, wait, first thing, did you read Nova's letter to Misty?" Olva asked at once. "Oh, Misty is here, too; she and Cluster are together in the back room, talking."

"Never mind that, Olva. Why's Cluster here with Misty?"

"They're talking about Nova. It's awfully strange. I wish she would marry some other pony instead of that Nova character—why not Cluster? He's so much more suited for her. Oh, and I wish Dr. Tubercuhoofis were here; he could piece some things together. And with him, Twinkie is getting better."

"Enough, mama, enough about Dr. Tubercuhoofis," laughed Twinkie; she was sitting in a corner by the table. "Give me the lotion quickly, mama. I'll be better soon, just you wait. Hi, Airglow!"

"Hey there," she responded quickly, but walked by Twinkie towards the back room.

"Where are you going?" asked Olva.

"Where?" Airglow paused. "To see Misty. They're in there, in that room, aren't they?"

"Oh, mama!" called Twinkie. "Go and see Misty yourself. She can't go. She must be so unhappy!"

"I'm quite able to go, actually..." said Airglow.

"What? You're leaving?"

"It's okay, Twinkie. When I come back we can talk as much as you'd like. But I really want to see Misty now, because in any event... but, uh, never mind."

"Mama, give Airglow a pillow for comfort. She'll need it! And I want to sleep, I didn't sleep all night."

"Oh, Twinkie, you're making jokes again, but I wish you really would go to sleep!" exclaimed Olva. "Go on, Airglow. She's too capricious today. I don't want to suggest anything, or lift the veil, but go see for yourself, it's terrible! She's convinced herself that she loves your brother Nova. I'll go with you, and if they don't send me away, I'll stay to the end."

But in the back room the supposed conversation was already nearing its end. Misty Gem was greatly excited, though she had a determined look. At the moment when both Airglow and Olva entered, Cluster looked like he was getting ready to leave. His face was completely tireless and straight, though one could sense hints of annoyance inclined on it; Airglow looked at him anxiously. She had known that Misty had come to him for relationship advice, considering he was related to Nova, but it devolved to a certain point where Misty was beginning to bother him. In what way could he help? He told her to "drop it" with Nova and find somepony else, but, strangely enough, such a suggestion seemed to almost hurt Misty—not emotionally, but in some way intellectually, like this were all just a calculation.

Would Nova actually marry Bouquet as a sort of self-punishment? This step Airglow considered a desperate one. Up until that morning she truly and unquestionably believed that Misty loved Nova. But now? Now a new idea began to stir in the air, namely, that Misty was deceiving and tormenting herself with her strained and dubious love for Nova, out of some kind of supposed gratitude—even out of wounded pride.

Cluster recognized this very clearly, which is why he told her to leave Nova. In the long run, let's say that Nova might finally submit to her for his own happiness—what was Cluster's say in that? "Serpent will eat serpent," Cluster had said, speaking with irritation about their father and brother. That meant Nova was a serpent, but was he, in the eyes of Cluster, a serpent for very long? Did that exclamation have anything to do with how he viewed Misty? Cluster was a practical and extraordinarily reliable pony; he would help, but only if irrevocably convinced in something beyond himself, something external, very much like some higher purpose.

And so all these hesitations and considerations flashed through Airglow's mind now as she entered the back room. Seeing Airglow, Misty quickly and joyfully said to Cluster, who was already near the door ready to leave, "Hold on, just one minute! One more minute, because I need the opinion of a fellow sister."

Airglow sat down next to Misty; Olva opposite to them, but silently, acting as a spectator, as it were.

"I declare to you, Airglow, that Cluster here—my constant and generous adviser and profound reader of hearts, my amazing friend—he very much approves my decision," said Misty.

"You could say that," said Cluster in a quiet but firm voice.

"Listen, Airglow," Misty continued, grabbing Airglow's hoof; the former blushed, and her eyes flashed. "I can't reconcile with anything anymore. Listen, I don't know whether I love Nova now. He's become pitiful to me, which is a poor sign of love. If I loved him, and still love him, then it's probably out of pity, except I shouldn't pity him. That's why I've decided to break off the engagement, but"— she emphasized very strongly —"I'll still love him as a friend, and I want to save him."

"That's right! Right!" Olva exclaimed.

"I don't know how you'll react to this," Airglow spoke out, her face burning, "only, I mean, I wish you could be happy, and everypony could be happy. Only, uh, I don't know a lot about these affairs..." she hastened to add for some reason. She really doesn't love Nova, does she?

"In these affairs, sister, the main thing is honour, and maybe something else, something higher than the honour itself. I've already made up my mind: even if he marries that... creature," she said bitterly, alluding to Bouquet Rose, "whom I can never forgive for seducing Nova, I still refuse to leave him!" She spoke this with a sort of forced ecstasy, pale in the face. "I don't mean to drag myself to his level, but I'll watch over him, and even if I marry somepony else, he can come to me and see me as his friend. Only a friend, of course. This is the whole of my decision. Cluster 'approves' of it—well, as much as he can approve."

Misty was almost panting from talking so much so quickly. She might have wished to express her decision in a more dignified and natural way, but her words were too out of style. There was too much youthful, uncontrolled energy, too much of an obstinate and vexed need to show her pride. Behind that display of friendliness Airglow could sense a level of irritation. In some weird way, this irritation was seemingly directed at Cluster, like he only half-approved of her decision but she sought the whole of it.

"By the way," she added as a side-note, feeling inspired to speak more familiarly, "I think that book you gave me was the wrong one. It was the book I ordered, but there was a weird card inside, completely blank except for the words 'elixir sixty-six.' It even had a series of random numbers on the other side. Might have been somepony else's. Weird, huh?"

With all that said, Airglow suddenly frowned, and a sad look came to her eyes.

"We can look into that later. But right now, I came to tell you," she began in a low voice, "that Nova, told me, to tell you, that... he bows out, Misty. That you may never see him again."

"What did I tell you?" said Cluster at once, as if not wishing to conceal any solemnity. "If it was any other mare she should have gotten the memo, but you're trying too hard, Misty. Nova can't be contained that easily. He wants nothing to do with your kind anyway. Let it go. If not for him then for me, because I only came here to pick up a book."

Cluster spoke decidedly, with a sort of confident malice almost, evidently deliberate. He was speaking as if in mockery.

Misty's face suddenly darkened, and an ominous look passed over her.

"That's just like Nova," she said with bitter, burning reproach. "He saves my friend, I eventually pay him back, and just like that he thinks we're even. No, he squandered those bits, but it's fine. Why can't he see that? Is he really that selfish?"

Right in that moment Airglow reluctantly came to many conclusions, and she looked at Misty and felt almost angry. Cluster had nothing to do with this after all, and now, after how she spoke with Nova not even an hour ago, Misty thought she had him all figured out.

"I never thought you'd act like this," Airglow suddenly exclaimed ruefully.

"What?" Misty stared at her.

"He's going away, to who knows where, because he wants to do you that favour, because you... you never loved him. You're only sorry for yourself, sorry that you're losing a friend, but even this feels like an act."

"An act? Why? What do you mean?" exclaimed Misty, incredibly astonished, frowning, and blushing all over.

"No matter how much you say that you miss him as a friend, you keep insisting that he'd be happy, and..." Airglow spoke quite breathlessly now, almost as if she were in dispossession of herself.

"Airglow!" said Misty, feeling insulted. "What are you even saying?"

"I don't know. I know I'm not putting it well; I'm not Cluster," Airglow continued in the same trembling and faltering voice. She felt like she made a grave mistake to say all this, but at this point she was plunging forth with the hope that it'd pay off. Even Cluster waited to see the outcome. She continued, "As far as I know it, you don't love my brother Nova, and Nova never loved you... but he only honoured you... I really don't know why I'm saying all this. I'm way in over my head. But I have to speak the truth."

Airglow suddenly broke off and fell silent; her face was a bright red from embarrassment.

"You... you..." Misty clenched her teeth. "You're just a naive little filly, that's what you are!"

"You're right on the money, Airglow," interrupted Cluster, and the edge of his mouth flickered into a small, sardonic smirk. "I came to that conclusion myself. There's no love in the air—only empty passions. But in any case it's largely nonsense. I didn't want to get to Town Hall too early, so I stopped by here first. Now it feels like I'm being imprisoned, not being allowed to leave."

"But Cluster," cried Misty, "surely you can't believe that. What about Nova?"

"Misty"— he turned to her as he opened the door to leave —"It won't be worth it. My advice again: let it go. What's it all good for anyway? Pfft! Some ponies just can't take a hint. Well, whatever. Take care." And he walked out without even saying goodbye. Olva immediately got up and went after him, stammering and calling back to him, but to no avail.

"Cluster," said Misty desperately, "come back! Oh, is that all you have to say!" She, too, took off, with the vague notion to stop him. By the time she reached the front door Cluster had already left the library and was trotting down the road at a brisk pace, completely ignoring her. Misty stamped on the ground, giving up her efforts, and trotted back to her house.

"No, no, this is all my fault!" exclaimed Airglow in a rueful illumination. "Cluster was way too hard on her, but he only said that because of what I said to Misty. I spoke so ignorantly. Oh..." Airglow kept exclaiming in sorrow.

Olva came back into the room, and apparently had heard everything Airglow said just now.

"You did nothing wrong, dear," she whispered quickly and consolingly to Airglow.

She smiled, much to Airglow's chagrin. Airglow pouted and walked back into the foyer.

"We're all in this together," said Olva after her. "Here, why don't you have some chocolate pudding? You love chocolate pudding."

"But I insulted her!" said Airglow.

"Don't believe in any of that, dear. Come now..."

"Mama, you're spoiling her," said Twinkie in her thin little voice.

"No," sighed Airglow, in an access of agonizing shame for her escapade; she sat down at the table where Twinkie was seated and even covered her face with her hooves. "I'm the cause of it. It's all because of me."

"It's okay, Airglow," said Twinkie, softly brushing her mane. "You're a good pony."

Unfortunately there was very little that could cheer up our Airglow. She felt terribly foolish, and far too grieved to go outside, so for the rest of the day she stayed in the library. Besides, the Summer Sun Celebration was coming up, and nearly everypony in town was attending.


* * *


Even by midnight she was still in real grief, of a rare kind. She had gone and tried to interfere with an "affair of the heart." But what did she know? Misty was right: she was just a naive filly.

"I'll think about it later," she said glumly to herself. She was walking towards Town Hall, and could already make out the bustle of a crowd of ponies. "Cluster will be there, and with the Princess at that! Maybe I could talk to him."

Every light in Ponyville was out, save for Town Hall, which was alight like a bright candle in the dark. Most ponies were already inside, with something like a dozen still lounging around in the outdoors, chatting away, rightly in anticipation of Princess Celestia.

Speaking of which, Princess Celestia had arrived that evening with a whole battalion of guards—though, I suppose "battalion" is a bit of an exaggeration. Nevertheless she greeted the mayor and some other important ponies, and headed inside to the banquet prepared for her. The decorations were all set up in her name.

The Summer Sun Celebration, thought Airglow, going up the steps. Legend says she banished her sister to the moon, but it's just that: a legend. No way there existed another alicorn like the Princess.

She made her way through the ponies and found a pair of guards standing like sentinels by a door to the right side of the stage. She assumed that Princess Celestia was in there, and by extension Cluster would be with her. She tried to ask for permission to enter, saying that she was his sister, but the guards instantly refused her, much to her disappointment.

"Cluster should show up eventually," she told herself, finding an empty seat among every other pony.

In the guarded room, if one came close enough, they could make out the faint patters of two voices conversing in rhythm with each other. Back there sat Cluster and the Princess, as well as Spender Spent and two more guards.

To note briefly, Spender Spent had been in charge of much of the budget planning for that night, and as the most experienced and recognized pony in that field (in Ponyville, that is), he managed to stay close to the Princess, and as expected, greeted her eagerly and reverently, making sure she was comfortable. He paid the same courtesies to Cluster, calling him "my young friend" as a means of conveying a certain universal ceremony, but he was slightly taken aback with how casually Cluster approached the Princess. He still spoke with her respectfully, but compared to every other pony, it almost seemed like the two were ordinary friends. In the meantime he was holding a checklist and going over much of the financial details, of which we need not get into.

The room had two lamps, a long table filled with sweets, several chairs, and a bench against the wall. Cluster had led Celestia through the backdoor, so as to avoid any attention. He had already run several errands, fortifying the celebration so that it went smoothly—and with very little help, if I may add.

Now, however, he was in the waiting room with her, and the two appeared to be going back and forth. Spender, incidentally, had caught them mid-conversation, and listened in with great curiosity.

"So you don't want me to investigate this?" said Cluster.

"I would wait a bit longer, Cluster," said Celestia. She took a sip of her tea, which somepony had poured for her almost instantly upon entering the room, much to her amusement.

"It isn't a decided matter," he went on. "This is a unique case. I don't know much about it."

"That always did frustrate you," tittered Celestia.

Cluster arched an eyebrow. "What?"

"Not knowing things. It's a feature characteristic of only the most tenacious unicorns," she replied, inclining her head at him. "Remember when you obtained your cutie mark?"

"Yeah, I do."

Celestia unhurriedly sipped another mouthful of tea.

"Your overcharged your horn, and as a result brought an entire two-story building down," she said, not without a familiar smile. "Good thing the place was empty. You put out nearly one million joules of energy."

"You know the magical output?" asked Cluster, impressed. "Eh, forget it. There have been reports of unicorns losing their magic from all over Equestria, but just last month we've picked up patterns. Unicorns are mysteriously losing their ability to cast spells in less populated regions. That's not a coincidence."

"This concerns me as much as it concerns you," she said and, striding over to Cluster, placed her hoof on his shoulder. "My student, the reason I don't want you to look into this—yet, anyway—is because we don't have all the pieces realized and connected, giving us an incomplete picture; and to jump into something incomplete could possibly lead to recklessness. I have a team of mages looking into such a case as we speak. You shouldn't worry yourself with it right now."

"I was only saying," said Cluster distractedly, glancing past her. "Fine. We'll do this your way, but if anything about this case bumps into me, I... am not making any promises. Just so you know that."

"Your Highness!" Spender Spent approached Celestia. He was holding his checklist.

"Yes?"

"You're due in the next hour. Please, if there's anything you need in the meantime..."

"That won't be necessary, my little pony," she remarked amiably. "Do what you must."

Spender's face brightened. He bowed low before her, exclaiming, "As you wish, Your Highness." He left the room.

"One more thing," put in Cluster slowly, as if in hesitation. He stared directly at her. "May I ask your permission to leave for Baltimare?"

"Baltimare?" Celestia blinked at first, then her expression softened. "Cluster, why ever do you need my permission for something like that?"

"Because I want to go tonight—right now, that is."

She looked at him in surprise.

"You mean," she started, "during the Summer Sun Celebration, while I'm raising the sun?"

"That's right," he said, not breaking eye contact.

She nodded slightly, as it to herself in contemplation; she pursed her lips.

"Well," she said again, and again that same smile returned to her, "it's entirely your call. I'm not forcing you to do anything. Why do you need to go now?"

"I have a friend who's waiting for me. In short, she's down in the dumps about a private matter, and asked for my help. I don't want to delay."

Celestia's ears perked, and she began examining Cluster's face as though searching for familiar traits therein.

"You've changed a good deal, haven't you, Cluster?" she suddenly threw in, after a stretch of silence had settled in.

Cluster gave her an avid glance and pondered for a moment, sincerely wondering what she wanted to talk about. "How so?" he asked, not without a hint of apprehension in his voice.

"It's hard to say, really," said Celestia with a sigh. "You were... different last year. Not unrecognizably different, but you've grown more..." She paused, looking around the room. "More gentle, I would say."

Cluster involuntarily cocked his head back slightly. "So you think I'm turning nice. Is that it, Celestia?"

"Oh, no, no," she chuckled, turning to him. "Your temperament hasn't changed. But I remember a year ago, you were so reserved, so asocial, without any propensity to make friends. Now, however, I've noticed that you're going out of your way to help others. You donate money to anypony who asks, even at your own expense. Just now serves as a good example—you're leaving the Summer Sun Celebration just so you can meet up with a friend in need as soon as possible."

Cluster nodded, to show that he understood, but he did not say anything in reply. Instead he felt some very strange and, as it were, ancient feeling when looking at her, a feeling that, for whatever reason, felt like it came from thousands of years ago. Princess Celestia was indeed a very ancient pony, or so he reasoned.

"I remember when I first met you," continued Celestia, slowly, as if she were talking to herself, "you told me that you aspired to become a famous wizard, so that you could help everypony in need and save the world. But those aspirations died away, and you began to recluse yourself. In the books, in the labs—but are your former ideals resurfacing? At times I sense that you're putting yourself in harm's way, as if you owe your life to this world. Has anything like that stirred something in you, my student?"

"No, I'm still the same Cluster," he replied openly and even offhandedly. Perhaps Celestia was expecting to see some heavy burden weighing down his emotions, and she was helping him in lifting it; but he spoke with the same reserve, in the same composure, without any sign of interest. "The past has nothing to do with my aims, certainly nothing to do with resurfaced ideals either. Anyway, Celestia, I only came to inform you that I was leaving. So..."

"Hmm, I see. Very well. If you leave now I won't fault you for anything."

"That's all I needed to hear." Cluster began making his way to the door. "Farewell and take good care, Celestia."

"Oh, and Cluster...?"

He turned around.

"Make sure to say hi to your sister for me."

Cluster did not say a word, merely nodding in silence and leaving the room.

"He's an undecided soul, that one," said Celestia suddenly.

"Huh?" One of the guards looked at her. "Were you talking to me, Your Highness?"

"Oh, no, just thinking out loud," she chuckled, and finished off her tea.
> Part II – Chapter VIII – Cluster's Contra
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

While Airglow waited patiently in her seat to see Princess Celestia (and hopefully Cluster afterwards), Cluster had left the back room and strode along the sidelines of the benches, evidently avoiding the absorptive bustle of the edges of an anticipated crowd. Normally he would be recognized, but the ponies were so occupied with their own expectations that he went right by them without getting so much as a glance.

He scanned the crowd of ponies in the room and found Airglow. He paused, thought for a second, then quickly budged himself towards her.

"Hey, Airglow," he called to her in a sort of half-whisper. Several other ponies gazed at him for a moment.

"Cluster!" Airglow unconsciously got up from her seat, staring wide-eyed at her brother and this unexpected greeting. "I thought I'd see you after the... well—"

"You won't see me if you stay here. Come on." He left the aisle and was gesturing towards her, slowly making his way to the front door.

"Huh?" Airglow darted her head back and forth between Cluster and the balcony above the stage. But what about Princess Celestia?

Thinking it over for a second, she put all these swimming doubts aside and ran to Cluster. Both of them exited Town Hall.

"Where are you going?" she asked him hastily. "What about the Summer Sun Celebration?"

"I'm not staying here."

She was hard-pressed by this news. Airglow knew that Cluster was not a fan of "breaking from schedule" as he was doing now, so she decided to listen to him.

"I'm taking off to Baltimare," Cluster continued. "Who knows how long it'll be before you see me again, so I guess I wanted to say goodbye to you."

By now they had turned a corner and Town Hall was out of sight. The night had seemingly deepened.

"Okay..." said Airglow in wavering tones of confusion. "Couldn't you go after, or something? It's not every day that Princess Celestia raises the sun in Ponyville."

"No, I couldn't. Besides, Celestia was perfectly willing to let me go, so it works either way. I was going to hire a coachpony, though the next one is only available in the next forty-ish minutes by the train station. We have time to..." He trailed off, and for a moment, in full and immediate contemplation, looked his sister up and down. "You're not scared, are you?"

"What? Scared of what?" Airglow was momentarily astonished to the point of stupefaction.

"Ah, forget it, I'm speaking out of form," replied Cluster, and his whole face at once began to compose itself into something twisted and even quite unsure of itself. "I've been thinking things over, Airglow, and before I go I wanted to speak with you, because in truth you're the only one who would take me seriously."

Airglow did not reply, and both ponies walked in silence for another two minutes. At last they reached Cluster's house. He unlocked the door and they went into the living room. His horn flashed, and several candles began to spread their amber glow.

"There, you can sit down," said Cluster, making his way into the kitchen. "Do you want anything? I have daisy soup and green tea. I can also make a good hay sandwich."

"Sure, I'd really like some daisy soup, then tea. I'm hungry," said Airglow with a smile.

"And pudding? I have that, too. Remember how you used to love pudding when you were little?"

"You remember that? I'll have the pudding, too. I still love it."

A few minutes later and Cluster returned with a tray of soup, hot tea, and a little ceramic bowl of chocolate pudding. He set it down on the table and sat across from her, and Airglow gladly began to dig in.

"There's a lot to remember, Airglow. It's strange to think that we're twelve years apart. I remember when I was twelve, pushing thirteen, and I learned that I had a baby sister. At that time I wasn't sure of who I wanted to be. Even when I saw you for the first time I wasn't sure if I loved you. My ambitions were still beginning to take shape. It's such a difference, it really makes you think, regardless of anything else. So, I'm leaving now, and I was sitting with Celestia, wondering how I could say goodbye. I thought I'd have to convince you to follow me, given how much you seem to admire her."

"You mean the Princess? I do admire her, but I feel like this is important to you."

Cluster chuckled, apparently pleased with himself that Airglow was so willing to leave Town Hall.

"That's all well and good. Before I leave I want to be more acquainted with you, though perhaps that's the wrong word. It's hard to say. I think the best time to get firmly acquainted with a pony is right before parting, because that leaves the strongest impression. I saw how you kept looking at me in the last month; there was a certain ceaseless expectation in your eyes. In the end I learned to respect 'that' part of you—the listener part, that is. Keep in mind that I'm speaking seriously and that I won't be making jokes. Don't you do the same? Don't you stand your ground? It's easy to respect ponies who stand their ground, whatever that ground may be. In the end, I finally came to like your expectant look, but I still don't understand it."

"What don't you understand?"

"That you seem to love me for some reason. I don't understand that."

"That doesn't matter, because I do love you, Cluster." Airglow, with a melancholy face, leaned forward. "Nova told me that you're grave, but I don't agree. I think you're a riddle. You're a riddle to me, but I've already understood something about you."

"What is it?" asked Cluster, studying his sister with some special and gloomy curiosity.

Though there might have been something noteworthy in his expression, he was intrigued by something else; besides, the way he asked the question, the intention behind it, was more mechanical than moral; somehow from distraction than from simple-heartedness, from anxious agitation, just to look at somepony and wag his tongue about something. It seemed that he was searching for something in this conversation and could only come out disappointed.

"You won't be angry?" Airglow smiled nervously.

"I won't."

"That you're still a young stallion, exactly like all the other twenty-seven year olds. You're still a nice pony, still here in the moment and not in another world. You're normal, perfectly normal and nothing more. Are you... offended?"

"On the contrary, you've struck me as how I like to talk to myself," explained Cluster. "Would you believe it, that that's exactly how I reason to myself, that I'm normal? And it's true, because I'm just like any other pony, only with above-average magical output. Do you know what I was thinking to myself? Even if I were to lose faith in life, if I were to lose faith in the order of things, and even if I were convinced that everything is in permanent disorder, in complete chaos, and that this were all a horrific illusion—still I'd want to live. I fully intend to keep drinking from the cup of life, every last drop. You see these snotty-nosed moralists proclaim all these aversions to life, and how it's good for very little. Arguments aside, I want to live, Airglow, even if it's against all logic, even if I've given up on everything. You can't love life with your mind, not with logic, but with your guts. You have to love life with your insides, as it were. Do you understand any of this blather?" he added suddenly and quite out of tone with the rest of what he was saying.

"I think I do, yeah," exclaimed Airglow. "To want to love with your insides is how I think it should be done. Because... because how else would you do it?"

"How else," echoed Cluster vaguely. "There's been such a difference in history, you know, ever since Celestia. Ponies nowadays are a lot more sensitive, more developed and eager. Before ponies could only have one original idea in their lifetime, but now I see ponies carrying as many as two or even three ideas, and they make no big deal about it. Times have changed. But that's not it; I'm digressing. It's funny how the mind works. No matter how well you try to explain an idea, even if you write thirty volumes describing it in detail, there will forever be that core fragment which will ostensibly refuse to emerge from your head, and in the end, despite your efforts, only you will truly understand the whole of your idea, and maybe even the most vital part of it."

He suddenly frowned and lapsed into thought.

"Are you frowning because you don't know how to explain something to me?" asked Airglow.

"You could say that, and something else, though there's really no need..." Cluster spoke reluctantly.

"Are you really leaving so soon, brother?"

"Yes. I'm going to Baltimare tonight." Or... morning?

"What about Nova and our dad? How's it gonna end between them?" said Airglow anxiously.

"Don't drag that out again. What have I got to do with it?" Cluster retorted irritably. "I'm not my brother's nanny, am I? What, are you thinking that I'll stay here and be their keeper, and wait for some resolution? Don't. I have my own plans. Nova has nothing to do with it."

Airglow's head sank slightly between her shoulders, her face forming into a pained and melancholy expression.

"What is it?" asked Cluster, and he, too, hunched his shoulders.

"I just want to know how it'll turn out... even if I can't change it. Better than not knowing, I guess."

"Don't look so down in the dumps, Airglow. I'll return eventually, just not soon enough to please you," he spoke with a sort of refined spite; his lips even turned pale. "Look, I..." He paused, seemingly catching himself. "I didn't want to talk about Nova or the old-timer, and not anything to do with money, either. Maybe it's my heart. I have to pour something out to you."

"Your heart?" Airglow picked up solemnly. Her ears were straight and attentive.

"You'll listen, even at the cost of missing out on Celestia?"

Airglow nodded slowly yet adamantly.

"Good, good!" said Cluster, nearly laughing with animation. "But where to begin? With me, I suppose. What's there to tell that you don't already know? How I got my cutie mark, when I moved to Canterlot, the passing days of my travels—you're privy to all that drivel. Yeah, I said it: it's drivel, because none of that has any bearing on the now. And I'll tell you frankly, even with pleasure, that I wish you could know everything about me. There's nothing more cathartic than discussing the things one hates. It's even a prerequisite for establishing friendship with somepony. So what's there to hate? I know.

"Back in the day, but even in our times, the type of ponies I could never stand were the rationalists. By far, rationalists are the most self-absorbed, arrogant, complacent, smug, and downright unpleasant creatures to have ever walked this land. These ponies worship their faculties for reason like no other, and Celestia forbid they're wrong. Worst of all, they've managed to fix themselves into positions of the utmost necessity within our so-called 'intellectual' circles. I say all this with a heavy heart, because in truth I'm a rationalist. I carry it like a curse. Is it my fault that I demand a rational explanation for everything? Maybe, maybe not. I've always belonged to a mixed society, though naturally of a 'triumphant' sort, thanks to my rationality, which has strewed the prime of my life with roses. Even that, however, is in complete shambles, and I can't accept it. Rationalists are unbearably ignorant and foolish, and I'm the most foolish pony I know. Our whole worldview is flawed in every way. What's with that look, Airglow? Doesn't fit my position?"

"You must be so unhappy," she said quietly yet thoughtfully.

"Well, first, for the sake of it: let's say I really am unhappy, that I really do like to 'toy with my own despair,' as this one councillor put it to me two days back. Does that explain it all?"

"Could you explain it then? I really am listening."

"Of course I'll explain it, it's no secret, that's what I'm leading up to. I'm a rationalist, just like all the other fools, so why all the demoralizing? It's true that many things in this world operate according to rational principles; but let's think about history for a moment, especially from the perspective of a thinking and feeling being. You can say whatever you want about history, anything that'll enter your imagination. The only thing you can't say is that it's rational. The word itself sticks in your throat. Pony history is a catastrophe, it's a blood-filled, magically orchestrated mess—especially one thousand years ago—it's the reminder that life can be understood backwards but only ever lived forwards. How does a rationalist deal with that sort of knowledge? We don't; instead we plant our hooves in a tiny wedge, so as not to budge, and hurl accusations that if only other ponies were as wonderfully rational as us, then we'd be better off. Rationality, in any case, fails in its analysis to comprehend something as infinitely complex and terrible as the stretch of history. Even with all that said, even with all these cards laid bare on the table, even with all of our chips accounted for, I still can't help but view the world through a rational lens, otherwise it's as if I can't breathe!

"But here's what really ticks me off. The odd thing that has happened, which has correlated with the length of Celestia's sovereignty, is that there continues to be this emergence of moral and rational ponies, these lovers of ponykind, who make it their life mission to live as morally and rationally as possible. To make an admission—is it even remotely possible to love ponykind? Oh, sure, you can love ponykind from far away, like it were an abstraction. Ponies claim to feel that way all the time. But up close? Can you love ponies individually? You love ponykind and yet you're locked in a room with another pony: soon it becomes unbearable, their personality starts to oppress your self-esteem, and eventually you'll give way to genuine vindictiveness and hate that pony. Maybe it's because they take too long to eat, or they have a cold and keep blowing their nose, or even just the way their voice sounds. I find it, to my amazement, that the more you love ponykind, the more you start to loathe ponies as individuals. From afar it's a piece of cake, but loving ponies up close?—that's so impossibly difficult. The question becomes whether this comes from bad qualities in ponies, or is inherent in their nature. Even if I were capable of profound suffering, and another pony refused to acknowledge my suffering as if it were a kind of distinction, what would be the reason? Because I, let's say, have a dumb face, or a bad smell, or I once spilled coffee on his tie. To love a pony begging on the streets for a bit, you can't look in their faces; they have to be hid behind the newspaper, otherwise you'll immediately make an exception and be turned off by their hideousness. In the face of that the rationalists will claim that us ponies are naturally altruistic—we're born as blank slates, with an inherent inclination to the good, and it's only a wicked environment that corrupts us. 'We're products of our environment'—that's the phrase.

"Tell me, who was the first to proclaim that ponies are born good? And why so? Our desire to help others, to be kind, to share, to amend past sins—it's, on the contrary, the culmination of the environment Celestia has built up so carefully. First of all, the idea that us ponies come into this world naturally inclined to help others is absurd. Small fillies and colts can be awfully cruel to one another when adults aren't looking. If anything, we have to be taught to be good. Imagine, Airglow: our venerable Celestia has made it so it's even profitable to be good, or at least to follow her definition of good. In short, freedom of conscience has been taken from us. No longer do ponies have to slave away endlessly in contemplation over the blurry lines between good and evil. We don't have that choice, but it's okay, because we don't want it. We've readily and gladly submitted ourselves like sheep, and have given up our will. The greatest source of suffering is not knowing what is good. Ponies want to be treated like children: they want to be fed, to be led to the 'right' path, to have such a burden lifted from their shoulders. That's how Equestria prospers.

"Celestia's master plan is deceptive in the extreme, but it's worked so well that I even respect it. It's hard to take notice, because it's been so ingrained in our subconscious for so many centuries. For thousands of years there have been two kinds of ponies: moral slaves and moral masters. The former think they're moral because they refrain from doing things, while the latter do whatever they want, and what they do they deem moral. It takes a certain level of extraordinariness to prevent being enslaved by your own moral code—'I won't do it because it's not right.' Ponies like that are cowards. Truth is, the reason you don't do everything you want is because you're scared of the consequences. You'd love to commit bad deeds for your own gain, but you don't have the spine for it, so as an excuse you hide behind some facade of conventional morality. In history it was the strong and powerful ponies—the moral masters—who stood on no ceremony and reigned supreme. But not for long. Celestia has taken all of the traits typically found in the weakest of ponies—meekness, agreeableness, and self-sacrifice, to name a few—and she embedded them into her new definition of good. That was the only way to overthrow the other ponies in power. Those lot did whatever they pleased, so she destroyed them with the ultimate weapon: she guilted them.

"Take envy, for example. You've been taught to feel ashamed of your envy, led to think that it's a bad and destructive emotion that only serves to divide friendships. But who's to say I can't own up to my envy and embrace it? A moral slave will act out the lie, but a moral master will use their envy as a guide to fully actualize themselves. Everypony who makes us envious should serve as an indication as to what we one day could become. But now, all of that been transformed and subsumed into the immoral side, that which ought to be avoided. Facing up to your true desires is what the strong ponies chose to do, and Celestia knocked them down to make way for her vision of the world. The characteristics of good which hitherto had defined the strong ponies were turned on their head: now you have to be weak and 'below the rest' to be seen as a shining light for your neighbours. Not taking revenge? Now it's called forgiveness. Bowing before your nominal superiors? Obedience. Meekness and weakness are the new virtues. That's how it's been. Huh... am I losing you?"

"No, no, I'm listening," Airglow hastened to reply; she sounded like she were twinged painfully to being addressed so suddenly. "It's just that the way you're talking is really complicated, like you're reading from a book." She blushed slightly, as though in shame.

"I'm speaking too splendidly, eh? As if from a book?" replied Cluster with extreme readiness and a sort of sarcastic cadence, like he were purposefully assuming a mask of mockery: a bashful reaction to that remark, as if he refused to show any feeling as a display of pride. But he all too soon became aware of these sensations within him, and, after thinking over his fill, he changed his direction.

"Fine, maybe I am speaking as if from a book, and no habit has grown yet to account for that fact," he continued, but this time frowning ruefully. "If all this philosophizing is going over your head, then I'll speak more concretely, simply, in a manner even you could understand. I'm certain you're familiar with the legend of the Mare in the Moon—Nightmare Moon. Everypony knows it."

"You don't look too good," observed Airglow anxiously. "When you speak you look weird somehow, like you're pale in the face..."

"By the way, don't ask, because I've already brought it up with Celestia whether she really had a younger sister or not," Cluster went on, as if he were not listening to Airglow. "She gave me some kind of slyly sympathetic look and told me it's up to my interpretation—whether Nightmare Moon as a story ought to be taken literally or metaphorically. But after a lot of pressing, she conceded that 'many elements in the story have been invented for the sake of effect,' and, furthermore, that 'the assertion that Nightmare Moon didn't literally exist is the most sensible one.' Well, so be it. But stories don't have to be taken literally for them to have meaning. Sometimes a mere metaphor is more true than a material fact. Facts are extraordinarily deceptive and stubborn.

"About Nightmare Moon: her predicament boils down to a tale of jealousy. The ponies slept throughout her beautiful night, which altogether gave the impression of ungratefulness, she rebelled, et cetera, et cetera. This all occurred nine hundred and some years ago—close to one thousand, in fact. Nightmare Moon, I'd argue, came to a dilemma of 'either' and 'or'—that is, either good or evil. Everypony would pick the good, right? I would, too. But we all know that these ponies—these lovers of ponykind—sooner or later are revealed, towards the ends of their lives, to have been playing an indecent trick this whole time; that they've been untrue to and betrayed themselves. So, it brings us back to the dilemma: good or evil? Good would be to continue ruling beneath Celestia; evil is to rebel and trap the ponies in your endless night. You could even say that Nightmare Moon, even before she turned evil, wanted to overthrow her older sister. But wanting is very often, and even for the most part, completely at odds with reason; but even this might be praiseworthy. In hindsight what was Nightmare Moon's chief defect? 'A product of her damn environment'?—is that it? No, her defect was her constant lack of good behaviour—constant from the great flood of resentment, indignation, and inferiority indirectly bestowed upon her by her sister. It was a lack of good behaviour and, you could say, a lack of awareness.

"What if Nightmare Moon didn't intend to cast an eternal night over ponykind, and that that was only a temporary step to establishing her domain? It would seem likely that, having rooted herself as the sole monarch of Equestria, she would at once take control of the sun, and the days would continue as before. Well, would it have been for the better or for the worse? That's irrelevant; even if she were objectively a worse leader than Celestia, by measurements of GDP, social policy, and so on and so forth, still I can't in any good sense blame her for her actions. It came to pass that Nightmare Moon, coming face-to-face with the artificial dilemma of good and evil, chose to act not out of morals, but... out of love. Not romantic or platonic or material love, but a new, dignified love for all of life. She transgressed moral boundaries and attempted to create a new moral code. Naturally, her efforts were bungled, and she was put to rest by Celestia.

"But don't you see, Airglow? Ponies only revere Celestia, and consequently show a disdain for Nightmare Moon, because history has been set up such as only that line of reasoning is acceptable. Nightmare Moon was brave and foolish, but brave nonetheless."

Cluster stopped. He was apparently flushed from speaking, and from speaking with such enthusiasm. He frowned once more, as though terribly dissatisfied with himself.

Airglow, who all the while had listened to him silently, though towards the end, in great agitation, she had started many times to interrupt her brother's speech but sincerely restrained herself, suddenly broke out as if tearing herself loose.

"But that's crazy!" she cried, blushing. "You're defending Nightmare Moon because you hate Princess Celestia for what she's done. That's your ideal, sure, but it doesn't even work! Who would follow that?"

"You misunderstand," said Cluster, lowering an eyebrow. "Many ponies mistaken my criticisms for a personal disliking of Celestia; but that's completely wrong. I don't hate Celestia, per se, I only hate everything she represents. I ask you, you specifically: why can't there be at least one pony capable of great suffering, who's tormented by great sadness, who loves ponykind and expresses disagreement with Celestia? Is it a paradox, or what? But that's just the secret: for a pony who's wasted a million years on this pursuit, still they won't be cured of their love for ponykind. Maybe they'll reach the conviction that Celestia is good, or maybe just the opposite. It's all a waste of time, because that's how I happen to see it, me, with my limited rationality and my simple awareness of three spatial dimensions. In the end, none of it would have mattered. Why can't this freedom of conscience be granted and accept whatever outcome comes of it? It's not allowed for, that's why. Celestia is a tyrant—not in the traditional sense, no—Celestia is a moral tyrant. We're all enslaved to her will, and have been made to enjoy it."

"Maybe you're just like Princess Celestia herself then," suddenly escaped from Airglow, staring downwards, "which is by your own definition of her. And... and..."

"And what?" asked Cluster.

"And maybe that's why you don't care about the wellbeing of our family."

Cluster frowned, and suddenly a grey shadow came over his face.

"And what about loving life 'with your guts'?" said Airglow again, this time in sorrow. "How are you gonna live believing in everything you just said, what will you love it with? Please, Cluster, you can't endure it."

"Who knows?" said Cluster with a marked nonchalance. "Could be that I'll drown myself in depravity, just like Nova or the old-timer. It's a genetic force, but even that gets smashed in the face of individuality. It's my individual force that should endure everything."

Airglow was looking at him silently. Cluster cast a glance at the clock, noting the time, and got up from the couch.

"You're done eating, I can see. It's time you and I parted ways, sis." He used his magic to put the dishes in the sink, then he returned, threw on his saddlebag, and opened the front door. "I won't renounce anything I said today," he said again.

Airglow, with a heavy heart, followed him outside, but stopped at the porch. Suddenly, she strode up to him and softly kissed him.

"I can always appreciate affection," said Cluster in a firm yet passionate voice, "so thanks for that. However, any more delays would really be unforgivable. So, that's that. Goodbye." He in turn kissed her and began making his way down the road.

But he didn't make it more than five steps when he suddenly stopped, then a brief moment later turned around. Quite a new change had come over him, so much as that Airglow was taken aback by it. His face was twisted almost malignantly; his eyes glowed deep red under the moonlight; his mouth slowly spread into a morbid, crooked grin. Airglow observed all this and suppressed herself from shuddering.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I changed my mind," he told her bluntly. A certain harshness was pronounced in the emphasis of his words, to the point of insolence.

"W-what?" She stared at him almost with horror, like he had gone mad.

"I'll no longer protect the old-timer. If Nova wants to kill him, then that's life. I'll gladly let it happen. Serpent will eat serpent."

Those words flashed through Airglow's head like an arrow. For a second she looked at her brother with inexpressible worry. Then it all came into a whole, and she understood it at once.

"But... you can't..." she began to say, blinking rapidly as if unsure of her current reality.

"Goodbye," he told her for the last time that day, and, turning around, he left her there.
> Part III – Chapter I – A Narrator's Ideals
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


PART III

BROTHER CLUSTER TALE



* * *


Consider the following proposition, dear reader: better to have bad ideals as long as reality is good. Is that correct? 

I've managed to extricate myself from these real or imaginary contradictions of life by suggesting that we judge ponies not by what they are but by what they strive to become. I'm an awful rascal, but my ideals, on the contrary, are good. I've harboured them as sacred, saved them throughout my career as narrator. But that isn't enough. What prophet or heart-reader is able to penetrate and unscramble them, if the total reality contradicts them and is unworthy of them? None, I don't think.

I remember that I once spoke with Princess Celestia (yes, I'm very real), and she asked me, "Where do you get your ideals?" I positively refused to answer such a question, since no matter the debate we'd never reach an agreement. This is a most protracted controversy and, to me, most momentous. Have the ponies ideals, or haven't they? This is a question of life and death. The controversy has lasted too long, and it's reached that final point where to some ponies the ideals have been revealed as clearly as sunlight, while others are never taken notice of.

As for the moral—"better to have bad ideals as long as reality is good"—with how it's wound up, I'll be the first to tell you that this desire is wholly impossible to achieve: without good ideals, that is, without even vaguely specific longings for the better, no good reality can ever ensue. It's impossible. I will even positively assert that there would ensue nothing but a still more obnoxious abomination. Would you be so good as to agree, dear reader?

But, well, I'm leaving a loophole: if things look unbecoming at present, but with a clearly conceived desire to become better, that is, with ideals of a better future, someday we may even make up our minds and really become better. In any event, this is not at all impossible, that is, it's more conceivable than the proposition to become better with bad ideals, that being evil aspirations and what have you.

I hope, dear reader, that you do not grow angry with me for these few words of mine. I really can't help myself. Let each one of us adhere to his own opinion and wait for... something. I don't know what.

Before we continue on with the story, a few things should be noted. First, that the upcoming section of my chronology will be following in the hoof-steps of our Cluster. I do not know for certain if this is the right move, or if it might be owed to a certain underdeveloped loftiness on my part. I am very much so a paradoxical narrator, precisely because I sometimes break the rules with no notion of a goal, and do so for the mere revelry of spite. You know, it can sometimes be extraordinarily pleasant to act out in spite.

The second thing I wish to note is a brief conversation Cluster had with Princess Celestia, some five years back, about war. Keep in mind that war, at least in Equestria, is an almost taboo topic; that is, virtually everypony is unanimously anti-war. And, might I add, for good reason. As every other pony will tell you, war is a blight, it's a completely wild idea that only serves to add up the body count. Who in their right mind would defend war on moral grounds?

Cluster, being Cluster, did just that. But as is so common in his fashion, he defended the act of war not for a love of paradox or being a contrarian, but he defended it on firm and ardent principles. With the exception of Princess Celestia, every other pony scrutinized him dearly. Even to this day I cannot get a grasp on him.

"On the contrary," he told the Princess, "war is a useful thing. The only type of war that's generally despised is civil, fratricidal. It deadens the country: it'll last too long, and it brutalizes ponies for whole centuries. But, political and international wars—like the wars with Griffons, or even past wars between unicorns, pegasi, and earth ponies—they're useful in every respect, and, therefore, absolutely necessary."

"But one pony rises against the other, and that invariably leads to many deaths," said Princess Celestia. "What's necessary in this, my student?"

"Everything. But, to begin with, it's a lie that ponies go to war to kill each other or other creatures. On the contrary, they go to sacrifice their own lives. This is what stands in the foreground. And this is altogether different. There's no idea more lofty and majestic than to sacrifice one's life, or even to simply defend the cause of one's native land. Ponykind can't survive without majestic ideas, and I'm even inclined to suspect that certain ponies love war precisely because they seek to participate in them. It's an urge, and wars were only brought to an end via your rule. Isn't that right, Celestia?"

"So if it weren't for me, ponykind would openly love war?"

"Without question they would. Who feels depressed during wars? On the contrary, everypony is enheartened, everypony's spirits rise, and you don't hear about the usual apathy and boredom as in times of peace. And afterwards, when a war is over, ponies will like to reminisce about it even in the case of defeat. And don't believe the guards who, when attending war, shake their heads and say to one another, 'This is all horrible! What have we come to!' They're only being polite. In everypony dwells a holiday spirit. Nopony will admit these things: they'll say 'brute,' 'reactionary,' and in the end, nopony will dare praise war."

"You speak of these majestic ideas, Cluster, but can't all that be found without war? In times of peace, it's easier to better yourself."

"Dead wrong. The opposite is true. Lofty ideals perish during long periods of peace and, in its stead, we would normally develop cynicism, apathy, weariness, and this—almost for the sake of an idle pastime, and not for any important purpose. With peace the ponies will be obdurated. When peace lasts things would swing the other way. Peace dulls the feelings."

"You said that 'normally' ponies would develop a cynical worldview, but they haven't, have they?"

"Thanks to you they haven't."

"And isn't that a good thing?"

"I don't know."


* * *


Cluster reached the train station just in time. He found a single pegasus coachpony by his carriage.

"Are you currently available?" asked Cluster. 

"Certainly, sir," replied the coachpony.

"I'm going to Baltimare."

"Come along then."

They haggled for a minute on the price and eventually reached a consensus. Then, the coachpony walked back into the station house, got himself ready, came back, and harnessed up.

"Will you be in town tomorrow?" asked Cluster once more.

"Yes, sure."

"Do me a favour, would you? Stop and see Bronze Pocket, and tell him that I didn't go to Appleloosa. Can you do that?"

"Why not? I'll stop by. I've known Bronze for a long time."

"Here's a tip for you. I doubt you'll get anything from him."

"True enough, I won't," laughed the coachpony. "Thank you, sir. I'll be sure to do it."

Soon after they had taken off, the familiar rays of the golden sun showered upon the land. The hues of the sky brightened, one shade at a time, and in no time the sun was raised. There went the Summer Sun Celebration.

A prophecy for you, 6000 years from now...
> Part III – Chapter II – A Decisive Elaboration
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was extremely early in the morning upon Cluster's arrival in Baltimare—a fairly large town caught in a strange echelon of economical significance between the lesser-known Ponyville and the towering Canterlot. It was, all in all, a respectable place, with its fair share of taverns and a single casino.

First and foremost, some clarification would do us some good. Cluster was there to meet up with a friend of his, a gal by the name of Daisy Sprawl. He had met her some time ago; both attended Princess Celestia's university, but while Cluster dedicated himself with extraordinary conscientiousness, this friend of his dropped out after the first semester, not without a pang of regret. Throughout the whole semester, he recalled, Daisy had a virtuous and simple air about her, tinged with a late-blooming selflessness that one might even be able to admire, though without much imagination or a habit for initiative, and therefore she did not make many friends. He remembered approaching her one class to partner up for a project, and then, without even realizing it, he did all the work and still gladly shared the credit with her, as if indifferent.

Daisy was amiable when necessary and even expedient, but boring and awfully timid when being amiable ceased to be necessary. She knew how to be amiable on command, though the real her, in Cluster's opinion, wasn't so bad either. If, for example, she saw it necessary to be fantastic, original, a bit out of the ordinary, then her fantasy, of the most silly and unnatural kind, would be pieced together from earlier accepted forms that had long since became outdated. But even these eccentric characteristics had become faint within her, to the point of vanishment. Daisy had her petty moments, but also her honest and proactive ones. She did not speak eloquently, but modestly; and, moreover, it was difficult not to discern in her a very resolute character. One doubtless feature, however, that even Cluster did not fully grasp (though eventually he forgot about it), was her closeness to him. That is, during those university days she liked to be very physically close to him, never disagreed with him, and once even blushed when he asked her, "Will I be seeing you again?" following the end of the group project. Cluster had other friends back then, too, but just like Daisy they had long parted.

Cluster still kept in touch with her then, but after a year their communication became infrequent, to the point of frivolousness, and another year later they dropped out of each other's lives altogether. Now, many more years later, he had received a letter from her, imploring that he help her escape from a financial ditch. "Though the finances are besides the point, because it's worse than that," she wrote to him. And so Cluster decidedly ventured into Baltimare to see what all the fuss was about. She very well knew that he was Princess Celestia's pupil, and that he boasted with him a very handsome reputation.

The current morning was frosty; frozen yellow fog still hid from view the houses and all objects. Cluster, making his way down the sidewalk, looked around with an especially animated curiosity. He passed by a few ponies; while several waved with smiles at the pony they had never seen before—as common courtesy dictates in Equestria—he ignored them and went on his way, not so much out of rudeness but a distracted haste, as it were.

Daisy was always worrying about something, though she refused to spell it out in full for me, thought Cluster. He thought for another second. She got into the university by the skin of her teeth, but her grades were so low that she was forced to leave. Crazy to think how long it's been.

"Excuse me, sir, pardon me, sir," the voice of an elderly unicorn stallion with a scraggly beard rang from an alleyway. He was decked out in an old greatcoat and was almost kneeling with his hunched back.

Cluster stopped and looked at him. Something struck him as strange about the way this beggar composed himself, almost as if he were putting on an act, the way an actor does when getting themselves comfortable in a new role.

"Spare a bit, if you can, sir, it would do me much good, sir," squeaked the elderly stallion in his thin voice, indicative of a sort of crack-brained humour long forgotten.

"You're in luck," replied Cluster, making his way to the beggar and pulling five bits from his saddlebag. "I'm feeling generous today. Here you go," he said as he placed the bits in the beggar's pocket.

"Oh, thank you very much, sir!" exclaimed the beggar with animation, almost as if reaching out to touch Cluster. "You are a blessed pony, sir, very much blessed, sir, no doubt as Princess Celestia foresees it, sir—"

"Don't preach when it suits you, it might drive ponies away," dismissed Cluster, turning around. "Kick it to the curb, old-timer. Take care."

"Ho-ld on a minute," the beggar seemingly gasped out, quickly scrounging around in his coat with his magic. "I-I have a present for you, some flowers I picked for a blessed pony such as yourself!"

"Eh, they're probably dead by now." Cluster was already walking away.

"Right as ever, sir," the beggar's voice suddenly became clearer and more pronounced. "Here you go!" he let loose a sort of desperate battle cry, and, whipping out a knife with a wisp of magic, he charged at Cluster. He was sure to have impaled Cluster right then and there, the murdering scum, but was stopped short by a new aura of magic which had shone over his whole body and froze him in his tracks.

The beggar, realizing his position, stared at Cluster with a slowly unraveling horror as the latter turned around once more with his horn lit.

"I think I get it," said Cluster evenly and gravely.

The tricky beggar was trying to say something, but only frightened stammers left his lips. His trembling face was horribly twisted.

"You act as a pony in need, but you're actually a thief with a knife," continued Cluster. "When a pony stops by to donate, that tells you they're carrying more bits. After all, who gives to a beggar everything they've got? Smart, but today you were fishing in a storm, old-timer."

"I... can't... move," squeaked the beggar, stretching his neck, stretching his lips, with his pale and frenzied face; his left eye squinted.

Bright sparks began enveloping Cluster's horn. "I could kill you if I wanted, and make it look like self-defense. But for now..." A string of magic shot from his charged horn and thoroughly fried the beggar: the latter's eyes went white and he let out a strangled gasp; then, smoking and half-consciously moaning, he fell to the ground. Cluster's expression during this attack remained absolutely unchanged, as if he were only picking up a quill with telekinesis.

He grabbed the five bits from the thief's pocket and restored it to his own saddlebag. A few ponies in the distance, having heard the noise from his magic, were watching with the widest of eyes, faces totally plastered with shock.

"Call the guards," Cluster said to them, and he resumed his gait down the street. This scenario he could safely ignore. He wouldn't get anything out of it, or so he reasoned.


* * *


He was thankful for his sharp memory, because he managed to recall which house he was to visit without even looking at the address written to him. The place wasn't too big, nor well-lit for that matter, but homely and with a hay roof, just like the ones in Ponyville. He knocked on the door.

A few seconds of silence hung in the air. Cluster took the moment to look around the place. The front yard was small and the grass grey; there was a wooden fence surrounding it, but at least half the planks were bent and splintered. There was very little activity brewing in the area, which was normally quite barren.

"Come in, the door's open," came a female voice: Daisy's, to be sure.

She's not going to greet me herself? thought Cluster.

He went on in, through a hallway, and stopped in a living room. A little blue flame was burning in the hearth. The floor was hard—no carpet to be seen—and all of two short chairs were there. On the mantle stood a little picture in a silver frame of some ponies he did not recognize, an unlit candle, and a pile of letters and other writing parchments. The wallpaper was pale yellow and scrambled with scratches and lines, but one could hardly make it out from how faded it all was. A door to his left led to a bedroom, and to the right, down four or five steps, into an impossibly small and compact kitchen. 

Daisy, holding a pack of yellow papers with her magic, came from around the corner of the bedroom and stared almost with unexpected bewilderment at Cluster.

"Cluster, it's... been so long... I'm so glad you..." She could not piece her thoughts together, and stood there staring at him with great inquisitiveness, although she didn't stare at him but more towards the floor. She even advanced a couple of steps to meet him.

Cluster very nearly smiled, but thought better of it and kept his smile back. Then he reflected for a second, twisting his mouth somehow with impatience, as though waiting for her to say something else.

"I got your letter," he said at once, coming forward himself.

"You didn't plan on writing back first?" she asked rather innocently, loosely putting forward the remark as if not expecting any specific answer.

"I don't have much time to mince words, as a rule; but you've got your own goal here. So, what is it you need? Wait, let me put my saddlebag down first," he said, placing it just at the base of the hearth—a very casual and familiarizing expression in Equestria. "You said in your letter you wanted to pay me?"

"Well, yeah! What else would you visit me for? I'm really, really... not in a good spot. If you could just help... what'll it be?"

"You don't have to pay me... I mean..."

Daisy blinked her eyes, then after a few more confused exchanges she quickly set the papers down and led him into the kitchen, which was properly set up with a table in the corner, a black stove, cupboards, and whatever else was needed.

"What were you holding just now?" he asked.

"Those? Oh, bank notes. You wanna have a look?" she added a tad hastily, about to go back and get them.

"No, no, just curious."

"Gosh, it's been so long," she drawled, smiling weakly. "I give you my word, Cluster, outside the pleasure of meeting you, I really need your help."

She was staring slightly past his shoulder, as if in distraction. He made note of this.

"The pleasure is mutual; though, as you're probably aware, life isn't all pleasure. There's such a thing as business. You'll need to be a bit clearer with what you need from me."

"Oh, right, thank you, thank you," said Daisy, considerably taken aback.

"How long have you been living in Baltimare?" he asked with readiness, and without the least intention to conceal it.

"It's been..." She scrunched her face. "Just over two years? Yeah, that."

"Do you have any means? How have you been getting by?"

He sensed a certain strain in her tone, like she were conflicted over numerous thoughts and was not being upfront with him about it.

"Means? Like a job?" she asked.

"Yeah, like a job," he replied.

"I'm a secretary. I mean, I was a secretary... at a consulting firm... I was living in Vanhoover before then with my dad, but then we came here."

"You lived with him here, in Baltimare, since two years ago?"

"Right."

The more he questioned her the more relaxed and at ease she responded. There were still hints of cautious nervousness inclined on her countenance, but even so, she was speaking with him more directly and actually staring him in the eyes for longer periods of time.

"So," Cluster went on, "my understanding of the situation is, of course, limited to your letter. The pieces are a tad scattered, don't you think? Your dad recently passed away, and you're bumping into obstacles regarding the funeral? This is a money problem?"

"Sort of. Money and scheduling. I know my letter must have come out of nowhere for you—but you really were the only pony I could think of."

Daisy grew more animated as she spoke, and a faint flush emerged on her face, though her voice was quiet as before. Cluster followed her words with sympathetic interest, though seemingly held back by a weary cynicism, as it were.

"So give me the whole thing, unabridged. Let's start with your dad's expenses. How much was left? Have they all been paid?"

"Wait, wait," she rapped out, striding out of the kitchen for a moment, then came back with the pile of letters he spotted on the mantle. She scattered them on her side of the table, eyes darting back and forth. "Um... here you go," she said again more resolutely, after having organized a set of letters in a certain order.

"What is this?" asked Cluster, grabbing hold of the letters.

"All the exchanges between my dad and the ponies he was in business with. It's everything you need to know, I think."

Cluster looked at her. "You could just tell me yourself, don't you think?"

"I'm not the best at words. I don't think I'd explain it all the best. I think it's better if you read those."

She was tapping her hooves together quietly beneath the table, keeping her line of sight low as if in shame. She was in expectation—operating under a positively ceaseless yet naive expectation. She knew that Cluster possessed an in-depth knowledge of finances, and he knew that she held him up in a hopeful regard. As a matter of fact,  it is well known that a young pony living a relatively sheltered life, when excessively carried away by passion, becomes completely ready to expect hope where there is none; not only that, but they slip away from reason and act like a silly child, even if they are educated and, dare I say, wise.

He let out a small sigh and read away. They sat there in silence, for some ten minutes. The longer this quiet went on the more Daisy became convinced that he'd leave her right then and there, and that there was nothing to efface this. She thought up of different ways to explain her situation, but concluded that these were all stupid.

For the sake of not boring the reader, I won't recount every letter Cluster read through, and will, instead, provide a brief summary of all the facts he pieced together to get a general idea of the story behind Daisy's request.

Her father, who was until recently working for the public service sector, had retired owing to a disease developing in his system, one which gave him monthly seizures. He got into business with a well respected yet equally feared group in Baltimare, the details of which weren't exactly clear, other than that they worked for several information brokers and "underground" manufacturers.  The father needed the extra bits, so he made a deal where he would deliver certain sums of money between their contractors and receive his pay. This was only a seasonal job, yet very shady. As it turned out, Daisy's father had been loaning the money of this group to a friend of his, who usually repaid the money with interest. This time around, though, his friend had not repaid the money, and his employers were starting to ask questions. The added levels of stress fueled yet another seizure, but this time it was so strong that it ended up being fatal, and so he died. Now, the deceased stallion—and by extension Daisy herself—was in debt, with no way to pay it back. She was putting off the whole ordeal to plan for the funeral, but found this to be impossible from constant harassment.

How many nights did she cry herself to sleep, owing to this whole predicament? Cluster came to the conclusion that this, too, was unfortunate, though terribly irresponsible. This would explain why she was so vague in her initial letter, as if frightened he would decline due to all these complications. Was Daisy running back and forth, looking for other solutions? Most likely. But this, in any case, was irrelevant.

Eventually Cluster broke the silence.

"Okay, I can help," he said.

"R-really?" she said, almost as if in a daze.

"What're you surprised for? You asked and I ventured into it. And since I'm already here, it'd be counterproductive to decline, because then I'd have to head back home. I already made up my mind back in Ponyville anyway."

Though Daisy could not express it in words, one could tell by the features in her face that she was moved.

"Thank you, Cluster," she said with feeling, leaning slightly in on the table. "If there's anything you need, just ask."

"Yeah, well, maybe you could serve me some hot soup when this is all over, preferably peas and dandelions."

He rose from his seat, grabbed his saddlebag, and made his way to the front door. Along the path he snatched the bank notes and stored them on him. Daisy followed behind him almost affectionately and with a weak smile.

"Are you going to their apartment first? I can come with you... if you want."

"No thanks. I would rather go alone." He opened the door. "You stay here. I'm heading to the apartment your dad's associates rented out—gotta make sure of some things, like confirm those financial irregularities. Then, hopefully, off to Filio's house."

They bid each other farewell and he was off, leaving Daisy by the door, watching him intently till he turned a corner and vanished. The way she spoke with him just then—it reminded him of Airglow.
> Part III – Chapter III – Head-to-Head
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, first of all, none of this was self-evident. Cluster needed to familiarize himself with certain necessities, like a system he would abide by. That is, he needed some framework to use. The money—that much he could get behind. This whole business operation—not so much. In fact, it was likely that he knew a few ponies around these parts. He had lived in Baltimare just last year, but was obliged to leave, owing to unfortunate circumstances.

Still the matter could not be deemed simple. Would anything extra be accrued to this debt? Interest, for example? No laws would get in the way, Cluster was sure of it. He entertained the idea of searching for this friend of Daisy's father, but thought better of it. Even if it were possible, he would delay too much to get to the end of that. The more you delay your work, the harder it will be to finish. If you haven't finished half your work by midday, for example, then it's safe to say you won't finish much at all for the rest of the day. Cluster was almost mortally averse to procrastinating on anything. The whole situation could be completed in a single day, so why wait? No, he would march on, muddle through, as it were. He was here now, so... may as well, really... but now I'm getting confused.

To avoid another one of my fits (I do apologize, really), I will dive right back into the current events. It transitioned unexpectedly, that is, not at all how Cluster imagined it. He was walking down the street, en route to the apartment (he recognized this apartment, too; he rented out a room in it last year) and he was confronted with the disjointed and raspy remarks and exclamations of a group of ponies. These voices were not at all in agreement, their tones stacking and overlapping onto one another rather chaotically. It came from right around the corner, on the path he was taking, by a little park with a bench and tree. As Cluster drew closer the voices became more distinct: three stallions, one mare.

Indeed, three unicorn stallions donning blazers, scuffed up at the neckties, dirty and ill-kept. The mare in question was decked out in a plain white dress. She was standing her ground, that is, staring back at the stallion with a defeated look of insolence in her face, but her eyes in particular gave away its quiet meekness. She looked like she was defending something, not for her sake, but for somepony else. The main stallion in the middle, who was closest to her, had a visibly angular, hurried, and irritable expression—and, in fact, they all looked rather hateful. One of the other two was the biggest one, gruff, while the last was the tallest yet gaunt in stature. In all this speech Cluster made out the intonations of spiteful and faltering collisions of trust and fate.

"Marble Solid said you'd agreed to pay him more!" the stallion in the middle rattled out.

"I'll give you every last bit, with interest," the mare was prattling in a strained voice, staring back at the other two behind her tormentor with desperation. "Just give me a week. Please."

"Marble's no banker!" the stallion spat out. "He's an honest pony—you pay on time, you get protection. You don't pay..."

He suddenly lifted a hoof and struck the mare flat across the face. She squeaked, tumbled back, holding her cheek.

"Help!" she cried, tears beginning to submerge from her eyes.

"What you hollering for, stupid wench?" laughed the other stallion from behind, the large and gruff one. "You hoping for what? A knight in shining armour?"

"Close enough," said Cluster as he approached them.

The mare, still all atremble, gazed at him in bewilderment.

"Keep out of this, you," said the leader. "Not your concern."

"Not your concern," the other one chimed in dumbly.

"Just like to know what's going on here, if that isn't asking too much," said Cluster sternly and seriously.

"He don't look like he's from around here," remarked the thin one rather arrogantly.

"Wait..." The leader's ears twitched. "You a fancy unicorn, or what? Yeah, yeah... You look the type. Tell me, do you swindle other ponies' magic? Is that your business?" he added with a glare.

"Do I what?" Cluster was, at last, taken aback.

"Pah! You look the type to steal it from ponies. Eh? Or maybe..."

"Nah, he don't look the hoodwinking type," said the gruff stallion.

"Scurry off, you, before there's trouble," his friend concluded.

Cluster cast a glance at the frightened mare, then paused, thinking for a second.

"She's got somepony else's protection now," he replied to them.

"Really!" guffawed the leader. "Who would that be?"

"Mine." Right away his horn glowed brightly; sparks of magic shot out and sizzled on the ground.

"Ah! This lad..." cried the leader, twitching all over. He, too, lit his horn, but before he could think of a single spell, a small wall of light flashed right in front of him: the ground shook, and a shockwave nearly threw them off their hooves. The stallion blinked rapidly, and at last observed a sizeable crater right at the edge of his fore-hooves. On top of that, he felt that something on him was missing, and noticed that his blazer had been disintegrated off his body.

"Don't underestimate me," warned Cluster, showing them, by the expression on his face, that this attack took no effort whatsoever on his part.

"Who are you?" wheezed the stallion, stepping back.

"Cluster Tale, from Canterlot. You better get out of here. I don't want the situation to escalate anymore than you do."

"Pah! Forget this!"

"I don't get paid enough for this!"

"You don't get paid at all, you dolt!"

The three stallions ran off, looking back in anger. Clearly these were low-hanging fruit, not at all powerful unicorns like Cluster. He was thankful for that, even with a sort of sardonic satisfaction. That talk about stealing magic, swept through his mind, could it be a coincidence? I'll have to write a report later. Not now.

"You okay?" he asked the mare, helping her up. Her left cheek was slightly bruised, but nothing too bad.

"Thank you," she replied quietly, looking down, almost as if she were ashamed to be rescued by him.

"Whatever those guys wanted from you, it isn't worth it," he advised. "That one hit you, too. Assault is a crime—you should take it to the police station."

The mare nodded out of what seemed like propriety. "I'll... I'll keep that in mind," she said again. While she was quiet, and certainly meek, Cluster could detect a wildly disagreeable air about her, a sort of caged-up insolence that she dared not let out, of which she most likely assumed was unnoticeable. It quickly dawned on him that there was nothing else he could do, and that for all intents and purposes this mare could find her own way without him. He had given her his piece of advice—that was it.

"Take care," he said mechanically, and at once took off in his direction in a slow gait.

My guess is starting to assume the shape of probability, he was thinking. Baltimare is on the verge of change, that much I'm certain of. Last time I came to that apartment, it was managed by the landowner, the widow Madame Blank. She had a caretaker, too. Was it her sister? Or... niece? I remember when I was staying there... couple of stallions I was associated with, no do-gooders, though... how was it that one day, before I met Snowfall? I moved the chair closer to the window... for some reason... I quietly opened the door, locked it with my key, from the tenant, and went to the shed. The door was closed but not locked, and I was waiting, but I was waiting for nothing, yet I wanted to prove to myself that I was still in full possession of my mental faculties. I decided finally that I'd leave, so I went downstairs. About three hours later we were all drinking tea in the other room and playing a friendly game of cards. Who was it that recited poetry again?

Cluster's strange flow of thoughts were cut short when he realized that he was not walking alone, but, in his peripheral vision, he noticed something else following him. He turned around and saw that mare from before in the white dress.

I guess I was walking a little too slowly...

"Where are you heading?" he asked suddenly, stopping in his tracks.

The mare stopped, too, and stared at him almost defiantly yet respectfully.

"My house is this way," she replied, gesturing to the sidewalk they were on. "Right there, see? I'm turning down the block." She briefly told him her address, as though this were a business meeting. Cluster remembered this.

A sullen thought, the sign of a fleeting idea, passed through his whole body like a vile sensation.

"You know," began Cluster, his lips contorting into a strange and mocking frown, "I practically saved your life there. You owe me a lot more than a thank you."

The mare's face winced as if in pain. Her eyes, finally met with his, burned like coals. Their expression gave one a cold feeling.

"Relax," Cluster hurried to say, "I was only joking. What's your name?" he asked at once, as to put a quick end to it.

"Sweet Scroll," she replied, almost in a whisper, but somehow quite unpleasantly, and looked away.

Cluster paused.

"Do you come from around here?" he asked at length.

"No."

"Where then?"

"Manehattan."

"Been here long?"

"Two weeks." She spoke more and more anxiously, as though being discouraged.

"What are you, by the way?"

"Just..."

"Just what? I mean what are you, socially?"

"I'm a midwife."

"Midwife? Hmm... Get much out of that job?"

"Yes."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"Got a mother or father?"

"Just..."

This "just" meant: leave me alone, please. Cluster felt some curiosity encouraging him to keep asking questions, but he thought better of it.

"For all I know you might be very busy," he concluded, "and I'm getting in the way of something. I'll be going now." He turned around again.

"Don't get me wrong," she said suddenly, much to his attention, "I'm grateful for what you did back there, really... just..."

"It's okay," remarked Cluster, "it was no big deal. Take care."

He had glanced at her for a second, as if acknowledging something, but he was off on his own way just as quickly.


* * *


This, incidentally, happened to be his old apartment, the one in which he rented a room over a year ago, when he was living in Baltimare for reasons of academic research. In the letters Daisy gave him it said that the main dealerships occurred in Filio's house, but to go without a promissory note to pay for the debt would be useless, and so he was conveniently pointed to the old apartment. Some names he happened to recognize, two in particular: there was Pillow Chin, the drunkard who was nevertheless given a great deal of responsibility in managing his companions' finances, as well as a tall, quick-witted, and bashful fellow in his own right; second, there was Flapper, a clerk and an eternally muddleheaded stallion, whose most memorable characteristic was a strand of hair on his mane that ostensibly refused to lay flat and was forever pointing upwards, no matter how much he brushed it down. A couple of other names flew over his head.

He remembered that the room he occupied was small yet decently kept. The caretaker came to him every day with a tea tray. The landowner, Blank, occupied a larger room on the first floor. Her husband worked in an office and was always away from night till morning. The caretaker, who was about forty years old, also had a cousin there, who cut up and remade new clothes out of old ones, and also frequently left the apartment to sell what she had sewn. Since Cluster was often left alone, he met the two ponies mentioned above, who were staying on the third floor.

Cluster was generally well liked, largely because he kept to himself, intruded on nopony's business, and helped out whenever he could. One time, for instance, when the husband was selling off a house, a penknife was lost, and Blank was absolutely sure that the caretaker stole it, and she nagged over her for hours on end, and punished her by cutting her month's salary in half—only for that month, that is. The caretaker cried her eyes out, though everypony ignored her. Cluster found the penknife in the backyard the next day, returned it, and commented that it had likely fallen out of the open window by a passing wind. The explanation was examined, even scrutinized, but in the end things returned to normal.

Another day, when an official and his family were staying in two rooms adjacent to each other, the power had gone out, and Cluster helped to restore it—after accepting some compensation for it, naturally. That same day he had a lively conversation about Equestrian diplomacy with the official, who came to realize that he was Princess Celestia's student. He left the week after.

Despite all this, most ponies were drinking a lot then, and were full of consciousness. Ponies came in and out. Eventually the faces became blurry, hard to remember, as it were. It was better, he reasoned, that there was little attachment to this place. That could even help him focus.

The apartment was starting to fall into shambles from poor maintenance. The entry hall was well lit, but past it, to the second floor, many of the windows were boarded up, and Cluster only saw a few candles on a little table that was producing the light in an otherwise dark building. Despite all the empty space, walking in still felt like the walls were closing in on you, and the stairs creaked when you stepped on them.

Cluster, still on the first floor, went and knocked on the landowner's door. He heard a bit of scrambling within, a few voices, and the door opened to reveal an elderly mare, with squinting eyes, a crooked nose, and a bare forehead.

"Yes, yes, I'm here. Do you want something?"

"Don't you remember me, Madame Blank?" said Cluster.

She stared at him for a whole ten seconds.

"Are you a keeper?" she asked in vexed confusion.

Guess not...

"It's Cluster. Cluster Tale. I'm Bronze Pocket's son."

"Is it somepony you know?" he heard the caretaker's voice from within the room. "Oh... Cluster Tale!"

"Forget it!" Cluster called back. "Look, I only want to know if either Pillow Chin, Flapper, Deadbeat, or Rave Note are present."

"Hmm..." Blank fidgeted in her spot, fixing Cluster with a suspicious and eerie look. "Most probably not, or probably they don't want to be bothered."

"How about for this?" Cluster lifted five bits from his saddlebag and placed it in Blank's hooves. This had an immediate effect.

"Third floor, last room down the hall, the one with the broken window!" she said sharply. "Eh, somepony ought to fix that thing before another pony cuts themselves. It's protocol."

"Thanks." Cluster nodded and headed up the steps. That was easy, he found, which was to their disadvantage in any case. The spell of the place was becoming nauseating; he'd drive it away from his head. Little by little, though, he'd get used to it, adding to his vexation.

When he got to the third floor he went to the room and made out some voices—a few he recognized, others not at all.

"The ball goes 'round and 'round the prokes," one voice was new, and it was laughing, "till it defeats all your chances, because sometimes you'll get red ten times in a row. Ha, ha!"

"When Rover is pleased and not moping"— this was Flapper —"you boys are cheerful and talk cleverly." It sank into Cluster's mind that they were playing cards, either preference or trente et quarante. Or maybe blackjack. Another voice—yes, this was the one he remembered, Pillow Chin—was reciting poetry, some verse or other from the Star Swirl era.

They were evidently discussing some important matter before Cluster arrived; it broke into trivial digressions, and some of them were irritatingly trying to get back on track. Without knocking he opened the door and went into the room to make himself known. None of them paid more than the slightest attention to his coming, which was strange, because Cluster hadn't seen two of them for over a year, and to the other two he was a complete stranger. They were together at a table, playing cards, with a bottle of who-knows-what to go around. In the corner was a roulette table, set up on a stand, as if waiting to be played. There were several saddlebags laying on the floor. At that moment Flapper looked at him with some perplexity.

Judging by the music-based cutie mark, Rave Note was the fellow furthest from him: an unremarkable unicorn, a military type, with a cold demeanor; honest enough, but worshipping any success, and almost only capable of discussing promotions. He was some sort of distant relation to Flapper. By process of elimination, the other fellow, Deadbeat, an earth pony, treated all of his friends, if not politely, then at least passably. It was easy to offend him.

"I hope none of you are busy," remarked Cluster with vague sarcasm, scanning each one of them.

"Naturally not," said Rave Song, "but you weren't invited."

"Cluster, you want to come, too?" asked Pillow Chin with displeasure, avoiding his eyes.

"Do you really think," Flapper broke in presumptuously and fervently, like an impudent lackey boasting of his master's decorations, "do you really think Rover'll pay Cluster, after coming out of the blue like that? He'll only stand on a half-dozen."

"No, no, I don't want to be part of whatever you're talking about," Cluster cut in. "And besides, I don't know anything about this so-called half-dozen."

"So why are you here?" Deadbeat was the last to speak—he asked this somewhat agitated, apparently even offended.

"On business. I'd like to meet your manager, Black Rover, if it could be helped."

"It can't," spat Deadbeat spitefully.

"You have to be on good terms first," said Pillow Chin, frowning.

"Seriously, who is this guy?" Rave Note threw in for anypony to answer.

"Cluster Tale?" Flapper twisted his face. "He's from Canterlot."

"He's a magic researcher," added Pillow Chin. "You being here now, Cluster, is very awkward. I mean, it's awkward timing."

And at once Deadbeat began to get up from his chair, most likely to leave.

"I'll be blunt," said Cluster, "Daisy's father, a certain lieutenant, passed away recently, and he's incurred quite the debt with Rover."

"So you're here for that!" exclaimed Flapper. "Ah, so you're running errands now?"

"Enough," said Deadbeat, rising. "Handle him, if he's so eager. I hate this whole fiasco." He trotted out of the room, leaving for real.

Pillow Chin barely nodded. Flapper, who was in some sort of annoyance, gave Cluster the oddest glance.

"Go to Filio's house," said Flapper, after a pause.

"I need a signed bank note to get in, otherwise I won't be accepted there," retorted Cluster in the calmest of tones.

"Hmm, and you'll give the money now?" muttered Rave Note in some embarrassment. "That is, pay the debt, or...?"

"How much?" asked Cluster.

Pillow Chin scrambled around in one of the saddlebags, pulling out a stack of small papers. He flipped through them, humming to himself, as it were.

"Twenty thousand," he declared at length.

Cluster did not expect this. He almost flinched in surprise.

"Twenty?" he said, deep in thought. What did you get yourself into, Daisy?

"That's four zeros!" cried Flapper.

"I'm very annoyed at myself for forgetting," said Pillow Chin, putting away the papers. "So, Cluster, does that interest you?"

"All right, all right, I got it," he huffed. He stopped short and began pacing the room with great annoyance. As he paced, Flapper started tapping his hooves in impatience.

Eventually Cluster stopped, and told them, "Just sign the thing already. I'll pay for it."

"R-ea-lly!" cried Flapper in a cracked voice. He hunched over, staring carefully at Cluster. "You'll pay all twenty thousand?"

"Yes, all."

"That took a turn!" Rave Note suddenly roused himself. "Though, we can't do much. You'll get what you want, then head over to Filio's house. I trust you have the address. You see, I've also got to stop by at... Not far from here..." he added, in a somewhat apologetic voice.

"To business, gentlecolts," said Pillow Chin. "Say, Cluster, would you care for a round of roulette?"

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm done with that. Fate doesn't play favourites."

"But the skill is there," remarked Flapper.

"No skill, it's pure chance."

"Ah! If you say so."

They had Cluster sign a special bank note and he stored it in his saddlebag.

"Good luck dealing with the infamous Black Rover," said Flapper, laughing. "He beats his employees, you know!"

"Tell that to yourself, not me," replied Cluster, and he took off in extraordinary haste.
> Part III – Chapter IV – Alacrity
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Daisy, still at that hour, was sitting on her couch reading a book. Over the course of time that Cluster had been away, she read over the letters several times, scanned over recent newspapers, all in order to learn something, anything, new. But she had no such luck. When the door opened and Cluster entered in, she did not rise to meet him, but somehow heaved herself all up and looked with alarm at him.

"Twenty thousand?" he said to her, not imperiously but matter-of-factly, but he emphasized his words so much that she couldn't help but feel that he was angry. "I wasn't expecting so much."

"I-I didn't know it was all that!" she replied, jumping up, her face turning pale. "Please don't be mad, you don't have to do anything, I just wanted you to tell me what to do, and I... and..."

"Hey, hey, slow down, I didn't mean to sound harsh. Just that—you ought to know that twenty grand isn't exactly pocket change."

"You're completely right," muttered Daisy, bowing her head, still letting this information sink in. "I really, honestly had no idea, no clue. I thought, maybe, one or two thousand, or three max. But then you... I mean... with all that's happening..." She plopped back down on the couch, trying her best to conceal any shame. Her head was spinning, which prevented her from speaking all that coherently.

"So what will you do?"

"Me? Oh..." She bit her lip, turning over many unpleasant ideas that had been stirring up in her. "I don't know. I mean, I'll have to work at least two jobs, that's what I've been planning. Just to fund the funeral I'll be forced to make a deal with them, making monthly payments, and that means reducing the costs of everyday items that I don't need. Just what's... necessary."

"But what about compound interest? Banks do this. Imagine if they increased the debt twenty percent every month? You'd end up paying almost ten times the twenty grand, even working two jobs."

Daisy cried in despair, burying her face in her hooves. She felt like she was surrounded by a dark fog, cold and distant, with nowhere to turn to, even forgetting that Cluster was there. No, she was convinced that Cluster was going to leave, letting her fend for herself, aside from giving her some basic financial advice. She was even breathing with some difficulty.

"Thankfully for you," began Cluster, with the virtuous triumph of a benefactor, "I think I'm going to cover for you."

Daisy slowly yet surely turned her head towards him; she stared at him senselessly, blinking as if unsure who she was talking to. "I... I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"I've got a bank note signed. Come on, we'll go to Filio's house and get this thing over with. And then? Then we'll prep for the funeral. Don't get flustered; I'm not going anywhere."

"But are you really... really... gonna pay for everything?" She was almost leaning forward, utterly dumbfounded.

"Yes, I will. What did I just say?"

Daisy's mouth was moving, but no words were coming out, causing her lips to merely tremble mutely. Suddenly, as if some new, sudden illumination struck her in the head, she rushed over to him, tears gushing from her eyes, and hugged him.

"I don't deserve this!" she cried with extreme feeling.

Cluster patted her on the back, giving her the moment to let it all out.

"Don't mention it," he said, though even when trying to come off as friendly he still sounded cold. "Nopony 'deserves' anything. The world was here before you. Money is the only thing that matters—the rest is conversation. But, anyway, we should start going. I might need you, depending on what they ask me, like any questions about your family history."

"You're amazing, Cluster!" she exclaimed, looking at him like he were her salvation. "I can never thank you enough—" She was interrupted by her own tears. "B-but wait, what about your own money? You'd really give up so much from your own account? Won't that set you back?"

"Well... After the tenth setback, you get used to the feeling."

"But I—I mean, it's just so amazing of you..." She wiped the tears from her eyes, still not fully convinced that this was real. 

"Let's go," said Cluster in a sort of half-whisper. "The sooner we finish this the better." She nodded ecstatically and tailed behind him.

I'm not amazing. I'm not...

"By the way," he said, after a minute of walking, "I bumped into some ponies who may have been working for Black Rover."

"When was that?"

"Just before I got to the apartment. Something to do with... Anyway, I also met this mare, a midwife. Can't say if she works at the hospital or operates independently."

"A midwife?" muttered Daisy with some vague familiarity. "Wait, that midwife"— she spoke in a different voice —"did you catch her name?"

"Yeah, I did. Address, too. You know anypony called Sweet Scroll?"

"I do!" Daisy smiled. "We're not very close, but I've helped her a couple of times before. I know her. Is there something you need to know?"

"No, not really, or at least not right now. Just curious."

"Oh, okay. If you say so."


* * *


Filio's house was—

Ah, hold on! I didn't mention to the reader who this "Filio" character is, did I? That name, believe it or not, holds much weight, even of the mysterious sort, so that even I, the narrator, am not completely fixed on all of the facts of this pony's life. I won't go into the history of any family trees or anything, owing to the need for brevity. The last thing I want is to bore you. In any case, for the sake of establishing some context, I will recount how this house, as it were, came to be.

Filio was (or maybe still is) an officer in the army, part of a special unit that is often sent abroad. In his last expedition, right before he left, he bought a house in Baltimare. Let it be known that I do not like Filio all that much; sometimes I even quite hate him. He used to be a pretty, frisky colt. He was always bad with ponies, but he nevertheless graduated from the academy, because he had his protectors. In his last year he received an inheritance—five millions bits!—and because the rest of the students were relatively poor before him, including myself, he would brag, and often say, "It's not bragging if you can back it up!" A real swindler! Eh... no? That's just me? Anyway, anyway... despite his glory and high honours, everypony, apart from a very few, minced around Filio, the more so the more he bragged. They minced not for the sake of profit, but just so, because he was a strong pony with many talents. Besides, it was expected among us to regard Filio as an expert in etiquette and good manners. That last line really irritates me. I disliked the resounding, arrogant tone of his voice, his admiration for his own wit. I even disliked his handsome and intelligent face, two things that I have been told I lack. It was almost impossible to criticize him, because he always had something to say.

I'm sorry. I'm making this about me. Truth be told, I was the only one who disliked him; Filio got along with everypony else just fine. Was his "bragging" really bragging, or was it just me? Even if I ever got the best of him, he would get the best of me several times, not out of spite, but jokingly, that is, in passing, and with a merry laugh. So, he succeeded in the game of life, bought this house, and opened up some sort of business. Nopony knew what. This other pony, Black Rover—a bitter and angry unicorn, the type to never greet ponies below him on the street, from a fear of compromising himself—he came into the picture and took over. Some months later and Filio left, though the house was still under his name. What was his relation to Rover? Were they friends, or only business partners? Did Filio plan for all of this, or was Rover running something shady under Filio's nose, something he never signed on for? These questions, while interesting, are not relevant for this story.

Last time I saw Filio he was mincing and twining around the daughters of some captain. In no time at all he had gone very much to seed, though he was still quite handsome and adroit; he had begun to grow fat even! Still, he was quite handsome, and that was when he departed Baltimare. Black Rover was quite magically powerful, even for a unicorn; he operated within the underground market, and he was very well aware of Cluster's existence. It just so happened that those three stallions from whom Cluster saved Sweet Scroll reported back to Rover.

(I suspect the reader will think that I'm throwing them a dash of foreshadowing, that Filio will make a sudden and unexpected return, to introduce some fantastic element in the events of my story. This, I say to your potential disappointment, is not that case. I never made any promises that I was a good narrator. I am only choosing to explore the everyday trivialities of real life. Don't you recall?—realism inflicts tragedy on our lives, or something like that.)

Cluster and Daisy had reached Filio's house. The house was old, gloomy, and spacious, with outbuildings and a cottage in the yard. On the ground floor lived Filio's married son with his family, as well as a distant relative, the elderly sister of this relative, and Rover's unmarried daughter. Both the children and their clerks were cramped in their quarters, but Rover occupied the upper floor all by himself. He had a servant who brought him food and drinks, made his bed, and so on. When the arrival of Cluster and Daisy was announced, Rover at once gave the orders not to admit them. To get in you had to knock on the front wooden gate, which was connected to a tall wooden fence. Once inside you could go to the front door.

"Sorry, but no arrivals are permitted at this time," the servant told Cluster.

"I have the bank note," reproached Cluster. "See? It's signed for a certain sum owed to Mr. Rover. I think he would be very pleased to receive this."

The servant withdrew to inform Rover of this information.

To be blunt, Rover absolutely hated Cluster. He always took his poker face for a facade of extraordinary and insufferable arrogance. He questioned the servant on some details, received unsatisfactory answers, and still refused to let them in.

"I'm afraid he doesn't want to see you," the servant concluded.

"What do we do now?" asked Daisy in a low voice, frowning.

Cluster stood there, deep in thought.

"Look," Daisy went on, smiling nervously at him, "you've done so much for me, Cluster. It's okay. I can come back tomorrow. He'll surely receive me if I'm by myself."

"Don't you know who I am?" Cluster addressed the servant curtly and sternly, giving him a dark look. The servant stared at him in some surprise.

"Why yes, Cluster Tale," the servant replied.

"And do you know Princess Celestia?" Cluster kept on pressing with growing sternness.

"I, uh..." The servant blushed at his own hesitation. Cluster took a step closer, and the servant felt like he was towering over him. "Why yes, Princess Celestia..."

"And don't you know, my good sir, that I'm her number one student?"

"Well, uh, that has no bearing on—"

"No bearing on what?" Cluster interrupted.

The servant stared with nervous and frightened eyes; he swallowed.

"Not only am I her student," Cluster went on, "but because of that, I'm granted many privileges. I can walk into her private archives whenever I please, for instance. Guards bow down to me in Canterlot. I lead a research team there. I've been placed within the top ten most powerful unicorns of the last century. In short, I have power—if you can't make an admission for me, then something's clearly wrong in this social order. Who do you think you are?"

"I... I'm sorry," muttered the servant, his face deathly pale. "I'm just... I had to confirm..."

"What're you stuttering for? Let me in."

"Yes, sir, right away, sir," said the servant in a sort of servile haste, as if he were scared to push back anymore. He unlocked the gate at once and let them enter.

"I didn't know you could do that!" said Daisy, eyes wide in astonishment.

"I can't," replied Cluster. "Don't tell Celestia."

On the way in, just at the entrance to the living room, Cluster spotted Rave Note standing solidly by, as if waiting for something. He had a pensive expression, and when Cluster walked in Rave Note cast a glance towards him, but passively, as one does when a new pony enters the room. As a whole, the sides and corners of this big room remained in shadows.

He's on business here, too? thought Cluster. He looked around—the place was fairly large, and the ceiling was high. More of a manor than an ordinary house, really.

"You can go," he told the servant. "I'll introduce myself to Black Rover."

"Are you sure—?"

"Worst he'll do is chew me out. I've been chewed out before."

The servant gave a quick, low bow, and made haste out of the room.

There was half a minute of silence. Cluster looked at Rave Note once more: the latter would occasionally stare at the clock by the mantel. Occasionally it also seemed that the mysterious resoluteness in him, a product of his military years, would abandon him, and he looked like he were contemplating (even struggling with) some flood of ideas.

Cluster, for the sake of it, was going to talk to him, but a wicked and sharp voice rung from the hallway, and it was quickly approaching them. This was Black Rover.

"They're cunning; they had it all set up on Friday! Pourquoi!" he blurted out, entering the room.

"Oh, no doubt," replied Rave Note. "It was all patched together, with the seams showing."

Cluster wondered for a second what they were discussing.

"Ç'est le mot," remarked Rover. He poured himself some tea from the samovar that was on the table. "And with a trite desire—pour faire du bruit autour de ton nom!"

"Alors..." began Rave Note, but he stopped short.

"The world is a cruel place," muttered Rover bitterly.

"Vous avez raison," said Cluster at once, finally taking measures to step into this back-and-forthing.

Rover instantly turned around and stared wide-eyed at Cluster, with Daisy by his side. Cluster observed that Rover's face was drooping and as if sagged; his Adam's apple was oblong and sharp, and it moved sporadically whenever he spoke. A doctor had been visiting him, but he had given up on any medical procedures, leaving him awfully disagreeable. There were rumours that he had lost a great deal and began to act irrationally, as if in delirium—but those were just rumours. He wasn't an elder either—only forty years old, yet his mane was mostly grey by now.

"Who let you in!" Rover cried weightily. He began looking around the room. "Ah, where is he, the servant!"

"Don't blame him," said Cluster. "I all but threatened the poor lad. In any case, that's very much besides the point, because you're leaving out a few patches that need to be resolved."

"Aha! So you're swindling with her," said Rover, gesturing to Daisy.

"Excuse me," Rave Note cut in with great agitation, "but I came in before you did, and on strict business, too. You'll have to wait."

"Really? So what's with you?" asked Cluster.

But Rave Note did not respond. He did, however, step out of the shadow towards Rover. His look was pensive and concentrated, not altogether at ease; his face, which was difficult to make out before, had grown tired. He looked to be in some inner turmoil, of a conscious suffering.

"You heard him," said Rover impatiently, frowning. "It isn't a matter of playing favourites, Cluster, though I'm sure you're very well accustomed to that. But here I deal with fairness. I've always been a fan of fairness."

"I've only come to drop something off. Look—" He pulled out the bank note and showed it to him. "Daisy's father is in debt with your company—twenty thousand. This is to let you know that that's all over with."

"I'm not going to be bought!" said Rover compulsively, flicking the bank note away. "What do you think this all is? Is it an important meeting to engage in transactions, or just an ordinary gathering among us mortals? Well, Princess Celestia isn't here, so it's only the latter—us mortals. And in that case I don't want anything to do with what won't satisfy my needs in the moment."

"But..." said Daisy, biting her lip. "We have it here, the bank note. Weren't you waiting for that?"

Rover looked at her, and suddenly, with his left eye squinting, a malicious, crooked grin contorted on his lips. He began laughing long but quietly, as if to himself.

"What's so funny?" asked Cluster.

"You want to know what?" Rover set his tea down. "She'll have to pay with her own sweat and blood, that's what. I don't accept sponger money."

Cluster made no reply at all, which thoroughly vexed Rover. The latter, at first, jumped up from his seat, his face distorted. Rave Note watched all this in some surprise, yet in equal measure was annoyed.

"But there's another way," babbled Rover, a gleam of calculation in his eyes. "You see that stallion there? That's Mr. Note. He, if you wish to know, lost his magic, all of it."

Rave Note was rooted to the floor like a statue, his eyes darting between Rover and Cluster. He grit his teeth.

"What was the point in telling him that?" he inquired readily and angrily at Rover.

"Pah, to tartarus! One can't even talk to you. What, are you offended again, just like yesterday?"

Blood rushed to Rave Note's face. "What's the meaning of this?" he cried.

Rover drew himself up menacingly, saying, "How dare you talk to me with that kind of language."

"What language?" said Cluster. "Clear and simple?"

"Worse, he's a sponger, meaning a voluntary lackey."

"Me, a lackey?" Rave Note could hardly contain himself.

"Pah!" cried Rover impudently. "You've got a spot for it. You came to me, now don't you remember? If you have no magic then you'll be switching positions in this whole ordeal."

I want to know more about this, thought Cluster, but I'll get nowhere with Black Rover. Ponies losing their magic again—and the supposed investigation. What's Celestia doing now?

"Get to the point, Black Rover," said Cluster in demanding tones. "You said he lost his magic—so what? Will you accept the bank note or not?"

"For whom?" he asked, scowling.

"My dad!" Daisy, at last, stepped forward. "Please, Mr. Rover, there's been a lot of unnecessary trouble. It'll be better for the both of us, won't it? You don't have to split hairs about losing twenty thousand bits anymore."

"So it's you, Daisy Sprawl." Rover thought for a second. "And your father, Mr. Sprawl, has passed away recently, hasn't he?"

"He has," said Daisy gloomily.

Rover could not have failed to hear her, but this only seemed to make his cheerfulness all the greater; that is, this did not disconcert him. He settled down directly facing Cluster and, with a pleasant grimace, slowly and ostentatiously, pointed at him. He was entirely aware of this sudden display but still spoke as if with an expected imperiousness.

"Well... So, here's the deal: I like magic quite a lot; this you know, Cluster. But I also can't stand you. In fact, I don't want to see you standing, and I'm sure that you don't want me standing, either. You, if you can, should fire your magic at me, using your full power, of course. I'm going to try to deflect it. If I manage, then you lot can scram! If not, give the note to my servant."

"What's the meaning of this!" exclaimed Rave Note, as if besides himself. "You want to have a fight, right here, right now?"

Daisy was entirely taken aback. She looked with tremendous shock at Cluster, not understanding how this all could have been brought down to such a level. There were many thoughts running through her mind, but they were all scattered and incomprehensible.

"You're a powerful unicorn," said Cluster slowly, sustaining the weight of his words. "I can acknowledge that. Still, right here? Your house won't be unscathed."

"Don't dilly-dally!" Rover ignited his horn, taking a preparatory stance.

Rave Note, however, wouldn't be still. He rushed up to Rover and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Stop it, you crazy fool!" he yelled at him, trembling. "You're only adding to my offence. You can't negotiate like this."

"I have to agree," Cluster picked up with great haste. "I'm not going to fight you, Rover."

"I declare," Rover croaked in a dry voice, this time turning to Rave Note, "I spit on your words. Come on, Cluster, fire at me. And for the sake of Princess Celestia, don't you dare hold back. If you hit me with anything less than one hundred percent of your power, know that I will take it as the worst insult imaginable. Don't even think of holding back!"

"Ç'est sans espoir!" cried Rave Note, who by this point was sweating bullets.

"You better leave," Cluster addressed Rave Note, though he also nudged Daisy. "Before you go, though—how did you lose your magic?"

"It was..." Rave Note struggled to speak. He looked around, then groaned to himself, declaring, "Doesn't matter who!" He ran out of the room.

'Who'? So somepony took his magic?

"Forget him!" said Rover. "Fire! Don't keep your adversary waiting. Remember—at your full capacity. Give me everything!"

"No," said Cluster angrily, "I'm not going to do anything of the sort. You're going to accept this bank note, and that's that."

"I've had enough! I intend to see your full power."

In that instance Daisy had taken the bank note and ran out of the room, not outdoors like Rave Note, but to another room—all without saying a word.

"Huh! Daisy?" Cluster looked at her in confusion, right as she left.

"Show me your full power!" Rover unexpectedly charged his horn—his hooves sank into the rug beneath him—he heaved up and shot a blast of magic straight at the unicorn in front of him. Cluster's horn flashed, both their magics collided, but there was very little, if any, force. The blast disappeared without a trace. The vase on a nearby stool wobbled.

Rover stared at Cluster, hardly able to believe what had just transpired. Rover fired a particularly strong blast at him, more than his usual amount, and Cluster negated it without any show of effort.

"Think this through!" said Cluster, stomping his hoof. He spoke fervently, in annoyance, but more and more his words came out more softly. "You want to see my magic? Are you sure? I'm telling you—think this over very carefully."

"Oho, so that's how it is! You want to be left alone, Cluster, but in this world we ponies don't possess that luxury. I give you nothing but my hatred. It's easy to respect somepony's hatred; if they hate you that means they respect you, otherwise they'd be indifferent. I've given you my magic, now it's your turn."

"You know what?" began Cluster in a deadly tranquil voice; a cold light shone in his eyes. His horn brightened up, till sparks were enveloping around it. "This could work in my favour. You—right in front of me—are opening up this path."

Rover stood there, still not knowing what to do, but feeling with his whole being that he was certain to do something. He grinned, as if on command.

"Have you changed your mind?" exclaimed Rover. "Come on then, fire, and don't hold back. Give me one hundred percent—not ninety nine percent, but everything! Or there's no deal. I'll only accept Daisy's money, not yours."

"If that's how it has to be..." The radiance around Cluster's horn was compressing itself into a blaze of magic that looked to be struggling to release, yet was forcefully contained there. He was staring straight at Rover, strangely yet with significant gravity, trusting that Rover understood what was to come; he had that unnatural look of a pony who knew for certain some abomination was about to take place, the sort that was slowly being consumed more and more by a moral shadow.

"At full power," muttered Cluster gravely and boundlessly; he showed his teeth. "Not a drop less, is that it? Damn if I know what's right and what's wrong anymore." The entire room began to shake. The windows were clattering, as if they were about to shatter in every direction. Dust lazily fell from the ceiling. "So... if you're willing... to get this over with..." Cluster was right at the edge, about to fire, about to turn the entire square block into a pit of flames.

"Wait, stop!" Daisy's imploring voice rang out as she entered the living room.

Cluster instantly looked at her, as if being snapped out of an illusion. All the burning temptation that had been amalgamating inside him, translated into his magic, had cooled down.

"What is it now?" said Rover sharply.

"You won't accept his money, right?" Daisy went on with resolution, though with her trusting and straightforward manner, giving the impression that she was struggling to sound defiant. "Only mine, right? Here's the bank note. Here—I'm the one who signed it, to my family account. Please take it, Mr. Rover."

Rover gazed at her almost with mocking hatred. Then, he stared at the bank note in her hooves distractedly, as if studying something from afar; it was clear that he was thinking something through, reflecting intensely. He pursed his lips, humming in thought. His horn, too, cooled down. There came a long pause.

Cluster himself, taken in by some new sensation of relief, looked at Daisy in an almost conciliatory manner.

So that's her plan? he thought. She'll go according to what he said and use her own account, and if he doesn't accept he'd be breaking his word. But if it's from her own account... then...

At last, Rover pulled himself together. He mechanically advanced towards Daisy, snatched the bank note, and surveyed it for a long time. Eventually he sighed and sat back down, not before casting a long, regretful look at Cluster

"Go," he told them in a strained yet confirming voice, to keep himself in countenance. He spoke as if in realization of something previously unknown to him; his voice was weaker. "Go, go," he said again.

"Let's get out of here," said Cluster quickly, grabbing Daisy by the shoulder and leading her out.


* * *


For their entire walk back to Daisy's house they remained silent. First thing: hitherto had Cluster held himself so aloof that he didn't express any desire to engage in a conversation after what just went down. Though Cluster was in some respects pleased to be rid of that scene, in his heart he felt his aloofness stinging him. It was almost like he were sad about this general stirring of his heart. Eventually they reached her front door.

"You signed off with your own account," he said to her in an almost faltering voice.

Daisy smiled, though beneath that smile she concealed great solemnity. "Don't feel bad about it," she said, looking down. "It is what it is."

"Look, I'm still going to hold onto my promise."

Daisy gave him a look, and her smile slowly but surely vanished.

"You're going to be twenty thousand in debt with the banks," he continued without breaking form. "Tomorrow I'll head there myself and transfer twenty thousand from my own account to your chequing. That'll even it out, and you won't have to worry about it anymore."

Daisy felt as if she were frozen in place, having forgotten to open the door. A single tear slid down her cheek.

"If it hadn't been for you, this would've gotten a lot worse," said Cluster with an earnest smile. "Thank you, Daisy; thank you for stopping me. You may not think much about it, but at least know that I'll remember it."

"No fair..." muttered Daisy in a quiet voice, the corners of her lips shaking. Several tear drops had hit the ground beneath her. "You won't even let me apologize. After everything I've... And now you're thanking me, and you still want to help. It's not fair..." She wiped the tears from her eyes. "Thank you, Cluster."

"There's nothing special to see here," said Cluster reassuringly, seizing the moment to open the door and invite her to step in first. They both entered the house. "You know, Daisy," he continued halfheartedly, as if in hesitation, "every murderer looks completely ordinary. Everypony you see walking down the street is capable of cold-blooded murder. We like to think that we could never become murderers, that we law-abiding ponies are from a different planet than them, because it's a comfort. But the truth is that the line which divides good and evil cuts through all of our hearts. And who's willing to destroy a piece of their own heart?"

"But..." Daisy paused; the features on her face gave a pained expression. "You have so much to be proud of, don't you? You're a good pony, Cluster."

Cluster, despite hearing her words, was silent; instead, he strode past her into another room.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"We've got some things to sort out," he replied readily. "Right now let's head to the mortuary to take care of your dad's corpse. Next step is the funeral."
> Part III – Chapter V – No Time for Verse
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week had passed since that strange collision in Filio's house. Cluster decidedly took most of the responsibilities in regards to the preparations of the funeral; that is, he obviously hired the help that was needed, and Daisy managed to collect some donations from a very small group of friendly acquaintances who would certainly be attending. Funerals, if you don't know, can cost a pretty penny. Even cheap ones can take as much as one thousand bits. There was a whole plethora of errands that Cluster, in his industrious persistence, carried out, all in a timely manner.

A location was rented out—a yard by the cemetery. Not a very big one, mind you, only one-sixth the size of an acre. A wooden coffin was picked out to house the deceased Mr. Sprawl. At first the thing was entirely barren, only a hard, hollowed-out box of a coffin. Cluster took the liberty of installing some pillows (that he purchased), as well as some shoulder-rests for the ponies who would carry it. He planned out the reception food—overall, two tables with the bare minimum: chips, hay snacks, daisy sandwiches, several cheeses, chocolates, and a small fountain. Then the chairs, a podium, a scrollmaster to do the readings in accordance to the established tradition, two musicians (one for the piano, the other for the violin), and so on and so forth. Approximately twenty ponies were scheduled to arrive, but on the day of the funeral only two-thirds made an appearance, roughly speaking. The day before the funeral, Cluster spent another fifty bits on flowers for the coffin.

Daisy was eternally grateful for Cluster. He stood solidly by for ponies to rely on. He never complained, never sought compensation, and only a few times did he cut corners out of the utmost necessity. All in all, he covered ninety percent of the expenses.

Ironically, he was late to the funeral. They had waited for him and even decided finally to carry the pretty little coffin, all decked out with flowers, to its final destination for burial without him. At the gate of the yard Cluster was met with Daisy, which surprised him greatly that she was there and not by her father's side. She quickly grabbed his hoof, affectionately and without warning, and held him like that on the way inside. On the way he looked at her with some sort of curiosity, evoking a blush from her. In the coffin decorated with white lace, his hooves folded and his eyes closed, lay Mr. Sprawl. The features of his emaciated face were hardly changed at all, and, strangely, the expression on his face was serious and pensive. The flowers had been placed by his side and on his chest. During the whole process Daisy wept quietly, sitting with her head pressed against Cluster's shoulder. Several of the other ponies' faces were a tad animated, though entirely embittered.

Previously, during the past three days, Daisy had said that she would bury him on some hillside, apparently because that's exactly what her father wanted. But this was all said in hypotheticals, without any serious consideration; she knew, and Cluster knew, that this would be impossible. I personally would have been fine with it, but the others would have intervened. Oh well.

When Daisy stared at her father's face for the last time she began suddenly shaking all over, moving her head back and forth over the coffin. Cluster could see that her face twisted with burning grief. At last, they moved on with the coffin. Sweet Scroll, it turned out, had also attended the funeral, but Cluster didn't realize this till the very end. Her attitude had undergone some changes, last he saw her—she was much more composed, straightforward, yet surprisingly haughty. Cluster supposed that that display of meekness from before was a product of the situation she had found herself in. He asked Sweet Scroll, as he was leaving, to look after those who were staying behind, as well as for Daisy's case. Sweet Scroll very much obliged.

So came an end to the funeral.


* * *


We will follow up that very night, at around eleven o'clock. Daisy was in the kitchen making dandelion and pea soup. Cluster sat in the living room napping, an opened book laying flat on his face—a volume on the nature of alicorn magic, something he took great interest in. He had a bad habit of reading in the dark, which over time worsened his eyesight. He had told Daisy to wake him up when the soup was ready, although truth be told he didn't really want to be bothered.

Except this felt more like a half-dream than anything else. Cluster could almost sense himself on the couch, in the dark, with a single candle providing an amber illumination. He kept thinking, and at times found himself envisioning, what was going on in Ponyville. He had pulled a cruel act on his sister, right when they departed, but then again, he didn't care much for that. He wanted to go back to Canterlot, because he hadn't been there in well over a month. As for his feelings about his own father, Bronze, it wasn't so much hatred, but something else bordering on resentment. All his life afterwards, deep within himself, he regarded these feelings as terribly resentful. At times he would get up, guess and ponder out the dark windows, and suddenly plop back down on the couch. When all was quiet Cluster rose up, looking around him with an overwhelming and nonplussed curiosity. He jumped up with some remarkable energy, dressed himself, and went out. It was snowing. Cluster thought about what he last said to Airglow again, and even smiled that it had gone so well in his estimation. The snow was picking up. By a dark alleyway he saw a group of ponies, one mare and her two children, by a fire. They were poor, so he went up to them to give them a bit, but he had none. They gazed at him with their large, sunken eyes, and something terribly depressing glittered in them. The whole family unit he found off-putting, so he made his way further into town. Then it hit him that this was a snow storm. He trudged on, more and more, whispering to himself, "Who needs that kind of work anyway?" He looked up but didn't see a moon, and the world darkened even more. He bumped into the same family again. He was taken aback, but now he was angry. They looked at him with their beaten expressions, all while he charged his horn, and—

Cluster woke up. He was still in the living room, and that book still hung on his face. He slid it off him to find that Daisy had set the soup on the table, and she was blowing on it for him.

"It's a little hot," she said, smiling. "Just give it five minutes."

Cluster straightened himself up, suppressing a groan. He looked wearily at the soup for a long time, and at last brought it closer to him with his magic and began eating.

"Thanks," he said after the first full-mouth.

"Don't mention it! By the way," she said, tilting her head, "what book were you reading just now?"

"Oh, this? It's part of a series of books studying the different types of magic—pony magic, dark magic, and all that. This volume that I'm reading is on alicorn magic, which, incidentally, is the magic we know the least about."

Daisy passed to a pensive silence, nodding, as if inviting him to continue.

"It's also the most dangerous type of magic," Cluster, indeed, continued.

"Why's that?"

"There's a reason only alicorns like Celestia are capable of wielding it. It's unbelievably powerful, but the physical backlash from using it is equally unbelievable, and her alicorn physiology accounts for that fact. Alicorns are practically invincible; it would be very difficult to, say, strike down Celestia. You could throw a castle on top of her and she'd be fine. Her body can take the force. Even a tiny fraction of alicorn magic can produce as much as tens of billions of joules of energy. That would instantly kill any unicorn who tried to use it."

In point of fact, he thought at the same time, I remember when I first met with Celestia, when she picked me to be her personal  student. I didn't even have to go through any candidate trials. But back then she had a distracted look on her face; she seemed to have been looking past me for a second, as if she was looking at somepony standing right behind me, though we were alone. Hmm...

"Whoa. Sounds intense, using that sort of magic," she remarked.

"A basic law of physics is that every action has an opposite and equal reaction. When a unicorn shoots a blast of destruction magic, they feel the same force against their horn. Firing off a shot of alicorn magic at only one percent power would be like getting hit by several houses going near the speed of sound. In other words, don't try it."

Daisy faintly giggled at that last remark with her usual girlishness, adding, "I'll be sure not to. You must know everything about magic, huh?"

"I wish. I can accomplish most spells, but not everything. I never studied things like medical magic, even though I had the opportunity to. But maybe it's for the better. Healing probably wouldn't be something I'd easily pick up."

Five minutes later and he had finished the soup. Daisy asked if he needed anything else, to which he declined and, while intending to finish his book, he instead stored it away and took to staring blankly out the window. He wasn't sure of many things, but the main thing was his return to Ponyville. Would he end up going back? Well, obviously he would, eventually, but this all felt like his interest had been stolen at the sight of trouble. He would ask himself why he went out of his way to help Daisy, or even as far as taking part in the financial dispute between Nova and Bronze, and he came away with the hypothesis that, somehow, he subconsciously convinced himself that he didn't deserve peace, and that he ought to suffer these dramas. He believed that Princess Celestia's role in his life wasn't at all effective, and that he had formed himself by the cultivation of his own habits and quirks, without guidance. But this, too, he found to be a troublesome idea. Did he personally like Princess Celestia? Sure he did; after all, she was immensely likeable and wise. But that was beside the point.

There is one circumstance, however, that I have begrudgingly kept from you, the reader. That would be the unfortunate event that led to his departure from Baltimare, while before he was seriously considering living there, at the cost of his academic life in Canterlot. Normally I would explain it to you in this dry narration format, but luckily Daisy managed to prod it out of him—by his own choosing, of course. They were going over several plans for Daisy to keep herself busy, either with work or even a potential career in the far future. By this point it was a little past midnight, and the pace of their conversation had diminished.

"What exactly did you do in Baltimare, Cluster?" she asked. "You said that you were working with some scientist, but that only lasted for two months. What about the rest?"

Cluster sighed, not without a hint of obligation, gazing vaguely at Daisy as she sat before him on the couch.

"Guess I can't keep these things from you," he said. "I didn't even tell my sister, but—that's all in the past. I stayed in Baltimare longer than I needed to because I met a mare."

"You 'met' a mare!" she exclaimed in breathless surprise, holding up her wide-eyed gaze. "I would never have guessed! How did it go? Oh, I mean, if you don't mind my asking."

Cluster was staring at her strangely, as if he were distracted and stared past her, like one does when they do not stare at the sun above them but know that it is there. He was deep in thought, and assumed that he gave the impression of a pony who wished to be left alone, which wasn't his intention.

"It's just... it's not what you think," he hurried to say, though still in hesitation. "I met her after my  research assignment.  The truth is that I didn't repart right when I left the apartment run by Madame Blank. I was going somewhere, I recall, to the lake by the city bridge. It was in the dead of night, with whole constellations of stars in the sky, and I needed something sublime to look at. But then something very unexpected occurred. Though, what else could I have expected? You look around, you look for some ponies in your periods of darkness, you conjecture... But the moment passes, and the next day you have the same preoccupied and pensive look as before, and then back to business."

Daisy was listening more and more, regarding him with inexpressible heed. Whenever he lapsed into a frown she would smile, as if to encourage him to continue, to show that she cared.

"Well, and then?" she asked.

"There was a mare by the railings of the canal. Strange, I thought, because she was crying. She didn't even stir when I passed by with bated breath and loud hoof-steps. Something serious must have been bothering her, or maybe it even ruined her life. Who knows. I turned back, and I thought of saying, 'Excuse me, miss,' except that line has been uttered a thousand times in every romance novel. It was only that reflection that stopped me. But while I was looking for something to say, the mare came to herself, looked around, started, and slipped by me down the embankment. I remember that I called out to her, Celestia knows why—she cast a glance at me for a second, but she turned the corner and left. Was she embarrassed by her tears? In shame? In hindsight I think that was the case.

"For some reason I remembered her face. She wasn't bad-looking, even attractive, though the tears must have given a different impression. Then the biggest coincidence struck. I was staying in the north end of the city, far away from that apartment, so I rented out a different place. This time I rented a lodging in the top floor of a manor. Ponies there were rich, and once I made my title of Celestia's personal student known, they accepted me right away. The place belonged to an aristocratic family who had moved out from Canterlot many years back: there was the wife and husband, the husband's mother, a maid, a cook, and a daughter. I spoke with the couple from whom I was renting the lodging but not with the daughter. The first and most impressionable thing I can tell you about the husband: he hated me. He kept prying me with questions about the current state of Canterlot, and was always determined to contradict me. He and I could never see eye-to-eye on anything. It was only later I discovered that he had studied at Celestia's university, and that he had wanted to be her personal student, but never made the cut. Wasn't my problem, and besides, I was going to leave in a month anyway. So, on the first night I left my lodging to get a glass of water, despite the fact that they had a maid, but whatever, I didn't mind. I went downstairs and bumped into the daughter, who just so happened to be that crying mare from earlier.

"She was awfully surprised to see that I was the lodger. 'What's your name?' I asked. 'Snowfall Blaze,' she replied. Pretty name. I remember that I spoke to her grandmother, you know, the husband's mother who lived with them. She told me that she regretted the old days—that everything was better in the old days; that the sun was warmer in the old days, that the cream didn't go sour in the old days. She had asked Snowfall about the new lodger, that being me, and said that I was 'pleasant looking.' And so here we were, meeting for the first real time. She was short and agreeable, but certainly proud. She had an almost stoic air about her. I didn't even know if she recognized me, although she gave me the gravest of looks. Heck, was I even going to ask about the crying and what that was all about? We exchanged some small talk and I went back to my room—with the water.

"Afterwards we barely spoke with each other. A few days later, one morning, I approached her mother to ask about the promise to bring in a new lamp for my room. One thing led to another. The mother was talkative, and said, 'Go, Snowfall, to my bedroom and get my calendar.' She blushed all over and went quickly, like she wanted to hide from me. I thought that was weird—the blushing, accompanied by her glance in my direction. Did she... like me? Admittedly, I was attracted to her, too, though it was purely physical; after all, I barely knew her. Later that day, when I was going out to the store, suddenly, without thinking about it, I asked Snowfall if she wanted to come with me. She didn't answer directly, and kept putting on some cryptic display. I asked both her parents, and they positively refused, declaring very seriously that she was not to leave the house. It was then that I learned Snowfall was home-schooled. Her father especially was glaring daggers at me, like I planned to seduce his daughter.

"But why home-schooled? I wanted to know why, just because. Snowfall kept giving me these short, fleeting glances whenever we passed by. That gave me something to latch onto. I spoke with the grandmother, and learned that Snowfall had been severely bullied in school. The kids used to make fun of the fact that nopony hung out with her, because unlike most rich ponies in that private school, she wasn't given an allowance, and she had anxiety about talking to ponies. It got to the point where she tried to take her own life. I mean..." Cluster paused for a moment, a hard, concentrated expression highlighted on his face; he looked positively melancholy. He confirmed that Daisy was still listening, and continued, "I mean, Snowfall kept these feelings bottled up for a long time, never telling anypony. When she nearly committed suicide, her parents were so frightened that they locked her in the house, away from society, like she was going to hurt herself and they didn't trust her with her own safety. The next day I bought some novels from the bookstore. Apparently Snowfall only ever read history or otherwise non-fiction books. I called her to my room to show her. 'I learned a few things about you,' I said, delving into some details. She wasn't taken aback, even quite the contrary. 'I can't read these,' she told me. Why? Because her father would berate her, that's why. 'It's alright,' I said, 'you can come to my room whenever you'd like, and you can read here.' Then she laughed, and said, 'You're very patient... and very interesting.' She started coming every night, at one in the morning, mind you, as if she never considered that I might be asleep. Lucky for her, I don't sleep very much. I get by on four hours a day. I asked her if she had any friends she could go and visit. She told me no. Every once in a while we'd meet by the stairs, too; but the whole time I always felt as if she was reluctantly keeping her distance from me. This went on for about a month, right to the point when I was planning to leave for Canterlot again. 'Listen,' I said one night, 'would you like to go to the theatre with me? There's going to be a play soon, about the founding of Equestria, and the critics' reviews have all been positive.' 'But what about my dad?' she said. It was only after dinner that I spoke with her parents about this, because they, too, were going to the theatre, and the grandmother or maid were going to watch over their daughter. The dad got angry with me again, and the mother was in the grey zone, because she sorta liked me. I saw that Snowfall turned crimson at the sight of this, and that she felt bad for me. I assured them that, as Celestia's most trusted and respected student, I wanted to bring their daughter along as an act of kindness, and that nothing was going to happen to her, because I would protect her, and so on. It was an uphill battle, but eventually the mother defended me.

"The theatre was in two days, and Snowfall was overjoyed. She visited my room that night and we spoke for a long time. I told her everything about me, and she did the same about herself. I made her laugh, we read books together—the whole thing went smoothly. And the next night the same thing happened, except this time she let slip, 'I really, really like you, Cluster.' Well, well, imagine my amusement. I said that I liked her, too."

Cluster suddenly stopped talking. He looked like he was contemplating, and now with a pleasant though rather weak smile, as the last words fell from his lips, he gazed sadly at Daisy.

"But then where is she now?" she asked all of a sudden, as though fearing Cluster was finished. "The way you ended that sentence sounded like something bad happened, but... well?" She leaned forward, creasing her brow, with the added gesture that implied he could be upfront with her—it was like she was trying to spread her warmth to him.

Cluster observed all of this and frowned once more. His mind was dwelling on another matter entirely, but he put it off. He even sensed a certain charm in the contemplative mood which possessed him. He found pleasure, too, in looking at Daisy, but he at last heaved a deep sigh, like he was forced to confront some idea that haunted him.

"Then we went to the theatre together," he said at last. He was ceased all at once by some peculiar desire, almost a temptation, against which he strove in vain. The melancholy thoughts came back to him. "So," he continued, levelling his sight with Daisy's eyes, "it was a fun time. The applause was loud. Then... then everything went ablaze."

"Ablaze?" Daisy was caught off guard.

"Yeah. A fire broke out. We don't know why—maybe a magical circuit got fried, which was connected to some grid, and a hot reaction happened. Point is, the fire spread quickly, and ponies were rushing to get out. Funny, really: you'd think that everypony would leave at the first sign of a fire, that it would never have time to spread. But it did. By the time any sense came to us, the flames had spread to the ceiling, and the wooden planks were tumbling down."

"But you all escaped, right!" exclaimed Daisy in total shock.

"We did—Snowfall and I. On our way out the fire grew too hot, and her parents were cut off from us among the shrieking crowd. I ran back, telling her to run, that I'd save her parents. She was stubborn, insisting that she come along. There wasn't any time to negotiate. I teleported her out of there, and informed one of the guards to keep watch over her. She was sobbing her eyes out, but what else would you have me do? I sprinted into the flames, using my magic, of course. More and more guards were still prying their way inside, because several ponies had been left behind. Eventually I caught sight of her parents. Unfortunately, the ground gave under, and a pillar came crashing down on them. Me, in my haste, hurled a magic blast right at the pillar. I don't know... maybe my aim was off... I destroyed the pillar... but then I remember there was an explosion. I think the wind pressure from my magic caused it. The smoke was rising. I could barely see. I must have been there for at least five long minutes, until I found them. Snowfall's mother—turned to charcoal. She had gotten caught in the flames. Her father was still alive, barely; he was half-buried under a hill of rubble. I looked at him in horror, ready to use my magic to help him, but he stopped me, saying, 'Stay away from her.' And he died. He died right in front of me. Several other ponies ran by and beckoned towards me. I ran out of there, hardly conscious of myself. I was safe, out onto the streets, but I felt sick, like I was going to pass out.

"So, that's all there is to it."

"But what about Snowfall?" cried Daisy in disparaging tones. "Wasn't she waiting for you?"

"I guess I got caught up in the swirling crowds, and left, not looking back. I wrote her a letter, telling her everything that had happened, her father's last words, and what I personally thought in the heat of the moment. Then I... went back to Canterlot."

"And you've never seen her since?"

"That's right."

By now Daisy had unconsciously moved very close to him, not that Cluster minded. Her eyes were misty, on the verge of tears. At the sight of it Cluster seemed amazed. She lifted a hoof and softly touched his cheek.

"I... you," she began, "I've always spoken so enthusiastically about you, because you deserve all of it. I'm sorry I couldn't have recognized this before, but know that, as part of my gratitude, I'll always be here for you."

She apparently wanted to say something else, but grew terribly timid, noticing how close she was, and backed away.

"Calm down," said Cluster softly. "First of all, how could you have known about me and Snowfall? I only told you now. Second, don't feel bad for me; this was nearly a year ago. Seriously, what's with the tears? I've moved on."

Daisy nodded in agreement, if only to reassure him. They sat there for almost another hour, very infrequently exchanging words. Eventually they ran out of things to talk about; that is, there was nothing else that needed to be said, this Daisy understood. One thing was certain in her mind—Cluster would come back to see her, even after he left. This thought put her heart at ease.

At the end of that hour she went to bed, though Cluster, who couldn't sleep, got up, looked in a mirror, and donned his saddlebag. Since he was still wide awake, he thought, May as well head out now—to a pub he was familiar with. A very strong desire to go out and buy a drink, even a small one, took hold of him. On the way out he stared at a calendar by the wall, and for some reason the date intrigued him very much. August thirtieth—officially today. He stared at it for a whole minute, then realizing that he was standing still and not doing anything, he went out, still with that peculiar date on his mind. It was only after another minute of walking did it hit him.

"Oh, that's right," he said to himself. "It's my birthday. I completely forgot."
> Part III – Chapter VI – In the Dark
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

This pub Cluster went to visit was called Happy Dreams. Funny, considering most ponies went there with the intention of drowning themselves away from real life responsibilities, to gain a mere hour of happy ignorance. Those were the so-called dreams: a vestige of their former selves. Cluster had deigned to visit the establishment a couple of times during his stay in Baltimare; he had even met some ponies who could certainly recognize his somber and humourless face, and word of his presence was spreading quickly around town.

At first he was addled to realize it was his birthday, and that he was now twenty-eight. The idea had slipped his mind, but the thought to celebrate, as it were, leaped out at him without any connection to preceding thoughts, as if moulding into something tangible in his understanding. But this, too, he readily put off, without any desire to think of it again. He probably wouldn't even tell Daisy about it. And to any other ponies? It would be over by the time he returned to Ponyville.

With all of this swimming in his head, though it by no means troubled him, Cluster strode into the pub. It was a small, brick-layered building, with a pink neon sign of a pony laughing and holding a bubbling mug. Upon entering the little bell indoors rang; he went over to the row of stools, picked one out in the middle, and took a seat.

"Ah, my good Cluster Tale!" said the bartender, flashing him an amiable grin. "Welcome. It's been far too long, eh?"

"It's Cluster Tale. Cluster's here," called one of the stallions in the back, who was halfway into a drunken state and smiling stupidly.

"Cluster! Come sit over here, Cluster," said a mare beside the stallion, tapping a hoof next to her. She, too, was putting out the sort of amicable countenance which assumes something of happy importance is going to take place. They both greeted him happily yet distantly.

They still remember me? thought Cluster, but he ignored them. "One glass of lambic beer please, extra on the lambic."

"Should you be drinking?" asked the bartender in some surprise, though he nevertheless began pouring the requested drink.

"Yeah," muttered Cluster in response. He received the glass and started sipping.

The regulars here are ponies who don't have much to look forward to in the way of life. They look for ponies to vent their problems to... and relieve their stress at this pub. It's a place where a bunch of weak ponies get together. So why am I here?

He stared for a long time at the fizzling surface of his drink, the ice cubes inside beginning to melt. He felt completely blank now, without purpose, as if his own soul were alien to him. He still had a life plan—to become a famous wizard. Or, at least, that was his goal. Now he wasn't so sure. He had everything: respect, untold magical power, the Princess herself by his side. And yet he slid those qualities away from him for that night, as if it didn't matter in the moment. Even the thought of Airglow, whose company he enjoyed, was considerably muted in him.

In my opinion, Cluster, while being a pony of action, that is, the type of pony whose primary virtue was a rare display of honesty and practicality, in the end felt the inertia of consciousness. He was practical, but overly conscious, and those two things, dear reader, do not mix all that well.

"Cluster, hear me out!" exclaimed the stallion from the back, who had come up beside him. "A while ago this very pretty mare talked to me, but then she became bored with me and I haven't heard from her in two whole weeks. I don't know what to do!"

"Don't do anything," replied Cluster. "If you keep wasting your time chasing mares who aren't interested in you, you'll find yourself stuck in a self-defeating cycle. Move on. There are plenty of fish in the sea."

This apparently allayed the stallion's worries, and he was cheered up at once.

Because of his social position, he was the perfect pony to talk to about their problems. Sometimes he would hear them out and give them his word of advice, even if it was ultimately superficial, something anypony could come up with. Apparently, that was enough for them to respect him.

"It's my birthday today," said Cluster, staring intently at the fragments of ice left in his drink, without raising his head.

"Oh, happy birthday," said the bartender.

"Happy birthday!" said the mare, quietly clapping her hooves together.

It was as if he wanted to smile but could not will himself to do so. At first he reasoned that something might be wrong with him, bordering on depression, but then came to see that he cared very little—or didn't care at all—for the ponies in that room.

Cluster gulped down the rest of his drink and exhaled at length. "Tab, please," he said, paid what was owed, and was off without any goodbyes.

The city streets were completely cleared at this time, with the odd pony or two wandering by. By now the silver moon was waning—it was past one o'clock. At first, in much agitation, he considered if he had any romantic feelings for Daisy, because she obviously had feelings for him. He would not get anything else out of her. To his disappointment he thought of her only as a friend, or not even a friend but an acquaintance that he would not see again for a long time. None of this scrutiny stirred even the slightest fluttering in his heart. He felt some inner, as if delayed, sensation in him, a dreary premonition that could not be ignored. Cluster, for all intents and purposes, felt almost relieved to have talked about Snowfall, in spite of his reticent attitude, because even at his lowest point, after all this time, he still missed her.

I went to the pub thinking I could talk to somepony, anypony, he thought glumly, but that backfired. I guess I don't have any friends. I didn't think of it that way.

Cluster returned to Daisy's home at last and saw that she was sleeping, unsurprisingly. Somewhere between one and two in the morning, Cluster had developed a minor headache. With a slight chill he lay stretched out on the couch (he was provided with a bed in another room, but he chose the couch), in the dark, without a candle, unable to decide when he'd be returning to Ponyville, only to pick up his belongings, then off to Canterlot again. What did torment him, however, to the point anger, were the signs of ponies losing their magic. This had been under some strict and prominent investigation by the Royal Guard, and, as he learned last week, it had spread in some small part to Baltimare. He did tell Princess Celestia that he made no promises pertaining to the whole thing. It perturbed him almost as much as reading about some of the ponies in the reports. Was somepony out there stealing magic for their own gain? He was even accused of being some "magic swindler," or whatever it was. But now was not the time to think about these trifles.

Gradually he dozed off into a momentary, light sleep, and in his dreams had something like a nightmare; he dreamed that he was in Bronze Pocket's house, except Bronze was dead and he was the owner. The servants were running about. Neither Airglow nor Nova were anywhere to be seen. At first this pleased him, but right afterward he became terribly sad. He then saw some kind of figure standing before him, a pony who looked very much like him in appearance; the biggest difference was that this one had an almost pitch black mane. This twin-like figure possessed a stoic expression and stared straight at him. Cluster became startled, then calmed down, feeling very strongly that he recognized him, as if some voice were whispering ancient memories in the back of his mind. He did not know what to think. There came a pause, and the figure vanished. The whole house was resounding from terrible knocking on the front door, on the gate, on the fence, so that the whole place was trembling, and some distant and familiar, but for him tormenting, voice was piteously calling him.

He suddenly came to his senses and raised himself on the couch. To his surprise, the knocking on the door continued, so that even Daisy had gotten up and made her way to the living room to see what this was all about. Though the knocking was hardly as strong as it had seemed in his dream, it was rapid and persistent, and the strange and "tormenting" voice, though not piteous enough, still came alternating with another more restrained and ordinary voice.

He got up, gestured at Daisy to stay where she was, and pressed his head to the door.

"Who's there?" he called.

"If you're Cluster," the voice came firmly through, "please tell me whether you'll agree to let me in or not..."

Cluster recognized that voice! He immediately opened the door.

"Snowfall! Is that you...?" he said, trying to make her out in the darkness.

Right enough, it was her.
> Part III – Chapter VII – Parting Clouds
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"It's me, me, Cluster," Snowfall went on in a weak patter, "but I can't keep the coachpony waiting any longer."

She was wearing a dress of some kind, a sort of linen design, though old-fashioned. Her face had grown a rather thin since last he saw her, and her mane was a mess. Despite all that, she still looked very pretty.

"Wait... let me... some candles..." Cluster summoned his magic to scan the area. In no time he caught hold of at least a dozen candles and a box of matches, lit them all, and efficiently placed them around the room.

"Kindly hold my saddlebag while I deal with him," said Snowfall to Daisy, smiling weakly. Daisy, too stunned to speak, obliged at once and took hold of the saddlebag, bringing it to the couch. Then, Snowfall irritably fell upon the coachpony, "You, sir, are charging too much. If you dragged me for a whole extra hour 'round these dirty streets it's your own fault, because you didn't know where to find this house. Accept these five bits, and rest assured you won't get anymore."

"Eh, little lady, it was you who kept jabbing at the wrong street; the lane you were pointing to is on the other side of town. You just got my sense of direction all in a stew."

"You ought to know all these stupid streets by now, since you're a local. In any case, you can claim the rest from me tomorrow at the justice department. Leave me alone right now."

"Here, here's another ten bits!" Cluster impetuously snatched the five bits from Snowfall and gave it to the coachpony, alongside ten more bits—fifteen in total.

"You don't need to do that," huffed Snowfall, but the coachpony was already off. Cluster seized her by the hoof and drew her inside. Daisy was in the corner, watching them intently.

"Quick, Snowfall, watch your step, sit on the couch here. You look extremely tired. Excuse me..."

"Thank Celestia you're here!" she cried joyfully. Cluster had left for a second to bring a candlestick and place it on the table in front of them. She gave a cursory look around the place. "Word spread that a certain Cluster Tale was in town, and that he was staying with another certain Daisy Sprawl."

"So you came looking for me?" Cluster almost scrunched his face, ears drooping.

"And... and... oh, can I please have a bed?" she said squeamishly, trying to get up from the couch but clearly struggling.

"Here, let me..." Cluster helped her up. Daisy quickly moved and opened the door for them into Cluster's room. "Daisy, can you get her a glass of water?" he asked her. Daisy nodded understandingly and went to the kitchen, and in no time she was back with the water.

"Oh, I'm tired!" said Snowfall, and with a strengthless air she sat on the soft bed. "Please put my saddlebag down, and have a seat yourself. Don't worry, Cluster—ah, thank you"— She received the water from Daisy and set it down on the stool "—that I'll only stay here for a time, until I find work, because I don't know anything here. If I'm cramping you, just say it to me, I know you're an honest pony. I can go to a hotel tomorrow, though you might have to take me, only... Oh, I'm so tired!"

Cluster started. "Don't think like that, Snow. What hotel? Why? I'll be here with you."

"I came looking for you, because when you left, I... wasn't so sure..." she muttered vaguely, staring up at the ceiling.

It all came back to Cluster, like something dreadful hit him on the head. He stood there, silent and motionless, a look of intense reflection highlighting his face. He looked at her once more, and his mouth twisted into a weary, rueful frown.

"I'm... I'm so sorry I left you," he said in a low voice. He stared weakly at her, unsure if he even meant it. "I never thought you'd still look for me. It's almost like I..." He grinned with self-deprecation. "It's almost like I ran away from you, because, well, that's exactly what I did. And I didn't look back."

"If you can understand me, Cluster, please accept that I don't blame you. I'm talking to you directly, without eloquence, because I can't stand it, because it's nonsense, because... Oh, please, I'm really tired!"

And she gave him a long, worn-out, tired look. Cluster stood facing her, and listened to her readily, with regret, but somehow in a renewed way, with some never-seen radiance in his face. Cluster, this stone-faced unicorn, so composed and aloof, was suddenly all softness and brightness. Something unusual, altogether unexpected, trembled in his soul. Close to a whole year of separation, a year of the memories of a broken relationship, had dislodged nothing from his heart. Finally talking to Daisy about her, the first time in so long, revealed to him that every single day in the past year, almost without realizing it, he had thought of her. Knowing Cluster, I can say for certain that he could never have admitted in himself even the dream that some mare might say "I love you" to him, in a romantic way. He was certainly well-known and talented, but modest, and would even compare himself to Bronze, imagining that he could have turned out like his father. As a consequence of all that, he placed honesty above all things, though this left him gloomy, apathetic, somewhat proud, even to his disadvantage.

But now this sole being who had loved him, a being who regarded him as immeasurably above her, despite her perfectly sober understanding of his errors; a being whom he could forgive everything—this there was no question. This mare, Snowfall Blaze, was suddenly in the same room as him, again like before, and this he found incomprehensible. He was so struck, felt such guilt, though mixed in it some morbid happiness, that, of course, he couldn't, and possibly didn't want to, come to his senses. This felt like a dream. But when she gave him that worn-out look, a sign of suffering, his heart sank. He studied her features even with some reluctance.

"Snow... you know... maybe you're very tired, but please don't blame yourself for anything. If you'd accept some tea, at least. Tea is very fortifying."

"Why are you asking me to accept?" she said in an even weaker voice. "Of course I'll accept. This room is very small. It's really cold."

"Right, right, there's firewood." Cluster got all stirred up. "Firewood, but tea, too, right away." He got up with resolution, ready to leave.

"You're going out? There's no tea in the house?"

"I'm just going to the kitchen, I'll make some. But for the firewood I'll have to go out. I'll do that first."

"Wait, wait," she began pleading, stretching her hoof to him. "Don't leave me, it's okay, it's not that cold. Just stay by my side, please."

"But..." Cluster began, but paused, being struck by the fearful, one might even say naive, expression on her face. He sighed. "Okay, okay, I'll stay. Daisy!" he called, and she came into the room at once. "Make some tea please, I'd appreciate it."

"I'm on it!" Daisy hurried off.

"Who's that?" asked Snowfall.

"Daisy? She's a friend of mine." He sat back on the edge of the bed, looking sadly at her. "I only came to Baltimare to help her out with something, and now I've taken temporary residence here in her house. I was going to go soon, but..." He suddenly trailed off, and both of them stared at each other.

In less than two minutes Daisy returned with the tea. Snowfall was visibly pleased by her haste and almost greedily drank down her cup. However, her face had gone pale; there was a dejected look in her eyes. Every once in a while she would fidget in her bed sheets.

"You're ill, Snow," remarked Cluster, waiting on her. "You're heating up."

"Of course I'm ill, sit down, please."

There came another pause. Eventually Cluster spoke up again. "I'm sorry to ask you this, but why didn't you ever write to me?"

"I thought that"— She twisted her lips —"that when I got your letter, and after my parents' funeral, you wanted nothing to do with me."

Cluster shook his head, slowly, as if to himself, but kept silent. He didn't know what to say, or if anything he could say would be of comfort. "No, it isn't true"—would that be enough? Clearly not, because his actions reflected otherwise. In that moment he felt terribly foolish, terribly foolish and regretful.

"I never should have left," he said at length.

"Don't you remember that night before the theatre?" drawled Snowfall, as if indecisively.

"Yeah, I remember," he said, and a faint blush came to his cheeks.

"And what we did?" She heaved herself up.

"Yeah, I—look, maybe I'm a terrible pony this minute, I know I am. I've even forgiven other terrible ponies..." He suddenly got up and began to pace the room.

But Snowfall did not quite understand him. She listened distractedly to his replies; she asked, but did not listen.

"You're living a very nice life, or so I've heard. But it's been so stressful, really. Do sit down, Cluster, please. Oh, you can be so irritating!" And, exhausted, she lowered her head onto the pillow.

"Snow, I won't... Maybe you want something else, Snow?"

She did not answer and strengthlessly closed her eyes. Her pale face resembled a dead pony's. She fell asleep almost instantly. Cluster looked around, straightened the candle, looked anxiously at her face one more time, and quietly left the room.

"So what will you do now?" Daisy asked him cautiously, just outside the room.

He lapsed into agitated thought. Daisy was looking intently at him, waiting silently.

"This whole situation can't be picked up in one piece and carried away," he said. "I don't know what, but something's wrong with her. She's not being herself; she's wearing a dress for some reason."

"But still, you're here now with her, and you're not going to leave this time," observed Daisy gently and persuadingly. "I'm here for you and her, Cluster."

Cluster glanced pityingly at her, but suddenly waved his hoof as if thinking, "What's there to pity?"

"Alright, I'm going out to get some more firewood," he suddenly broke off, "and you watch over Snowfall."

"I won't leave her side, and if she wakes up, I'll tell her that you'll be back soon," Daisy assured politely and went back into the room.


* * *


Cluster felt like he had lost some chief sense in all this, namely, that he had forgotten all previous thoughts of Ponyville or Canterlot. Not that this mattered very much; he wanted to make sure Snowfall would be okay. If necessary, he would contact a doctor at once.

And so, essentially, the fact that she returned eviscerated all previous feelings of emptiness that had been brewing up within him. At first he was taken aback, clearly confused, but over time he found himself becoming more and more thankful. He would still chide himself every few minutes for having left her. But now this was different. He was going to have it differently, no matter what. Now least of all could any notion of his own safety enter his head, occupied as it already was.

Having returned to the house, he set up the firewood in the hearth and lit it with his magic, and in a few minutes the nearby rooms were slightly warmer. He went back into his room and informed Daisy that she could go to bed, that he would take care of everything else, because she was evidently very tired. (Daisy, in any case, did not sleep, and stayed awake in the living room) He sat in the corner, not taking his eyes off Snowfall.

Then he would get up, quietly make his way towards her, and think, Good grief. By tomorrow she'll be running a fever. By morning it may have already started. She probably caught a cold. And to leave her here, abandon her without any help... How much has she endured? She's proud, that's why she's trying not to complain. But in this illness even somepony like Airglow would get irritated. So dry, her forehead is burning, so dark under her eyes...

And he would momentarily look away, thinking that there was nothing he could do, and he would go back to the corner. "It really is cold in here," he muttered in an inaudible voice.

He remembered that she had complained about that. "The firewood's here. Now what? She'll get up, she may want something to eat. I'll make her something, something soft and easy to chew on, but that can wait. She's so fast asleep right now."

And he went over yet again to look at her; her dress was turned back a little, and her right hind-leg was sticking out slightly. He moved the sheet to cover her better. Then, he lit the stove in the kitchen, came back, and sat in the corner again and slowly dozed off. About two hours went by—it was past three o'clock now. Suddenly a groan came from her; she awoke, she was calling to him; he jumped up like a criminal.

"Snowfall! Damn it, I fell asleep."

She raised herself, looking around in surprise, as if not recognizing where she was, and suddenly became all stirred.

"I took your bed, I fell asleep, besides... Why didn't you wake me up?" she spoke heatedly, with indignation. "You don't think I'm trying to burden you, do you?"

"But I... Why would I wake you?"

"You could have. There's no other bed for you here, and I took yours. Come on, I'll lie on the couch, you can rest here."

She got up, tried to take a step, but suddenly it was as if a violent convulsive pain took all her strength away and all her resolve at once, and with a loud groan she fell back on the bed. Cluster ran to her, but Snowfall, her face buried in the pillows, seized his hoof and began to squeeze it. This went on for about a minute.

"Snowfall, dear, if you want I could go fetch a doctor, I'm sure I'll find one working the night shift."

"Please don't..." she drawled, barely able to speak.

"But why? Snow, please tell me what's wrong with you."

"What is this?" she asked strangely, raising her head and looking at him fearfully.

"What do you mean?" Cluster failed to understand. He could not make sense of what she was asking, and was passing more into unease.

"It's okay, Cluster, you don't have to understand. And it would be very funny..." She grinned bitterly. "Talk to me about something. Walk around the room and talk. Don't just stand over me and stare at me."

Cluster began walking around the room, looking at the floor, deep in thought, yet every once in a while would cast a fleeting glance at her.

"You look thin, Snow. Let me get you something to eat."

She waved her hoof squeamishly and angrily. Cluster stopped for a second, then continued pacing the room.

"Listen," she said, "I really want to open a book shop. Remember how you used to read to me? You always picked novels that I liked. What do you think: will a book shop succeed or not?"

"Snow, there's already a book shop here; you'd have to face competition in that market."

"Oh, since when were you so boring, Cluster? You were very witty last year." She uttered this as squeamishly as all her earlier capricious remarks.

"Snow," Cluster addressed her softly, coming up beside her, "if only you knew how much had gone this past year. I thought that you would despise me. I gave way to dealing with thugs and other bad influences; I was associated with all the terrible ponies. I'm not even sure who I abandoned..."

"Yeah, there's many bad influences out there," she said haltingly and painfully. "Tell me, Cluster, how's your family?"

"That doesn't matter now."

"Yes, it does," she said with some newfound insistence. "Even when you were gone, I was hoping that you still had your family. I missed my parents very much; at the funeral I pressed my face to their coffins and I kept crying, but I was thinking of you. I lost my family, and I was hoping you'd take something away from that."

Cluster was solemnly silent.

"How's your family?" she asked again. "Your brother, your sister..."

"They're..." began Cluster, slowly, as if his tongue were impossibly heavy. "My sister is doing just fine. She works at a library. My brother is... I don't know where..."

"What about your dad?"

"Snow, look—"

"How's your dad, Cluster?"

He sighed, and said reluctantly, "I've taken the long route with him, meaning..." A dreary contemplation blazed out in his eyes, something from rightful hesitation to ponder too much, like he were pressing against some haunting thoughts. He said quietly, "My dad's a scumbag, but he's a scumbag with the intelligence and intuition of a successful landowner. I can acknowledge that."

Snowfall was about to nod, to show that she understood, but suddenly the same convulsion came over her. She was lying stretched out, looking at the ceiling with hot eyes; she was having trouble breathing. Again she hid her face in the pillow, and again for a whole minute she clung painfully to Cluster's hoof.

"Snow, this may be very serious!" he exclaimed, rushing to her.

"Just stop... I don't want it, I don't want it," she kept exclaiming, almost in a fury, turning her face up again. "Don't just look at me. Walk around, say something, talk..."

Cluster, completely at a lost, was trying to mutter something, but it seemed that he had lost his voice.

"How have you been getting along with your sister?" she asked.

"Let's drop it, Snow, save it for later. You need to rest."

Snowfall suddenly raised her head and cried out painfully, "Don't you dare just keep staring at me!" And she fell back on the bed again in a seizure of the same convulsive pain; this was the third time now, but this time her moans grew louder, turned into cries.

"Snow, I'll do whatever you like... I'll walk, talk..."

"Can't you see that it's begun, Cluster? Oh, you're so blind."

"What's begun?" He seriously thought that she had gone mad.

"But can't you see that I'm in labour?" she said, raising herself a little, looking at him with a terrible, painful spite that distorted her whole face. "It really, really hurts."

"Snow," exclaimed Cluster, realizing what this was all about. He stood there as if in a stupor. "But why didn't you tell me sooner?" He suddenly collected himself and, with a rush of determination, went for the door.

"Where are you going? Don't you dare leave me!"

"To fetch a midwife!" Cluster called back, already in the living room. "I'll be right back!"
> Part III – Chapter VIII – Please Don't Go
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What's wrong?" exclaimed Daisy, seeing Cluster rushing from the room.

"Daisy, she's having a baby!" said Cluster.

Daisy was stunned. "She is...? But—"

"I need a midwife. Some mare will do, or anypony. But who? Wait, that's right—I'll go get Sweet Scroll, I know her address. You should come with me, in case she needs convincing!"

Daisy still was not able to process all of Cluster's words, but that didn't matter. She quickly trotted behind, and they left the house. He was muttering something to himself, looking at the street signs, as if making calculations. He suddenly halted, declaring, "I remember this area. Sweet Scroll lives two blocks down, one to the left. Hold on." He ignited his horn and teleported the two of them. They reappeared in front of a distinct house; he checked the address number.

He began knocking almost violently on the front door, which served as the first of two doors, with a window to open. He did not have to knock long; surprisingly, Sweet Scroll instantly opened the window. She stared at him, wide-eyed, with obvious vexation.

"You?" she said. "Do you have any idea what time it is right now?"

"Listen, my girlfriend is giving birth!" said Cluster.

She cocked her head back. "How's that?" she asked.

"Giving birth, to a foal!" Daisy put in.

Sweet Scroll was even more surprised to spot Daisy by Cluster's side.

"You're... not mistaken?" she asked, staring at Cluster warily.

"Definitely not," said Cluster. "She's having spasms. I need your help—to deliver the foal."

She was pensively silent for a few seconds, but eventually it became too much for Cluster to bear.

"Remember when I saved you?" he said suddenly, passing into agitation. "You owe me, Sweet Scroll. Hurry, she's in labour. Just ask Daisy."

Daisy nodded rapidly at the mention of her name, in order add authenticity to Cluster's exclamations.

A whole fireworks of ideas flashed in Sweet Scroll's mind. Eventually her expression changed. She closed the window, then opened the door.

"Can't you come in the morning, when the sun's up? I have something else to do."

"How much do you get paid to be a midwife?" asked Cluster hastily. "How much per session?"

"Er, usually fifty bits an hour."

"I'll pay you four times that—two hundred bits an hour. I swear it on my life. Now come on!"

Sweet Scroll stared hard at the frenzied unicorn before her—how he was acting was completely unlike him. It was enough to genuinely concern her, despite the fact that she only met him once before. Looking searchingly into his eyes, she was entirely absorbed by the impression of the sudden new thought that had shone upon her.

"Alright," she said, grinning. "Take me there. I'll do what I can. But if you don't pay me what you promised—"

"You have my word!" And, horn lit, Cluster teleported them back to Daisy's house.


* * *


Indeed, the sight of Snowfall gave Sweet Scroll a new perspective. Tired as she was from toiling all night last night with another childbirth, she instantly resolved to lend her aid. Daisy was very pleased with her resolution. A hope was even born in Cluster. Sweet Scroll demanded a clean towel, a bucket of water, some gloves, among other things. They were all provided to her.

She did not permit Cluster to stay in the same room as them, and so Cluster was sticking about just outside, pacing back and forth. Sweet Scroll had hastily made the acquaintance of Snowfall, who found her in "a very bad state"—that is, angry, upset, and in the most fainthearted despair—and in some five minutes Sweet Scroll had decidedly gained the upper hand over all her objections.

"What's all this about a midwife?" Snowfall was saying after they had entered. "Stop, I don't need one."

"She's an expensive midwife, meaning she's a good one," Daisy reassured her. "You have to trust Cluster."

"It's not that... I don't want to be a burden..."

"Believe me, Cluster was going crazy over you," said Sweet Scroll with notes of irony in her voice. "I've done this plenty of times. I'm not forcing myself on anypony, I came solely for you. If I'm unnecessary in your opinion, then goodbye; only you're asking for trouble that could easily be avoided."

But Snowfall was so helpless, she was suffering so much, and, to tell you the truth, was so afraid of what lay ahead of her, that she dared not let go of the midwife. Sweet Scroll chuckled at this show of dependence, but nevertheless got to work. It finally reached a point where she told Daisy to leave. The pains were becoming worse. The curses and even profanities were becoming more violent.

"Maybe you could send me out," said Daisy, "in case you need something else."

Cluster resolved not to reply.

"I've seen these types of fathers before," they heard Sweet Scroll's voice. "They often lose their heads. But at least they—"

"Stop it, nopony say a word!" Snowfall was shouting. "I don't want it, I don't want it!"

"It's impossible not to say a word, or are you out of your mind? Just let me work."

Daisy was called back eventually, then Cluster, then he was made to leave. The whole thing was as if in chaos. Time seemed to freeze, even though the whole process took up well over four hours. Snowfall kept babbling incoherently about Cluster.

"Well, lady, you're hard to please," laughed Sweet Scroll. "One minute he has to stand facing the wall and not look at you, and the next he can't leave or you'll cry. Now, now, don't pout, I'm just laughing."


* * *


It was almost five o'clock. Daisy found Cluster pacing the living room from corner to corner, so distracted that he had even forgotten that the noise had ceased, yet he still waited for Sweet Scroll's word to come in.

"You know, Cluster, you're gonna have to eat something soon," said Daisy. "Do you need anything?"

Cluster came to himself and—strangely—began to speak far more calmly than he had been in the past several hours; he spoke with effort, but only for a moment, as if from some new idea that fascinated him.

"There are seconds, they come only five or six at a time, and you suddenly feel the presence of eternal harmony. Celestia told me that. It's nothing special, but the feeling is clear and indisputable. You look up at the night sky and you're taken in by its infinite vastness, and it really puts things into perspective." A vaguely contemptuous grimace appeared on his face for a second. "We've developed as ponies."

He did not say anything else, much to Daisy's dismay.


* * *


The night was passing. Before Snowfall kept shouting, but she eventually turned very timid and obedient. If it hadn't been for Sweet Scroll, things would have been very bad. Gradually she gained complete control over her patient, who started obeying her every word, her every bark, like a child. Sweet Scroll used severity, not kindness, but her work was masterfully executed.

Dawn broke. A damp, cold morning came. Cluster leaned his face to the wall in the corner. He was afraid to think, yet his thought clung to everything that presented itself to his mind. Reveries incessantly carried him away, and incessantly snapped off like loose threads. At a certain point it wasn't groans that came from the room, but terrible, animalistic screaming. He was sweating, he wanted to stop his ears, but couldn't.

And then, finally, there came a new cry, at which Cluster gave a start. It was the cry of an infant, weak, wailing. He rushed into the room, alongside Daisy. In Sweet Scroll's hooves lay a small, red foal, crying and waving its tiny arms and legs, a terribly helpless being, like a speck of dust at the mercy of a storm. Snowfall was lying as if unconscious, but after a minute she opened her eyes and gave Cluster a timid, yearning look.

"It's a girl!" said Sweet Scroll, swaddling the foal.

For a moment, once she had swaddled her and before laying her across the bed between two pillows, she handed her to Cluster to hold in a blanket. Snowfall, as if she were afraid of Sweet Scroll, nodded to him. He understood at once and brought the foal over to her.

"So... pretty..." she whispered weakly, with a smile.

"Congratulations, Cluster!" said the triumphant Sweet Scroll, evidently pleased with herself. "You now have a daughter. Ha, ha, just look at their faces." In the meantime she was bustling about, tidying up, getting ready to leave.

"This is..." began Cluster, with a strangely blissful look, radiant after Snowfall's two words about the foal. Despite all that, it still looked like a gloomy shadow was covering his face.

"Cluster," she said dazedly, as if something were swaying in her head; tears began to emerge in her eyes. "I love you... I love you more than anything..."

Cluster wanted to say something, but it felt like his throat had become unbearably tight. He slowly, silently, gave the foal to Daisy, telling her to take it to another room. Sweet Scroll at first informed him of a few more things, stressing the importance of cleaning up, and began surveying Snowfall.

"I'll be in my room with her," said Daisy softly, holding the foal. She left, leaving Cluster alone in his room with Snowfall and Sweet Scroll.

Unfortunately, Snowfall had become even more thin, pale, and frail-looking than before. She was speaking, and even breathing, with extraordinary difficulty. The sheets below her were completely red. Cluster quickly grabbed a towel and began cleaning the blood, but after a few minutes she sluggishly held out her hoof, trembling.

The blood beneath her would not stop spreading, which altogether greatly worried Sweet Scroll.

"This doesn't look good," she said, and a second later raised her voice, "She's losing too much blood. The delivery was a success, but now... there's too much tissue scarring."

"Too much... what?" said Cluster, recollecting himself and fixing her with a wild stare.

"Here, you"— She passed him another towel —"keep cleaning the blood. I'm going to get a doctor! Hey, Daisy!" she called, and in a few seconds Daisy arrived. "We're going out—to get a doctor."

"A doctor?" exclaimed Daisy, nearly staggering.

There were all sorts of plans rapidly forming in Cluster's head, but formless and impossible ones; the situation disturbed him so much that he did not know what else to do.

"Shouldn't you have brought a doctor?" he resolved to ask.

"Yeah, maybe, except it's the dead of night," said Sweet Scroll irritably, "and you teleported me here with no warning. Hop to it, I know where the doctor is!"

"But shouldn't I come?" began Cluster, only to observe with dread and horror the writhing of Snowfall on the bed.

"Ah! Do what you want!" cried Sweet Scroll, and she took off to the hospital.

"We'll be right back!" said Daisy, before she, too, left the house.

Cluster stopped, waves of immeasurable grief washing over him. Better to stay and clean the blood. He kept thinking it over and over, all that he had done, and he never felt so guilty before anypony. He wasn't even able to say "I love you" back, because whenever he tried he felt like he were being suffocated. He grabbed her hoof and pressed it to his chest.

"It's fine," said Cluster in a low, strained voice. "You'll be fine. Everything will be fine."

"I've... waited so long... to see you," she continued in her weak patters. "I thought that... I'd have the foal... without you by my side."

Cluster's face contorted into an afflictive expression. He gripped her hoof more tightly. He tried looking into her eyes, but she wasn't staring at him; it looked like all traces of light vanished from them.

"Don't think that," he said. "I'm here now. That's what matters."

"How strange... I can't see... your face anymore."

Cluster heaved himself up, noticing that she was trembling all over. He started to choke up.

"Cluster... keep going... please."

"What—what are you saying?" he exclaimed, going stiff.

"Remember that... nothing is more important than family... nothing in all of Equestria... is more important..."

"Stop talking, you need to rest." He looked around the room for some reason. "I don't understand. The pregnancy is over. Damn it, why is this happening?"

"Go back to your family... take care of them... because I lost mine. Can you do that for me... Cluster?"

"Snow, it doesn't have to only be me," he said, leaning in and holding her hoof with both of his. "I know, how about you meet my brother and sister? I'm sure you would get along with them." His lips were all atremble, eyes practically bloodshot. "Her name is Airglow Sky, and his name is Nova Steel. They can be so much fun to talk to. I... you... Snow..." Snowfall didn't respond at first. "Snow..." he said again, and finally tears streamed down his face.

"Don't forget about your family..." Her voice was extremely thin, and she was losing her breath more and more. "Do that for me... they're all that matters... Okay?" 

"Please!" cried Cluster, weeping without control. "Don't go. Please don't go!"

"Cluster..." Her face fell to the side, eyes shut. "I'm so happy... that... we..."

She exhaled for the last time; her whole body went cold and motionless. She died in his arms.

Infinite suffering showed on Cluster's face. He kept shouting at her, prodding her, kissing her, but it was all in vain. At last he fell down by the bedside and burst into loud tears.


* * *


He wasn't sure how long it had been. It was probably ten minutes later when the mares came back with a doctor. They arrived at a scene with Snowfall's body covered almost entirely in towels, pillows strapped beneath her, with a desperate Cluster ready to take her out, levitated in his magic, for having had to wait so long. They rushed in and did all they could to calm him down, as the doctor got to work.

Cluster couldn't contain himself; whenever it seemed like he was calming down, another fit of weeping came over him. Daisy later remarked that she had ever seen a pony cry so much as he had. Even after an examination, the doctor concluded that her recovery would be impossible, and that even if they rushed her to the hospital (and they did), nothing would come of it. At the hospital everything was in disorder as well. He waited, unsure of the time, unsure of what he was doing anymore, till he received the grimmest news of his life at a pin drop. A few more medical ponies came to take her body away afterwards.

Back in Daisy's house, Cluster sat on the floor, stock-still as a statue, looking down. It was impossible to discern any emotion on his face. From a distance it looked like he was a large rag doll: positively lifeless. Many hours had gone by, but he wasn't aware of anything. He was unresponsive, his mind vacant. It was only when he heard the crying of his daughter that he lifted his head, and new tears began streaming down his face.

Daisy had come in with the foal, and she carefully laid her in Cluster's embrace.

"What will you name her?" she asked, with a sad smile.

Cluster stared down at the foal. She was such a tiny thing, so defenseless, yet she moved around with the full intention of proclaiming her right to live. He, at last, smiled.

"Aurora," he said, and held his daughter close to him.

I won't be like him. I won't.
> Part IV – Chapter I – A Narrator's State of Affairs
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


PART IV

SIN LIETH AT THE DOOR



* * *


It seems like I am getting ahead of myself, as is my wont. Picture this, dear reader: I began with the presupposition of unlimited industriousness, but now I find myself with unlimited procrastination. A few words on this unseemly characteristic before we continue on with the story.

In spite of my failings—or even because of them—I wish to propose a somewhat undefinable yet perfectly concrete solution to our problems. That is, undefinable in the strictest and most narrow sense of the word, though sooner or later I might disagree with myself. The issue I ought to bring up is one of work.

Work. Effort. Responsibility. Pulling oneself up by the boot straps. And so on.

You see, dear reader, it is terribly tempting to place the blame on society as a consequence of our shortcomings, as these tend to invite all manner of the most downtrodden countenances. In fact, almost every novel I have ever read, in their message, was a variation of, "What is wrong with society in relation to the main character? And how can it be fixed?" If you do not have your house in perfect order, is it reasonable to criticize the world? You cannot even keep your own room clean, and yet you think you are fit to run the socio-economic climate of our nation? You are bold, much, much bolder than I am.

It is almost always with the younger ones. See, a young pony might be brave—they should even be fearless, as it were. But the one thing a young pony will fear, especially in our times, is to be seen as stupid. Don't say anything stupid, don't look stupid, don't be associated with that which is stupid. And whenever they say something intelligent, or say something that they think is intelligent, it is never said in passing, as a casual remark. A young pony, if they are reasonably intelligent, will place their intelligent remark at the center of attention, saying it with confident strides, as if mentally appending, "See? What I'm saying is intelligent."

By all means, let our progressive generation shake up the edifice which provides us with our foundations. Let them rumble and tumble our social fabric. I am not against change, not a bit. But, I tell them, that the older ponies are there to keep the essence of things intact. They will hold the pieces in place so that the shaking does not collapse the whole tower in one swoop. Our aim is that of responsibility, but we serve progress just like any other young pony. I tell you—that we are mutually necessary to each other. Those who seek change, and those who wish to maintain the status quo—they are mutually necessary to each other.

Ah, dear reader, this is all positive eloquence on my part. It is nothing to brag about. And let me not drive you away from personal responsibility. Responsibility is an almost lost virtue, though of the utmost essentiality. And yet we all know that the everyday trivialities of life are burdensome and abdicate us of this meaning.

You walk into your room or office, you see the paper work for that day, but you ignore it. Soon the sight of it becomes suffocating; you begin to grow hot around the neck and finally in the face; you begin to berate yourself for ignoring the work. And yet you go along with these unpleasant temptations. Instead of doing your work, you indulge in another activity that you know you don't need to do, and you feel terrible for doing it in the long run. You keep telling yourself, "In the next hour?" An hour has passed. "I still have time." The next day. "Next week, next week." The cycle can even lead you to a depressive state of unproductiveness. I tell you, dear reader, that procrastination is a sickness, a real, thorough sickness.

Imagine you always committed yourself to completing what you knew needed attending. Let us say that you voluntarily exposed yourself to the things you needed to overcome, so as to meet your self-defined goals; that you always and consistently did what needed to be done, all of your work, and beyond, with no delay, and that you went about doing it by your own standards—not comparing yourself to others but with your progress from the day before. If for five or ten years you stopped avoiding doing what you knew you needed to do, what would you be like? How about ten times more efficient? Or twenty times more efficient? You would respect yourself more than ever before, and one can only gain the respect of others if they respect themselves first.

What would you be like if you stopped wasting time? We do not know the limits to that. You are not everything you could be and you know it.

Surely this is a terrible thing to admit, though there is real promise in it. This is how we operate in the business world, although that alone is insufficient nowadays. Who knows now? There are too many variables to consider. Yes, these variables—they are impossibly complex in how they relate to the truth. But that, I'm afraid, is a topic for later.

So, now to business.


* * *


Two weeks after Cluster had left Ponyville, roughly speaking, Airglow got up and made her way to the main room. It was a bright morning, and the day before Maxim's birthday. Everything was already being prepared. The tables, food, champagne, balloons—it was all being set up with careful attention to detail. Maxim had come in just the day before, had went over these plans with Olva, and by the end he was very pleased with how everything was being wrapped up.

All in all, it was an exclusive birthday without many ponies attending, which was exactly what Maxim wished for. Bronze Pocket would be attending, much to Maxim's agitated concern, though it wasn't like he could prevent him without also embarrassing himself. Bronze was bringing a friend over, a poor hospitality worker by the name of Feelgreed, alongside the latter's three children. Feelgreed was the type of yes-pony who all too readily accepted whatever criticisms came his way. He loved his children very much, though his wife had passed away a year ago. He was self-satisfied, yet fiddled often and treated every conversation as an opportunity to pull off jokes, the type of pony to browbeat himself whenever given the chance, and a horrible, horrible drunkard. He lived in a cottage, and always brooched off of other ponies' festivities. He and Bronze instantly became friends.

Then there was Cold Leg, one of Maxim's friends from Manehattan, a fairly wealthy merchant. He was extraordinarily proud and held himself up with many expectations; he spoke with excessive dignity and always made a point that he gave money to charities. He dressed very fashionably. Cold Leg was going to bring two other ladies: Soft Trace, one of his distant relatives and a very elegant aristocrat; and Soft Traces's more soft-spoken friend, Bright Glint, who, as very few ponies know, harboured an intense crush on Maxim. Olva and Twinkie would be there, too. Nova would certainly not come, and Cluster was nowhere to be seen. Spender Spent and the councillor, Liquor Alexander, were also invited. Airglow was informed that she could bring one friend, any pony at all. She was still undecided on who to pick.

I will get into more details pertaining to his birthday, but instead, I will recount a brief scene with Airglow that morning. And then? Then we shall see. There are certain misadventures that day to recount.

First thing, as expected, Olva approached her.

"Airglow, my dear," said Olva, "everything is finished for Mr. Wingus, everything except the party hats. Here, take twenty bits, and go to the store. Grab a bundle—no, grab two bundles. The children will like them very much."

"I'll be back soon," said Airglow, grabbing the pouch and making her way to the front door.

On the way she saw Twinkie, half-reclined in her former chair, in which she had been wheeled around. She did not make a move to meet Airglow, but fixed her with her alert, sharp eyes. Her eyes were somewhat feverish, her face was slightly pale. Airglow was amazed at how much she had changed in the last two weeks, starting from when Cluster came to Golden Oak. Twinkie had even lost some weight. What Airglow didn't know, however, was that Twinkie had taken in Cluster's words that day (that is, the day he visited Golden Oak to pick up his book), and he made a very strong impression on her; these influences of his were evidently beginning to echo in her behaviour.

"I know you're going out," said Twinkie sharply. "Mama kept you for two hours telling you about Maxim."

"How did you know?" asked Airglow.

"I was eavesdropping. Why are you staring at me? There's nothing wrong with eavesdropping. I'm not going to say sorry."

"Are you upset about something?"

"No, no, I'm actually very happy, because I finally see the truth." She suddenly laughed.

"There's something guileless about you," said Airglow, smiling.

"Guileless? I don't know what that means, but I know that I'm not ashamed in front of you. I like you, but I can't respect anypony anymore. Everypony is trapped in dumb, normal morality. How do you know good is good, and evil is evil? No respect, no respect at all!" And she laughed again, nervously; she was talking very quickly.

"Did you sleep at all, Twinkie?"

"I want to tell you something I want. I want to marry a stallion when I'm older and he'll torment me. I don't want to be happy! There's no such thing as happiness! It's all conventional!"

"Ah, I see," observed Airglow, arching a dubious eyebrow. "So you love disorder, is that it?"

"Ah, I want disorder. I keep wanting to set fire to the library. I imagine how I'll sneak up and set fire to it when nopony is looking, it has to be when nopony is looking. Ah, I'm so foolish and so boring!"

She waved her tiny hooves in exasperation.

"It's your life," said Airglow, smiling on the sly and studying her intently.

"I want to do evil, not good!"

"Why do evil?"

"So that there wouldn't be anything left. Imagine that! You know... sometimes I think about doing awful things, because the world is too good. Good and evil are lies. I wouldn't lie to you, Airglow."

Airglow was struck most of all by her seriousness: not a shadow of laughter or playfulness was left on her face, though before gaiety and playfulness had not abandoned her even in her most "serious" moments.

"Where are you getting all this from?" asked Airglow pensively.

"It was Cluster who figured it all out. He told me. Like he said: they all say they hate what's bad, but secretly they love it."

"So you spoke with Cluster? He told you that?" Airglow looked at her in amazement. "Don't you think you're ruining yourself?"

"I want to ruin myself!" cried Twinkie, and she was back to laughing.

"Okay then..." Airglow bid her farewell and she was off. She recalled with displeasure at all those "admissions" Cluster made to her on the Summer Sun Celebration. She wasn't sure what to make of it, and worst of all, that he had broken his promise to protect their father. This still troubled Airglow to that day. The way he looked at her, the red in his eyes—she visualized it all with a shudder. Still, as long as no more blood was shed—which was the case so far—she wasn't in complete despair.

But what did Cluster tell Twinkie for her to be acting that way? And did he actually speak with her directly, or did she only listen in on something he was saying? Airglow was thinking on the way to the store.
> Part IV – Chapter II – The Woodlot Contract
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

As for the "misadventures" which I promised to describe in their proper place, I will look at one in particular. This one involved Bronze Pocket and the woodlot over in Appleloosa, and how he managed to sell it with the utmost wit. This all kicked off when the coachpony whom Cluster hired informed Bronze that his son did not, in fact, head over to Appleloosa, but to Baltimare. When asked why, the coachpony replied that he did not know. Before we delve into this chapter, allow me to recount an incumbent and didactic conversation shared between Bronze and Cluster, roughly a month ago, shortly after Cluster arrived in Ponyville.

It was about nine o'clock in the morning. Cluster was currently taking residence in Bronze's house (this was only a day before he rented out his own house, so he was sojourning with his father). Sandy, the servant, came upstairs to his room with the usual daily question, "Will you be pleased to have tea in your room, or will you come downstairs?" Cluster came downstairs, looking almost tranquil, though there was in him, in his words and gestures, something scattered and hasty, as it were—likely pertaining to the upcoming Summer Sun Celebration. He greeted his father, and then, without waiting for Bronze to reply, announced that he was heading out, and that he would only return very late. The old stallion listened to this announcement with no sign of surprise, and quite indecently forgot to pay his son any farewells. Instead he suddenly got into a great flutter, having just remembered some urgent business of his own.

"Ah, you! What a fellow!" said Bronze. "Couldn't have told me yesterday you were heading out... well, no matter, we'll settle it now. Do me a great favour, stop off at Appleloosa. The train passes by there frequently, and you'd go and return in less than twenty-four hours."

"I can't," replied Cluster. "I have to go to Town Hall, and I'll be there all day today."

"You'll make it in no time, but turn off Appleloosa. What'll it cost you to placate your father! If I wasn't kept here by my own business, I'd have shot over there and back myself long ago, because the deal there is an urgent and special one, but now isn't the time for me. There's a woodlot there, see, two parcels on waste lands. The Corkscrews, the old earth pony and his son, both merchants in hiding, are offering only twenty thousand for it, to cut the timber, and just last year a buyer turned up who offered twenty-five thousand, but he wasn't a local, that's the catch. Worse is that my competitor, Bang Mang, is all prudent and trying to win this woodlot over me, like it's some legal matter. He doesn't want me to make any money!"

"Write to a friend of yours; have them settle it."

"Cluster, I'm asking you because I trust you the most. You're reliable, and you won't lie to make a profit. None of the ponies I know have any eye for business, unlike me. The buyer offering twenty-five thousand is pure gold, I'd hand him fifty thousand bits for safekeeping, without receipt, but he has no eye at all. And he's a learned pony, just think of it! He looks nice and dresses in a congenial way, but he's a scoundrel in character, that's the trouble for us: he lies, that's the catch. Sometimes he lies so much you wonder, why's he doing it? Two years ago he lied that his wife was dead and that he'd already married another one, and, imagine, not a word of it was true: his wife never died, she's still alive and beats him once every week. So we've got to find out whether he's lying now, too, or really wants to buy and is offering twenty-five thousand."

"But there's no use sending me; I don't have an eye either."

"No, no, you'll do fine, because I'm going to tell you the signs. I've dealt with this fellow way back—his name's Ruddy Muff, by the way. You see, you have to watch his beard; he has an ugly little beard. If he strokes his beard and he looks angry—good, it means he's telling the truth. But if his beard shakes and he chuckles to himself—no good, he's out for swindling, the cheating rascal. Never watch his eyes; you can't tell anything from his eyes. They're lazy, murky, look like they're made of water—but watch his beard. If you manage, write to me, 'He's not lying.' Insist on twenty-four thousand; you can knock off a thousand to put him at ease, but not more. Think: from twenty to twenty-four, it's a difference of four thousand. Well, will you go or not?"

"Spare me, would you? I don't have any time."

"Pah! Do it for your father, I won't forget it! You have no hearts, any of you, that's what! Will a single day make a difference? Where are you off to—Town Hall? Your Town Hall won't fall apart in a day. I'd send Airglow, but she's no use in these matters, and besides, she's too young. It's because you're an intelligent pony—don't I know that? You're not a timber dealer, but you have a spectacular eye. The only thing is to see whether old Muff is talking seriously or not. Watch his beard, I tell you: if his beard doesn't shake, it's serious."

"So you're pushing me to this Appleloosa, are you?" said Cluster with a malicious air.

Bronze did not perceive the malice, but he did catch the sentiment. "You'll go then, you'll go? I'll scribble a note for you right now!"

"No, I haven't decided anything. On second thought, no, I'm not going. Goodbye." Cluster left at once.

"Pah! So be it!" cried Bronze, glaring back at his son. Half an hour later and the crazy old fool locked himself in his room.


* * *


And now we continue in the present. Bronze boarded the Ponyville train heading off to Appleloosa, for at last he found the time to take care of the deal himself. On the way, however, he wandered about the aisle, then would sit down and groan to himself, in some sort of trembling anticipation. True, he intended to speak to Ruddy Muff and his beard, but he also wanted to do something about the cursed Bang Mang and his muddling of this whole business.

To add, his face had healed considerably. Only two tiny white patches were under his left eye. The swelling had mostly retracted, leaving his skin back to its usual bagginess.

Upon arrival in Appleloosa, Bronze was beaming with quite the anticipation that he was at last about to finish and have done "all these business affairs"—he nevertheless trembled in agitation. What would happen in his absence? What if today Nova decided to pull off another stunt?

"I must get back, I must get back by this evening," Bronze told himself, as he jolted along.

First of all, he was late, having written that he would arrive at nine in the morning, but now it was half-past ten o'clock. Second, he did not find Ruddy Muff at home, and so asked around, and at last was pointed to a barn. He walked along the scorching planes of Appleloosa, past the sandy sidewalks and heaps of barrels and carriages in the many alleyways.

He indeed spotted Ruddy Muff exiting a barnyard, a little's way behind a short picket fence that ran across this particular area of agriculture. Tilting back his cowboy hat (he had bought one earlier at a venue), Bronze strode forward.

"How's it been, old Muff!" laughed Bronze, rushing up to him. "I know, I know—I deserve that look. Apologies. My servants kept me back, asking me to fix a chair for them, and that delayed me. I know, it's no good excuse. Well, so to it!"

Ruddy Muff looked at him, and even seemed frightened for a second. He was not old yet, but short and lean, with a very oblong face, and a long, thin, reddish beard. It was a habit of his to go on examining the physiognomy of other ponies with terrible hatred, reflecting some kind of latent jealousy in their looks. And above all, it was unbearably vexing to him that Bronze should be standing there with an urgent business.

He beckoned for a second, then retreated back into the barnyard, with Bronze behind him. Inside, by a stack of hay, stood a single table holding a tallow candle. The kettle had gone out; there was also a tray with cups, an empty bottle of cognac, an almost empty bottle of rum, and some crusts of white bread.

"So does my woodlot still hold sway over you?" inquired Bronze at once, pausing at the table.

Ruddy Muff nodded, yet he grew hot in the face and began stroking his beard.

"Twenty-five, right?" cried Bronze. "How about a little negotiating, eh?"

"No, you'd better not," Ruddy Muff finally pronounced, "I am in no mood to negotiate." He pulled even harder on his beard.

So he's not swindling, thought Bronze. "Mercy upon us, look at that!" he exclaimed, snatching the rum bottle and peering inside. "This looks to be in exquisite condition. May I...?"

"No, you'd better not," Muff repeated his phrase, grinding his teeth. "It's twenty-five and literally not a copper more. But if you get caught..."

"Wh-at!" said Bronze, putting on a display of feigned confusion.

Muff put on affronted airs. "Do not get caught is what I mean. Do not get caught, stay low."

"Get 'caught'? Doing what? Doing a perfectly legal transaction?"

"That's a lie!" Muff suddenly rapped out firmly and calmly.

"A lie?" Bronze spoke almost breathlessly. "If you please, old Muff, you are very mistaken."

"I don't please to know you, only the woodlot," said Muff. "Bang Mang has already caught whiff of your dealings, he's latched on good and tight. You can't sell two parcels below thirty, it's not allowed for."

"But yes I can! What? I can do that! Says who?"

"A l-lie!" Muff rapped out again. "You're smart enough to know the laws here."

"Pah! You're a dyer!" cried Bronze glumly.

Ruddy Muff was stroking his beard solemnly. "No," he said, "you contracted this woodlot and turned out to be a cheat. You're a cheat, sir!"

"You lying swine!" cried Bronze in a voice not his own, in response to Muff stroking his beard and slyly narrowing his eyes. "Do you want the woodlot or not?"

"I do, yes, that I do," said Muff. "But you can't get caught by Bang Mang, or else I too am in the hanger, because he's trying to get you arrested. Well, don't you know?"

Bronze stood dumbfounded, as it were, but suddenly a new and wicked idea came to him. He started muttering to himself, pacing back and forth. Muff sat watching him and chuckled.

"Bang Mang is here, in Appleloosa," Muff let out, as if it were a casual observation.

"He is?" exclaimed Bronze, coming to his senses; he studied the features on Ruddy Muff's face, and especially his beard, very intently for a whole ten seconds. True, this did make some modicum of sense, even if he wondered why Bang Mang would bother coming there personally. "Hmm, alright," he concluded. "Where exactly?"

Ruddy Muff informed him at once that although he had been staying with Bang Mang at first (much to Bronze's surprise), he was now staying in a forester's cottage, as he was buying timber there, too. At Bronze's urgent request to take him to his competitor, stressing that "it would save me, so to speak," Ruddy Muff agreed, after some demur, to conduct him to this cottage on the other side of town.

"We will go there," said Muff, "but there is another matter I ought to show you, because it's equally important, and it will be to your liking."

And Ruddy Muff pulled from who knows where a piece of paper with a wall of tiny text on it. At the very bottom the signature "G.C." appeared. He handed it over to Bronze, though he was pale, and a terrible caution, amounting almost to despair, was on his contorted face. This was mainly expressed in his eyes. He lowered his gaze at once, and dragged himself, staggering and smiling a forlorn smile, over to the front entrance of the barn.

"This is what I was expecting!" cried Bronze, after having read the note. "It was bound to happen."

Indeed, what he had read was a more-or-less anonymous note describing Bang Mang's dealings, how he underpaid his employees, and possessed private information on all of them to prevent any brave soul from complaining to the authorities. In short: Bang Mang was a filthy blackmailer. It mentioned that he was hiding his personal journal somewhere in his cottage.

But who would write to Bronze Pocket like this? Was somepony seeking justice through a most depraved and unjust catalyst like Bronze? Had it really gotten that bad? As the narrator I obviously know the answers to all these questions, and so I say: yes, this was all very true.

"That's what you know? 'It was bound to happen'? Oho!" said Ruddy Muff in a nasally voice.

"But who is this G.C. character?" inquired Bronze. "Ah, exactly this! See, this is my ammunition, this is my anchor, so to speak." There ensued in Bronze a sort of stir, a deep excitement. "Well, let's go."

"But, unluckily, we will have to march over there right now," cautioned Muff.

Bronze agreed, of course, and along the way he started talking about his plans in regards to the woodlot, nervously and excitedly asking the advice of Muff. However, while Muff listened to him along the way, he gave little advice. It was only after arriving at the cottage did he say, "But be careful, Bronze, don't upset him too much, or else he'll blow his own lid. His daughter passed away recently, and he's very angry right now. Speak carefully and slowly." His beard wiggled at these words.

Before moving over to the next chapter, allow me to bear upon you a very brief and, dare I say, fleeting lecture on pricing strategies.

Bronze Pocket was being accused of predatory pricing. This is the term given to the act of setting either a product or service at an extremely low price, with the intention of driving out competitors by artificially raising new barriers to entry. That is to say, if you lower your price, then it stands to reason that your competitors must do the same, unless they offer a special quality which justifies their higher price. Because of this, most ponies cannot sustain the cost of lowering their prices too drastically, and so are forced out of business. Because predatory pricing is officially considered to be anti-competition and therefore can lead to monopolies, the Equestrian government set down some antitrust laws to allay those worries. In our case, the lowest Bronze could legally set the price of his woodlot to was thirty thousand.

Obviously, predatory pricing pays off only if the surviving predator can then raise prices enough to recover the previous losses, making enough extra profit thereafter to justify the risks. These risks are not small.


* * *


It was awfully inconvenient for Bronze that Bang Mang had come to Appleloosa. He wondered for a moment if Bang Mang had predicted his coming to the town, and, more specifically, his chosen date to sell the woodlot. It was almost as if he followed him there simply to press charges, and truth be told, it would not be unfounded: it truly was against market regulations to sell two parcels at less than thirty thousand, but because this transaction was being accomplished by the side, that is, under ponies' noses, nopony would suspect anything overtly suspect. To add, the law enforcement was not particularly attentive around these parts. And, to add even more, it was now discovered that Bang Mang was a potential criminal, of a far more nefarious sort.

Bronze would not let him get away with this, one way or the other. On deciding what to do, he became very pleased with himself. When the old stallion was pleased, he always became effusive, but this time he restrained himself, as it were. For instance, he did not say a single word about anything in regards to Ponyville, nor his children, to either Muff or Bang Mang. He even seemed to be running out of things to say, but it did not matter—now it was time to confront reality.

To note, Muff had left and gone his own way, not intending to make heads or tails of this whole scenario, unknowingly placing his trust in Bronze's intuition. And how right he was to do so.

I'll needle his heart, that's what! thought Bronze gleefully. After walking so much in these fields, he believed that he was owed a little compensation, that is, a moral one.

He knocked on the door rapidly, with his short, almost nervous-like knocks, and in a few seconds it was opened to reveal a pony Bronze had never set eyes on before. This was a mare, decently dressed, a bit on the young side, but without any of that expected youthful naivety on her face.

She gave him a quiet and taciturn look, to which Bronze replied courteously, "May I have the honour to come in, madame?"

"Mr. Mang wasn't expecting anypony," she rapped out, condescendingly yet seriously enough.

"No, see, I'm Bronze Pocket, a landowner and money-lender from the outskirts of Ponyville. You must be...?"

Some hitherto unseen light flickered in this mare's eyes, and she said in an undertone, "I see, you're here on official business. I'm Glossy Coat."

"No, no, no, this isn't anything official," said Bronze. "I'm here for 'legal' matters. Heh, heh."

She admitted him inside. He found his worn-looking competitor sitting on a couch. He rarely spoke to anypony, not that it mattered, because his business was largely handled by third parties those days. The mare who attended Bronze was the daughter of a cousin of his.

I know why you're here in Appleloosa, flashed through Bronze's vindictive mind. You want to throw a wrench in my gears, eh? To ruin me, eh? Let's see about that. And this here is Glossy Coat—"G.C.", eh? You've gotten careless in who you trust, Mr. Mang.

Bang Mang, some would observe, had the look of a pony who had been permanently frightened by something too great for his mind to sustain. He trembled with wickedness and spite. He was severe and taciturn even with this servant of a mare. When Bronze entered Bang Mang got up from his couch and stood solemnly and sternly, and Bronze felt at once that he was examining him thoroughly as he approached. Bronze was also struck by the face of Bang Mang, which had become extremely swollen recently: his lower lip, which had always been thick, now looked like a kind of drooping pancake. His face was withered and sunken, and tainted with an unnatural shade of yellow. He was, for all intents and purposes, on death's bed, from some sort of incurable disease.

He motioned Bronze to sit in a chair near the couch, and, with painful groans, showing his painful exertions, slowly lowered himself back onto the couch facing Bronze.

But where was the journal? Bronze subtly darted his eyes about, and at last chided himself for not seeing it right away: his journal was right there, in the open, on his desk.

"I know why you're here, Mr. Pocket," the old pony, having finally seated himself, said slowly, distinctly, and sternly.

Bronze gave a start, then all at once began speaking quickly, nervously yet decidedly in a calculated manner. He wanted to put on the erroneous impression that he was a stallion at the end of his rope, facing ruin and looking for a way out. Bang Mang bought into it instantly, though his face remained unchanged and cold as a statue's.

"The most honourable Bang Mang," he cried, "it's my most reverent duty, as a fellow statespony, that it has all been for naught. See, there I was, meeting my partner, Ruddy Muff, the ol' whisker-chaser, heh! I was selling my woodlot for a whole thirty thousand, imagine it. I was going to sell it for twenty-five, but I just couldn't resist the money! This is in Appleloosa, of course—I'm speaking about my woodlot in Appleloosa. I drew up the papers, ready to be signed, and have the remainder of my assets pulled from these lands. But here comes last minute and that Muff fellow just bails on me, saying he found a new seller, offering a whopping three parcels for only twenty-nine thousand. Now I have no buyer. I was dumbstruck, and so, most honourable Bang Mang, you should take over these claims for me."

"Excuse me, Mr. Pocket, but I don't engage in that kind of business," declared Bang Mang in the most resolute and cheerless tone.

"But what am I to do?" murmured Bronze, with a pale smile. "I tell you this because you can profit from it, you can have the woodlot for cheap, is what I mean. All the rest here are loggerheads, but not you, not you! Fate is a grisly thing, Bang Mang! Realism, Bang Mang, realism! We must think objectively and look at our self-interest."

Bronze stared fixedly at the old pony, and suddenly noticed a slight movement on his face.

"You see, Mr. Pocket, if it's not you then it's not my line," said the old pony slowly. "The woodlot here, in Appleloosa, is impossible. There would be courts, lawyers, all kinds of trouble!"

"But—"

"As I said, Mr. Pocket, I don't engage in 'that' kind of business," interrupted Bang Mang firmly, as if in conclusion, seeming content to stay put and not budge.

"Well, sir..." Bronze inclined his head, and he burst into his insolent little laugh. "Seems like I'll have to sell my other two parcels back in Vanhoover. A shame, really, that I couldn't get both Vanhoover and Appleloosa."

Suddenly all of that coldness and bad attitude from Bang Mang disappeared, and in its stead a new bout of anger bubbled over. Whether it was the rapturous look of Bronze, the foolish convictions of his "other" woodlot, or whatever else—I cannot say what precisely prompted the old pony at the time, but when Bronze stood mockingly before him, putting out his senseless exclamations—at that moment Bang Mang looked upon him with boundless spite.

"You have another two parcels of land?" he interrupted Bronze. "Where?"

"I just told you: in Vanhoover. Oh, you wouldn't believe how desperate ponies are there for my woodlot. I'm selling it for cheap."

"How cheap?" Bang Mang bubbled over with even more anger.

"Well, for now it's all supply and demand, like how they teach you in economics. If the demand exceeds the supply, but there is too much competition, then I can give myself the liberty of lowering the price. This is a most lofty deed, one might say... I cherish the most honourable feelings."

"But how cheap are you selling!" spat Bang Mang.

"Ch-ea-p!" drawled Bronze, smiling. "Of course, that transaction will only take place next week, so for now I'll be staying in Appleloosa. If you don't want to take my reigns, then it looks like I'll have to sell the woodlot here for as high as thirty-five."

Bang Mang, livid with spite, turned to his relation and gave orders to get the carriage ready, then to Bronze, "You... you... mongrel! I don't want to see a hair of you! You won't even be allowed in my yard! Go, out!"

He did not get to finish his threat, but no matter: Bronze was already hightailing out of there. He could hardly contain his crackling laughter, his giddiness, carrying within his saddlebag Bang Mang's journal, having swiped if on the fly at the end of their conversation.

Oh, how clever I am! rang incessantly in his mind.

For a whole five hours afterwards Bang Mang was shaking all over with spite, to the point where his illness might have worsened. It didn't help that, at the end of those five hours, it become known to him that he was bamboozled. I shall describe that event at once.


* * *


Ruddy Muff was in the barnyard by himself again; he was preparing a fire to boil the kettle. That was when Bronze returned, rushing in all with animation.

"Here, here, sign the contract!" he cried in a frenzy, pulling out the paper from his saddlebag. "And here, a quill. Well? Sign it, you damn swine!"

Muff stared dumbly at him, but he suddenly started chuckling long yet quietly to himself, in conjunction with the funny wagging of his beard.

"But I already bought a woodlot," he said.

"Pah! Swine that you are!" said Bronze. "Just sign it, I'm selling for twenty-four. I took care of Bang Mang."

"R-ea-lly?" Muff pursed his lips. "Since when?"

"Since 'when'? Pah! He really has lost his head!"

"I mean... since right now?"

"Yes. Speaking of which," shouted Bronze, as if some thought had struck him, "you may ask, 'Why the hurry?' Payback, my friend. Hot, hot time serves the sweetest payback, and I aim to cherish it. I want to see the look on his face. First, you sign the cursed paper; then, we go to the meet up point, talk to the contractor, show him this paper, and strike the deal. Then my remaining assets will be removed—should take no more than a few hours. If Bang Mang were here he'd jump in at once and sue me!"

After a bit more questioning, they ventured way over to the woodlot.  That is, not the woodlot itself, but the location where any transaction agreements would be conducted. The place I am speaking of was situated in the midst of ploughed fields, near a water-course that had been converted into a filthy pool. Except for a few willows, and two or three birch-trees, there was not a tree around for at least a mile. There were a few huts, huddled up against more huts, their roofs covered with rotting thatch. A single gazebo was in the middle, a large one, with a boarded roof. As for the assets to be removed, there were only a select few: two tractors, a set of metal tools, and some imported materials, such as glass or the like.

Bronze brought the contract signed by Ruddy Muff, had the officials read it, and finally the orders were given to dispatch the assets, which, once leaving that vicinity, would no longer be the property of Bronze. Now, officially, the woodlot belonged to Muff. And in the next few hours, the area was cleared, and Bronze could head home with no worries, if not for two things left to execute. First, he found the nearest lit stove and all but hurled the contract into it, turning it into ash forever. This left him feeling more satisfied than ever before.

As to the question of, "Won't Bang Mang be suing once he returns?" Bronze gleefully replied, "With all that's been patched together, shipped off, and accomplished, it could take up to twelve months, or more, to establish court proceedings, while before, if catching me in the act, I would be neck-deep in trouble this very day. And even if he does catch me, it won't matter."

"Because I have this," Bronze ventured to say, on point of the second thing to execute; he pulled out the journal and flipped through several pages, each containing damning information of not only Bang Mang's employees, but best of all, of Bang Mang himself. "I have to hand this in to the local police station."

He went there himself, explained the situation, had them read the journal, and for a final measure called in Glossy Coat, who indeed confirmed everything. It was a done deal.

On the way back, Bronze asked Ruddy Muff, "Say, why did you need the woodlot in the first place?"

"Why? Well, because... because..." stammered Ruddy Muff, going red in the face, and he started brandishing his hoof at Bronze, as if in a rage. "What's it to you? Because I want to move some family in, and I need... well, 'because'... because nothing!"

Bronze gave him an odd look, yet shrugged regardless.

For the sake of closure, I will say that Bang Mang did indeed return. While on the train ride, he turned over in his head many of these recent "facts" which had been presented to him, prodding their authenticity, making sure everything added up. And, when it finally hit him that he had been swindled, he went cold in the legs and immediately turned back. The first thing he was greeted with was the next locomotive departing Appleloosa, and Bronze sticking his head out the window, casting a taunting glare at him, crying out, "Adios, mon ami! Thank you for the time well spent! Ha, ha!" And a minute or two after that, a pair of guards waiting for him at the foot of the station. The next day it was learned that Bang Mang received ten years in the hanger.
> Part IV – Chapter III – Birthday Preparations
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the night before Maxim Wingus's birthday, close to eight o'clock. Airglow came in late after running some errands, as well as aiding Misty Gem in reporting a break-in.

Yes, as events tend to take a turn for the worst when you least expect it, around this time Misty came home to find her house in complete shambles: pots smashed, tables and stools tipped over, books and scrolls spilled all over the floor from their shelves, carpet overturned—a fashionista's most dreadful nightmare! Misty was boiling over in indignation, and yet not many hours later she became used to the mess, after being informed that nothing important was stolen, that is, no jewellery or money or anything like that had been taken.

"But who would do this?" is what she said. "I don't have any enemies, do I? My mind is going in circles! This is the state of Equestria right now!" And so on.

At the present she was giving a statement to one of the investigators, and that is when Airglow departed, wishing her luck in her future endeavours, and headed back home.

Despite the appropriate essence of things having been set in place, not only in the physical formatting of the foyer but of the intended cool and relaxing atmosphere, Maxim was sitting at the kitchen table, cheek resting in hoof, not uttering a single word but merely nodding and listening with strained attention to Olva's outpourings, who had been seldom in such a happy and excited mood as she was now, that night. Maxim listened to her for a long time while hardly understanding a single word. She was in some state of extravagant pride over what she managed to accomplish, and how the library looked stunning, with all the little things, like the cut-up streamers, executed perfectly. It is always the little things that make you the happiest.

To speak more properly, the Golden Oak foyer was rendered luxurious, in the style of a Canterlot chalet, adorned on every side with flowers and leaves. There was even a little fence set-up in the back, under a plank-wood overhanging, which resembled a veranda. Even the back room felt more spacious and more stylishly appointed.

The theme of the conversation that had begun was not, it seemed, to Maxim's taste; Olva would not let go of all the "plans" she had for the party. Maxim, having been about to turn thirty, wanted his birthday to represent some symbol of maturity; after all, once you are thirty, there are no more excuses for immaturity. "Fun and games" is for the twenties crowd. The idea of a library was simple, in humble terms with the rest of Ponyville, a humble town, and this appealed to Maxim very much, because he came from the bigger cities and felt tainted by its influence. He sought humble simplicity in all its materialistic forms.

Airglow, closing the front door, went up to them to catch what they were saying.

"Mr. Wingus," said Olva in a strange fervour, seizing him by the arm, "be assured that I consider you the most noble and best of ponies, in spite of everything; be assured of that..."

Maxim stepped away from the table, for a moment restraining some ironic yet indignant grin; but, seeing Airglow come in, he let himself grin anyway.

"It's Airglow, right?" he said. "Nice place you have. Definitely wouldn't have guessed you were related to the likes of Bronze, or even Cluster."

"I get that a lot," said Airglow, smiling sheepishly.

"Airglow, practically everything is ready for tomorrow night," inserted Olva with ardent exclamations, "everything except the guest you said you were going to bring. Now, now, it isn't official, dear; if you have nopony in mind, then that still works, only we'll be on a surplus of drinks."

"Which wouldn't be a bad thing," remarked Maxim, who, upon noting the time, wandered to the front door. Something about his gaze was as if in distraction, and he was on the point of remarking that the current setting for the party would be woefully inadequate for the aristocratic lot of Canterlot, but he said nothing: he wished to show, not tell, the transformation of his progressive irony.

"So I guess you have nopony in mind?" Olva asked once more.

"No, no, I do," said Airglow pensively. "In fact, I'll go, uh, confirm it right now. See you soon!"

"B-but..." Olva tried to get her word in, with no success. Airglow went her way in quick strides, not wishing to stay and explain this sudden behaviour.


* * *


"Thank goodness it isn't my bedtime yet," said Airglow on her part, as she left Golden Oak and began wandering the streets of Ponyville. Then it hit her—"Wait, why do I even have a bedtime? I'm not ten anymore."

She put the thought aside for the more immediate matters. The ponies who would be attending Maixm's birthday were as followed: Maxim himself, her father and a friend of his, three of Maixm's friends who were from out of town, some acquaintances from the auction were apparently coming (I will add that Bronze and Spender Spent managed to make amends, ever since that incident from the beginning of the story), Olva and herself would be there, maybe one or two other ponies she was missing, and she could bring one other pony. But who?

Some options came to her in the form of formless ideas and imaginations. She recalled, for instance, that sick pony and his aunt to whom she was sent by Nova. His name—Pyre Opus—still left its morbid impression on Airglow, so that she still felt bad for him, wondering what they did with those two hundred-fifty bits. Her brother Nova was quite generous with his money, either for the better or worse.

After some minutes of wandering around, Airglow found her way to Hay Avenue, on the fifth block, where that lopsided house was located. She wanted to do something nice for somepony who probably wasn't used to receiving kindness. Or, perhaps, her motivation was not simply an act of kindness, but something else, something far more complex and (dare I say) self-centered than its subsequent explanations.

But who am I to call Airglow self-centered? Something firm and aware always seemed to settle in her eyes when speaking with other ponies; and at the moment, a certain steadfast, humble, but good and irrevocable resolution appeared in her.

When reaching the house she found, to her surprise, several ponies in orange vests, adorning small moon crest pins, who by the looks of it worked in renovation, moving in, out, and around the house, carrying with them pieces of furniture of all kinds. The glass panes of the windows were gone, too. Airglow stood there in front of the yard, examining the place, wondering whether or not this was the right address, when she heard that course, spiteful voice, "It's you! Why have you come?"

She turned around and saw Pyre Opus, walking with a slight hunch towards her, his neck wrapped in some ragged, blue scarf. He carried on his back a thin, worn-out saddlebag with the corners of a few papers peeping through. Judging the situation, Airglow decidedly came to the conclusion that he was on certain terms with these renovation ponies, and by the weary look on his face, that something unfortunate had transpired.

Upon seeing Airglow, a small vertical wrinkle came to his forehead, between his eyebrows, giving his dreary face a look of thoughtfulness concentrated upon itself, which was even almost severe at first glance. Airglow found it strange, too, that he was out here, and that he was apparently renovating at night.

"If you came back for the money, it isn't here anymore," he said heatedly. He moved his mouth to one side, twisting it, as it were.

"Is everything okay, Pyre?" asked Airglow, recalling his name.

The severity in him vanished, and his expression softened. "I... But what's it to you?" he retorted, not with anger, but almost timidly, as though confused by Airglow's show of concern.

"You're right, it's none of my business," replied Airglow, "though just so you know, I'm passing by. I'm looking for something."

"Hem! Really now?" he coughed. "Looking for what?"

She looked at what was once his house, then back to him. "For conversation, I guess. Anything, really."

There was a terrible resentment in his eyes, which refused to subside no matter how he composed himself. At the sight of Airglow he went pale, unable to deny this friendly display, which added to his disdain; in a show of haste he wandered right by her to his dismantled former house, went right up to one of the ponies working there, handed them those papers from his saddlebag, then came back; but he walked right by Airglow without a word, and started heading away, to who knows where, but paused and stood only a few dozen yards away for a while, deep in thought. A minute later he heard Airglow come up to him once more.

Unexpectedly, in his intervals of violent coughing, he said, "You want to know what? My aunt went away... She left and took all that was here."

"She left?" muttered Airglow, frowning. "And you weren't okay with that, were you?"

Pyre nodded, but in his pale smile, still twisted with spite, there suddenly flashed something cunning, as it were, though also pitiful. "It was her fault anyway," he said, "wanting to stay with a dying pony drove her away."

"Oh, that's right," said Airglow gloomily, almost in a whisper. "She told me you were dying."

"Hem! I have two weeks left. That's what the doctors tell me. I'm homeless now, you can see for yourself, but what does it matter in two weeks? In two weeks it'll all be over, with no prospects. Well...?"

"Right..." muttered Airglow, pawing the ground, with a thoughtful look on her face.

Pyre narrowed his eyes at her, but the silence was broken by a stream of violent coughing from him, which seemingly triggered a light bulb in Airglow.

"I have an idea," she suddenly said. She came up to him, speaking with extraordinary conviction, intending to persuade him of something. "Why don't you move in with me at the Golden Oak Library?"

"With... you?" he repeated, looking almost offended, squinting his left eye.

"Yeah, I live there. And..." She let out a seemingly defeated sigh, frowning even more now. "And I'm sorry about your circumstances. I can't save you from those two weeks, if that's really what the doctors said. But at least if you come to the library and stay there, it'll be easier for you to live among ponies and trees. I mean, it'll be a much nicer place."

The serious air of this offer somewhat surprised Pyre. He had a vague feeling that there was something else he ought to find out, something he ought to ask—at any rate, something more serious than moving into a library for all of two weeks. But anyway, it was dark, and he was having a hard time distinguishing her face very clearly.

"What difference would it make?" he said. "Hem! Why are you foisting 'trees' on me? Don't you know, once we die it's just that—we die—there's nothing special after that. What difference will it make whether I die inside a tree with ponies or not?"

"I... I agree," said Airglow glumly, "there's no point in worrying about two weeks. But"— she all but heaved herself, pressing a hoof to her chest —"greenery and clean air is bound to produce a good change, maybe even a physical change, maybe even just sleeping in a warm bed can help you. And maybe your dreams will change, too, and become lighter. Wouldn't you like that?"

"Ha! My dreams will change?" observed Pyre, laughing. "You talk like a materialist."

"Well," she replied, smiling, "I've always been a materialist."

Pyre was taken aback, unsure of how to respond to her. He looked at her more attentively now. The silence began to stretch, and eventually Airglow said, "Look, I only came to invite you to a birthday party. It's to a friend of my brother's, Cluster Tale." She looked up in thought for a second. "Or at least I think they're friends."

While at first the subject of a birthday party did not interest him in the slightest, the mention of Cluster's name had an immediate and profound effect on the sick pony. In his gaze there suddenly flashed a boundless hatred, in spite of his coughing and trembling, which was giving way to meaner and meaner passions.

"Cl-us-ter Tale will be there?" he exclaimed.

"Um..." Airglow looked at him.

Pyre remembered the first and only time he had ever spoken with Cluster. It was at a local gathering (the same one of which Liquor Alexander referenced before), and he was well aware of Cluster's status as Princess Celestia's student. He wanted to behave spitefully with Cluster, to plaster the wickedness of Canterlot high society for all to see, and to show how clever he could be in the face of such a distinguished pony. Pyre went to Cluster and began to expound upon him all of his troubles, his dislikes, his offences and degradations, his arguments and deconstructions of how ponies like Cluster live their lives. He concluded by saying that everything he did was meaningless, that the title of Princess Celestia's student held no weight—that life in its totality was meaningless. In short, he unleashed upon Cluster a rhetorical wave of nihilism. And, at the end of it all, Cluster raised an eyebrow, tilted his head to one side, and said, "If everything is meaningless, what's the point in complaining about it?" Pyre was crushed. Everypony in the room laughed at him. He trembled in rage just being reminded of that damn unicorn.

"What a horrid insult! Hem! Hem!" wheezed Pyre. "If Cluster Tale is going to this stupid party, then I'll go, too. Well, is he going?"

"Yeah, sure, of course!" Airglow took notice of his undertones and seized the opportunity. "I don't know if he'll come for sure, but if his sister and father will be there, there's a good chance he'll come, too. Not one hundred percent, but... yeah, he might come."

Technically this was not a lie, she reasoned, because there really was a probability of him showing up, however small it wound up being.

"It's tomorrow night," she added, smiling with encouragement, "at Golden Oak, starting some time around eight o'clock."

"So be it, so be it!" Pyre coughed his way to his exclamations. "I will come... hem!... I have only two weeks left to live, so what's there to lose? Literally nothing. Hem!"

And he left without a farewell. Airglow went her own way, back to Golden Oak, thinking, Well, it's better than nothing. I just wish Cluster was here. But where is he?

And Pyre, still all atremble in his rage, went inside to what was left of his house, found a few pieces of paper and a quill, and feverishly began writing something down.
> Part IV – Chapter IV – Nasty Anecdotes
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the subsequent night, and Airglow had gone out a bit late to meet up with Pyre, in order to walk with him to Golden Oak. When she left only Maxim and her father were present, starting small talk, surveying the food and drink with anticipation. Soon there came knocks on the door.

Airglow was out for much longer than necessary, having waited for Pyre for nearly thirty minutes, but eventually he showed up. They exchanged a few words, but he avoided eye contact, and the two walked back with an awkward air hanging between them. He still carried the same saddlebag, but one thing she noticed, irrelevant as it may have seemed, was that it looked very awkwardly bloated, like he had stuck in it some object of unnatural proportions. But he said nothing of it, so she did the same.

Upon their arrival, when the party had officially kicked off, as it were, and as they approached the brightly lit library, Airglow noticed with some astonishment that not only a noisy and numerous society had gathered there, but that there were a few ponies she did not expect: Dr. Tubercuhoofis was there, and so was, strangely enough, Snappo, although he was likely hanging about in a unofficial manner, and did not cause enough of a disturbance to have warranted any expulsion. The merry company was laughing, almost shouting; it seemed they were even arguing loudly; one would have suspected that they were having quite a joyful time of it. And indeed, going into the library, she saw that they were all drinking, and drinking champagne, and it seemed they had started drinking right away at the first opportunity, so that many of the ponies had managed to become quite pleasantly animated.

"Somepony must have informed them all that they would be stood with champagne," muttered Pyre, following Airglow inside. "You can just whistle to them," he added with spite, for some reason.

"I see you have concluded to participate in such an event," Snappo was the first to greet her, smiling cooly. He had paper and pen in hoof (or mouth?), and was taking notes of the event. "Eh, but now who is your acquaintance?"

Pyre almost scowled at Snappo, but just like before, that is, without eye contact and with a bowed head, he made his way to the foyer.

"He's a... friend," said Airglow, but with clear hesitation in her voice. She, too, walked past Snappo.

Maxim, Bronze, and the councillor from the auction were bunched together at the table, near the kitchen. They were evidently engaged in some lively and amusing conversation, of which Bronze was the primary focus, that is, he was the one speaking and laughing the loudest.

"But it was my own doing, my own!" Bronze babbled and tittered. "At my own expense, to glorify and celebrate the freedom to conduct business. The woodlot was like a gust of wind—it swept right by, and I got the sweet end. Ha, ha! Oh, Maxim is in the highest degree unimpressed, are you, good sir? Just unwilling to sleep, or something! He had just a sip of champagne, a sip, nothing harmful, but he has no reaction to my happy wit!"

"You expect anypony to believe a story like that?" reproached Maxim, who with a cocked eyebrow poured himself another drink.

"Quite original," the councillor chimed in. "And very cartoonish."

"Well, well, don't you ponies read the ballets of unsung heroes?" said Bronze, unhurriedly making his way back to the foyer as the two followed him.

"That phrase makes no sense," said Maxim dubiously. "If they're unsung heroes, how can there be ballets?"

Bronze simply waved him off, and tossed off another glass.

Airglow saw Olva, who had rushed into the kitchen, preparing the snacks and bringing them to the table. And the moment she could tear herself away from her work, she would go into the crowd and listen as hard as she could to the heated arguments constantly going on among the tipsy guests about things that were most abstract and strange to her.

In the other corner, but not too far away, was a fuller company: there was Dr. Tubercuhoofis conversing with three other stallions—the eccentric fellow Feelgreed, the wealthy merchant Gold Leg, and Spender Spent—and the two ladies, Soft Trace and Bright Glint. 

"But you didn't bring any drinks of your own?" asked Gold Leg dryly, who evidently disliked Feelgreed already.

"No, sir, not at all, sir, I was appointed yesterday," he rapped out.

"Come on, Cold," interjected Bright Glint, "spare the poor guy."

"Ooh, talk about how you received your last promotion, back when you were a guard," said Soft Trace with animation.

"Last time I had the honour of explaining it to the company in detail," said Cold Leg, smirking. "I'll repeat once more: kindly note that not everypony is witty, and wit wins the day."

"You're running off your mouth again?" laughed Maxim, who had joined the ponies alongside Bronze and the councillor.

"What's that to you?" Bronze picked up. He was counting on getting some reactions. "Don't worry, Your Excellency, I know my place: we are like two different pieces from a fable! There is the buffoon and the king. And I'm the buffoon."

"With that last bit I agree," Maxim impudently let slip.

"I would like to talk in that good spirit," said Feelgreed, becoming extremely satisfied with himself. "Everypony here is a personality unto themselves which affects all other personalities. This is how we behave, in a sense."

"In that case," said Gold Leg, "I intend to become the last of my kind."

"Heh, heh, heh! The last of his kind! Heh, heh!" giggled Feelgreed.

"But imagine, it was all said without thinking!" cried Bronze.

"Ah, my friend, I heard you've managed your woodlot deal," said Spent. "It was even better than you expected, yes? Tell me about it."

"I let everypony know," replied Bronze readily. "Imagine, there I am, on the train, and it's galloping to destiny, and I get that grumpy sod arrested."

And Bronze decidely began to relay the whole string of events which we have read about; not with the fullest accuracy of the facts, and he churned it out with his own spin, naturally, but all in all he stuck to the necessary points.

"Dr. Tubercuhoofis, I require your most generous... in a sense it's urgent"— Olva suddenly came up to the good doctor and dragged him away, exclaiming, "Twinkie is upstairs, sleeping quite soundly, and this is the perfect opportunity to check up on a few... how do you say? Necessities?" All the while Dr. Tubercuhoofis was automatically replying with firm nods and grumbled yes's and the like.

"It's astonishing how much money status alone can bring," Spent commented for everypony to hear. "I am going to host a second auction, and with the numbers reviewed—the rates speak for themselves!"

"The rates speak all too much for themselves," said Gold Leg. "I've been observing the stock spikes in your company so far, uninterrupted, and it's on the verge of a rebound, that being a positive."

"I could go for a walk down memory lane if that damn auction is being brought up," said Maxim with an ironic smile.

"Why don't you tell me about it?" Bright Glint asked Maxim, batting her eyelashes at him.

"Gentlecolts, gentlecolts, enough business talk!" put in Bronze suddenly. "What are we, a couple of money-grubbing hooligans? Look, my daughter Airglow Sky is here, and look again, she brought a friend!"

"Hey there, everypony," said Airglow, amiably enough.

"Greetings and salutations!" they all said scatteredly. She exchanged several hoof-shakes.

"What a cutie!" giggled the sprightly Bright Glint, coming up to Airglow and booping her on the nose.

Airglow chuckled timidly, looking down for a second. "Yeah, yeah, thanks," she said.

"Give it a rest, dear," said Gold Leg. "She just got here."

Airglow excused herself, hoping to get a drink; but venturing into the kitchen, she was disappointed to see that there was nothing but alcohol for the night.

Where's the fruit punch? she thought, slightly irritated.

Pyre, for his part, looked gloomy, pensive, and unamiable—who for the most part was keeping silent. He had rested on the couch and was observing the whole scene.

Spender Spent and the councillor had detached from the rest, going into their own little conversation. The same thing happened with Bronze and Feelgreed, who were both laughing and drinking more. In particular, Feelgreed had brought his three children. There was Penni, his ten-year-old daughter and oldest child, who was very shy but terribly responsible when the situation called for it; then came Remedy, a proud little eight-year-old colt; and finally Spark Whip, five years old, and very shy like his sister. Airglow had noticed them on the side when she had come in. The sister and smallest brother were walking side by side, hoof in hoof, exploring the library together, while Remedy was pretending to be an airplane, making blowing noises with his mouth, and running around, but only in relatively small circles near his siblings.

When asked about this, Feelgreed assured that it was all okay, that they were used to adult ponies, and that he loved them very much. Of course he would love them, all the more so ever since their mother had passed away not even two years ago.

There is a surprising amount of history to be given on this unfortunate and almost poverty-stricken family, even of the sentimental sort, but let us wait to speak of such things when the time calls for it. For now, let us wander about this jumbled yet comical party.

Some of them approached Pyre while the rest stayed nearby talking.

"So-o-o, you're from... where?" Gold Leg asked Pyre, attempting to treat the sickly pony benignly and, so to speak, to encourage him.

From a lack of habit, Pyre became at once irritated with an unnatural rapidity.

"From around," he replied, staring down.

"But which career? I mean, which..."

"Trade, something like that."

And... you find it profitable?" Cold Leg pressed on. "Tell me, ple-e-ease, what wa-a-as it that made you wind up here?"

"It wa-a-a-a-as to meet somepony," Pyre drawled almost three times as long, now seriously starting to hate everypony who stared at him.

Soft Trace snorted. Cold Leg looked at him ironically; Maxim was studying Pyre with some special curiosity. He came with that filly, Airglow was it? he thought.

Pyre winced, but did not add anything.

"We-e-ell, and how's your stipend?" asked Cold Leg.

"What 'stipend'?"

"Your salary, I mean."

"Aren't you an examiner!" Pyre huffed. However, he told straight-out how much money he had left, and began to blush.

"Not a fortune," observed Soft Trace pompously.

"Can't even go dining," Cold Leg added impudently.

"In my opinion, it's downright poor," observed Maxim with a serious air.

"Oh, come on, stop embarrassing him," exclaimed Bright Glint, tittering.

"I'll have you know that I'm not embarrassed," Pyre finally exploded, "do you hear! Because I came to this party because I was invited, and I'm here on my own expense."

Wh-at? Who here doesn't do things on their own expense?" Cold Leg fastened on.

"Well," replied Pyre, turning away, feeling that he had gone too far, "I guess we should occupy ourselves with more intelligent conversation."

Before any replies could be uttered, they heard Bronze's dolty remarks, crying out, "Lookie here, everypony! He's chugging the whole bottle!"

Indeed, Feelgreed was leaning on the table, one elbow pressed against the edge and facing sideways, head back, draining a champagne bottle into his snout. A second later he drooped back down, nearly falling over, and the glass bottle clanged on the floor.

"You could manage the same, sir," he managed to get out. "Ve-ry exquisite, sir."

"Goodness, is this company for me?" threw in Dr. Tubercuhoofis after having returned, smiling good-naturedly at them all.

Three or four of them shared a laugh at such a remark, precisely because they did not expect it.

"Enough, enough," Cold Leg shouted, joining the rest and leaving Pyre. "Stop it, this won't do. Instead let me tell everypony about how I almost got married two days ago..."

And there followed some lampoon about how the wealthy merchant almost got married two days before. There was, however, not a word in it about marriage, but finances, trade, and even court dignitaries kept flitting through the story, with Cold Leg among them and all but at their head. Approving laughter began once more.

"How are things?" asked Airglow, in the midst of it all, coming up to Pyre from behind.

"Where's Cluster Tale?" he asked.

"No sign of him yet... I'm sorry, but he might not show." When Pyre gave her an angry look, she was quick to add, "But you're here now, right? Don't worry, everypony here will leave eventually, but you can stay."

Of course, this didn't satisfy Pyre in the least. In any case, he wanted to make some impression, to say anything than stay quiet, and even to drink, but he could not risk getting drunk. He had written something rather indecent yet of capital importance, and this was his last night to share it—to anypony at all.

A few more minutes went by. Airglow bumped into the kids who were wandering about. Spark Whip was leaning flat against the wall, looking up with something on his mind. Penni was looking around for Remedy, asked Airglow about it, got no positive response, and was on her way once more.

All the other ponies came together back in the middle of the foyer, at the table, just across from the couch. Pyre was still not trying to look at any of them; even Olva had not noticed him. He assumed the most independent attitudes and waited impatiently for them to say something to him. But, alas, this did not come to pass.

The drinks were all eventually transferred to the table, alongside the food. More minutes swept by. They were going on and on about what true passions meant, some about gambling, others playing little tricks with the bottles. Feelgreed kept making these ridiculous little bows to everypony, and they all laughed at him; Bright Glint was leaning in on Maxim, getting his opinion on whatever the topic happened to be; the councillor, Spent, and Bronze were arguing over something.

Eventually Soft Trace said, "It would be nice to play a little game."

"I know an excellent and new little game," Cold Leg picked up, "at least one that happened only once in all of Equestria, and even then it didn't succeed."

"What is it?" the sprightly Bright Glint asked.

"A group of us ponies got together once, and we drank a lot, admittedly, with tequilas but no salt or lemons! And suddenly somepony suggested that each of us, without leaving the table, tell something about themselves, but something that they consider the worst action they've ever done in the course of their whole life. And, above all, this should be frank, but no lying!"

"A strange notion, my friend," remarked Spender Spent.

"Strange as it could be," laughed Cold Leg, "but that's the fun in it."

"What an inane idea," said Maxim, "but... it's understandable. We get to boast in our own peculiar way."

"Maybe that's just what everypony wants," put in Bronze, looking suspiciously around the room.

"One is more likely to cry than laugh at such a game," observed Bright Glint.

"An utterly impossible and absurd thing," echoed Soft Trace, swiping her elegant mane back.

"And was it a success?" asked the councillor.

"The fact that it wasn't," replied Cold Leg, "it turned out badly; ponies actually told all sorts of things, and many even enjoyed telling the truth. But they all felt ashamed, they couldn't stand it. On the whole, though—it was very amusing."

"Know what? Fine," said Maxim, suddenly very animated. "Really, why don't we try it? If each of us agrees to tell something, it would be fair... because it's wholly voluntary, right?"

"A brilliant idea," Bronze suddenly picked up. "It's settled then, eh? Let's start passing around our nastiest anecdotes."

"The ladies are excluded," said Cold Leg. "We'll arrange it by drawing lots, as we did then. If anypony is reluctant, don't worry, you needn't say anything. Unless, of course, somepony would like to volunteer to go first...?"

Hardly anypony liked the idea. Some frowned, others smiled slyly. Some objected, but not very much—Olva, for example, who did not want to contradict either Maxim or Cold Leg and saw how they were carried away by such a strange notion. Snappo came out of the blue, declaring that he would be part of this game, and, imagine, they accepted him at once.

"This is my chance to learn about such incredulous facets of the lives of our ponies," he remarked, impressed with himself.

"But I don't know what 'worst' thing I've done," said Bright Glint.

"The ladies are exempt from the obligation of telling anything," repeated Cold Leg, "and the stallions, if they're very reluctant, are also exempt."

"How can it be proved we are not lying?" asked the councillor. "And if I lie, the whole notion of the game is lost."

"And everypony is bound to lie," added Maxim.

"But that's what's so enticing. How do we know who's lying? That's part of the fun. Besides," Gold Leg suddenly exclaimed in some sort of inspiration, "just think how we'll all be looking at each other at the end of this party. Ha, ha!"

"But can this even be possible, Cold?" asked Soft Trace. "You just said it's failed before."

"Pah! Let's just play," cried Bronze. "See here, I'll go first, how's that?"

"This should be good," muttered Maxim, crossing his arms.

The others were listening attentively yet caustically.

"It seems to me," began Bronze, "that there are more thieves than non-thieves in Equestria, and that there doesn't exist an honest pony that hasn't stolen at least once in their lives. That is my thought, from which I sometimes like to draw a terrible conclusion to myself."

"That's stupid," said Maxim, "it can't be that everypony has stolen something. I've never stolen anything."

"You've never stolen anything, my dearest Maxim, but why are you blushing?" cried Bronze, rudely sticking his hoof across the table.

"Y-you're exaggerating!" shot back Maxim, who was indeed blushing for some reason.

"And have you stolen anything, Bronze?" asked Spent.

"This is ridiculous!" Maxim interrupted.

"So you want the truth?" Bronze carried on, as before. "As far as I'm concerned, my story is very simple, stupid, and nasty. But I tell you, I'm no thief; I stole who knows how. It took place at a dinner party with my first wife... eh, what was her name? Eh, forget it, not important. After dinner the ponies stayed at the table over their wine. It struck me to ask the daughter of the house to play something on the piano; so I passed through the corner room to join the ladies. In that room, on my wife's writing table, I observed a fifty-bit coin. She must have taken it out for some purpose, and left it lying there. There was nopony about. I took up the coin and put it in my saddlebag; why, I can’t say. I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but it was done, and I went quickly back to the dining room and reseated myself at the dinner table. I sat and waited there in a great state of excitement. I talked hard, and told lots of stories, and laughed like mad; then I joined the ladies.

"In half an hour or so the loss was discovered, and the servants were being put under examination. Sugar Drop, the housemaid, was suspected. I exhibited the greatest interest and sympathy, and I remember that poor Sugar Drop quite lost her head, and that I began assuring her, before everypony, that I would guarantee her forgiveness on the part of her mistress, if she would confess her guilt. They all stared at the mare, and I remember a wonderful attraction in the reflection that here was I sermonizing away, with the money in my own saddlebag all the while. I went and spent the fifty bits that very evening at a restaurant. I went in and asked for an expensive bottle of cognac, and drank it up; I wanted to be rid of the money.

"What trifles! I didn't feel much remorse either then or afterwards; but I would not repeat the performance—believe it or not as you please. There—that's it, that's all."

"Only that's not even close to your worst action," said Maxim with evident distaste on his face.

"It's a psychological case, not a deed," observed the councillor.

"And the maid?" asked Dr. Tubercuhoofis calmly, without the least air of judgement on his part.

"The maid was dismissed the next day, of course. It's a very strict household there. What else did you expect?"

"And you allowed it?" asked Soft Trace.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" cried Bronze angrily and mockingly, taken aback by the disagreeable impression which his story had made on all parties. "Should I have gone and denounced myself?"

"You're terrible!" cried Maxim.

"Agreed!" cried Bright Glint alongside him.

"Pah! You want to hear a pony's dirtiest deeds and expect it to come out all goody-goody? The dirtiest deeds are always terrible. All is not gold that glitters, you know. Goodness, that's mares for you: all uptightness and no rationality!"

In a word, Bronze was very angry and rapidly forgetting himself; his whole face was drawn with passion. Strange as it may appear, he had expected much better success for his story. These little errors of taste on his part occurred very frequently. Soft Trace was evidently upset and looked fixedly at him, whereupon he relapsed into alarmed reserve. He realized that he had gone a little too far.

"Oh, well, uh..." Bronze hastened to say. "I didn't mean that; I love mares. Anyway who's next? Hey, Feelgreed, you rascal, why not you go next, eh?"

"Oh, if you say so," Feelgreed cried warmly. "I'm ready to tell my whole life; but I confess, while you were talking I've prepared my own story."

"And just by his look," said Cold Leg with sardonic pleasure, "you can see that he's polished his little anecdote with a special literacy."

Soft Trace glanced fleetingly at Feelgreed and smiled to herself. The councillor and Spent smiled, too. It was obvious that some anguish was growing in the air.

"It has happened to me, mares and gentlecolts, to only do acts of kindness in my life," Feelgreed began, in a partially slurred voice, "but the strangest thing is, I consider this anecdote I'm about to tell you the nastiest thing in my whole life, mares and gentlecolts. And because what faciliates me most of all is that I'm duty-bound to tell nothing other than the worst thing I've done, there can be no hesitation: conscience and the heart's memory straightaway prompt one with what must be told.

"I confess with bitterness, mares and gentlecolts, that numbered among all the numberless, flighty, and... light-minded deeds of my life, there is one the impression of which weighs all too heavily on my memory. It happened about twenty years ago; it was just when the new railway line was opened, and I, seeing to some extremely important matters to do with handing over my job, bought myself a first-class ticket: I got in, sat down, and began smoking. That is, I went on smoking, because I had lit up earlier. I was alone in the compartment. Smoking was not prohibited, but it wasn't permitted either; sort of half permitted, as usual; well, depending on this or that. The windows open. Suddenly, just before the whistle, two ladies with a poodle place themselves just opposite of me; one is most magnificently dressed, in Canterlotian fashion; the other more modestly, in black. They were not bad-looking, but were haughty. I, mares and gentlecolts, just sit there smoking. I go on smoking out the window.

"The poodle reposes in the dress of the first lady, small little thing, with a silver collar. I just sit there. Only I notice that the ladies seem angry with me, about the cigar, of course. One glares at me. Again, I just sit there: because they don't say anything! Not a word, mares and gentlecolts, nothing at all! If they spoke, warned, asked—there is such a thing as speech, after all. But they're silent... suddenly—without any warning, I tell you—the one in the Canterlot dress snatches my cigar from my mouth and throws it out the window. The train flies on, I stare like a halfwit. A wild lady; a wild lady, as if totally wild, mares and gentlecolts; a hefty one, though, and her eyes were flashing at me. Without saying a word, with extraordinary politeness, with the most perfect politeness, with the most, so to speak, refined politeness, I reach out for the poodle, snatch it by the collar with my teeth, and whisk it out the window in the wake of my cigar! It let out a little squeak. The train goes flying on, mares and gentlecolts..."

Bronze Pocket erupted into the most unconfined and crooked laughter. He laughed so much he began banging his hoof on the table to calm himself. Several of the empty bottles jumped and fell to the floor.

"You're a monster!" cried Soft Trade, laughing and clapping her hooves like a little filly, having already forgotten her recent disdain for Bronze.

"Bravo, bravo!" shouted Bronze. Gold Leg, for whom Feelgreed's appearance was extremely disagreeable, smiled as well; Maxim smirked but did not laugh.

"And I'm right, I'm right, ten times right!" the triumphant Feelgreed went on heatedly, as if in a stupor. "Because if cigars are prohibited on trains, dogs are all the more so."

"I would likely have done the same thing," said Spent, in his turn to sound comical yet also relatable.

"And what about the lady?" Soft Trade questioned him impatiently.

"Her? Well, there's where the whole unpleasantness lies," continued Feelgreed, frowning. "Without saying a word and without the slightest warning, she whacked me on the cheek! A wild lady, in a totally wild state!"

"And you?"

Feelgreed lowered his eyes, raised his eyebrows, raised his shoulders, pressed his lips together, spread his arms, paused, and suddenly said, "I got carried away!"

"How bad was it?" asked Bright Glint, biting her lip.

"Not too bad, goodness, not at all! There was a scandal, but it wasn't painful. I only waved my arms once, like this, mares and gentlecolts, merely in order to wave her away. But here's the twist: it turned out she was the daughter of rich landowners, which was just my luck! Well, of course, I went with my repentance, asked forgiveness, wrote a letter, was not received—neither me nor the letter—then quarrels and quarrels, then banishment, mares and gentlecolts!"

Feelgreed, at last, fell silent with the same dignified air with which he had embarked on his story. It was noticed that Soft Trace's eyes flashed somehow peculiarly and her lips even twitched when Feelgreed finished. Bronze was just getting finished wiping the last of his tears away, still under the slight influence of giggles.

"So I suppose we are interested in continuing this game?" asked Spent.

"It's my turn, but I'm pleading exemption," said Maxim.

"You don't want to oblige us?" asked Soft Trace. "Oh, that's a shame."

"I really can't. I was on board initially, but at this point I don't understand how any pony can play this game."

"It's your turn then," said Soft Trade to Cold Leg, "and if you refuse, the whole game will fall through. I don't wanna be disappointed. Before I give my own story, I need the support of your example," she added, smiling.

All eyes turned to Cold Leg. He sighed and stood up straight, because indeed every pony was waiting on his word with tremendous curiosity.

"Alright, fine, fine," he assured, but with the air of a pony who was confident in his ability to attract attention and did not feel the need to embellish himself any further. "It wasn't that long ago, about three or so years. Almost four now. I was travelling with a friend of mine and we had to stay at a little town just a few kilometres east of Ponyville, merchant business and the like, with a hard-to-reach employer; due to circumstances beyond my control, we were stationed to live with an old widow for a few days. She lived in a small house, alone; she was very poor. Her relations had all died off—husband dead and buried twenty years since; niece, who used to live with her, was dead too; so overall she was quite alone.

"I was real mean with her, since she was so childish that I couldn't get anything out of her. I think she even stole a badge of mine, though it's really a mystery to this day. Who else could it have been though? Not long after and we really couldn't stand being anywhere near her. Eventually I asked my employer at that time to be stationed somewhere else, to the house of a different merchant with a large family. My friend and I were happy to go, but the old crone was not pleased at our departure.

"A day or two afterward, when I returned from a deal, my friend said to me, 'We shouldn't have left the tureen with the old lady, got nothing to serve the soup in.' And I'm just like, 'Come on, really?'

"I asked how the tureen had been left. My friend explained that the old lady refused to give it up, because, apparently, we had broken her bowl, and so she took the tureen as a replacement. She said I had to arrange the matter myself. Fine, whatever.

"I arrived at the old lady's place completely ticked off. She was sitting alone in the corner, face in hooves. I fell on her like a hammer. 'Hey, you senile old witch! Remember me?' I yelled and all that sort of thing, really upset. When I was telling her off, something real strange happened. I looked at her, and she looked back with her eyes starting out of her head, but she was quiet. She was swaying back and forth, looking at me in the strangest way, as if she didn't catch a word of my curses. I soon stopped swearing and looked closer at her, asked her a question, but nothing. Flies were buzzing around. The sun was setting outside. I didn't know what to make of it, so I left with the tureen, didn't make much of it.

"When I got to the new place we were staying at, my friend met me. 'Have you heard? The old lady is dead,' he told me. I wondered, 'Dead? When?' He told me since some hours ago. That made no difference than when I was pouncing on her and verbally abusing her.

"This whole thing really affected me. I used to dream of the poor old mare at nights. I'm not really superstitious, but two days after, I went to her funeral, and as time went on I thought more and more about her. I said to myself, ‘This lady, this pony, lived to a great age. She had children, a husband and family, friends and relations; her household was busy and cheerful; she was surrounded by smiling faces; and then suddenly they're gone, and she's left alone like a solitary fly... like a fly, cursed with the burden of her age. At sunset, on a lovely summer’s evening, she passes away—instead of tears and farewells to start her on her last journey, she has insults and jeers from a young merchant, who stands before her like he owns the world, making a terrible rant about a damn soup tureen.

"Of course I was to blame, and even now that I have time to look back at it calmly, I pity the poor old thing no less. I think to myself, for after all I wasn't really responsible. Why did she take it into her head to die at that moment? But the more I thought of it, the more I felt the weight of it upon my mind; and I never got quite rid of the impression until I put a couple of old mares into an almshouse and kept them there at my own expense, as a kind of redemption. In any case, I can't help but always look back upon this as the worst action I've ever perpetrated."

"Wow. And instead of a bad action, he details his noblest one," said Bronze.

"I don't think you know what 'worst' means," deadpanned Soft Trace.

"Ahh, what can I say?" Cold Leg shrugged. "I atone for my mistakes."

"I guess you were right, Maxim," said Soft Trace. "How can anypony play a game like this when it can be so dull and boring?"

"Ha, ha—what's that supposed to mean?" Cold Leg rebutted with a half-ironic wheeze.

The rest all looked at them with curiosity.

"I'm sorry to say this," Maxim took measures to impose on them all, "but this 'little game' so far has gotten tiring. It's not for this that I want my thirtieth birthday to be remembered. Besides, I can't think of my worst deed, so there's that."

"Re-ally?" enunciated Cold Leg with a cold, ironic tone. "I would have warmly approved another nasty anecdote or two."

"We'll just move on to cards," said the councillor, "and we can place bets, too."

"See?" said Maxim. "Bets are much more fun than these little campfire tales. But in a minute. First"— he rose from his seat —"I'm going to get another drink."

"And I have to go to the bathroom anyway," said Bright Glint, getting up as well.

"I'll get up, too; I need to stretch," put in the councillor.

"I'll go get the cards!" suggested Bronze.

"In that case..." carried on Dr. Tubercuhoofis, lightly slapping the table.

The group dispersed.
> Part IV – Chapter V – Doctor Tubercuhoofis
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Airglow was not exactly happy with how things were playing before her eyes, but neither was she all that upset. Her father making a buffoon of himself? She could live with that. Olva runny around in semi-hysterics over the product of her own "preparations"? Not a big deal.

There were slight exclamations at the beginning of the party, but now a general sense of ease was settling in. A new batch of wine was brought forth, and the game involving those "nasty anecdotes" was as a whole forgotten and never finished. Why waste a birthday on something like that anyway? Maxim was feeling especially bolder now that tensions had lowered. As for Pyre, he had manifested a desire to get up and grab a drink. He was met with Snappo, who suddenly started firing off at him inquires like some sort of interview, prodding into his life, his relationship with Airglow, his hobbies—but he took so long to ask him, and, frankly, with such vague wording, that Pyre told him to get lost and returned to his couch. Snappo huffed in indignation, this having been the last straw, because in truth everypony was ignoring him. Not soon after and he left Golden Oak, stamping his hooves, swearing that one day he would make it big—or something like that.

In the kitchen Bronze came up to his daughter.

"So, how do you figure?" he addressed her while gesturing to his face and the medical patches covering his bruises. "I'm healing quick, aren't I?"

"It's great to see you getting better, dad," Airglow returned with a small smile, and she leaned in to hug him. "You'll be as good as new in no time."

"Listen, I was about to have that robber Nova locked up, and I still haven't made up my mind. Of course, in these fashionable times it's customary to count parents as a prejudice, but the law, it seems, still does not allow ponies to sock their fathers in the mug, in their own house, and boast about coming back and killing them completely—and all in the presence of witnesses, dear! I could break him if I wanted, I could have him put away right now for what he did to me!"

"But you're not going to make a complaint, are you?"

"Cluster convinced me not to; he sent me a letter a few days ago. To tartarus with Cluster, but one thing I do know..." And bending close to Airglow, he said in a quiet voice, yet deliberately so that anypony near by could hear him. "If I put him away, the swine, then his girlfriend Misty would go running to him at once. But if I tell her how he beat me, a weak old stallion, then maybe she'll drop him altogether. Who knows, there's even a chance that she'll fall in love with me out of pity, and that—ha, ha!—that's a third wife right there!"

"Wait, Cluster sent you a letter?" asked Airglow in surprise.

Bronze gave her an unceremonious look. "That's what you take away from everything I told you?" He smacked his lips. "Well, that's the next generation for you..." He wrung his hoof and left the kitchen, without another word.

Next she went to check up on Pyre. Indeed, the irritation on his face had faded somewhat, replaced with a newer and stricter expression. He had a strange look of acceptance, like he had dropped everything and plunged into some sort of inevitable fate, and that, even worse, this may as well have been his last night.

"You need anything?" she asked him.

He fidgeted in his couch, turned around, raised his shoulders, and replied, "I think I'll... hem! I'll be saying everything that needs to be said tonight. Forget Cluster, this isn't for him anymore."

"What do you mean?"

But he only said, "I'll tell you soon enough, maybe when the sun has risen. Right now I need to think."

That certainly did not go anywhere, anymore than it could have. On her way back to the kitchen, to see if there were any snacks left—because it only just then came to Airglow's attention that she was hungry—she bumped into Dr. Tubercuhoofis. They were walking in opposite directions.

"Ah, Airglow, I do believe you and I have not been fully introduced," he said, smiling jovially. "Twinkie talks about you quite a lot, whenever I'm over for her weekly check ups. I have been coming for nearly two months but you and I never got a chance to talk. It's quite funny, if you think about it."

"I know, I know, it's a bad look on me," she replied, chuckling nervously. "Whenever you're over I'm either out or asleep or..." She hummed in thought for a moment. "Well, those are the only two scenarios."

"Better to over-sleep than under-sleep. I'm on my way to see Twinkie right now; I told her to get some rest, but she's acting all stubborn, asking me to let her drink alcohol. Oho!" he let out a chortle. "As if that is up to me."

"I'll come with you. I mean, why not, right?"

"Well..." he started, scratching his cheek. "I suppose there's nothing wrong with that. Come on then, upstairs."

They went upstairs to Twinkie's bedroom. Airglow had little sense of what Dr. Tubercuhoofis was like, but he spoke softly enough and with encouraging tones, so that it was almost impossible to be asocial with him. She knew that he and Olva were friends, and that he offered her special discounts for his treatments. (That is not a euphemism.)

Airglow felt a vaguely yet almost irresistible need to ask the good doctor where he came from and how he landed in his profession. Dr. Tubercuhoofis spoke in an extremely unrecognizable accent, so that it was difficult to deduce his place of origin. She wondered if he was even from Equestria. His physiognomy was thin all around, but he made up for it with puffy cheeks; his thin lips were constantly  compressed like a thread and twisting into a genial smile; but his forehead was high, well formed, and made up for the lack of nobility in the lower part of his face. Especially notable was the deathly pallor on his face, which gave the good doctor an exhausted look, despite his robust personality, and which was out of harmony with his sharp, passionate gaze.

Twinkie's room was typically dark, but the shadows were kept in the corner by a bright nightlight. She was sitting upright on her bed, looking with a blank expression at the wall. When they came in she flashed them a glance, but went right back to staring in front of her.

She had grown more lively, with colour having returned to her face. Her previous feisty and rebellious nature was being less and less supported by an almost newly tranquil, albeit gloomy, mindset; her blue eyes were seemingly bigger and more intent; but her gaze was heavy, and was filled with that strange expression which conveyed a personal struggle to "fit in." She seemed internally agitated, as it were.

"You didn't drink yet?" asked Dr. Tubercuhoofis, eyeing the full glass of water on the stand next to the bed.

"You can leave it there if you want," said Twinkie in her thin little voice. But she became quite surprised when Airglow also came from behind the good doctor.

"Come on, you thought I'd leave you here all by yourself?" she said, sitting on the bed. "How are your legs? I've noticed you've been using the wheelchair less and less."

"It... it doesn't matter," she mumbled to herself, blushing.

"Don't be so down in the dumps, Twinkie, your mother would give me a talking to should I ever give up on you," laughed the good doctor. "Don't you know? Pessimism is the precursor to hope: the darker the night, the brighter the stars."

"It's nothing!" said Twinkie, embarrassed by the casual air which the good doctor was showcasing, and, furthermore, to have Airglow witness it all. 

"Yes, yes, it's nothing," Dr. Tubercuhoofis continued in an apologetic voice. "But it could be a lot worse. For example, you could have been suffering from a brain disease. That's fatal."

Airglow looked down for a second, as if in reflection. She saw Twinkie and sighed, grabbing her hoof. "Don't be stubborn," she said, smiling. "I know we can be annoying. But—"

"Y-you're not annoying, Airglow!" Twinkie suddenly roused herself, frowning and getting into a fluster.

"Here, one last check up for tonight. Open wide," said Dr. Tubercuhoofis, levitating a little metal spatula with his magic. He placed it on Twinkie's tongue and looked into her throat, while she made a squeaky "ahhh!" sound.

"Hmm, hmm, okay. That... might be... Well, we'll end it here," the good doctor spoke decidely and slowly, storing the spatula away. "Sleep well and drink plenty of water. Your mother has arranged for physical therapy next week; well, isn't that good? You've progressed this far. I'll leave you alone now. Take care, little one."

He walked to the door but halted, seeing if Airglow would come with him or stay.

"Hey, Airglow," Twinkie called to her before she could leave. She was tapping her hooves together.

Airglow looked at her. "Yeah, what is it?"

"What do you do... when you're sad? Do you... talk to other ponies... or...?"

"Talking to other ponies can help. That's what friends are for. But what's this all about?" she asked, peering with evident concern into Twinkie's face. "You don't like being cooped up in here with a party blasting downstairs?"

Twinkie nodded, then looked away, frowning ruefully.

Airglow opened her mouth, but it was replaced by a pensive smile. She deftly leaned in closer to Twinkie, while the latter wasn't looking, and kissed her on the forehead. Twinkie gave her a sudden look.

"Your mom really cares about you," said Airglow. "Think about it: she's doing everything she can to pay for your treatment, and on top of that, she's keeping you here so you can get some rest. It's all... for you."

"I guess," said Twinkie slowly, fidgeting, but she couldn't resist her lips twisting into a weak smile.

"I'm really proud of you, okay? How about this: if by next year you're up and running, I'll take you out to the very edge of Ponyville, on a nice meadow with lots of flowers—we'll go fly kites together, just you and me."

Twinkie's face fell a little; she heaved herself up. "Promise?" she asked.

"You betcha. After all, isn't that what two best friends do?"

That seemed to have been enough to lift Twinkie's spirits. They embraced, but Airglow, in looking past Twinkie's shoulder, spotted a newspaper strip hanging off the stool; she wasn't sure, but the name "Cluster Tale" flashed in her eyes.

"Wait a minute"— Airglow flapped her wings and picked up the strip.

This instantly produced a nervous effect on Twinkie's face. "W-wait, don't—"

"You read my brother's article, the one about... oh... oh! That explains everything."

Twinkie pouted, slumping back down on her bed. Airglow laughed, sparing the poor girl by not asking any questions. She put the article back on the stool, bid farewell, and left the overwrought Twinkie to her own devices.

She was confronted with a smiling Dr. Tubercuhoofis. He motioned for her and both went downstairs together.

"You have a special relationship with her, don't you?" he asked.

"Yeah, but I'm still worried. Can't say what exactly."

"Airglow"— they stopped just near the entrance to the kitchen —"medicine, while an excellent medium, is not the endgame of what doctors strive towards. There will always be that psychological aspect brought on by friends and family which will do wonders to a patient's recovery. Call it placebo, perhaps, but it works. I can tell that you are good at heart. Would you like to know why I became a doctor?"

"Actually, yeah!" Airglow's eyes lit up. "I also wanted to know where you're from, but we can start with that. Why did you become a doctor?"

Dr. Tubercuhoofis, even in his speech, fell greedily and loquaciously upon Airglow, as though he had not spoken to anypony about this one particular topic for a long time, and wished very much to get it out there.

"For me it began in poverty," he began solemnly yet good-naturedly. "Poverty is no vice, that's the truth. But destitution is a vice. In poverty you can still preserve the nobility of your inborn feelings, but in destitution that never happens. For destitution one doesn't even get driven out of pony company with a stick; one is swept out with a broom, to make it more degrading. It's in such a state that I was in, and I was the first to insult myself. Hence my former alcoholism."

Near the counter he poured himself a glass, drank it, and lapsed into thought. It was obvious that his penchant for ornate speech was probably acquired as a result of his habit to frequent taverns and enter into conversation with various strangers there.

"Have you ever spent any time in Manehattan?" he asked.

"No, never," replied Airglow. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I come from there, and my decision came to its conclusion almost thirty years ago. It was that one month—it was the end of May—that an associate of mine gave my wife a beating, and my wife was a far cry from me. I could have been doing something to help—serving, for instance. I could have served with the guards. But why wouldn't I serve? And didn't my heart ache over this vain groveling? When that associate gave my wife a beating that month, with his own hooves, I was lying there with my cups. I didn't do anything to stop it; I was a bad husband with bad habits. But, worst of all, didn't I suffer? Excuse me, Airglow, but it's completely hopeless to ask for a loan of money, isn't it? It's hopeless, knowing beforehoof that nothing will come of it. I was never given any loans, because despite all good intentions, I would never repay them.

"And so, knowing that you won't get anything, you'll set out on your way. But what if there is nowhere else to go? It is necessary that everypony has at least some place to go. When my only-begotten daughter was born, I remember, I ventured to go to the tavern. But never mind that... At the time I was a swine, and my wife was a lady. Well, I had the image of a beast, and my wife was an educated lady. She was even an officer's daughter. She had a lofty heart and was full of good sentiments, and if only she had pitied me differently. I would drink up her stockings. I mean, I would pawn everything she owed, right after I finished spending the last of our earnings, all on drinks. Her white-laced handkerchief I also drank up—a gift, a former one, hers, not mine. Our corner was cold, and the winter was bitter. And we had four children in total, and she worked day and night, scrubbing and cleaning, because she was used to cleanliness since childhood, and she had a weak chest and was inclined to consumption. I felt it. And the more I drank, the more I felt it. In drinking I sought compassion and feeling. Not joy, but sorrow only...

"So amid all this disgrace, know that my wife had been educated in a Canterlot school, and on her graduation she received a gold medal and a certificate of merit. The medal... well, I sold that, too. And despite all of our strifes and bickering, and especially the strife with our landlady, she still wished to feel happy about something. And I don't judge, I don't judge, because this was the last thing left of her in my memory. She washed the floors herself, and ate black bread, but she could not tolerate any disrespect. When that associate beat her, she took it with emotion; it reminded her of her first husband, who also beat her, and who was also taken to court and thereupon died.

"Our children could not work, and we barely made fifty bits a week. And, to be honest, she had no special talent. And here the children were hungry... here my wife would pace the room, with flushed spots on her cheek, clearly on the edge of a brain fever. 'You live with us,' she said to me, 'you good-for-nothing, you eat and drink and use up warmth.' I was lying there... with my cups, and I heard my daughter, who was about your age at the time, saying to her mother, 'Why, mama, must I go and do such a thing?' My wife answered that it was the only way to make more money. But I couldn't blame her, not at all. For my wife, when the children got to crying, she would start beating them at once. So then, after some time, my daughter would get up, put on a dress, go out, and come back ten hours later and silently place forty bits on the table. Not a word with it, not even a glance; she would just lay down on the bed, face to the wall; only her little shoulders kept trembling."

Dr. Tubercuhoofis fell silent, as though his voice had failed him. Then suddenly he poured himself a quick glass, drank it, and sighed.

"Since then, Airglow," he went on, "owing to misfortune, my wife became deadly sick. We couldn't pay for anything. She would scream at me every night, pull on my mane, curse me while I used up all of our money. She died then. The children could not stay with me any longer; they were moved to some charity organization run by a philanthropist. I believe his name was Flash Stream. First I thought, 'Now what?' This was me in the depths of poverty, no, of destitution. About eight months went by; I was improving, little by little, yet I could not fully sort myself out. It was during one walk by this philanthropist's institution that I caught the sight of my children, through a window. Imagine my surprise, my utter and unexpected surprise! Here they were, after eight months. And they looked... happy. In the care of caring ponies. I didn't say anything, no, I didn't dare. I was sentimental then, with a sentimental heart. It all flashed before me: despite all the financial hardships, despite all the nagging I endured, and, especially this, despite all the drinks I consumed at the expense of everything else, it was my negligence to my family that truly shook me down. I stayed there outside, watching through the window, unable to move, with such... shadows over me.

"Well, to cut a long story short, I dedicated my life, with every fibre of my being, to the pursuit of something worthwhile. I moved to Canterlot and studied medicine. And for the past twenty years I have been a certified doctor, lending my aid in whatever way I could manage. Never, ever again shall I let children suffer, as my own did. No, Airglow, never again. It's downright sinful."

"We couldn't find the cards, it turns out," said Bronze from the side, all of a sudden. "Pah! What kind of library doesn't sell cards. Can you tell me that, Airglow?"

Airglow looked at him with a stunned expression, having no idea where to divert her attention.

"Come now, doctor," said Bronze, prodding Dr. Tubercuhoofis to follow him to the main table. "You're a fine fellow, but now Maxim is telling his stories and we have to listen to him. It's his birthday, after all. You needn't bother, Airglow."

"Remember," said Dr. Tubercuhoofis to Airglow on his way, "that sometimes your only option is to let go. If you love somepony, truly love them, there will come a time where you not only can but must let go. This was a good talk."

Airglow slowly sat down by the counter at the kitchen, resting one cheek on her hoof, with a vague and cloudy look in her eyes. All this time Pyre was waiting for her and constantly glancing at her and the good doctor, while they stood aside talking. He became feverishly animated as the others approached the table, with Maxim orating. He was restless and agitated; sweat broke out on his forehead. His eyes, along with a sort of continual restlessness, also showed a certain impatience; his gaze moved aimlessly from object to object, from pony to pony. He wasn't paying to any conversation around him.

Airglow walked up to him a few minutes later, asking how he was doing.

"You know, I'm very glad it's somepony's birthday tonight," said Pyre.

"Why's that?" asked Airglow.

"You'll see. Sit down quickly. I'll wait for that Maxim to finish speaking. I reckon it won't take much longer..." And from his saddlebag he pulled out a couple of papers, with streams of roughly written text on them. "Forget the sunrise. Hem, hem! I want to end this sooner rather than later."
> Part IV – Chapter VI – Railways and Curses
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

But Maxim's speech, in which he told some story of how he found himself in the role of an accountant from Manehattan, which reached its conclusion by revealing which university he would be attending (it was Cloudsdale), all came to a very abrupt finish.

Some thirty minutes had gone by since then. At this point ponies were trying to drag on the remnants of previous topics to the forefront; they were lounging around, letting their eyes wander, some having gone silent and asking each other frivolous questions. In short, everypony was becoming terribly bored.

"Why does Star Swirl the Bearded need to be common knowledge anyway?" asked Bronze. "Those lot who study him can reside in their ivory towers all they like, but keep me out of it."

"With magic comes real profit, real riches," said the councillor.

"And what could you tell us about riches?" put in Cold Leg.

"It's a simple rule: keep your friends rich and your enemies rich, and find out which is which."

"How long till dawn? Fatigue is starting to make its entrance!" grumbled Bronze.

"It's half past ten right now, so not for a while," said Cold Leg, looking at the clock.

"Who needs the dawn anyway?" somepony observed.

"It would help me to read! Hem! Can one drink to the sun's health, what do you think?" Pyre asked abruptly, addressing everypony without ceremony, as if he were in command, but he seemed not to notice it himself.

"Perhaps; only you should probably calm down, eh, Pyre?" said Airglow.

"You're always talking about sleep; you're my nanny, Airglow? I'll go to bed when the night sky is more beautiful. The sun isn't the only wellspring of life, is it? I'll wait for an Ursa Major among the stars. Have you ever heard of the Ursa Major?"

"I've heard Feelgreed thinks the 'Ursa Major' is a network of railways spread over Equestria," commented Bronze, snickering.

"No, excuse me, sir, that's not it, sir!" cried Feelgreed, jumping up and waving his arms, as if wishing to stop the general laughter that was beginning. "Excuse me, sir! With these ponies... all these ponies... in certain points, sir, it's like this..." And he rapped the table twice, which increased the laughter still more. He had had more to drink than anypony else, more than Bronze Pocket even, and he was reaching that stage of drunkenness which often spills into theatrics of the most unpredictable sort.

"Ah, there's no place for this boundless and highly candid contempt," said Spender Spent, pulling up a chair to sit down in.

"That's not it, sir! Half an hour ago, everypony, we made an agreement not to interrupt; not to laugh while somepony is talking; to allow them to speak freely, without prejudice. Right, Mr. Wingus?"

"Fair enough," replied Maxim, shrugging nonetheless.

"So then," said Pyre, who was seething, "it turns out, in your opinion, that in confusing a constellation, or worse, a rare animal from the Everfree Forest, with a railways system, means that the railways are cursed or something? Do they muddy the wellsprings of life?"

Pyre, despite his agitated mood, was, of course, joking with Feelgreed, egging him on, but soon he became excited himself.

"Not the railways, no, sir!" Feelgreed protested, beside himself and at the same time enjoying himself tremendously. "By themselves the railways don't muddy the wellsprings of life, but they are cursed as a whole, sir, all this mood of our last few centuries in the advancement of science and magic is maybe indeed cursed, sir."

"Certainly cursed or only maybe?" inquired Cold Leg, smiling sardonically. "The distinction is important."

"Cursed, cursed, certainly cursed!" Feelgreed confirmed with passion. "Have you ever heard of the Railway Beast? They tell it to the young ones for a little scare: it's a dark figure that curses railways, sir, it lurks about and takes you to its shadowy depths!"

"Don't rush, Feelgreed, wait till morning for that nonsense."

"But more candid in the evenings! More heartfelt and more candid, sir!" Feelgreed turned to Cold Leg heatedly. "More simple-hearted and more definite, and I expose myself to it. I challenge you ponies of science, industry, associations, salaries—how will you stop the Railway Beast from gobbling up the children?"

"What's all this talk of railways?" asked Soft Trace, frowning from a general lack of amusement on her part.

"Nothing, nothing, we're only getting curious," observed Maxim.

"My opinion," returned Feelgreed, "is that whoever isn't interested in such questions is a high society ruffian, sir!"

"At least it will lead to general solidarity and the balance of interests," observed the councillor.

"But that's not all, sir. With this opinion comes the law of the morality of ponykind. Without recognizing any moral foundations except the satisfaction of personal egoism and material necessity? Universal peace, universal happiness—it's necessary!"

"If you went from railways to that," interjected Cold Leg, "I'll say that the universal necessity to live, eat, and drink, and the scientific knowledge that that can never be satisfied, is a strong enough thought to serve as a 'wellspring of life' for future ages; and it's something that, I think, Princess Celestia has recognized a long time ago."

"But isn't self-preservation enough?" asked Maxim.

"A perfidious and derisive thought, a goading thought," Feelgreed eagerly picked up, "but a correct one!  Because, worldly scoffer that you are, you don't know yourself to what degree your thought is profound and correct! Yes, sir. The law of self-destruction and the law of self-preservation are equally strong in us ponies. It is the lasting influence of the Mare in the Moon that rules over us. You laugh? You don't believe in the Mare in the Moon, Nightmare Moon?"

"So is Nightmare Moon the point, or...?"

"No, sir, the point is whether the 'wellsprings of life' have weakened with the increase—"

"Of railroads?" said Bright Glint, tapping her hooves together in anticipation of the direction the conversation had taken.

"Not of railways, my young and pretty one, but of that whole tendency, of which railways may serve as an image, so to speak, an artistic expression. They hurry and clang and speed, and this is for the progress of Princess Celestia, to serve us. It will deliver bread to us. But I, the vile Feelgreed, do not subscribe to the notion that carts will deliver us bread! For carts that deliver bread to all ponykind, without any moral foundations for their actions, may quite cold-bloodedly exclude a considerable part of ponykind from enjoying what they deliver, as has already happened..."

"So railway carts may cold-bloodedly exclude?" somepony picked up.

"As has already happened," Feelgreed repeated, not noticing the question. "We have had the shadow of Nightmare Moon, who gave unto us a brighter future indirectly, because to know the light you must know the darkness; to know pleasure you must know pain. Princess Celestia and her railways have been a friend of ponykind, yes? But a friend of ponykind with shaky moral foundations is a cannibal of ponykind, to say nothing of its vainglory; insult the vainglory of one of these numberless friends of ponykind, and fire will be brought to all of Equestria! But that's not the point!"

"So what is the point?" cried Maxim, this time in impatience. "Wait a minute, why am I even asking? This whole thing has become ridiculous."

"I'm tired," yawned Bright Glint.

"The point is," Feelgreed blurted out, feeling he had reached his final point, "is that without immortality, that is, without the immortality of the soul, there can be no true love and kindness. If we only live to satisfy our ego, in this world and not in some extension of it, then just like in the railways, we will destroy ourselves, sir! That is what the story books teach us, sir!"

But he did not—or could not—go on. Remedy, the eight-year-old colt, prodded his father's arm, saying, "Daddy, can we go now? I wanna go." He pointed to Penni who was by the kitchen entrance, holding her sleeping little brother in her embrace, yawning herself. Feelgreed's expression softened. He tapped his son's shoulder and carried him off to the kitchen.

"We'll go soon, Remedy," he rapped out.

"Hey dad, you look red in the face," commented his ten-year-old daughter. "Are you okay?"

"Ah, my children, it will all be okay!" he said in a tearful voice, bringing them all together. "If only your mother was here..."

"Is that pony qualified to be a parent?" Soft Trace asked to nopony in particular. But she got no answer.

Some more general and dull chatter resumed. Several of the ponies truly did want to leave now, but felt that this would clash with the common dictators of proper courtesy.

Around that time, Pyre, who towards the end of Feelgreed's dissertation had suddenly fallen asleep on the couch, now suddenly woke up, as if somepony had nudged him in the side, gave a start, sat up, looked around, and turned pale; he looked around even in a sort of fright; but horror showed in his face when he recalled and understood everything.

"What, they're going home? Is it over? Is it all over?" he cried in alarm, seizing Airglow's hoof. "What time is it? For pity's sake, what time! H-how long did I sleep for!" he added with a desperate look, as if he had slept through something on which his whole destiny depended.

"Dude, you slept for all of five minutes," replied Cold Leg.

Pyre looked at him greedily and pondered for a moment.

"Ah... that's all. So..."

And he drew his breath, as if throwing off an immense burden. He finally realized that nothing was "over," that it was not dawn yet, that the guests had gotten up from the table, and that the only thing that was over was Feelgreed's babble. He smiled, and a consumptive flush in the form of two bright spots played on his cheeks.

"So these ponies are still here," he picked up mockingly. "I saw something in a dream, I think it was your brother," he whispered to Airglow, frowning and looking at Bronze, who had gone to the table for a snack. "Ah, yes," he again skipped on suddenly, "where's the orator, Feelgreed? Hem! So he's finished? What was he talking about? Eh, forget it, it's an insult to me all the same."

"Which of my brothers did you see in your dream?" asked Airglow.

"The stupid one, Nova, who reminds me very much of your father. Tell me, do you think you have a kind heart? Are you the only good, honest pony in that damning mess you call a family?"

Airglow studied him attentively and did not answer.

"You don't give me an answer? Do you... do you think I like you, or something?" Pyre asked suddenly, as if breaking off.

"No, I don't think you like me. I'm sorry to say I don't think you like anypony at all."

"You're 'sorry' to say? Really? Well, forget about it. I was sincere with you yesterday, but... but why am I telling you that? I want more champagne; pour me some."

"You shouldn't drink more, Pyre, I won't let you..." And Airglow moved the glass away from him.

But Pyre did not react to this. Instead he took out his stack of papers for all to see, placing it on the small table in front of him. "I'll be reading my farewell," he announced in a loud but jagged voice.

This unexpectedness had an effect on the company, which was unprepared for. The councillor eyed him with curiosity; Bronze quickly moved closer to the couch; Maxim did the same, but with a sort of gruff vexation. Feelgreed, who happened to be near by, came closer with his curious little eyes and gazed at the papers, trying to guess what it was about.

"What have you got there?" asked Airglow uneasily.

"I'm going to lie down and read this for everypony in this room!" cried Pyre. "But... but... can you possibly think I'm not capable of reading this?" he added, passing his gaze over them all with a sort of defiance, and as if addressing them all indiscriminately. Airglow noticed that he was trembling all over.

"None of us thinks that," Airglow answered for everypony, "and what's going through your head right now? What're you going to read, Pyre?"

"What is it? Did something happen?" they asked all around. Several ponies came closer, some still eating.

"I wrote it myself yesterday, right after Airglow invited me to this party."

"Wouldn't it be better tomorrow?" Airglow interrupted timidly.

"Tomorrow 'there should be time no longer'!" he chuckled. "Don't you worry... I can read it through in an hour... or something like that..."

"What's this about reading?" asked Spender Spent.

"An article? For a magazine, or what?" inquired Soft Trace.

"It's gonna be boring," added Cold Leg.

"So... I shouldn't read it?" he whispered somewhat fearfully to Airglow, with a crooked smile, as if snatching at her with his former, almost aggressive expansiveness. "Are you... scared?"

"Of what?" asked Airglow, changing countenance more and more.

He was trembling with excitement, smoothing out the papers and clearing his throat. He had already decided.

"But what are you going to read?" Airglow muttered gloomily. Others kept silent.

Many ponies indeed expected something entertaining to happen, if only to quell the growing scene of boredom. But, I will say this right now, so as not to forget, that by the time Pyre had finished reading his little presentation, nopony other than Airglow was paying attention, because they had all lost interest not even halfway through.

"Everypony, you... you'll see what this is," Pyre added for some reason and suddenly began reading, "This is my 'Rebellion'! Epigraph: La Dernière Explication, which translates to 'The Final Explanation' in Prench. Could I have written something seriously with such a stupid epigraph? It's just some of my thoughts... something forbidden even... See, I was going to go with something a little more contemporary, maybe even in Old Ponish, which has been all the rage these days. I think that would denote a more vital and more essential... in a word... I mean—"

"Too much talk!" they shouted, growing irritated.

Again, in terrible haste, he seized the pages; his hooves were trembling; for a long time he could not settle down. The reading finally began. At first, for about five minutes, he was breathless and read disjointedly and unevenly; but then his voice grew firm and began to express fully the meaning of what he read. Only occasionally did a very strong cough interrupt him; by the midway point his voice became very hoarse. Here is the whole of his "rebellion"...

In the next chapter.
> Part IV – Chapter VII – The Final Explanation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Yesterday night," Pyre began, "Airglow came to see me; incidentally, she talked me into moving into Golden Oak. She insisted on it, and she even blurted out that it would be 'easier for me to die among ponies and trees.' But she didn't say to die, but said 'it would be easier to live,' which, however, makes almost no difference for me in my situation. I asked what she meant by all this, but I found myself thinking that I would come tonight to look at 'trees' for the last time, especially a big one like this library, from the inside. When I observed to her that it made no difference whether I died in this tree or looking out the window at my bricks, and that there was no point in making a fuss over two weeks, she agreed; but still she insisted. I laughingly told her that she spoke like a materialist. She replied with a smile that she had always been a materialist. Since she doesn't lie, those words must mean something. Her smile is nice, but I don't know what to think of it all. I even hated her, and this hatred sprung precisely because she gave me so much money in the place of her cowardly brother, Nova Steel.

"Who knows, maybe I came to this party mainly to see her. But... why did I leave my room then? A pony condemned to death in two weeks should not leave their corner; and if I hadn't taken a final decision now, but waited till the last hour, then I wouldn't have left my room for anything and wouldn't have accepted the suggestion of moving out 'to die' in a library.

"I must hurry and finish this 'essential explanation' by tomorrow without fail. Which means I won't have time to re-read this and correct it; I'll re-read it tomorrow night when I read it to Airglow and two or three other witnesses I intend to find there. Since there won't be a single lying word, but only the whole truth, the ultimate truth even, I'm curious what sort of impression it will make on me at that hour and that moment when I re-read it. Besides, there's no need to lie for the sake of two weeks: that's the best proof that I'll write nothing but the truth.

"I think I wrote something very stupid, but I have no time to correct it; besides, I'm giving myself my word to purposely not correct a single line in this manuscript, even if I notice I'm contradicting myself every other line. I precisely want to determine tomorrow during the read whether the logical course of my thought is correct; whether everything that has gone through my head during these past six months is true or mere raving.

"The conditions of my life for the next two weeks are not worth regretting, and I shouldn't give myself up to any emotion; it can overcome my nature and command my feelings. But is this still true? Is it true that my nature has been defeated? But again, what difference does it make? If I were to be tortured right now, I would obviously acknowledge the pain and scream my lungs out, and I wouldn't say the pain isn't worth it just because I only have two weeks left to live.

"I remember when I first learned of my imminent death. A student I once knew had become a doctor at a large hospital in Canterlot—we were sort of friends even—and so I went to him for his bluntness: I needed somepony who would finally tell me the naked truth, without ceremony. He even told me readily, with pleasure almost, which was unnecessary in my opinion. He blurted out to me that I had some number of months left; the scientific advancement of medical magic is incalculable. We are able to tell exactly when a pony will die through forensics alone. Much later and I checked again; this time it was a month and a half left. Now I know it's two weeks. This student who told me these things—his name is Patchwork—he told me while flaunting his unfeelingness and carelessness somewhat, as if he were doing me an honour. He thought that in my mind, dying amounts to nothing. In the end, all the same, the fact is determined: I have two weeks and no more.

"When we die—when there is a permanent cessation of all biological functions, including everything to do with the brain—what happens to us? What happens to our consciousness? It's my conviction that we enter into eternal oblivion. After death there's nothing, no thought, no memories, no feelings or sensations of any kind, all because the brain ceases to be. I've heard the more optimistic crowd give me these poetic flourishes, that once we die we'll 'become part of the soil' or 'our atoms will rearrange into the stars.' Does anypony take that seriously? How could you say such things with a straight face? Eternal oblivion means no experience, of any kind, and all of our treasured memories of one another and of this world will be gone, as if it literally never happened. How can a pony, in believing such things, behave so casually? Because they're scared, scared to face the dread of death, scared to lose grip from life, so they live in delusion. What will it matter if we will all die anyway, and there's no afterlife? What in Celestia's name is the point of love and kindness if it will invariably be taken away from us forever? Life is a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness. Is there an afterlife? I desperately want there to be one, but I very well know for a fact that such a thing doesn't exist. In such a case, to continue living is sheer absurdity.

"Everypony," said Pyre, suddenly tearing himself away from his reading and even almost shamefacedly, "I didn't re-read it, and it looks like I wrote a lot of theorizing... about my beliefs."

"There's too much of the personal, I agree," Maxim hastened to say.

Pyre looked weary and faint, and wiped the sweat from his brow with the side of his fore-hoof.

"You're too interested in yourself," hissed Bronze.

"Again, everypony, I'm not forcing you to stay: whoever doesn't want to listen can, and probably should, leave."

"Throw us... out of somepony else's house?" said Cold Leg almost inaudibly.

Pyre suddenly dropped his eyes and clutched his manuscript; but in that same second he raised his head again and, his eyes flashing, with two red spots on his cheeks, said, "Everypony, this was a stupid episode. There won't be anymore interruptions. Whoever wants to listen, can listen..."

And he continued.

"This conviction that life is not worth living for a few weeks began to take possession of me in a real sense some months ago, when I first learned of my consumption. It was apropos to this idea that this anecdote comes to be now, which refuses to be gotten rid of. I recall it now with greedy interest."

Let us now see this "anecdote" of Pyre's, not in the way he recounted it during the party, but the genuine thing, how it really happened, five months ago.


* * *


When Pyre Opus had become very ill, he broke off all former relations and dropped all employment. He was sullen, and ponies easily forgot him; though, they would have forgotten him even without this circumstance. He locked himself in his room, secluded from society, and nopony, not even his own family, bothered talking to him. He was incredibly irritable, and ponies put up with it for the sole purpose of not escalating anything beyond what was necessary.

One day, around the outskirts of the city—this all took place in Baltimare—somepony of the gentlefolk sort overtook him in the dark; Pyre did not make him out very well; he was carrying something wrapped in paper under his wing. When he came to a streetlight, some ten steps ahead of Pyre, the latter noticed that this something wrapped in paper fell from him. Pyre hastened to pick it up—just in time, because another pony had already rushed for it, but, seeing that Pyre beat them to it, did not argue, took a fleeting glance around, and slipped away. The object was a big wallet of sorts, tightly stuffed; but for some reason there was no money in it. The passerby who had lost it was already forty paces ahead and soon dropped sight from the crowd.

Pyre tried to shout, running after him, but nothing came of it. He followed the fellow into the gateway of some house. It was very dark inside, and there was nopony there. The house was gigantic, one of those buildings split up into countless apartments. Pyre ran to the corner and saw a stairway; it was narrow, extremely dirty, and very dark; but he heard the pony go up, so he followed. By the end Pyre was terribly out of breath.

A door opened and closed again on the top floor. He had run up, catching his breath on the landing, and found the doorbell. A minute went by. The door was finally opened to him by a mare who was lighting a kettle in a tiny kitchen; she listened silently to his questions, understood nothing, and silently opened the door for him to the next room, also small, terribly low, with horrendous furniture, and a small bed on which lay a stallion, drunk, as it seemed. On the table stood a night-light with a candle burning down in it and a nearly empty bottle of gin. The stallion grunted something to him while lying down and waved him to the next door, while the mare left, so that nothing else remained. Pyre ventured onwards.

The next room was smaller and more narrow, so that it was even difficult to turn inside; a narrow bed took up a corner; the rest of the furniture was three simple chairs with all sorts of rags on a wooden table. The same kind of candle burned there, too, and on the bed cried a tiny foal, maybe only a month old; it was being changed into a new diaper by a sick and pale mare, young-looking, in extreme negligence; the foal would not be quiet. On the sofa slept another child, a four-year-old filly, covered in a blanket. By the table stood a pegasus stallion, that same one from the street, unwrapping from a yellow paper what was about one-and-a-half pounds of bread, and a couple of hay straws. On the table, besides that, there was a teapot with some scatterings of black, stale bread.

In short, everything was in disorder. It seemed to Pyre that these two ponies were decent enough, but reduced to poverty to a humiliating state, the kind that reduces ponies to the bitter necessity of finding in that disorder, as it increased daily, some solemn and, as it were, vengeful sense of pleasure.

When Pyre came in, the stallion was talking rapidly and heatedly with his wife; she, though she had not yet finished swaddling the foal, had already begun to whimper; the news sounded bad. The stallion, by his face, looked to be around thirty; he was swarthy and dry, with a well put together moustache, which struck Pyre as rather respectable. He had that sullen gaze, with that morbid tinge of pride, that renders the pony all too easily offended.

Upon seeing Pyre, the pegasus stallion suddenly fell upon him almost in a rage; he spoked irritably, even offended, that somepony would dare to come into his abode and look upon his hideous situation so unceremoniously.

"How dare you come in here! Get out!" he shouted, trembling and barely articulating his words. But he suddenly saw Pyre holding the wallet.

"I think you dropped this," said Pyre calmly and dryly.

The stallion stood before him utterly frightened, not understanding anything; then he quickly spread his wings and looked behind him, opened his mouth in horror, and struck himself on the forehead.

"Goodness! Where did you find that? How did you—?"

Pyre explained everything to him in the briefest terms.

"I can't believe it!" he cried, turning to his wife. "All our documents are in it, all my papers, everything... oh, my dear sir, do you know what you have done for me? I... I..."

Meanwhile Pyre had taken hold of the door handle, so as to leave without replying; but he was still out of breath, and he broke out into such a violent fit of coughing that he could barely stand. He saw how the stallion rushed to find him a chair, and sat him down on it. But his coughing went on and did not let up for about a minute. When he recovered, he was sitting next to the stallion, who was studying him intently.

"Are you... suffering?" he asked in the tone of a doctor. "I myself am a medical pony. I see that you..."

"I have consumption," said Pyre as curtly as possible. "I'll be dying soon." And he stood up.

The stallion also jumped up at once. "Maybe if measures are taken..." He sounded very bewildered and as if unable to come to his senses.

"Don't worry," Pyre interrupted again, opening the door, "I was examined not too long ago, and my case has been decided. Excuse me..."

He was about to leave the embarrassed, crushed-with-shame doctor, but just then another fit of coughing seized him. Here the doctor insisted that he sit down; he turned to his wife, and she, without leaving her place, spoke a few friendly words. Some colour even returned to her dry face.

"If I..." he began. "I'm so grateful to you, and so guilty, and... I... you see... at the present moment my situation—"

"Oh," said Pyre, "there's nothing to see; you probably lost your job, and you've come to explain things and look for another job?"

"How... did you know?" was asked in surprise.

"It's a well-known thing," he said with unintended mockery. "Many ponies run around like this, getting their hopes up. It's obvious at first glance."

The doctor began explaining his situation, starting with his identity, his lips tremblings; he talked, complained, got carried away. Pyre sat there for an hour. He had been a state doctor, occupying a government post; but then his wife got mixed up, and a change had occurred; there had been complaints; he had lost his job and was on his last means. He came to Baltimare for an explanation, but they did not listen to him for long. He was responded with a refusal. He was lured in with more promises, was responded again with severity, was told to write something, was refused again—the whole thing was a bureaucratic mess, typical of what happens when the government tries to take the reigns on something over the free market.

"Today came the final response to my petition, and I have almost no food, nothing, my wife just had a foal. And I... I..."

He turned away. His wife wept in the corner, and the foal was crying.

"I'll remember your name: Stout Cloud," said Pyre. "Well, and all the rest, too. I know a pony who's also a doctor, he was the one who diagnosed me. His uncle is a state councillor."

And Pyre, while assuring them that he would try to help them, nevertheless said that they should not place their hopes squarely on his shoulders, because he himself was very poor and humiliated. But that his personal doctor was close with his uncle, he was sure of it. "Maybe my friend will be able to do something for you, through his rich uncle..."

"If only I could be allowed to explain things to him!" Stout Cloud exclaimed, flashing his eyes.

Having exchanged a few more words, Pyre left, hired a carriage, and went at once to Patchwork. Having gotten there, he explained to him his request.

Patchwork sat down in surprise, and Pyre at once explained the whole story, and that his influential uncle might be able to do something.

"I will, I certainly will, I'll run to my uncle tomorrow! I'm even glad, and you told it all so well. But still, Pyre, why turn to me?"

"Not you, it's your uncle, but because you love 'ponykind' so much, I thought you wouldn't refuse," Pyre added with irony.

"You're right, you're right!" cried Patchwork, bursting into laughter. "I'll do it, even right now I'll do it!"

"Great... that's great."

The matter got settled, quite unexpectedly, in the best possible way.

A month later and Stout Cloud obtained a new post, was given travel money and even financial assistance. How it all went down, all the steps, all the details—Pyre did not know, nor did he want to know.

Pyre met up with his blunt doctor for the final time, at the latter's house. The sun was sinking into the bay. They sat across from each other. The doctor spoke of his joy that the matter had ended so well, and thanked him for something, that is, for his good charity.

"This was very pleasant for me, but rest assured, the credit for this good deed is all yours, Pyre. What you did was an individual good deed, and those who preach against it are wrong!"

"Yeah, it was an act of individual charity on my part," Pyre began. "Whoever infringes on individual charity will also infringe on personal dignity, and even scorn it. Individual goodness will always be there, because it's a personal need; that's how we live. But whatever deeds you sow, whatever you give, none of that will matter, at least not for me. It makes no difference. It's an insult even. Everything's become an insult to me lately. Life denies me, so I must react accordingly."

"It's a shame that life denies you!" cried Patchwork with burning reproach.

"But do you know what entered into my head just now?"

"Surely not to end it all," he cried again, almost in fright, reading the thought in Pyre's face.

"No, for the time being it's just a reflection: here I am with limited time left to live; but with such little time I wanted to do a good deed that required work, running around and petitioning, to see if it would have any change in me, to see if I wouldn't discount it. I won't do anything as radical as killing myself, at least not now, because I do feel something pleasant for helping Stout Cloud. But sooner or later, if it dawns on me that it didn't matter, if it's no longer a comfort, then... then... Killing myself is such a matter of indifference to me that I feel like waiting for a moment when it would make a difference."

And after that, for the rest of his short life, Pyre thought these facts through, and the "conviction" came to be. What did it all matter anyway? Even if there was beauty in the world, with such perfect meanings, the march of time was indestructible. He admitted that he was being irrational, but that, perhaps, life itself were even more irrational.


* * *


Pyre finally stopped. The explanation was over.

There are some cases of incredibly careless cynicism, where a particularly affected pony, irritated and beside themselves, no longer fears anything and is ready for any scandal, even glad of it. They will throw themselves at others, with firm but unclear goals. The extreme, almost unnatural tension that had so far sustained Pyre reached that ultimate degree. He looked at Airglow, now his only listener, exhausted by illness and weak as a leaf, and that same haughty, almost contemptuous revulsion showed at once in his eyes. Everypony else was around the table with noise and vexation. Fatigue and champagne had heightened the disorderliness.

"Did I wear you out?" he asked Airglow. "Well? Speak, please."

But Airglow did not answer at first. Her face was downcast, and the look in her eyes, in its impression, was melancholy. She opened her mouth, but paused, as if pondering too heavily.

"Tell me what you think," Pyre said again commandingly. "You tell the truth, I know you do."

"I've talked to so many ponies by now," she replied, looking up solemnly. "I've listened to them, heard them go on about their problems, listened to all the things they wanted. It's... really something, to really listen to somepony talk about themselves."

Pyre gave her a look.

"Everypony is different," she continued, "everypony has something else to say. But after all this listening, I've noticed one thing that's constant, one pattern that keeps coming up. Everypony talks about changing the world, but one thing's clear: nopony ever talks about changing themselves. That's the way things are. There's exceptions of course, like Dr. Tubercuhoofis, but even in his case... and with my family... should I really let go?" she ended in a mutter, as if talking to herself.

"Do you think I'm capable of changing myself in two weeks?" he asked with unendurable spite.

"No..." she admitted.

"Then goodbye!" he cried suddenly to the whole public, flashing his eyes. "I'm to blame for everything... everything is an insult now. I'm leaving." But they all ignored him. He turned to Airglow once more. "They're all idiots!"

"Let them be; you're very weak..." She was frowning more and more.

"One moment, one moment... I'll go..."

He suddenly embraced her.

"You probably think I'm crazy," he said, laughing strangely.

"No, but..."

"No, stop, don't say anything, I'm going. Just leave me now, I need a moment alone."

He was very pale, his face covered in sweat. Airglow, ears drooped low, only nodded and slowly walked to the kitchen. After trying with her father, both her brothers, with Misty, she did not manage to make a positive impression on even him, was not able to convince him to stay. She had failed. But it was only about to become worse.

A second passed, and suddenly a general cry arose in the library. Then came a moment of extreme disarray. Pyre, having gotten up, stopped, reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a crossbow, a small one only meant to be held by one hoof. The councillor caught sight of this, and, filled with unease, announced to everypony what he was seeing and ran to Pyre. But he was too late.

Pyre stuck the crossbow in his mouth, tasting the metal of the loaded bolt. The councillor rushed him, as so did a few other ponies, but in that same second Pyre pressed the trigger. A sharp click rang out.
> Part IV – Chapter VIII – For a Moment
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A sharp, dry click rang out, but no shot was fired from the crossbow. As the councillor put his arms around Pyre, the latter collapsed as if unconscious, perhaps indeed imagining that he was killed.

The crossbow was taken from him. Pyre was picked up, a chair was brought, he was seated, and everypony was shouting, asking questions. Olva especially had just come in, seemingly pulling hairs, going crazy at such a catastrophe, as it were. Everypony had heard the click of the trigger and now saw Pyre alive, not even scratched. Pyre himself sat up, as pale as death, not understanding what happened, and looked around with senseless eyes.

"A misfire?" somepony asked.

"Maybe it's not loaded?" others guessed.

"No, it's loaded," the councillor confirmed. "But..."

"A misfire then."

"Yes, it was a misfire! The crossbow jammed!"

A few seconds of silence went by.

The initial and general alarm gave way to laughter; some even guffawed, finding malicious pleasure in it. Pyre was sobbing as if in hysterics, shaking all over, rushing to everypony, asking why he was still alive. "Why, why, why!" The whole scene was so pitiful it is hard to describe, even for a narrator as pitiful as myself.

Airglow had watched the whole thing in horror, not understanding why he would even attempt to take his own life in spite of everything she did. She listened to him, truly, but she could still not imagine any sane reason for what had just transpired.

"Wow!" cried Cold Leg. "This night could have been redeemed if only you'd shot yourself, but you're such a loser you somehow managed to fail even that!"

"So disappointing," sighed Soft Trace.

"Well, I was thoroughly in the mood to see a pony kill himself," said Maxim. "If not this one, I'm heading back home. Thanks for the birthday bash, everypony!"

"Oh, Maxim, I'll come with you," whispered Bright Glint to him.

"I... swear I... meant to..." Pyre choked out, hardly able to breathe.

"You heard them," put in Bronze, laughing. "Everypony's night is ruined because of you!"

In the end Pyre really fell unconscious. They carried him to the back room. Dr. Tubercuhoofis went to the Ponyville hospital to get some help, to carry him there on a portable stretcher. Olva stayed by his side in the meantime. But before that she noticed Airglow leaving as well through the front door.

"Where are you going, dear?" Olva asked in surprise.

Airglow looked back at Olva, her face somehow serene, yet her eyes betrayed an intense suffering.

"I... I don't know," she muttered, frowning, and left Golden Oak.


* * *


The cool night breeze eased her nerves, if only a bit. She was walking aimlessly, her legs mechanically taking her wherever they pleased. She only meant to get away from Golden Oak, to observe something else: the other houses in their repeating patterns, the planted flower beds along the gravel road, or even just the market booths closer to town center. Ponyville was a fairly large town, much more expansive than what one would assume. Despite living there her whole life, Airglow still discovered, to her surprise, several alleyways, corners, and roads she had never seen before. Other than four of five ponies she passed by, everypony else was asleep.

"Just... let... go?" she asked to herself in an undertone. Eventually she stopped by a signpost and sighed heavily. Where's Nova? I haven't seen him since we spoke on the day of the Summer Sun Celebration. Did he just disappear? I wish Cluster were here, too.

She noticed that she was in front of Misty's house. A sour look came to her.

Why am I here? she thought glumly. Did I subconsciously walk to her house because I was looking for Nova? I'm... wasting time. I should head back.

"Psst! Airglow! Hey, Airglow! Psst!"

Airglow looked in some perplexity at what was indeed Misty Gem staring out of her open window and calling to her. She looked to be in a state of excitement; she was hastily beckoning to Airglow.

"Ooh, wait, lemme get the door for you!" And she disappeared, and soon enough the front door swung forth.

Airglow, not thinking it through too much, obliged and went into Misty's house. The door closed behind her.

"And they say fate doesn't exist!" laughed Misty, grabbing her hoof. "I was just thinking—literally a minute ago—to send for you, if you were still awake, that is. I can't believe you plopped up right in front of my house! This is perfect!"

"Er, what's all this about, Misty?" asked Airglow, taken aback by the fact that Misty was acting so friendly towards her.

"Here, sit down, sit down," said Misty once they reached the living room. There was a light in her face, a renewed attraction that even conquered Airglow and left her feeling hopeful. It was even odd to see Misty in such a mood, because while most objects in her house were restored, several marks of damage from the earlier reported break-in—broken glass from the windows, dents in the walls, torn-up wallpaper—remained all too visible.

"What about your house?" asked Airglow. "Did you find out who did it?"

"No, no, we still haven't caught those invaders. No matter, this is only my temporary home, and I haven't lost anything truly valuable. But there is something else, dear, something totally unexpected, and it has come to me!"

Did something good happen? struck Airglow in that moment.

"Help me, Airglow, it's now that I need your help," Misty went on. "Remember when Nova told you to tell me that he bows out, and that I would never see him again? True enough, I haven't seen him, and I've no notion of where he could have gone off to. But listen, if he especially insisted on that word, 'bow,' then it means he was agitated, beside himself perhaps. He had made a decision and was frightened by it! He didn't walk away from me with a firm step, but leaped headlong off the mountain. This could be a sign..."

"You're right," Airglow ardently agreed. "It seems that way."

"And if so, then he hasn't perished yet. He's just in despair, which is why he left Ponyville."

"He... left Ponyville?" Airglow stopped short.

"Oh, he certainly did, his house is vacant. But to where? I was hoping to find out."

"I wouldn't know," said Airglow softly, "other than maybe he went to... that mare."

"And do you think I can't endure that mare? He thinks I can't endure her? But he won't marry her." She suddenly gave a nervous laugh. "It's passion, not love. He won't marry her, because she won't marry him..." Again Misty suddenly laughed strangely.

"He might," said Airglow sadly, lowering her eyes.

"He won't marry her, I'm telling you. That mare—she's an angel, do you know that?" Misty suddenly exclaimed with remarkable fervour. "I know how seductive she is, but also know how kind, caring, and noble she is. Why are you looking at me like that, Airglow? Maybe you don't believe me...? Bouquet Rose, my angel!" she suddenly called out to somepony, looking into the other room. "Come and join us. This is Nova's dear sister, Airglow Sky, she knows a lot. Show yourself to her."

"I've only been waiting behind the curtain for you to call me," said a softhearted, even sugary voice.

The portiere was raised and Bouquet Rose herself, laughing a joyful little laugh, came up to the table. Something seemed to contract in Airglow. Her eyes were glued to the mare, she couldn't take her eyes off of her. Here she was, that terrible, "sordid" mare. And yet, at first glance there appeared to be a perfectly ordinary and simple being, kind and caring; beautiful, yes. Her beauty was of another world, the sort so passionately loved by so many. She was plump and smooth, with a soft way of moving her body, with something very sweet and tender in her voice. She came up to the room, not with cheerful strides like Misty, but with small, noiseless steps. She slowly lowered herself on a chair next to the couch. Her complexion was that of a very young mare, with a pale rosy tint on her cheeks. Her upper lip was thin, and her more prominent lower lip was much bigger, which protruded almost as if she were pouting. She had a flowing black mane, a light grey coat, and lovely blue eyes with long lashes that could not fail to make any stallion on the street stare at her.

What struck Airglow most of all in this mare's face was its childlike, openhearted expression. Her look was like a child's, sweet and angelically confident; she had come into the room "joyfully," as if she were expecting something now with the most childlike, impatient, and trusting curiosity. Even the way she spoke was drawn-out, with all-too-sugary enunciation of her syllables. It would only later be discovered that these were bad habits, in bad tone, which indicated a low upbringing and a notion of seductiveness vulgarly adopted in childhood.

Airglow stared at all this youthful beauty, in harmony with her movements, and was at last struck by the most unpleasant feeling. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Misty Gem sat her down in the chair and kissed her several times on her smiling lips, not romantically, but in a trusting, platonic way.

"We've met for the first time, Airglow," said Misty joyfully. "I wanted to know her, to see her. I would have asked, but she came here herself. I knew we would resolve everything, everything! My heart foresaw it. Bouquet has explained everything to me, all her intentions; she's like an angel, she's flown down and brought peace to me..."

"My dear young lady didn't scorn me," Bouquet drawled in a singsong voice with the same sweet, joyful smile.

"Don't you say such a thing, you angel! Scorn you? I'll kiss you on your lower lip again if I have to." And she indeed delivered to Bouquet another kiss, causing the latter to laugh.

Airglow blushed; trepidation came over her.

"And you're Airglow?" asked Bouquet, batting her eyelashes. "You're so cute. Nova never said his sister would be such a pretty little flower."

Airglow stuttered, unable to speak coherently, her face becoming a deep shade of red.

This elicited a laugh from Bouquet.

"See what a pearl she is," remarked Misty.

"You're too kind to me, dear young lady; I'm not worthy at all of your caresses."

"Not worthy!" Misty again exclaimed with fervour. "You know, Airglow, we're both so proud and so kind, did you know that? Only we're both so unhappy! We were too ready to make all sorts of sacrifices for an unworthy and frivolous stallion. For so long she has been unhappy! She once had a 'former one,' an officer, she fell in love with him, but this was years ago. He will come back, and Bouquet will be happy again. She's just like me!"

"You defend me too much, dear young lady; you're rushing too far ahead," Bouquet drawled again.

"Defend? Would we even dare to defend you here, my angel? Bouquet, give me your hoof. This mare has resurrected me, Airglow. I'm going to kiss her hoof, here, here, as a sign of our friendship." And she indeed lovingly kissed Bouquet's hoof several times. The latter, offering her hoof with a nervous, lovely little laugh, watched Misty, apparently pleased at having her hoof kissed like that.

Airglow bit her lip. Her heart was somehow peculiarly uneasy.

"Won't you make me ashamed, dear young lady, kissing my hoof like that in front of Nova's little sister!"

"I could never shame you," said Misty, somewhat surprised.

"Oh, dear young lady, I'm much more evil than you think. I have an evil heart. I charmed Nova only to laugh at him."

"But now you're going to save him. You gave your word. You said you'd tell me where he has gone, because you said you knew."

"Ah, no," laughed Bouquet, "I never gave my word. You're putting words in my mouth."

"Then I misunderstood you," said Misty softly, turning a bit pale, as it were. "Y-you promised—"

"No, no, my young angel, I promised nothing," Bouquet interrupted softly and calmly, with the same innocent expression. "Haven't I just told you? I have an evil heart. I do what I want. Maybe I promised you something, but now I'm thinking: what if I like Nova all of a sudden? I liked him before, so why not again? That's how fickle I am..."

"But you... said it differently, I could have sworn," said Misty faintly.

"And what if I go to him and take pity on him—what then? Oh, you're so very kind and noble next to me. Give me your hoof, my young angel," she spoke sweetly, and took Misty's hoof on the fly. "Here, dear young lady, I'll kiss it, just like you did to me. You have such a beautiful hoof, my dear. You're so very beautiful!"

She slowly raised the hoof to her lips, but did so strangely, as if harbouring some ulterior motive. Misty did not withdraw: with timid hope she listened to Bouquet's request. But just then, Bouquet hesitated for a few seconds, then dropped her hoof, as if thinking something over.

"Do you know, my young angel," she drawled in the sweetest, most caring voice possible, "I won't kiss your hoof." And she laughed gleefully.

"But what's the matter?" Misty suddenly started. "Will you tell me where Nova is or not?"

"No, not at all! And you can keep this as a memory—that you kissed my hoof but I didn't kiss yours." Something flashed in Bouquet's eyes, a cold gleam of sorts. She looked at Misty with terrible fixity.

"Insolent little—!" cried Misty, as if finally understanding something. She blushed all over and jumped up from her place. Bouquet, too, got up, without haste.

"So now I'll go and tell Nova you kissed my hoof, but I didn't kiss yours at all. How he'll laugh!"

"You gold-digging slut! Get out!" screamed Misty. Every muscle trembled in her face.

"Shame on you, young lady! Calling me a gold-digger? You yourself as a filly used to go to your gentlecolts at dusk for money, offering your body for sale. Nova told me."

Misty made a cry and was about to leap at her, but Airglow held her back with all her strength.

"Not a word! Not a word! Leave! Leave right now!" shouted Misty.

Misty's aunt, as well as the house maid, having heard her cry, came rushing into the room.

"That I will," laughed Bouquet. "Airglow, you cutie-pie, come with me please!"

"Go, just go," Airglow pleaded, getting into a panic.

"Oh, but you have to come with me! I have something very, very nice to tell you. I performed this scene for you. Come with me, darling, you'll be glad you did."

Airglow turned away, shaking her head frantically. Bouquet let out another childlike laugh and ran out of the house.

Misty had a fit. She was sobbing, choking even, with spasms. Everypony fussed around her.

"You're too passionate," Misty's aunt told her in a strict voice. "Why don't you learn?"

"She's a slut!" screamed Misty. "Why'd you hold me back, Airglow! I'd have beaten her!" She could not restrain herself. "She should be flogged, on a scaffold, by an executioner, with everypony watching!"

Airglow backed towards the door, her lips trembling with fright.

"And him!" Misty cried out. "How could he! He told that slut what happened then, on those fatal days! 'Offering your body for sale'—she knows! Your brother is horrible, Airglow! He's horrible, horrible!"

Airglow wanted to say something, but she could not find a single word. Her heart ached within her. Her eyes started to water.

"Go away, Airglow! I don't want you here! Go, out, out!"

Airglow went outside, staggering, as it were. She even felt out of breath, wiping the tears from her eyes, putting distance between her and Misty's house. She never, ever wanted to be witness to something like that again.


* * *


Airglow found herself wandering the Ponyville park, which was deserted at that hour. It was not very large, had about five trees, a small fountain in the middle, and two benches opposite of each other. The moon's light could not penetrate the dark clouds up above; it was so dark that it was difficult to make out objects thirty paces ahead.

Airglow sat down on the bench, deep in thought, a completely defeated and distraught look on her face. Suddenly a hoof tapped her shoulder; she turned to see Bouquet Rose sitting right next to her, smiling and flashing her hot eyes with a sort of sensuality even.

"Y-you!" Airglow jumped from the bench, looking at Bouquet in alarm. She was not angry, per se, not even apprehensive; she was simply in great bewilderment, and wished only to make sense of one thing, just one.

"What are the odds!" she laughed joyfully, lightly clapping her hooves together. "You and me here, cutie-pie—I said we should meet up, and we did. Don't be afraid of me; I'm awfully glad to see you."

"I'm sorry, but—" And Airglow took in a large, deep breath, and began pacing from one end of the bench to the other. Suddenly she stopped and looked at Bouquet. "How did... I mean, what are you doing here in Ponyville? A-and... why did... I mean... why...?" But she could not continue, finding herself losing her breath again.

"I wanted to meet you, Nova's adorable little sister. Remember, I was going to tell you something very nice." And Bouquet, with dainty composure, pedantically rose from the bench and moved in front of Airglow, with a smirk full of confidence.

"Tell me what?" asked Airglow timidly.

"Nova isn't in Ponyville, it's true. He's in Fillydelphia."

"Fillydelphia!" exclaimed Airglow, but at the same time it made sense to her. The Flying Rift Express takes off from a station in Fillydelphia, and he's coming with me. But how did he get there?

"You're probably wondering how he got there. You can ask him yourself when you see him again. But right now what I really wanted to see was you."

She seemed to be very glad. Her eyes were shining, her lips laughing, but good-naturedly, gaily. Airglow didn't expect such an expression. She had been shocked by her vicious and perfidious escapade with Misty Gem, and now she was surprised to see Bouquet acting so differently. Her whole manner seemed to have changed for the better: there was almost no trace of that sugary inflection, of those pampered movements. Everything was simple, direct, and matter-of-fact.

"How long have you been here in Ponyville for?" asked Airglow at once.

"Oh, I arrived only yesterday," prattled Bouquet. "And I was going to stay till tomorrow, maybe even the day after that, but since I'm speaking with you, I suppose I'll be leaving tonight with a coachpony. I even hired a maid from Fillydelphia to accompany me, though I guess I can send her home now."

She friskily sat back down on the bench, and had Airglow do the same.

"It's no secret," she went on, "I'm here for my own amusements. There's nothing complex about it."

"B-but what do you want with me?"

"Oh, cheer up, darling. Smile at me, cheer up, smile at my joy. Ah"— she tittered at Airglow's rather forceful and nervous smile —"she smiled, she smiled! What a tender look! You know, I thought you were going to be angry with me because of what I just did, because of the young lady. I was a bitch, that's what... Only it's still good that it happened that way." Bouquet suddenly smiled menacingly, and a cruel little line suddenly flashed in her smile. "I really must have offended her. I came to Ponyville, and she invited me, wanted to win me over, to seduce me with her chocolates. No, it's good it happened that way."

"Is that really what you wanted to show me?" put in Airglow again in serious surprise. "What did my brother tell you exactly?"

"Nova is the only one who trusts me. He's such a simple little stallion, but I do like his simple-hearted charms. But when I heard about you, darling, I just had to..." And all at once she sprang up and, laughing, leaped right up close to Airglow like an affectionate cat, throwing all private space to the wind. She embraced the filly around the neck with her right arm. "I'll cheer you up, my sweet flower. No, really, is this okay? You won't get angry with me?"

Airglow was silent. She was afraid to move, and did not answer. She was looking at Bouquet, eyes wide, and it was difficult to discern what she was thinking. Her heart was pounding.

"Nova is still in love with me," Bouquet whispered in her right ear, causing her to shudder, "and I thought I'd come here to make things a bit more... let's say exciting. Tell me, Airglow, have you ever kissed a pony before? On the lips, I mean, romantically?"

"N-no..." replied Airglow in a barely audible voice, slowly and timidly shaking her head.

And as if on cue, without any warning, Bouquet grabbed hold of both her cheeks, came closer—and kissed her full on the mouth. Not a mere peck either, but a deep, long kiss.

Airglow was in shock. She tilted back, moaning into Bouquet's mouth, while Bouquet leaned towards her, pushing her into the bench's handle. She felt like her whole face was going to melt, feeling that foreign tongue invading her mouth. She felt so hot, so tingly as never before, and it was like a heavy mist was clouding her brain from thinking any further.

At last Bouquet drew back, panting, a line of drool connecting the two mouths. What she did not expect was for Airglow, who at first was all frozen in a stupefaction, to leap up and re-embrace Bouquet with another kiss. Even Bouquet was surprised, but she quickly accepted it and began wrestling tongues with her.

Both of them moaned into each other's mouths, every once in a while breaking apart for a quick breather, only for them to start making out again. Bouquet even began caressing the filly, and the two fell on the grass, tongues still locked with passion

Bouquet's movements were smooth and precise, taking the dominant role and prodding Airglow to squirm under her. Airglow herself was rigid, tightly holding on to Bouquet, almost as if she were afraid to let go.

After two or three minutes did Bouquet withdraw for real, smiling triumphantly yet menacingly, licking her lips and holding a panting and yearning Airglow in her hooves, the latter's eyes vague and glassy.

"Ooh... You're so pent up, aren't you?" she muttered in a smooth and half-mocking tone. "But you have to calm down and not get too excited. Here"— She helped her get up, patting her on the shoulder, with the clear indication that their make-out session was over.

"I... I'm sorry... I..." Airglow panted out, sweating, looking down as if in shame, her face blushing so hard it was practically glowing.

"Oh, sweetie, don't feel sorry; you got a taste of me after all," laughed Bouquet. "What better present could I have given you?"

Airglow bit her lip as if to calm herself, falling back down on the bench and rubbing her hooves together. With her face still downcast she said, "That was really..." But she felt her throat tighten.

"Maybe next time we'll take it to the next level. Ha, ha!"

Airglow immediately looked up, mouth open, as if all traces of timidity left her. But Bouquet was already walking away. She wanted to say something, but no words came out; she could not even bring herself to move from the bench.

"I'm going to the coachpony station house now," Bouquet called out with her little laughs. "There's nothing left for me here, sweetheart! But I'm glad I came. Ta-ta!"


* * *


Airglow had lost track of time. She had been sitting on that same bench for well over thirty minutes. Now that she was breathing normally, and her body had cooled down, and she was thinking more clearly, did she get and up and start heading home.

"What's wrong with me?" she whispered to herself. "Why did I... why did I... do that?"

Her tinges of confused self-embarrassment had taken so much space in her mind that she quite readily forgot about Pyre and the others. After arriving in Golden Oak, she observed that everypony had left, that Pyre was certainly in the Ponyville hospital with the good doctor, and that Twinkie was fast asleep.

Airglow groaned, only now noticing how tired she was, as if her body's fatigue was only now catching up to her. She sluggishly walked past Olva, who stared at her with some annoyance.

"Where did you go?" exclaimed Olva, shaking her hoof in the air. "I was starting to get worried! Oh, Airglow, what can a middle-aged mother like myself expect in times like these!"

But Airglow did not respond. She went to her room, shut off the lights, and fell heavily upon her bed. With her face buried in her pillow, she fell asleep in less than a minute.
> Part V – Chapter I – In and Out
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


PART V

THE FLYING RIFT EXPRESS



* * *


Fillydelphia was roads upon roads; dirty roads, clean roads, twisted and interlocked at the feet of a dense mass of buildings on the outskirts of a dull blue ocean. The streets were crowded with movement of all sorts of purposes, a cacophony of heavy hoof-steps creating the scattered harmony of the metropolis. They went every which way without regard for form; there was no system to it, no predictability. Carriages and barouches curiously flashed every now and then along the streets with noises and whistles commanding their destinations. Up above was no more relaxing, with swooshes and swaths of pegasi darting within the absorptive pull of the area. At a time like this everypony was tired, with heavy eyes after the night, with most faces carrying the semblance of the yellow city fog.

Mind the flowery description, dear reader; we will be continuing our story here, though not without reason.

In the far reaches of Fillydelphia, within a tall and gloomy building, sat a pegasus stallion in his office. The room was large, appropriate for a large pony like him, with his large, puffy cheeks and bushy eyesbrows, which could have almost covered up his leaden and unfocused eyes. This stallion in question was utterly vexed by the barely insignificant stings of a headache, and it would invariably worsen whenever he looked at the lamp by the door. Every few seconds he would huff, loudly, satisfied by the fact that nopony could hear him. He was reading a document, taken from the piles of papers on the desk; his forehead was incredibly wrinkled with the signs of having just learned some stressful news.

Suddenly the door opened and another pegasus stallion walked in. He was tall, muscular, and composed himself with confidence; he wore a clean ivory suit which contrasted with the drab environment. Behind him entered a little crew of ponies, mares and stallions alike in ivory suits. They were all smirking, putting on insidious airs, but none compared to the first one, whose carnivorous eyes gave off a most horrific and unfeeling impression.

The stallion at the office gave him a quick, agitated glance. He immediately ceased whatever he was doing.

"First class, eh?" said the first stallion in the ivory suit, striding right up to the office desk like he owned it. "I wonder what sort of ponies we'll see boarding the train. How nice of you to get me a spot, uncle."

"Don't patronize me, Knob," grumbled the uncle with evident hatred. He only made eye contact for a second, then shifted in his seat and looked disdainfully at the others in the room. They were all waiting around, surveying the room with sneers and scoffs. "What's your group called again? The... To... Tah... Tougher..."

"Oho, dear uncle!" laughed Knob, swerving in place and pointing to his crew. "I'm leading the new and ready Tough Furs, the fiercest gang in the city." He turned back, grinning with unbound arrogance. "You amuse me so much, uncle, giving me that hoity-toity look. Can't you give your nephew a proper farewell?"

"What do you want, Knob?"

"Uncle, dear uncle, if I'm going to pull this off then I need all the information I can get. That sort of knowledge is very accentuating, isn't it? Do you know who else will be on board? Anypony important?"

"A few officials, aristocrats, rich families... the Hemlocks are sure to be there... But," he suddenly remarked with severity, "why are you wearing such a ridiculous thing? It's blinding just to look at it, like you're heading off to some party."

"Oh, this?" Knob raised his eyebrows, gazing mockingly at his uncle. "Does it impress you, uncle?"

"Not a bit, damn it!"

Knob's crew laughed in approval to Knob's taunts.

"Make no mistake," said Knob, "these pretty white attires are being worn for a totally special purpose. When we kill ponies, their blood will look so lovely on us. Whoever is the most red by the end will win a two hundred bit bonus! Ha, ha! Isn't that right, you cruel little slingers!"

More approving remarks and malignant laughter erupted from the treacherous little crew. Some even took out knives and starting waving them around, as if to show what was to come.

"You're a freak; homicidal lunatics would call you a nutcase!" exploded the uncle in extreme indignation. Cold sweat had formed on his fat face. "Get your clownish posse out of my office!"

"Oh, are those your riveting encouragements?" said Knob, pursing his lips. He slowly inched his way closer and closer to his uncle, so that eventually he was leaning over the desk. The uncle's eyebrows twitched. "Is that really what you want to say to Fillydelphia's greatest assassin?"

"Killing the right ponies is the only thing you're good for," the uncle croaked out, gnashing his teeth. "Kill as many ponies as you want, just get the job done, that's why you and your psycho friends were hired."

"Psycho? Us!" Knob shot back, sounding genuinely offended, slapping the desk with his hoof. "Dear uncle, you have such a way with words! But listen," he suddenly said more seriously, "the transcontinental leaves Fillydelphia's southern station tomorrow at noon, twelve exactly, goes all the way to the north of Equestria and back; it's called the Flying Rift Express or something; but because it never stops, it's perfect for our hijacking. Anyway, you know all that.

"What you don't know is my idea: what if I took the train and crashed it straight into the heart of Manehattan?" He stopped for a second, staring calmly yet insolently at his vexed uncle. "It's a great bluff, isn't it? And if they don't stop that, I can start killing ponies, maybe just half the passengers, or even two-thirds, but certainly not all. Eventually we'll reach a pony who knows where the elixir is being hid, but we have to act fast, or else we'll lose it. It's a great solution: our employer gets the prize he's looking for, you and the crew get paid, as well as a piece of the prize as promised by our employer, and I get to kill ponies. Ain't that a swell idea, dear uncle? My friends here think it's a good idea!"

"Secure the elixir however you want," said the uncle in a drawn-out, exhausted voice, but still holding on to the remnants of his anger. His eyes lazily skipped around the room.

"You know, there's one type of pony I love killing more than any other. It doesn't matter if they're weak or strong, poor or rich. The ponies that I love to kill the most, the ones that really get me jazzed... are the ones who never see it coming. Dying is the furthest thing from their mind. Most ponies are probably thinking what they'll be having for breakfast tomorrow morning, ain't that right?"

"Get out!" cried the uncle in a sort of rush, stamping his legs. "Do what you want on the Flying Rift, spill all the blood you want—just leave my office."

"Ahh!" Knob heaved a sigh and skipped back to his crew. "Don't you worry, dear uncle," he called back like a chatterbox, with his hideous smile. "We're sure to pinpoint the elixir, we'll go in and out, just like that. In and out. It's only a matter of time. Ha, ha!"

And he left, his unconfined laughter filling the hallways of the building.


* * *


It had been two-and-a-half weeks since Maxim's birthday, and, sure enough, Pyre died in terrible anxiety, slightly later than expected. He had spent the rest of his life in Ponyville's hospital, not uttering a single word, almost completely unresponsive to anypony speaking to him, and rejecting all visitors. He had even rejected Airglow. When he died his burial was prepared and accomplished in a small cemetery. Because he did not have any family relations, at least not any apparent ones, and no money, he was claimed as "indigent," having died on property. There was no funeral, no service, no memorial of any kind.

As for Airglow at the present, she had travelled to Fillydelphia to meet with Nova, having exchanged letters just a few days prior. The house he had rented was left vacant, papers returned and all, so that it was put up for sale once more. Nova had written that there were only two circumstances that had to be met for him to return to Ponyville: that he have the full ten thousand in his possession, and that Misty was still living there and had not gone back to Canterlot.

Olva, thinking that Airglow's departure to a luxury train in first-class was a good thing, that is, a vital necessity in the mental development of teenagers, paid for Airglow's trip and provided with her some extra bits, on top of the latter's own money. Luckily, Airglow managed to speak on friendly grounds with Misty once more, since the last scene with Bouquet had erupted in the lady's heart an ill-thought and passionate disposition. She even apologized to Airglow for having thrown her out, and pointed out that the gold ticket was still all hers to keep.

One more thing to note, a most curious and fascinating one, is that there begun to appear all around Equestria—from Ponyville to Canterlot to Fillydelphia and all—awfully controversial flyers and tracts advertising some upcoming soirée being held in Canterlot. Apparently some new and famous investor had appeared from out of nowhere, deriving from a rich yet unknown family; but of this investor, absolutely nothing was known, not even their race or gender. While the flyers advertised a soirée, the tracts were of a political purpose, and in them contained the real controversy. It contained arguments, anecdotes, brief explanations all of sorts, and even artistic imageries, all expounding the "benefit," as it were, of replacing Princess Celestia with a democracy, with the vague yet ambitious goal of launching Equestria into a brighter future. Naturally this was painted over with the most extraordinary controversy. Many ponies were outraged, some even confused, others terribly interested yet dubious. This had started off small at first, until new groups began gathering—in libraries, shops, and so on—passing these tracts on to one another, either to proselytize or debunk them, but the majority was in the latter camp. It was said that this upcoming soirée would be used, in proper and grandiose fashion, to reveal the investor to whom all this commotion was connected.

Nopony knew for sure where this had all started, only that they "heard from somepony else about it." It was all reduced to word-of-mouth in explanation. What had been known with more clarity, however, is that the soirée would be held during the Annual Autumn Festival—a boisterous and colourful event filled with songs, dances, and foreign-themed merchandise on display. It was all set right in the heart of Canterlot; and a large mansion, which encircled a sturdy, brick-layered tower by its outbuildings, was going to be rented out. There were even rumours that several other buildings were being constructed in key locations around Equestria, all organized to overlap and be made use of with multiple events and holidays, all for the same political purposes as these tracts.

General commentary was as such:

"What is this, trying to start a revolution?"

"Obviously not, that would be impossible."

"Sounds like an elaborate prank."

"That is impossible."

"The Princess must be having a laugh right now!"

"It seems to me that most ponies reading these little pamphlets don't agree with a single word of it; they're just going along for the ride."

"Ridiculous!"

"Interesting but pointless."

"Who even wrote these dissertations?"

"And this new and eccentric investor? Are they from Equestria?"

"Nopony knows, only that the mansion in which this upcoming soirée will be held is being decorated right now, in unison with the Annual Autumn Festival. It's very extravagant and very expensive."

"Ah, true, I saw a dozen construction ponies this morning flying over my house; it's all the talk these days."

"And that cumbersome tower in the middle?"

"I think there's more than one tower; maybe a row of them; I don't know..."

"If so, they're not for any practical reason, but for aesthetics."

"That's very strange."

And so on.

Princess Celestia, when asked at a public hearing for her opinion on all of this controversy, simply chuckled the notion away, saying, "I encourage everypony with differing opinions to speak their mind. Isn't that what freedom of expression is for?" After all, these tracts were terribly unpopular, so there was nothing to worry about in the sense of some new movement rising out of it. I personally would be very interested to get Cluster's thoughts on this recent development, but unfortunately he was nowhere to be seen.
> Part V – Chapter II – The Information Broker
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hurried and hasty bustle of townsponies had poured into the southern train station of Fillydelphia at the point of morning. Everything was in delay, unfortunately. Lines of ponies waited at every checkout area, locomotives rolled in late, clouds hung about in clumps without purpose, pegasi dashed about, and the whole system of the daily grind was as if in slow motion. This is, naturally, part of natural ramifications, of the most natural sort. Business is unpredictable, as they so cleverly remark from a distance, observing the whole scene play out. While most schedules were delayed, this was true, that was only a temporary effect on the way to the Flying Rift. Eventually the gears would get cranking at full speed, and everything would return to normal.

When Airglow had arrived at the station by coachpony, her first resolve was to look for Nova. Both of them had written to each other the week before, agreeing on where to meet. The whole block was separated by silver gates, into third, second, and first class. She was in the first class area, thanks to Misty's golden ticket. The Flying Rift express had arrived in Fillydelpha at full steam; in reaction several groups of ponies—many were aristocratic families by the looks of it—approached the narrow stairs leading inside, while others took the moment to bid each other farewell.

The whole morning, however, was not the most pleasant setting. It was so damp and foggy that dawn could barely break; twelve paces to the right or left of the line it was hard to make out anything through the carriage windows. Among the passengers some had returned from abroad, others were on holiday around Equestria; but the third-class compartments were more crowded, and they were all petty business folk from not far away. The second class was more similar to first class, whose rooms were incredibly spacious, adorned with special privileges, and decked out in white curtains, gold-rimmed tables, and a glittering chandelier in each car. Everypony at the moment was tired, as usual, everypony's eyes had grown heavy overnight in preparation for the Flying Rift. Everypony was chilled, too, and their faces pale, matching the colour of the fog.

Airglow trudged along the crowds, trying to multitask her eyes between the map she held in front of her and the incoming traffic of other ponies. On a bench, facing one of the first-class windows, she saw Nova sitting by himself. He too was scanning a map, and by the looks of it, he had packed light, and in my opinion was unfashionably dressed.

Airglow stored her map away and jogged towards him.

"Hey, Nova!" she called.

He turned his head, blinked a few times, then suddenly jumped up.

"Oh, Airglow, ah... ah..." he spoke while awkwardly stuffing his own map into his saddlebag, while at the same time embracing her in a quick hug. "How long has it been!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, I know," replied Airglow. "I arrived not even an hour ago, by the bayside. So... I mean, wow! I can't believe we're really here. How long have you been in Fillydelphia for?"

"A fair question! I can see that you had been anticipating this get-together, eh? No, no, nothing of inconvenience has haunted me yet, things have been going well with me. I only pawned a couple of my belongings, nothing much, just the right amount to make the trip, and besides—phew!—the weather is a calamity these days! Are we in the Everfree Forest or what?"

"That makes sense. Last time I heard..." Airglow began in a decidely premeditated manner, as if she had been planning this exchange for some time now. "I heard you left Ponyville... when I spoke with Misty."

"Of course, of course!" Nova slapped himself on the forehead. "I asked you to talk to Misty, to convey to her the message that I have bowed out. So you did tell Misty about my 'bowing out,' yes? What did she say? Go on, my dear Airglow, strike me down, don't spare me! Was she furious?"

"No, not that... It wasn't like that at all, Nova. It was... I found the two of them together there, a few weeks ago."

"What two?"

"Misty and Bouquet."

Nova was dumbstruck.

"Impossible!" he cried. "You're out of your mind! Bouquet—with her?"

Airglow told her brother everything that had happened to her from the very moment she had entered Misty's house after Maxim's birthday party. She spoke for about five minutes, one would not say fluently or coherently, but she seemed to convey it clearly, grasping the main words, the main gestures, and vividly conveying her own feelings, often with a single stroke. Nova listened silently, staring point blank at her with horrible fixity, but it was clear to Airglow that he already understood everything and comprehended the whole fact.

But his face, as the story went on, became not merely grim but menacing, as it were. He glowered, clenched his teeth, his fixed stare becoming still more fixed, more intent, more grim—which made it all the more unexpected when, with unbelievable swiftness, his face, until then angry and ferocious, suddenly changed all at once. His compressed lips parted, and Nova suddenly dissolved into the most irrepressible, most genuine laughter. He dissolved into laughter and for a long moment could not even speak.

"She just didn't kiss her hoof! She just didn't, she just ran away!" he exclaimed with some sort of morbid joy—one might have called it insolent joy had it not been so artless. "And the other one shouted that she was a gold-digger, to be 'beaten on a scaffold.' A gold-digger she is! And that she deserves the scaffold, yes, yes she does, I agree, she does deserve it, she has long deserved it! Let's have that scaffold, sister, but let me recover first. I can see that queen of insolence, the whole of her is there, that hoof expresses the whole of her! Infernal mare! She's the queen of all infernal mares the world can imagine! Joyful in a way! So she ran back to her city, presumably? Then I... eh... will run to her! Airglow, don't blame me, I do agree that throttling's too good for her, ha, ha!"

"But what about Misty?" said Airglow sadly.

"I see her, too, right through her; I see her, I see her better than ever before! It's quite a discovery—all four cardinal points—the corners of the world. What a thing to do! It's the same Misty, the institute mare, who wasn't afraid to run to an absurd brute of a street guard with the generous idea of saving her friend, at the risk of being horribly insulted! But what pride, what recklessness, what defiance of fate! You say the aunt tried to stop her? That aunt, you know, is a despot herself, she used to put on even more airs than the other one, but her husband was convicted of tax fraud, lost everything, his estate and everything, and his proud spouse had to pull her head in, and never stick it out again. And Misty didn't listen, she wanted to attack Bouquet? Why, Bouquet was showing herself off, so whose fault is it? Maybe she truly did fall in love with Misty then, that is, not Misty but a delusion of her, a dream of sorts.

"My dear Airglow, how did you manage to save yourself from them, from those mares? You must have hitched up and run! Ha, ha!"

"But Nova, don't you notice that you did something really bad to Misty, by telling Bouquet about that day? She threw it in her face, that she 'went secretly to her gentlecolts to sell her beauty.' Could you have offended her anymore than that?"

Airglow was most tormented by the thought that her brother seemed pleased at Misty Gem's humiliation, though of course this wasn't exactly the case.

"Pah!" Nova frowned horribly all of a sudden and slapped himself on the forehead once more. Only now did he notice it, though Airglow had just told him about the offence and about Misty's cry, "Your brother is horrible!"

"Yes, maybe I really did tell Bouquet about that 'fatal day,' as Misty calls it. Yes, I did, I did tell her, I remember! Goodness, it couldn't have been otherwise! That's how it is with these types of mares. I really am horrible."

He looked down and thought for a moment.

"So that means you met Bouquet Rose for the first time. What was your impression of her, Airglow? Was there anything she told you before she departed?"

An intense heat unexpectedly took over Airglow's face, in the form of a profound red blush. While telling her side of the story to Nova, she did, of course, omit the detail of her final exchange with Bouquet, and by extension omitted the make-out session.

"She... she... I don't..." Her lips twitched, and her face grew even hotter, her temples becoming damp from sweat.

"Airglow? What is it? Ah, you're starting to sweat! And you look awfully dizzy! Here, here, take a seat."

"No, no, I'm fine," Airglow managed to say in a breathless voice.

"Nova Steel? I never expected to see you in Fillydelphia," interjected a third, unknown voice.

A hoof laid on Nova's shoulder, who turned around and was greeted by a familiar sight. It was a unicorn, wearing a friendly smile, strapped with two heavy-looking saddlebags, as if preparing for a long voyage.

"Sharp Heat! You're here?" exclaimed Nova with ardour.

"Who's this?" asked Airglow, coming up besides him. "Friend of yours?"

"Of the friendliest stripe!" laughed Nova strangely, as if he remembered something all at once.

"Your brother kept his mouth shut about me, is that it?" said the one called Sharp Heat, hunching his shoulders. "Ain't that good news."

Nova took about half a minute to introduce the two.

Sharp Heat was a unicorn official in the Royal Guard, though he was placed within an unusual position, acting more as a captain of his own unit and an investigator. He was that type of pony to conduct himself with practiced composure, usually courteous and with a honed sangfroid, even when the courtesy was not sincerely meant. His history was one of hard work and strong will, because many ponies had told him that he was not "cut out" to be an official, though throughout the years he had proven himself to be more than competent, acting with appropriate and shrewd civility.

Nova talked about how he and Sharp Heat had met not too long ago. Nova had had an antique crossbow, a fine thing with dual cartridges, and he loved it very much. Something like a month back, he had struck up an acquaintance with a certain young official, that being Sharp Heat, and had learned somehow, in a tavern, that Sharp Heat had a passion for weapons, everything from mechanical contraptions, to daggers, and even magical staffs. He would hang them on his wall, show them to his acquaintances, boasted of them, and was even an expert in explaining how they worked. Without thinking twice, Nova went straight to him and offered to pawn his antique crossbow to him for two hundred bits. Sharp Heat was very impressed with the crossbow, and had tried to persuade him to sell it outright, but Nova would not agree, so the official handed him two hundred bits, declaring he would not think of accepting any interest. They parted as friends, and remained friends every since.

(This, in any case, went on to explain how Nova managed to secure the money necessary for a trip to Fillydelphia.)

"Did you rush to Fillydelphia from Canterlot?" asked Nova

"Nah, crowds are too tight at this time, been here since yesterday," replied Sharp Heat. "I'm on business, is all."

He suddenly approached Airglow, much to the latter's surprise, and shook her hoof.

"How's it going, Airglow? You're in town for the magnificent Flying Rift, too?"

"Yeah, got my ticket and everything," replied Airglow readily.

"And I bet it was one heck of a ride here—for the both of ya," he chuckled, looking at Nova. "If you or your sister hadn't noticed, the whole network has been delayed. We'll be departing at twelve-thirty today."

"Ah, eleven-thirty, twelve-thirty, it's all the same! Let's go get a bite to eat, the cafés have just opened, there, down the block. Perhaps you could tell us what you're up to, eh?"

"Come on, ha, ha! I'm not as secretive as I look, you should know. Maybe not now; we can talk inside the Flying Rift. You're both first-class, right, as mentioned?"

"First-class, that's right."

"Same here. But Look," he spoke now more clearly, even more seriously, as it were, in spite of his friendly demeanour, "I need to check up on some things. There's an information broker I'm supposed to see. It should be quick. You can go and grab your seat, I'll meet you there soon."

"That works for me," said Nova.

"See ya soon." Sharp started heading the opposite direction at a modest pace.

Nova looked at him with an expression of incredible respect, as if silently boasting to be friends with the Sharp, but then he observed his sister by his side and an idea came to him.

"Say, why don't you accompany him?" he threw in all of a sudden.

"Oh, um..." Airglow was ready to depart to the train, but now paused. She wondered what he had in mind.

Sharp Heat's ears perked; he stopped and turned around, and asked with curiosity, "You wanna accompany with? I'm just stopping by an information broker, nothing fancy."

"Apologies, but I was thinking: you have just arrived, and storing the luggage must be the last thing on your mind, correct?" Nova continued to his sister, with surprisingly genuine concern at the thought that she should do any work instead of having fun. It's almost as if he wanted to make things up to her for something. "Sharp Heat here is a swell guy—you two can get to know each other, and he can even show you around, since you two just met. Because, say, there's still some time before the train departs,"

"Would you really be okay with that?" asked Airglow. "It's been a while since we've seen each other, you know."

"Say," Sharp Heat remarked suddenly, fixing Airglow with an intrigued look, "how long have you been in Fillydelphia for?"

"Me?" Airglow was momentarily stunned by being addressed as she did. "Not long at all. I just got here."

"I was thinking that if your sister really does want to accompany me, to the broker that is, it might work since we have spare time due to the train's delay." He continued walking. "I warn you, though, the streets are heavy right now. Come or don't, up to you."

Airglow looked to be conflicted.

"Go ahead, you're in good hooves with Sharp" Nova encouraged with a beaming smile. "Please let me take care of the luggage. It's hardly a trouble."

"Well, why not?" said Airglow, shrugging. "I read in the brochure there's a café in first-class. Think you could..."

"Oh, of course! Just look for me in one of the cabins. Anything you want me to order for you?"

"Get me a mocha," Sharp called back. "I'll pay ya back later."

"Get me a mocha, too," said Airglow, who was already walking with him.

Yes, every path to redemption begins with a single step, thought Nova, giving them a quick wave and making his way to the train.


* * *


"Here, let me take that off your shoulders," said Sharp, levitating Airglow's saddlebag for him to carry.

"Oh, thank you so much," said Airglow as if by instinct, but she almost cringed at how much weight he must have been carrying now.

They had been walking briskly down a long and crowded street. He was remarkably easy to talk to, all too ready to engage in conversation. Every once in a while he would relay to her some little tidbit or other about Fillydelphia, about the Flying Rift Express, or even about his own biography. She listened to him very attentively, and even managed to make her laugh quite a few times.

In appearance Airglow could see him as calm and collected, though judging by his eyes, she felt that underneath his calm veneer lay turbulent emotion—including that of passionate and ruthless ire, though he possessed enough self-awareness and self-control (quite unlike Nova) to control these feelings and manage them. He was incredibly handsome, and built to endure the strongest of conditions, which immediately caught Airglow's attention.

There was something about his face, too—perhaps a feature which rested in his cheekbones, or his sharp chin—that resembled some inner and suppressed arrogance. This all added up to a coarse smile and a sharp, self-satisfied gaze.

"And Airglow," he said, "why are you going on the Flying Rift anyway? You want to meet somepony?"

"No, not exactly, I'm just travelling."

"Just travelling? Travelling for the sake of it?"

"You could say that. What about you, Sharp? Is there somepony you're supposed to meet on the train?"

"I'm ready to bet so," he replied with a pleased air, after having chuckled his fill. "Though the train is hardly the point. You can bet it doesn't contain any gold packets or foreign currencies."

"To tell you the truth..." Airglow looked down, and a faint smile spread on her face. "I actually am looking for somepony on my own behalf. But that doesn't necessarily have anything to do with the train."

"Somepony close to you?" Sharp looked intently and inquisitively at her.

"Yeah!" Airglow gazed at him. "I'm looking for my oldest brother, Cluster Tale. Have you seen him?"

They both stopped walking.

"Can't say I have, no. I'm not much of a looking type, if you catch my drift. If I want to find somepony in particular, I usually have them come to me." He turned to his left. "We're here, by the way."

Airglow found herself in front of what looked like a small and compact storefront, made from musty-looking bricks, riddled with vertical signs and iron stairways sticking out above. The doorway itself was relatively well kept; it swung very widely on entrance.

"It's right there," said Sharp, pointing at the door.

"What did you say you wanted to find again?" asked Airglow from behind, as they entered the small building.

"I'm collecting vital intel about a certain few passengers on the Flying Rift."

It was fairly noisy inside. While they were in a reception room, from behind a door in the back Airglow picked up several voices, hoof-steps, and the typical sounds of papers being moved around.

"Intel?" said Airglow. "You mean like—?"

"Information, yeah, like who they are and all that pizzazz. Information is everything, especially these days."

"Should you really be telling me this?" she asked, recalling that he was a military captain. "Isn't this, like, a secret mission?"

"Not at all. Or rather, it depends entirely on how it's conducted, but for the time being, no, nothing secret."

From behind a desk seated a stallion buttoned up in a tailored suit. On arrival this stallion greeted them with an awfully courteous smile; he even leaned forward, as if taking special interest in them.

"Good morning, my fellow ponies," he addressed in a welcoming voice. "You may call me Bottle Top. I run the Fillydelphia edition desk." He closed one eye and pressed a hoof to his chest. "Pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine," replied Sharp.

"And you," said Bottle Top, placing his hooves together and pointing them at Sharp, "you must be... wait, don't tell me... Sharp Heat, artillery captain of the fourth cadet corp from Canterlot. Well, am I right or am I right?"

"Whoa, that's so crazy! How did you know?" said Airglow with the widest eyes.

"You see," replied Bottle Top, proudly sticking out his chest and facing Airglow this time, "as an information broker, there are very few facts of which my company is not aware."

"That's what I'm here for, pal," explained Sharp, grinning. "Fact me this: do you happen to know if the Tic Tocs are going to be onboard the Flying Rift Express this afternoon? You gotta throw me a hint here, it's extremely important."

"Of course they are. The Tic Tocs are one of the three prodigal families aiming to control the city, amid legislative turf wars and whatnot."

"Do you have any idea why they're boarding? And how many? Tell me and I'll make it worth your while."

Bottle Top stuck his hoof out over the counter. "Four hundred."

Sharp tilted his head. "How much?"

"Four hundred bones, and not a bit less."

Sharp looked at the broker's extended hoof, then heaved a sigh. "You're asking for a lot, pal," he said. "I haven't received my bonus yet, so that option's off the table. But as far as I know," he said again, with a gleam in his eyes, "there are other means to buy information, ain't that right?"

"Perceptive as ever!" exclaimed Bottle Top. "Either you pay the four upfront, or—you only pay a quarter and pony up some information about yourselves."

"But why's that?" asked Airglow. "Aren't bits more valuable?"

"I'm an information broker," he laughed, raising his shoulders and sticking his hooves out, as if shamelessly admitting to something. "I'm just trying to stay in business. But..." A ponderous expression came over his face; he surveyed both Sharp and Airglow, then finally landed his sights on her. "I know a lot about Mr. Sharp Heat here: he's thirty years old, lives in Canterlot, is contracted by several aristocratic families stationed there, including Princess Celestia herself, et cetera, et cetera. I want to know something about you."

"Me?" she said in some astonishment.

"Hold it, hold it," Sharp said sternly, stepping between them, "she's got nothing to do with this, understand? Don't forget I'm the primary customer; there's still some things I could tell you that you don't know. Here." He lit his horn, scrambled about his saddlebag for a few seconds, counting something to himself, then levitated a hefty pouch of bits from it and dropped it on the counter. "That's one hundred flat."

"Well, what can I say?" retorted the information broker with the most sincere tones. "I've never laid my eyes on that filly before, and that's something which goes against the mantra of our labours. I don't need anything from you at the moment, Sharp Heat. If you'll excuse me, miss...?"

"Airglow Sky, sir."

"Airglow Sky! What a pretty little name. Tell me, Ms. Airglow Sky, why are you in Fillydelphia? I can see you're not a local."

"It's alright," Sharp spoke up before she could respond, gesturing to her, "you don't have to say anything. If the broker won't fork up, then that's just our luck. We'll get going, Bottle Top."

"No, I'll help," said Airglow, seriously enough that Sharp looked at her blankly. He was caught off guard, as it were, by the determination on her expression.

"There you go," encouraged the information broker, raising a curious eyebrow. "Ain't that the easy part?"

"Just one question," said Airglow dubiously. "If I tell you something about myself, and some other pony wanted to 'buy' that information, would you give it to them?"

"Of course. I'm an information broker. It's in the job description."

At least he was honest. She could admire that.

"Come on, forget it," Sharp pressed on, "it isn't that important to me anyway, more of a menial task really. I don't want you to get tangled up in this whole thing."

"I appreciate your concern"— Airglow flashed him a reassuring smile —"but it's fine. Really, it's fine." She cleared her throat. "So, uh, ask away."

"Like I said," the information broker continued, with ready composure, "I would very much like to know why it is you've ventured into this city."

"I'm actually from Ponyville," replied Airglow hesitantly; one could tell she was trying to conceal all traces of timidity. "And I came here to go on a trip with my brother."

"A trip, you say? You mean the Flying Rift transcontinental?"

"That's the one, the Flying Rift. I received a golden ticket from a friend, as a gift, and..." She paused, wondering if she was saying too much.

"Forget about this friend of yours, let's focus on your brother," the information broker picked up on her hesitation with incredible skill. "His name is...?"

"Oh, it's Nova Steel."

"You?—sister of Nova Steel, the former street guard and compulsive gambler?" The broker's eyes looked as if they were about to pop out. "I never would have guessed!"

"Wait, you know my brother? How?"

"I'm an information broker!" he laughed triumphantly. "And—oh, ahem!—please excuse me—but what's the deal with you and Nova Steel? Why are you two going on a trip together?"

"You were only supposed to ask one thing," said Sharp imperiously, frowning.

"Hey now, I'm still on my original question, aren't I?" the broker defended himself. "So, Ms. Airglow Sky, would you be so good as to elaborate?"

"It's just that... I came with him to get away from something... for the both of us." She noticeably bit her lips.

"Something important?" asked the broker.

"Sorta... Just that... I'm trying to get him and our dad to stop fighting," broke from Airglow all of a sudden.

"Eh? A fight? How do you mean...?" He looked at her more intently now, noticing how downcast her face had become.

"They're fighting over a few thousand bits," Airglow went on hotly, without checking herself, pressing a hoof to her chest, "and they won't stop. They just won't. And..." She stopped for a second, as if in some inner turmoil. The broker flashed her an encouraging and perfectly amicable expression, nodding to her words at every beat.

"Please continue, I'm here to listen," his face seemed to say, as if he was a therapist.

"Our dad got beat up over it," Airglow continued, indeed feeling encouraged, speaking more comfortably, like the broker was the first pony to show interest in her struggles, "almost killed even, and now my oldest brother, Cluster Tale, is nowhere to be seen. He doesn't want to help anymore. But I'm still here for them"— She lightly stomped her hoof —"I still want us to be family, just like all the other families. But nopony will listen to me. My opinion doesn't really matter to either my dad or my brothers. They just see me as the naive filly who works at a library. They don't see that violence only breeds more violence. I want them to stop, to make up and forget the stupid money, but they just won't listen. And—"

She stopped, having gotten into a fluster. She noticed Sharp Heat subtly and resolutely shaking his head at her.

"Ve-ry interesting, Airglow Sky," said the broker with an apt smile.

"I'm sorry!" exclaimed Airglow, darting her head back and forth, blushing all over. "I didn't mean to say so much. I only—"

"Ha, ha, yeah, ain't that the most interesting thing." Sharp Heat rested an elbow on the counter, coldly staring down the information broker. "Enough already. You got what you wanted, pal. Now's the time to fulfill your end of the bargain. Why are the Tic Tocs boarding the Flying Rift?"

Luckily he received a direct and non-convoluted answer. The Tic Tocs were securing some sort of delivery for a third party employer. The nature of this employer was unknown. This delivery was said to be of extreme value, so much so that anypony who let the secret out would have been killed. Evidently some were killed. As to how many members were boarding, he was told around twenty, give or take.

Sharp Heat wanted to investigate the potentially illegal endeavours of this family, but he could not risk getting involved, only be an observer. He would board the train, find out what he could, and report back to his unit.

He and Airglow left the broker's building and quickly made their way back to the train station. The Flying Rift was scheduled to depart in less than twenty minutes at that time.

"Hey," began Airglow quietly, "do you think I... said too much?"

"Hmm? Oh, about that." Sharp Heat looked up for a moment, humming to himself. "If you want my personal opinion, I would say answering anything more than the bare minimum of what they ask you is too much. But ponies like Bottle Top are clever that way. They phrase things in such a way that gets you to keep talking without even noticing it. But with you—I mean, you were too easy a target, you poured your heart out way too fast. It's a good thing I was there."

"Yeah," sighed Airglow. "Sorry."

"C'mon, it wasn't that bad. There's not much they can do to get you personally involved in anything, now that I think about it." They arrived at the station. "Look, there's the train. Your brother is probably inside, twiddling his hooves at the indoor bar or something. Let's go."
> Part V – Chapter III – Before the Storm
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Flying Rift Express truly lived up to its reputation as Equestria's most marvellous locomotive, a mechanical beauty built by the top ranked engineers in Equestria. Its design—from its white-plated hulks built over a network of gears, to the titanium-framed windows pressing up against its giant, imposing mass and the mighty steam-spewing chimney—was modelled after those old trains once used by royalty.

Normally first-class had been placed in the rear of such trains, but for that occasion, they were brought right to the front, just behind the conductor's room. They say that such an unorthodox decision made it more aesthetically pleasing, but honestly, I think they just didn't want first-class in the back. Now that I think about it, it seemed a little pretentious.

Ponies from all sorts of appearances and backgrounds were climbing on board. Luggages were hauled to the back, mothers were calling their children in, and the workers at the station were blowing their whistle, announcing the train was to depart in the next ten minutes.

"Oh wow!" said one filly with glittering eyes, wearing a white cloche hat, "is that really travelling all the way up north of Equestria?"

"Now Carol," said the tall stallion beside her, who himself wore a greatcoat and a monocle, "what did we discuss? Save the commentary for when we have found our cabin. A patient mind is the key to wisdom."

"Y-yes, sir," said the one called Carol in a quick voice.

The two ponies, like all the rest, were decked out in expensive, one might say showy, attire. They hurried along inside the train.

Off to the end of the first-class compartment zone, one could see a group of ponies, mares and stallions, in black suits. They evidently represented something together, seeing as how they had all dressed the same. Some were holding violin and guitar cases.

"Oh, neat!" commented the little filly Carol. "Is there going to be a symphony onboard the train?"

"Up we go, Carol," said the tall stallion, giving her a cursory glance, "don't trip on the stairs."

"Yes, of course, sir." Carol hastened herself.

These ponies in black were nothing especially abnormal by the looks of it, but they all moved together in harmony, as if they had all rehearsed their every step the day before. They exchanged glances with no pony and only ever took any action with extraordinary deliberation. Their eyes were all somewhat hazy, with no light in them either due to weariness or some other factor. One wondered what they could have been up to.

"As a matter of precaution, some members from the vestry will be staying in the freight hold," said one of the ponies in black, at the front of the group, to one of the workers.

"That sort of thing is completely out of my hooves, sir," said the worker in surprise.

"We've already been granted permission." The pony in black held up a document, presumably some sort of permit.

"Oh!" said the worker, adjusting the conductor's hat which had started to slip off his head. "In that case, it won't be a problem."

A few of the other ponies in black looked around them, studying the whole scene. Some possessed deadly serious faces, while others were entirely deadpan. Everypony in that group of black suits spoke with the most monotonous pronunciation. Sharp Heat, having managed an observatory glance at them from afar, deduced at once that they must have been the Tic Tocs, one of the three most influential families in the city. He would try to keep a close eye on them, but some other feeling was nagging him in the back of the head. While he did not know the Tic Tocs on any intimate level, he would never have expected them to arrive without making much of a show of it, even going as far as to converse with the lowly conductor from a different compartment area.

"Please be careful with our instruments," hissed another pony in black, startling the worker, "they're extremely fragile."

Yeah, eyes peeled for sure, resolved Sharp Heat, going up the stairway into the train.

A few more of those pampered, pompous, posey voices resounded with practiced dignity.

"Hmmph! Pl-ease address me as such-and-such."

"Hurry, dear, we're going to get the scraps!"

"Careful, Cozy Belle, make sure to say hello to the nice conductor."

"Has anypony seen my wife?"

And so on.

Meanwhile, further down the station, Knob's group arrived on the scene, and like before, all decked out in clean, ivory suits. They had their own luggage packed in one of the other freight holds, and now made their way to the front. Knob was leading them; he was gazing at the massive locomotive with skeptical, even slightly offended, eyes. He stopped and whistled.

"So this is the first-class treatment, eh?" he said. "I wonder what kind of rich folk we'll find inside." He looked around with an animated curiosity, and his face lit up when he saw the Tic Tocs getting onboard. "An orchestra all in black? Isn't that a sight to behold. Yes, so very nice."

"Yeah, nice to have somepony juxtapose the differences between us," commented one of the mares in white, with a sweet face, clapping her hooves together.

"You could say that again, doll face!" laughed Knob. "So..." He started pacing back and forth, with notes of anticipation ringing in his voice. "Do you lot see any other pony of importance aboard the Flying Rift with us? Anypony that could really produce a scene for us?"

"Over there," said a stallion in his crew, sneakily gesturing with a hoof. Knob looked at where he was pointing. Among the dispersed crowds was a quaint looking mare, pampering up a filly and colt of equal status. "That's Madame Hemlock," the stallion continued, "she's the wife of the senator. Looks like she's with her children. I saw them in the papers."

"Ahh," sighed Knob, grinning crookedly. "Must be swell breezing your way through life, like you possess royal accommodations. And why not? After all, nothing bad ever happens to you when you're rich, right? I bet they're expecting to be treated to a nice, comfy ride throughout northern Equestria. Hmm-hmm"— A few titters involuntarily escaped from him.

"Just don't forget we're pulling lots from a hat, to determine who goes first," said another mare rather imperiously, which was quite out of proportion with her position.

"Alright then." Knob turned around, his smile never leaving his face, as if he were wearing some mask. "Let's get going. We'll treat these passengers like they were our very own livestock... Rotting, decayed livestock—thrown into a basement to collect the hungry flies!"

He raised a hoof and brought it down onto his other hoof, trembling all over with glee.

"We'll handle them with love! Angry love. Cruel, angry love, and so very carefully. Ha, ha, ha!" he burst into the most depraved laughter, stomping his hooves down. The rest of his crew watched with a mix of excitement and fearful admiration. "Ha, ha—let's gut them alive! Let's grind their bones into dust! I'll toss their organs over the pantries like Hearth's Warming decorations!"

The rest of the white-dressed crew followed him inside, laughing.


* * *


It wasn't long before Sharp Heat and Airglow found Nova in one of the cabins. The servants had already passed by—the fancy, all-inclusive kinds who offered everything under the sun to eat and drink—having checked each of the first-class cabins.

The cabin itself was very large: a beautiful scarlet rug covered the floor like a pasture; every inch of the walls was either a closet, or wardrobe, or some other accommodating and non-utilized space. Two couches were placed in the back walls with a double-bed in the middle (Nova was sitting on its edge). On a stool in the front, on a silver platter, was two steaming cups of chocolate mochas.

Nova had his arms crossed, eyes closed, with a meditative look on his face; when the two other ponies entered he instantly turned his head and looked at them. He must have been waiting for them.

"Is this really a train?" Airglow looked around in happy bewilderment. "It looks like a tiny ball room!"

"Expect nothing less from first-class," remarked Sharp. "Little bombastic for my tastes, though."

"Well said, my friend, nothing less indeed," said Nova suddenly, jumping off the bed. "We're going to get comfortable, me and Airglow, that is. I have taken the liberty to look around, to see if there are any nooks and crannies we should be aware of. This here, see, is the bed, but look"— He reached low, stuck his hoof under the mattress, there was a clink sound, and he pulled out a cabinet box from underneath "—we can store our nightly utensils. Anyhow," he continued, making his way to them, "I have also been made aware of the roulette room right beside the dining car. What a coincidence! I was just thinking of chips and prokes, and voila—a roulette room!"

"I, uh, wouldn't know about going there if I were you," said Airglow, looking cautiously into her brother's face.

"But if you do," Sharp spoke as he levitated his mocha cup, blew on it a few times, and took a sip, "mmm, just don't go waving your bits around. Ponies here are like nesters. They'll wait and peck at the first calling."

Airglow set her saddlebag down on the bed, then took her own mocha and began sipping it. "Wow, this is really delicious," she remarked.

"Speaking of which"— Sharp recalled; he took a few of his own bits and placed it on the stool —"that should cover it. I see you two are settling in quite nicely. I better hitch off to my own cabin." He tapped the edge of the door, turning around once more. "Will I see either of you tonight at the dining car?"

"Hopefully, yes," said Nova.

"I'll be there," put in Airglow, smiling. "Bye, Sharp!"

"I'll see you later, Airglow. Have a good one. Till then..." He took off and strode down the hall, into another car, and was gone.

Airglow closed the door, fell upon the soft bed, and sighed.

A brief silence settled in. Airglow was waiting to speak, but for what she did not know; only perhaps to confirm if she really wished to bring it up. She propped herself up, raised her eyes strangely at Nova, and suddenly, without saying anything, waved her hoof as if she did not care to say anything, and with light steps landed on the floor and began pacing the room.

"Do you have something on your mind, little sister?" asked Nova.

"Sort of. It was just something I thought about yesterday." Airglow stopped and glanced pensively at her brother, but again quickly turned away and dropped her eyes to the ground. She stood sideways, not facing Nova.

Nova, for his part, observed her rather attentively.

"Actually," Airglow spoke up in a clearer voice, "I should pick something to wear for tonight's dinner. Olva packed me a few dresses—all pink," she chortled. "Yeah, pink is my favourite colour—she knows me too well."

She paused for a second, as if deep in thought.

"I wonder what Cluster would be wearing if he was here," she continued. "Actually, I don't think he'd be the type of pony to show up to a first-class compartment. I don't think he's ever been the type of pony who tries to make his life more comfortable. But, you know, I'm sure he's fine; right, Nova? Anyway, like I said, I should pick what to wear for tonight, but I don't wanna get too flashy, know what I mean? Is pink too flashy these days? I don't really follow fashion trends."

Airglow stopped when their eyes met. She had started to chat away, amiably enough, in a conversationalist tone. But she was the only one speaking, and till now did not notice the melancholy look on Nova's face.

"What?" asked Airglow. She grinned in a sarcastic, though rather forceful, manner. "Am I sounding too stereotypically feminine?"

"No, sister, I only have Misty Gem harbouring refuge in my soul," said Nova in a voice quite not his own. Airglow looked at him curiously, guessing that some change was taking place in her brother in that moment. "Oh, great heavens!" He raised his hooves and fell onto the bed. "I have come here for her, my dear Airglow. This is all for her, the whole source of this trip. The lengths to which she takes those cursed five thousand seriously is the same as me. In that regard, neither of us possess the slightest pre-eminence over the other."

"Oh, that..." Airglow's heart was suddenly saddened and anguished by something in particular, and she felt it. She asked herself, Will Cluster come back before any of this reaches its conclusion? Then she recalled that gloomy phrase, "Serpent will eat serpent."

"Nova," she began, catching his attention, "the thing I was thinking about yesterday was our older brother. Do you trust him to help you? Do you think he can help?"

"Brother Cluster is a fine one, Airglow. I would trust him with my very life. But now the time for his indiscriminate intervention has passed, and we must move onwards. This is the whole of my being here, here on the Flying Rift."

"That's right!" Airglow's ears perked up. "You mentioned that you had some sort of plan to repay Misty."

"My plan is simple, direct, an obvious string of the most essential steps. I have in my hooves right now—figuratively, of course, not literally in my hooves—the five thousand which I did not blow out. But I need the latter five, as to pay back the ten I have so shamelessly wasted. But that latter five, dear sister, is an impossibility. There are hardly any casinos in Equestria which will allow me to enter their premises, for fear of another row or scandal. To tartarus with them, I say! But that is where the hope lies therein. My objective is to reach a single casino—a foreign one—located in the north-west equator of this land, beyond the reaches of official Equestrian diplomacy. The place is called the Luna Bay, a cold, sturdy, though accompanied frost land, and the casino is there, on the icy shores of the Bay. It is composed of a little shanty village, nestled beneath a range of mountains and pine trees, overlooking the western ocean front. The Luna Bay casino is famous among some savvy few, particularly because only rich ponies can afford to venture there. I suppose its distant and foreign nature provides a 'premium' taste, filtering out those who cannot afford to traverse the geography alone. There I will make back the whole ten thousand! I swear it on my soul, my utterly base soul, I will win it! No longer for Misty, no, this is for my conscience!"

"But how are you so sure you'll win? What if you lose everything again?"

"Huh? What are you talking about, Airglow?" Nova looked at her with the most puzzled and confused expression, as if she had just questioned an obvious fact. "But of course I will win. How could I lose?"

"But... isn't this all based on chance? How can you be so sure you'll win?"

"But therein lies the secret of it all, Airglow! If I endure, if I withstand my ground, and, moreover, if I march in with the absolute intention to win, I not only can but even must overcome the brutality of chance. That's all there is to it!"

"But even if there's a guarantee that you'll win, how do you plan on reaching this casino? The train doesn't stop," said Airglow quietly and reasonably, keeping her eyes fixed on Nova.

"Exactly right, the train does not stop," repeated Nova. Some change came over his face, one that Airglow did not expect; he looked at her with an air of great candour.

"But then... if the train doesn't stop... how will...?" Airglow stopped again and once more looked confused, but seeing that her confusion was apparently not even acknowledged, she began to grow uneasy. All her familiarity and casualness instantly dropped away; her whole face expressed extreme attention and expectation, but timid and obsequious now. Don't you want to say anything else? could be read in the intent look on her face.

"Now you know my plan, Airglow," muttered Nova, almost in a whisper. He clenched his teeth and raised his hoof in exclamation. "I will win those remaining five thousand no matter what. To lose is out of the question. No, no, I will win, I know I will."

"But how will you reach the casino?" asked Airglow all at once, without restraint. "Are you planning to jump off the train when you get close by? Did you bring a zip line or something? I don't understand."

"Hmm? Jump off the train, you say? Yes, perhaps I will jump off the train. An excellent thought, Airglow!" he suddenly and unexpectedly laughed, much to her surprise. Anypony seeing his face would certainly have concluded that he was not laughing at all out of merriment. "I suppose I should jump off once we've reached the appropriate vicinity, and I think I will plunge right into the water and swim the rest of the distance to the casino, all while carrying my luggage on my back."

Airglow was not at all encouraged by this response. But she did not know what else to say, partly because she did not know if he was being serious or not.

"Right," she said in a low voice, ears drooping. "Let's hope that goes well for you."

Not soon after and a sudden shift of motion, followed by the aggressive rolls and toils of metal gears resounding from underneath, and everything began to pull into one direction. The train had taken off, at full steam.


* * *


Nova ended up venturing to the roulette room later that day, well after they had left the Fillydelphia city premises. The things is that the roulette games were carried in the same room as the bar, acting as a sort of mini salon, whereupon many ponies visited but did not necessarily play. It was also discovered that they did not play for any real money, but special paper bills to be exchanged for different menu items at the bar. There was an entry fee on top of that.

At this point Nova was sitting at the bar, drinking a glass of scotch, talking to the bartender, but Airglow—who had followed him there—was not paying attention to him specifically. She was listening in one other conversations around her.

"I want you to take me there directly," said an elderly mare with an awfully disagreeable face. She was prattling to some middle-aged fellow, perhaps her son, perhaps her nephew. Airglow was not sure.

"What, mother? You haven't even rested yet," said the fellow with some solicitude.

"Why should I rest?” she retorted. "I'm not tired, I have been sitting still these past five days. Let's see what your medicinal springs and waters are like, and where they're situated. What, too, about that, that—what did you call it? Oh, about that mountain top?”

"Yes, we're going to see it, grandma," propped in a young mare, no older than Airglow.

"W-wait, what's the Railway Beast!" squeaked a filly's voice from behind. Airglow turned around and saw a frightened-looking filly wearing a white hat, in between Nova, the bartender, and some other tall stallion, all sharing a chuckle.

"Yes, haven't you heard, little one?" laughed Nova. "The legend of the Railway Beast. It's an ancient creature that's existed for centuries, and its main purpose is to curse locomotives, just like this one!"

"And what does this 'Railway Beast' look like?" inquired the bartender.

"It looks like a haze, red and black... or grey... well, dark and all that, you know. It's quick, quick like a manticore, and it rests under the train, in the gears, waiting for them to start moving before going on the hunt! Why else do you think it's so dark under the train?"

"Come on, you're scaring her," remarked the bartender. He was nonchalantly leaning on his elbow.

"Now Carol," said the tall stallion, shaking his head, "this is no time to be concerning yourself with such fairytales."

"Ohh, I don't know, sir," said Carol in a quiet voice, still clutching the edges of the stool. "M-maybe we should warn the conductor, just in case."

"Excuse me, my good sir, but I recall you saying that you're a journalist, yes?" asked Nova. He drained the last sip of his scotch and now looked very happy. "You must be awfully busy these days, in light of recent events!"

"Gusti Tie, president of the Fillydelphia editorial," said the journalist. "And this here is Carol, my assistant."

Carol, despite her lingering fear of the Railway Beast, straightened up and gave a short, respectful bow.

"Journalists, huh?" said the bartender.

"W-we're here on a mission," said Carol, leaning with her whole body on the chair, eyes wide with significance. "A mission to write about the, uh, the truth, so that no pony goes walking about ignorant of the world's developments. B-but, about the Railway—" Her whole countenance suddenly grew pale.

"Truth is the Equestrian way," said the journalist, Gusti Tie. "We convey the subjective meaning of what has happened in the past."

"Subjective?" questioned Carol. "But sir, we only write about things that already happened, so it can't be subjective, can it? We're not giving our opinions."

"Be that as it may, what you call past events is merely just another lens through which we may interpret the future. Yes, past events cannot change, because they already happened, but in a manner of speaking, it depends entirely on how the editorial spins it out. In another manner of speaking, one martini please, cosmopolitan."

"Then I suppose you are here to spin out a story..." said Nova, bending low so that his chin was almost touching the stool, before he shot up with both hooves in the air. "About the Railway Beast!"

Carol's shoulders went stiff, darting her eyes about. The others laughed in amusement.

"I-is it really real?"

Unfortunately she did not receive a straight answer.

I wonder what Sharp is up to? thought Airglow. Maybe I should go visit him in his cabin...?

She sat there, feeling somewhat apathetic, still undecided. The only thing she was really looking forward to was the dinner that night. She certainly had changed, every since Maxim's birthday, ever since her encounter with Bouquet. But in what manner, to what degree, and in what specific areas of thought, she could not say. Yes, the longer she went on without seeing her family together, and without a conclusion to the financial dispute, the duller her feelings grew to everything else. But even this, Airglow felt weary, mentally speaking, though she remained unconscious of it.

Sharp Heat, for his part, spent his time carefully observing the several ponies in black walking to and fro the different compartments, silently and as if with predetermined directions, as if they were ghosts. He did not bother staying in the roulette room, nor did he bother staying in his cabin for intervals longer than thirty minutes.


* * *


We will skip ahead the next eight hours to the scheduled dinner, for fear that whatever occurred before then is frivolous and not necessary to the story. It was now night time. Ponies from all sides in first-class began making their way to the dining car.

But from one of the vestry rooms, trouble was brewing, the worst kind given the situation. The ponies in the black suits had gathered, all positioned in a circle, evidently discussing a most unbecoming matter. They all bore similar expressions, as if all part of some choreography—serious, monotonous, and menacing, yet tranquil. Every single one of their irises were entirely black, without any light in them. Eerie indeed.

Their luggage had been unpacked and laid upon the floor. There were daggers, crossbows, and iron fuse bombs. One pony levitated a case to the middle, opened it, and took out several metal rings with a strange green glow. These rings were promptly placed on the horns of each unicorn there.

"Have the dimeritium inhibitors been installed?" asked one of the ponies.

"Yes, they have been placed under each car and are ready," answered another. "Once activated, all magic within the train will be completely disabled, except for our own."

"Everything will be set in motion tonight," said the one who had opened the case. "Our great Elder Solid will award us the gift of immortality. The life of these mortals do not matter."

Some of them muttered vague words of confirmation. They started to harness up.

"Let us begin," said the same pony. Their horn flashed.
> Part V – Chapter IV – Off the Rails
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luckily for Airglow and Nova, they managed to snag a table by the window with Sharp in the dining car. That night was a frosty one. They had entered the northern regions of Equestria, and the light, rapid lashes of snow could be observed. Most frightening of all, however, is that this snow was not produced by any pegasi. This was naturally occurring weather! Fortunately the Flying Rift was built like an ox, designed to challenge and overcome any obstacle.

Nova wore his old duds from his formative years as a lieutenant in the Guard, though it was surprisingly well-kept, to the point where it could have been mistaken as new; Sharp was decked out in a three-piece suit, all shades of blue. Airglow wore a light pink dress, overlaid with a shawl, and a ribbon that matched the colour of the flower propped up beside her left ear.

The buscolts set up the tables—dazzling white cloth, pyramid-folded napkins, fancy plates and utensils—then the waiters with menus in hoof. They had ordered, and in twenty minutes the food came.

"Thanks for waiting!" beamed the waiter. "Anything else?"

"That will be all, thank you!" replied Nova.

They began to dig in.

"Since we're here, I gotta ask—did any of you hear about those pamphlets?" threw in Sharp for anypony to answer.

"The ones criticizing Princess Celestia?" asked Airglow pensively. "Yeah, I heard."

"Rumour has it a nefarious group of ponies are planning a revolution. Spread those pamphlets and tracts because now they're 'ready' or something. Ponies these days, I tell ya—getting excited over stirring trouble."

"What a travesty," declared Nova, scowling. "Who would dare speak a flippant word about our beloved Princess?"

"I can think of one pony," muttered Airglow quietly, but she was not heard.

"Mmm... I wouldn't fret over spilt milk," said Sharp in between chewing. "I haven't the slightest clue what purpose those pamphlets can serve, but they've been too public about it. Saying they're going to host some soirée at a three-way casino joint, or something."

"You mean that fête said to be happening in Canterlot?" Nova leaned forward, smiling strangely. "It will take place during the Autumn Festival, next month!"

"Exactly, next month. But here's the important part—that because they've been so public with the pamphlets, it makes me wonder how much control they have over it. If I were the one designing these things, all in order to kickstart some revolution or whatever, I mean, would I really be so loud and proud with them? No, not at all."

"Can revolution really be their goal?" asked Nova.

"Oh, that's a loaded question, and I've no idea what'll be revealed with them. I just think it's weird, spreading them around, I mean. You want to host a—what?—live reading or concert or something about these pamphlets, and you're putting it in the Autumn Festival. Well, the Autumn Festival won't have time for controversy, especially when events there can get so busy and distracting, and with so many ponies there, it'll all be ignored in my opinion.

"Mm. But fine, let's say they have their way there, at the Autumn Festival. I've seen these pamphlets get tossed around from Ponyville to Vanhoover, and mark my words, there's no way and no how all the ponies, or even most of the ponies, who've read or heard about this so-called investor will be showing up to Canterlot next month, so no matter how you slice it, it's bad strategy."

"Are you going to the Autumn Festival, Sharp?" asked Airglow.

"I've been thinking about it, but sometimes I just don't have control over these things. Well, Canterlot is my home, so there's that. But I doubt this so-called investor will be worth any investigation; I might even expect a case file on my desk by next week."

"What about after the Flying Rift?" Airglow went on, putting her fork down. "You got any other assignments?"

"Certainly. In fact, I'm glad you asked; I'm the leader of an extraction team," Sharp declared suddenly in a different tone. Nova and Airglow exchanged glances, but Nova leaned forward, terribly interested. "And right now, even now as I'm sitting in this dining cart, eating this nice food," he continued, "my team and I are on the hunt. Have any of you head of the infamous Doctor Blythe?"

"I believe not," said Nova, eyes widened.

Airglow shook her head.

"Phew, well!" Sharp leaned back on his chair. "You got that going for you two, and maybe it's for the best. He's a real nutcase if I could ever vouch for one, used to work at a mental asylum, went missing after fifteen years of service. Thing is, most ponies don't know about this Blythe fellow, usual case of covering his tracks and whatnot—but we're looking for him because he's a serial killer. No, worse, he's known to experiment with his victims, really, messes with their heads using dark magic. He steals unicorn magic, too. It's chilling, reading those reports. You haven't heard about ponies losing their magic, have you?"

"I, uh, really have no idea about that sort of thing," replied Airglow, her lips on the verge of a frown.

"And because we're looking for Blythe, it got be thinking—so I brought it up—what if there's some connection between him and the Tic Tocs? Could there be? Am I just overthinking it? It isn't uncommon for coincidences like these to just spring up. Well..."

"Good graces to Princess Celestia, what if I run into this murderer who steals magic?" exclaimed Nova. "What fate be so cruel as to do that to me? What if it happens right now?"

"Hey, hey, let's not sour the mood," laughed Sharp, ironically unaware that he had done so himself. "There's nothing to be scared of. It's not like Doctor Blythe is on the Flying Rift with us or anything, right?"

Airglow looked at him awkwardly. Nova coughed. Sharp gazed at them intently, then at his plate, then back up.

"Hold up," he said again, waving his hoof, "I ain't jinxing anything. He's not actually on this train. Come on, look, my bad, but let's withdraw. Um... say, have any of you read those pamphlets?"

"Me? Of course not, I have no time for such frivolities," said Nova. "I will drink, spend, and chase my wildest dreams! There is no time like the present. Other than..." He paused, twisting his lips.

"Now that's a self-serving mindset," remarked Sharp. "I read one of them. It may interest either of you, or both."

"Why us?" Airglow looked at him in faint surprise.

"Your brother Cluster Tale, the popular academic and Princess Celestia's personal student, was quoted. How did it go again...? Ah, that's it. 'There is no evidence to suggest a correlation between the wellbeing of Equestria and the length of Celestia's rule; on the contrary, she has taken away our freedom of conscience,' and something other. I can't remember."

"Brother Cluster is always chasing danger, eh, Airglow?" laughed Nova, nudging her.

"I guess, yeah," replied Airglow distractedly. She was watching a mother and her two kids across the cart, they were bickering about something, and the mother was scolding the colt while the filly blew a raspberry.

She was no longer listening to the current conversation, but not consciously, as if to be rude; her mind was simply going around the car, picking up on the various words and phrases being scattered about. She was having a hard time focusing on one single topic. She kept thinking back to what Cluster had told her. "Serpent will eat serpent." "I'll gladly let it happen." "Then that's life."

The miscellaneous sounds became more interesting to her. The clangs of glasses, the clinging of the chandelier, even the muted wind and snow blowing outside. She had been eating but stopped halfway, for some reason losing her appetite. Airglow went on this trip to get away from home, to take a little break, but now she started to have her doubts.

"Airglow?"

Airglow gave a start. She looked at Sharp.

"You went all quiet," said Sharp again, "and you look like you just saw a ghost. Everything okay?" I really hope it's not because I mentioned a serial killer still on the loose.

"Everything's fine," she sighed, forcing herself back into the moment. "I was just thinking about Ponyville, and I thought—"

She was interrupted by the sharp noise of multiple glasses shattering. Everypony in the room gave a start. Two of the waiters looked bewildered, exclaiming, "I'm so very sorry," while trying to levitate the pieces with their horns. But nothing happened.

Many other silver utensils dropped down form unicorns' grasps. Exclamations and vexed murmurs arose on all sides. Everypony was confused or upset, not understanding what was happening, trying to ignite their horns but failing.

"What the—!" Sharp instantly focused all of his magic in his horn, to perform a simple spell such as levitating his fork, but he felt an incredible resistance. A few pathetic sparks fizzled from the tip of his horn, and nothing else came of it.

"What happened to all the magic!" a mare cried out.

"This is an outrage!" cried another one.

Half the room rose from their seats. The staff was trying to calm everypony, but they too were at a loss.

Suddenly the doors burst open from both sides of the compartment. From the left was a unicorn in black, with a ring adorning his horn, which glowed fiercely with magic.

"Everypony, get on the ground now!" he commanded aloud.

From the right side, a pegasus mare in an ivory suit, one of the ponies from Knob's crew, carrying a crossbow wrapped under her wing, taking steady aim.

"Nopony move!" she ordered.

Everypony was silent for a whole five seconds.

"B-but which one do we do?" asked the puzzled Nova, looking all around. Everypony in the room froze.

What! A train robbery! thought Sharp in immediate alarm. Here? Now? Not good!

"Wha—? What is this?" exclaimed the mare in white, glaring at the stallion in black. "Nopony told me this train was getting hijacked!"

"Hey boss, we got troub—gah!" the stallion started shouting back, but a bolt from the mare quickly zoomed across the cart and pierced his throat. Blood gushed out of his mouth, we wreathed to the ground. On the way down his horn flashed, shooting out a stray magical blast.

Everypony in the room screamed as the wizening blast of magic ricocheted off every surface. It finally caught an elderly stallion square in the chest; he flew back, hit the floor with a thud, a burning hole smoking from below his neck.

The screams finally erupted. The mare in white was all in confusion and retreated back down the hall. Everypony else was getting up, pushing, shoving, running out of the cart. The staff had abandoned their duties and were trying to escape as well.

"The conductor! Where's the conductor!" they cried. Several of them banged on the conductor's door, but it was locked tight, and no noise could be discerned from within. "The conductor's dead!" some immediately concluded in utter horror.

Several more of those ponies in black and white appeared, rushing into the dining cart and the neighbour cart. Tables were flipped over. Several ponies were cowering in the corner, holding loved ones close together. Metal bolts and magical blasts started to whiz by at deadly speeds. Several of the pegasi tried to escape through the windows, but to their dismay, it was discovered that every window in the train was rigged to stay shut. The whole thing was a premeditated operation.

Amid all of the ensuing chaos, Sharp had gotten hold of the table, grasping it like a shield, and rushed one of the ponies in white. He pushed the pony right up against the wall, cracking the table in two in the process. Having knocked the sucker out, he stayed low and wildly gestured for Nova and Airglow to follow him. They ran alongside him in a panic.

"Those murderers!" cried Nova in a sharp whisper.

"Stay close, stay close!" Sharp kept repeating. They were caught in a sea of ponies, all running in different directions while avoiding the bloodbath in the dining cart. Their screams drowned out his voice.

Airglow was gasping and struggling to stay close. Sharp slowed his gait, grabbed her by the hoof, and forcefully led her through the hall, past all the broken glass and ponies tripping on themselves, through another hall, then he shouldered his way into his own cabin. He and Airglow fell right on the floor. Sharp intuitively bolted up and slammed the door shut.

They were gasping for breath. At least half a minute of silence went by in the room.

"Are you... you okay?" he asked her at length, peering through the little window on his door from aside.

"But... Nova! Where's Nova!" she exclaimed, going pale.

"Ah, shoot!" Sharp stomped on the floor. He turned to her with an agitated look. "Your brother was caught in all the ruckus... he fell back... ah, damn it! What were they thinking?"

"This... this doesn't make any sense," the frightened Airglow began to speak, but she was stammering on every word. "Who were they...? Where did they...? That pony in the white suit, do you...?"

"They lost their damn minds," huffed Sharp. "The ones in black, they're the Tic Tocs, the ones with the delivery piece, or something, and now they... no, I shouldn't be talking about this now," he suddenly said in quite a different voice.

"I don't understand; why target this train of all things?" asked Airglow in astonishment.

"That's the million bit question." He stopped by the door and heaved a great sigh. Something burned like coals in his eyes. "Look," he said again, "this wasn't supposed to be happening, but now it is, understand? There's some independent party involved by the looks of it. What they're after—your guess is as good as mine. You stay here. Keep the door locked. I'm going to get your brother and come back."

"B-but..." Airglow tried to speak up, but she stopped, realizing there was no rational objection she could espouse. Moreover, her head was swimming, she couldn't think properly at the moment.

"Unless it's me," Sharp stressed, gritting his teeth, "or Nova for that matter, don't open for anypony whatsoever. Even if they're asking for help, don't open, it may well be a trap." Another loud crash was heard. "Ah, shoot! I gotta go. Stay here!" He bolted out of the room and closed the door just as hard. After a few seconds Airglow fell to her rump, staring at the blank space in front of her. She had never felt so powerless in her life before.


* * *


Nova was running blindly from car to car, getting bumped and shoved by other ponies, till he found himself in the third-class compartments. He stopped dead in his tracks, turned around, looking frenziedly all over the place.

"What? Where? How did—? Ah, to tartartus!" He clicked his tongue and found a little corner to sit in, just behind a roulette table and a bar counter. He noticed a few other ponies sitting in the corners, looking at him in fear, others giving him dirty looks. He waved them off.

I need to, no, I have to find Airglow! ran through his mind. Goodness, what am I doing here? He shot up and ran back out to the car he had come from. The noise was starting to settle down. I have lost Sharp Heat as well. Eh, what utter nonsense! As Celestia is my witness, those vile scum shall pay!

But his inner monologue was short-lived. He overheard a series of hoof-steps approaching. Nova quickly ducked to find cover behind a table. The door opened. He observed a trio of ponies in those ivory suits walk in.

"Do you really think we can steal the elixir?" one of them asked in a worried voice.

"Of course we can, so long as I'm here!" the other replied with a merry laugh.

"Yo, toughies, where's Knob?" inquired the third.

The trio stopped for a moment.

"Eh, Knob? He stayed behind in the cabin, I think. Ha, ha—must be crying his eyes out now."

"Who cares what Knob is up to?" said the first in reproach. "He'll slaughter half the passengers. First, all the magic is gone, but most importantly, we need to secure the elixir and group together again."

"Sure we will," assured the second, "but first things first: we need to start in the freight hold, work our way up, you catch my drift?"

They made some more remarks and then were gone.

What's this? thought Nova. They're here to murder the innocent passengers! And they're going to take something from this train? Ah, Nova Steel, get up, you must find Sharp this instance!


* * *


"Damn it. D-damn it!" cried Knob in a tearful voice, leaning with his whole body forward and pressing his face to the couch with his hooves over his head. He repeatedly slammed his hoof down, almost shaking with grief, as it were. 

"Damn it, damn it!" he went on. "I envy Constella... I r-really do." He sniffled. "I really do!" He shot up, with a face full of distress and indignation. "This world is cruel, I'm telling you! It's not fair! Why did Constella win the draw and not me? It's just not fair!"

"Calm down, Knob," said one of the other crew members. "You'll still have your turn, won't you?"

"Did you not hear their screams of terror?" yelled Knob, brandishing his hoof at his teammate. "They were shouting, glass was shattering, ponies must have died. Constella killed those runts, I just know it! She got to do it, not me!"

"Just like last night?" whispered the same mare from the side of her mouth, eyes flashing with mockery. The other crew members shared a chuckle.

Knob groaned and turned away, pressing a hoof to his forehead.

"But Knob," said another mare, smiling sympathetically at him, "why don't you just go see what's going on? What's stopping you from checking out the dining car?"

"Huh? What do you mean?" asked Knob, blinking at her. He went momentarily still, as if her words had just entered his head for the first time. "What'd you mean?"

"Well... the draw is that you can't kill anypony yet till she's done, right? But there's no rule saying you can't go take a look, right?"

"Yeah, that's it!" cried Knob in a sudden and hopeful voice, staring at the mare as if what she said was the most amazing thing he ever heard. "I'm such an idiot. I can just go check it out. Why am I still here? Ha, ha!"

He patted the mare on the head, causing her to reel back.

The others simply rolled their eyes, and the first mare sat there with a bored expression, saying, "Whatever, do what you gotta do."

"Thanks, Dolly," he laughed, speaking more calmly now. "That's exactly what I'll do." He opened the door, stepped outside, and glanced back in at the others. "Keep the place warm for me, will you?" And, chuckling to himself, he excitedly jogged down the hall like a little kid heading to the candy store.
> Part V – Chapter V – Too Close for Comfort
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The lights in the car had mysteriously gone out, which startled Sharp. He kept quiet as a dull darkness engulfed the room, ascertaining the area for any danger. He watched with bated breath as several citizens were cut down by the killers in black; he could not afford to show himself just then. But he was still swimming in confusion. At times he noticed dead bodies from both the ponies in black and in white. It was a hijacking committed by two opposing sides, he reasoned.

What was most shocking and, he found, almost beyond the realm of plausibility, was this very fact, this evil-come-true, where the Tic Tocs would even think of sending their own to start murdering ponies in a crowded train. They were a family held together by a respected yet feared reputation, one which denoted a dashing semblance of duty, either to themselves or to the city of Fillydelphia. But when word got out that their own members took control of a luxury locomotive and took part in a slaughter, together with the ponies in white—what would the authorities think? What about the press?

In fact, the ponies in white had a higher body count, now that he started to keep track.

He was crouched beneath a tipped-over table when he spotted a pony in black wandering out from the roulette car, so Sharp decided to follow him. This one was a unicorn, yet he could still use magic.

Must be that ring he's wearing, thought Sharp. He traced his movements all the way back to a cabin in second-class. Sharp made sure the pony in black was all alone in there, and waited for the right moment, watching through the little window.

The pony in black was bustling about by the looks of it, getting his hooves on things, seemingly getting ready for something or other. Sharp had to hide as more of those same ponies passed by, at times chasing the innocent bystanders. He must have been waiting there for at least two whole minutes, cautiously staring down the unicorn in the room, waiting for him to turn around.

Suddenly, when the moment struck, Sharp burst through the door and leaped into the cabin room, almost flying, while the pony in black had his guard down. The pony instantly turned around, but was greeted with a hard hook punch to his horn.

He grunted, fell to the ground, tried to get up, but Sharp angrily hit him again on the horn, disrupting his magical flow.

While the pony in black was groaning in pony, Sharp bent forth, put his teeth on the green ring, and yanked it out; but the moment he did so, the ring dissolved into nothingness.

"What is this?" cried the alarmed Sharp, scrunching his face and spitting out the vanishing remnants of the strange artifact.

Indeed, the pony in black managed to recover slightly; he heaved himself, glared at Sharp, and strained his face, but stopped short, realizing that his magic, too, had been cancelled.

"Lot of trouble you bastards went through," spat Sharp, grabbing him by the scruff of the necktie. "Are you really part of the Tic Tocs, or am I losing my mind?"

"We only seek retribution," said the stallion in a weak, wailing voice, yet glaring defiantly into Sharp's face.

"Retri... what?" Sharp creased his brow. "What's the plan here, huh? Gut the citizens and take off without a hitch?"

"We are here for one purpose only, to hold you all off. Once the time comes, we will take what is ours."

"That's real frank, but what are you talking about?"

"You don't have the guts to stop us, don't you know it. There is too much filth in this life; we must eradicate it and achieve our higher calling. We will all be born anew. The time is upon us."

"Eh, he's not using his own words! Who told you to say that?"

Suddenly the stallion shot up with his hind-leg and, screaming, tried to tackle Sharp. But the artillery captain dodged, grabbed the black-suited stallion from below, and used the moment to smash him against the wooden frame of the bed in the room.

The stallion moaned in pain, his arm having been broken. Sharp approached him, the ruthless ire in his expression about to bust. He bent low to match the pony's line of sight.

"There's over two hundred bones in a pony's body," said Sharp menacingly. "That was one. I can break all of them for you, if you want." He stepped on the pony's broken arm, receiving a strangled moan of pain in response. The scum started writhing.

"So who's behind all this, huh?" Sharp continued with the same menacing voice. "Who thought they could ventilate us? Hey, answer me. It's only polite to answer. Ah, shoot! He fainted, the scum!"

Indeed, the stallion's eyes became glazed over. He slowly fell over, hitting his face on the matted floor.

He must have banged his head or something, thought Sharp. He was about to start searching his body, but the stallion's whole figure starting shaking. His whole physiognomy instantly turned pale, the whites in his eyes turning black. Sharp jumped back, alarmed. And all of a sudden, blood gushed from his mouth and eyes, his neck twisted and bent almost backwards. He went limp, dead.

Sharp nearly fell down on his rump, with a horror-stricken expression. He stared at the corpse of the stallion, with its mangled features, and he felt lightheaded. He sat there, frozen in deafening silence, for a whole ten seconds.

"W-what... in Equestria...?" he managed to say through gritted teeth. Sharp forced himself to regain his composure, approached the dead stallion, a small pool of dark blood now forming below the back of his head. Did he use some sort of suicide spell? he thought. I didn't even know those existed. But now's not the time to get distracted.

After another moment of hesitation, he searched his body, found nothing important or useful, turned around and left the cabin, shutting the door on the way. He slowly and decidely walked across the car, but froze when he heard more hoof-steps. He back-stepped behind another counter in order to hide. He still felt his head ringing from shock.

This time it was the ponies in white. They were conversing about something; what it was Sharp did not understand. The main thing was that word which the previous one emphasized—the supposed "time" that was going to come. This too he did not understand.

Nova was running, I think; he went down the compartments. I gotta find him! Sharp waited for them to leave, then he bolted into the next car. And with Airglow... was it the right call to leave her there?


* * *


Knob was skipping and hopping down the hall to the dining car, a wickedly anticipative grin plastered on his face. He let out a few titters every once in a while.

"Ooh, what's in the dining car?" he said to himself in a sing-song voice, almost frothing at the mouth. "Wait a minute"— He stopped, his ears twitched, then he resumed his gait faster than before —"I hear screams, and stuff breaking. Ooh! Danger, I hear danger! What's in the dining car? Who's killing who? I have to s-e-e-e-e! Yes, yes, yes, yes! This has gotten far more interesting!"

He burst into a brief sprint, past the hall, and he at last reached the so-desired dining car, stopping right at the entrance.

Several corpses were lifelessly piled across the floor. Many ponies here had been killed, not not all, he noticed. A few families were trembling together along the sidelines. Knob's eyes skipped from the bodies, to the terrified guests, to the two ponies in black right in front of him, all the while his smile growing more and more vicious.

"Who're you!" reproached one of the ponies in black, along with his friend. Their horns ignited.

"Gentlecolts, do not be alarmed!" said Knob in a mechanical, overly formal voice, but the smile on his face remained intact.

"Are you with those vermin in the white suits? Wait, stay there, don't move any closer." The first pony in black started approaching him.

"Hey, careful," his friend called back. "You don't know if he's carrying a weapon!"

"Rest assured, I am completely unarmed," said Knob, continuing to walk forward.

"Hey, buddy, stop walking!" warned the first pony. He horn grew brighter.

"I am just as clueless as all the other passengers on board."

"I. Said. Freeze!"

"I am just a completely normal citizen, there is no need to fear me!" With a burst of energy, Knob shot forward, and before the unicorn in black could react, landed a hard, fatal punch right up the pony's jaw. Several bones cracked. The muscles on his face immediately loosened, blood squirted from his mouth; he fell to the ground unconscious.

"Son of a—!" cried his friend in a rage, and at once fired off multiple blasts of magic. Knob bobbed and weaved past them with ease, closing the distance. The unicorn roared in anger, and in a panic wrapped Knob with magic and lifted him up.

"So that's how you wanna play?" said Knob. The moment he started to be levitated, Knob pivoted midair, swiping his arms beside him, and grabbed hold of a silver tray, whipping it at the unicorn.

It hit him square in the face, leaving a red mark. He flinched back, yelping in pain; his horn went cold, more focused on covering his face with both hooves. Before he knew it, Knob was right on him.

"You won't be needing this, pal!" cried Knob; with his body weight he tackled the unicorn, placed the his horn up against the edge of a table, cocked back his hoof, and hit down with all his might. There was a brief flash and spiff of smoke; the unicorn croaked in severe pain. A piece of his horn, along with several drops of dark blood, hit the ground below.

"Now it's a fair fight, wouldn't you say!" Knob heaved up, crossing the distance between them in a half a second, and delivered a blow to the unicorn's face. "C'mon, put up your dukes," he mocked, punching him again. Then again and again.

With each punch the passengers onboard squeaked in fright. They witnessed as the stallion in white pummeled the one in black across the car, pushing him back like a rag doll, while small bits of blood splattered everywhere along the way.

"Nice try with the cheap tricks, you Princess Celestia wannabe!" Knob spoke in between punches. "You think you're all high and mighty"— another punch —"what with you having magic and not us"— and another —"you think you can rule over us, eh, pal? Ha!" The final punch made the unicorn hit the wall; he broke a painting framed on the wall, the glass cover cracking on impact. His face was all red and bruised up, most of his teeth broken. Strangled gasps left his lips, but he could hardly speak.

"You're still conscious, huh?" asked Knob, sounding impressed. He grabbed him by the neck. "I guess I gotta work on my right jabs." He glanced at his own bloodied hoof. "You're trying to make me look bad, aren't ya?"

"A lowlife... like you... will never defeat us..." the unicorn in black gasped out in a convulsive voice. "You will... never... defeat... the great Elder Solid. You will nev—ah!" Knob interrupted him with a thwack to the eyes. He slid down the wall in his own blood.

"Who in tartarus is Elder Solid?" asked Knob with an amused grin. But the sight of this unicorn, accompanied by his bold claims of "never being defeated," ignited a fire in Knob's blood. Some darkness suddenly came over his face; he scowled with self-evident hatred.

"Oh, I see... You're one of those types of ponies, the type who believes they'll never die, huh?" said Knob, passing more and more into anger. He fell down on the unicorn, pinning him there with his lower body. "You ponies are all the same," he hissed, cocking back his arms, and started to deliver a series of blows to the half-dead stallion's face. The ponies in the room who were still alive watched with a sort of widening horror, most covering their eyes.

"Oh yeah, look at us!" cried Knob in a severe voice which could hardly sustain its mocking tone, in between the punches. "We're invincible and unstoppable! Nothing can kill us! We are so strong, taking this train, no oh no! I don't care who Elder what's-his-face is, all I know... is you guys... are my newest... enemies!"

On the last word, "enemies," he dealt the final punch to a sack of meat which hardly resembled a face. The pony in black fell over limp to the side.

Knob slowly got up, breathing heavily, with ecstasy glittering in his eyes. His smile returned once he observed the splatters and wisps of red spread across his entire suit.

"You ponies are so astonished when I kill you," he said to the dead body. "Especially when I squish your brains in my hooves like raw dough."

A few hoof-steps approached him from behind. He turned around.

"Knob, what in Equestria is going on here?" asked one of his crew members. He stopped to check the body of the first pony in black. "I thought I heard some kind of explosion, and I come to find you like this?"

"Heh, heh," giggled Knob, wringing his soaked hoof. He strode down the dining car but halted, noticing Madame Hemlock clutching her children. When he turned to look at her she flinched, trembling for dear life. "So you're Madame Hemlock, eh? Senator's wife?" he asked, but she did not answer. He sighed in great disappointment. "Don't worry, you're not on my hit list or anything; if anything, I need you alive. Send my regards once we're outta here, will ya?"

He hopped over several of the bodies, joining his crew member. There were many features about these black-suited ponies which fascinated him, but which he did not reckon, in spite of his earlier calculations being tossed to the wind.

"Listen," said Knob, cranking his neck to the side, "it seems like these friends of ours in the black suits cut off the magic. The unicorns on our side are puffed out." His crew member gave him a perplexed gaze. "Pretty smart move, wouldn't you agree?"

"But who are they?"

"Beats me! But hey"— Knob grinned once more, leaving the dining car with the other in white —"don't get upset; after all, this just means there's more ponies for me to kill."

But something else caught his attention. On the way out of that car, he looked down at the enemy he had rendered unconscious not even two minutes ago—the pony's neck was twisted backwards, eyes and mouth leaking blood. Dead.


* * *


Airglow was quickly pacing the room. Her heart was pounding so violently she felt like it would burst from her chest any minute. At times she would cover her ears to block out all the panicked screams, her lips shaking from fright; but after sitting like that, she stiffened her upper lip, audibly inhaling and exhaling, debating whether she should leave or not.

In those moments Airglow would stare at the door, almost mistrustfully, expecting some un-welcomed knocks; she herself would become flustered, take a few steps forward, ready to open the door and peer out both ways, as if a morbid sense of curiosity eclipsed everything else. But then she would come to her senses, stop, and sit back down.

Come on, think! ran through her mind, trying all she could to remain in full possession of her reason, to not let pointless fear take over. Sharp said he'd go get my brother. Best case scenario: they both return unharmed, and we stay here safe, together. Worst case: they both get found, and then... She bit her lips. Realistically? If one of those criminals tries to open this door, they'll see it's locked, and then they'll break it open. What should I do then?

Her own self-inflicted pressure grew too much, and at last she felt that she had to do something, anything at all, but to not act stupidly. She reached for the door handle, undid the hook, and slowly opened it, making sure she could not hear anypony else on the other side. She opened it just a tad, her hooves trembling; she began listening. She listened for a long time, becoming more and more encouraged to open the door further.

But somewhere down the hall, around the corner, two voices were shouting loudly and shrilly, arguing and swearing. The door to the right started to open. Airglow nearly lost her breath; she quickly closed the door and locked the latch. As the hoof-steps approached, she had begun to reason or suspect that they must be coming there, to her very room. Why? She did not know. Could the sound have been somehow peculiar, portentous? The steps were heavy, regular, yet hurried. Their breathing became audible; Airglow held a hoof over her mouth, staring with shrunk pupils. And it suddenly seemed to her as though she had turned to stone, as though she were in one of those dreams where the dreamer is being pursued—the pursuers are close, they are going to kill her, and she's rooted to the floor like a stump, unable to move.

The hoof-steps ceased. They now stood opposite each other, with the door between them; she was listening to what they were saying.

"Must be boring," said one gruffly voice. He sounded big and fat. "Do you think we can meet up with Knob after rounding up the remaining passengers? Why does he want us to take them to the freight hold anyway? Is it for a prize?"

"Nah, that's expecting too much," the other answered. "We'll worry about that later. Let's get finished with clearing the first-class cabins, 'kay? Huh, what in Equestria! It's locked!"

Indeed, the ponies on the other side tried to open the door, but the latch prevented it. He started banging on the door.

"Hey, any of our own in there?"

After a few seconds he started to impatiently tug at the door handle with all his strength. Horrified, Airglow watched the doorknob wobble violently from side to side, and waited in dull fear for the thing to break off. Indeed, it seemed possible. It occurred to her to hold the handle in place, but that would give her away. Her head was starting to spin again.

I... I think I'm gonna pass out! flashed through her, but then the banging and tugging stopped, and she immediately recovered herself.

"Is this cabin empty?"

"Obviously not, idiot. If it's latched, that means somepony must be inside, trying to hide. How else would it be locked? It can't be latched from the outside."

"Oh, you make a good point..." And again, enraged, he started to hit the door and pull on the handle. But after ten more attempts it proved to be in vain.

"No good," came a defeated voice.

"Ahh! If we only had our magic, we could blast this piece of junk open! Listen, you stay here, I'll run down and get the crowbar."

"Why stay?"

"You never know. Maybe once we leave, whoever is on the other side will escape."

"But what if it's those halfwits in black in there?" he exclaimed.

"No, look, this doesn't add up. If that were the case, they could just use their magic to fry us, no? And why would they split up? They all talk the same, going off about some weird plan to remake the world, like they serve some deity... I dunno. My gut says it's one of the passengers hiding."

"But maybe—"

"I'm not staying, damn it, you stay! It's obvious I'm right!" the pony cried hotly and went running down the hall.

The other one with the gruffly voice stayed. He gave the door handle one more little tug, and it clinked once; then quietly, as if examining and reflecting, he began to move the handle slowly, pulling it and letting it go, to make sure once more that it truly was locked. Then he bent down, puffing, and tried to look underneath the door for any shadows; fortunately, Airglow was smart to stick to the walls, just out of sight.

Airglow truly felt like she were ready to faint on the spot. She was sweating bullets, and was as if in delirium. She had to cover her mouth once more so that they didn't hear her teeth clattering.

After another minute passed, the pony on the other side started to stir.

"Ah, to tartarus with it!" he suddenly cried, and impatiently, abandoning his post, he too set off down the hall, hurrying and stomping his hooves. His steps died away.

Airglow at once unfastened the hook, opened the door a little—not to make a sound. And suddenly, as if she did not possess control of her body, she went out, closed the door behind her as tightly as she could, and started running in the opposite direction. But that door, too, was locked. They were trying to box the passengers in. She turned around, gulped, and willed herself to dash down the hall of her pursuers. She ventured through two separate cars when she heard them again. This time Airglow took cover, and they ran past her.

"Metal Dart, Metal Dart! Ah, damn your eyes!" one of them was crying out.

In utter despair she marched straight on. She needed to find the others no matter what.
> Part V – Chapter VI – Strange Conflicts
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nova was rushing in all directions, struggling against what he concluded must have been internal fate, as it were. But now, he concluded again, was not the time to be running around with such dangerous entities present, and in spite of that, he could not avoid noticing the myriad dead bodies which began to spring around him, which thoroughly numbed him. For a while now he could not think back to any of his initial goals and dreams, more focusing on the matters at hoof. He noticed that the hot spot of conflict—where the ponies in white and black were fighting—largely took place in the first-class compartments. But he also noticed many ponies hitching off to third-class, and as for why, he could not know.

The train gave a sharp little screech. Plates, utensils, and other loose items wobbled to the side; the train was turning, turning sharply; then it settled again.

Nova discovered a groups of ponies from the second-class bunched up in several of the cabins. He stared at it for while, gave a start, jumped up, and starting knocking. But they did not open. He heard more hoof-steps approaching him, so he backed off and ventured into the next car.

This next one was empty. He stopped to take a break, to regain some energy, leaning with his elbow on one of the bar counters. Then, one by one, all of his previous thoughts began coming back to him. Here was a pony at the end of his rope, facing ruin and looking for a last way out, and if he did not find it, he might just go and drown himself. Before he was going to go back to Bouquet, as a final sort of atonement (or whatever you call it), to admit defeat in the unfairness of life, to see to the end that he delved down into the abyss, because he was not going to stop halfway. But then that train ticket, some new hope was enflamed, one which he did not, however, rationalize very much.

Suddenly a loud, almost ear-piercing screeching and violent inertia rang throughout the whole body of the train. Nova was nearly thrown face first into the floor. All objects that weren't tied down flung forward and crashed into every surface. Everypony in the train was thrown for a loop—they all immediately ceased what they had been doing at that given moment, some blocking their ears from the noise, others bracing themselves, feeling everything screech and vibrate as the train came to a hard stop.

A few more clatters spewed from the cogs, then all was confusion in the cold darkness. Nova slowly rose to his hooves. He could make out several other ponies—voices, movements, and the rest—shifting about and making noise, trying to recover their bearings. The hoof-falls from before continued, well in the distance, only this time more evenly and steadily.

Nova inched his way through the car, almost crawling, as it were, past the dead bodies.

And again more suddenness fell upon the train: it started to move again, this time by degrees, at a much slower pace. Hardly any inertia was felt by anypony. And it mysteriously stayed that way for the rest of its trip, as if the cogs had malfunctioned and could only execute a fraction of their full capacity.

Nova was evidently regretting that he had gone so far. He looked around the ruins of the car, and the disagreeable thought of its sight struck him; then, he felt fear, a new sort of fear unknown to him till then.

Am I being rejected by fate? he thought gloomily to himself. These hijackings are here... all because of me! The sole purpose of this train was to save me, but now that will not come to pass. He ground his teeth and struck himself on the forehead.

"No, this cannot be," he spoke out loud this time. "I was chatting about things I should not have been chatting about. I was ready for anything, was willing to supply almost any sacrifice to come to Fillydelphia, was ready to, in a word... eh... because I could never secure those cursed five thousand, and even now I will not secure them. The remainders I can transfer to bank notes. No, I should not have come, I should not have come with Airglow; no, I should have gone to Bouquet, my fate has been decided in the back lane. I belong in the back lane and nowhere else, certainly not in a high-class locomotive. I have to choose now..."

"Found somepony, Knob!"

Nova break off and stared at the source of that voice. He jumped off, staring dumbly at two of those ivory-suited killers. The one who wandered ahead must have been the leader—it was Knob!—with that hideous smile of his.

"Look who we have here," said Knob. "Did you lose your way, pal?"

"Forgive me, I've gotten confused," muttered Nova.

"What's that?" Knob rained an eyebrow.

"I recognize you, you are the pony who sealed my fate!" Nova fell on his rump and almost bowed down to the ponies in white. "I must accept it, I must accept my fate at full steam. Strike me down, I am a loggerhead of the basest order!"

"Wh-at?" Knob was dumbfounded. He cast a glance at his compatriot, but he was just as confused as Knob. "Buddy, do you even know what you're saying?"

"I know it, I know it all too well! I am a pony who has tested fate, wished to make a difference, but now all of that has been cast down to the sharks. I only belong in the back lane. No, good sir, I'm going to perish soon anyway, either now or shortly after I get my revenge," he noted with evident spite in his voice. "But I will no longer run away from fate. If this is my end, so be it, only I ask that you make it quick."

When Nova broke off his absurd little speech, he rose up and looked at the ponies before him with senseless eyes, awaiting an answer.

"Argh!" grumbled Knob. "No, no, no—this won't do!" He was puffing and steaming, almost beside himself, and quickly trotted right past Nova.

"Knob, wait up!" His friend followed suit. "Why'd you leave him?"

"I can't kill a pony who thinks they're gonna die!" exploded Knob with genuine anger. "Where's the fun in that? Argh! I wonder how the others are doing. How red do you think their suits are?"

"I can't really say..."

"I gotta hurry. I'm gonna lose the bet again!" And in a sort of rush, Knob began galloping into the third-class compartments.

Nova, in the meantime, felt that everything had fallen through, and, above all, that he had produced a lot of terrible drivel. That was my only shot at redemption, flashed through his mind, to go out honourably, but now I will be forced to face... He got up and started running, but did not take more than five steps when his hoof slipped on the loose corner of the rug; he fell, banged his head, and was knocked out cold.


* * *


While the whole situation of the sinister hijacking of the Flying Rift and the death of several dozen ponies by then could be categorically described as nightmarish, at least for the passengers, a new type of threat, which started off as a rumour, began all at once in an instant, which decidely frightened everypony onboard.

Far back in the train, at the cross sections between third-class and the freight holds, ponies began to disappear, but only the ponies in black and white. It all started when one of the ponies in white discerned screams of terror from his compatriot; he rushed in to see what the problem was, but he had become blinded by a red flash. His compatriot turned up dead. He ran away, to warn the others, but when running he noticed that same red flash following him from outside the window.

How did those "screams of terror" start?

Two of the ponies in white met up in the first freight hold. They were searching for something, scrounging about through the various cargo boxes, tossing things aside, making a mess; meanwhile the other one watched out for any tress-passers.

"You could help me, you know," grumbled the one who was searching.

The one on guard gave him a bemused, sidelong glance, then turned back. "Eh," he started, "give me a minute."

"Listen to him, 'give me a minute,' yeah right! I wanna find that damn thing more than anypony," he ended in a half-whisper, as if to himself.

Inside the cargo boxes thus far was little more than clothes, oil tanks, jewelry boxes, exports of quills and papers, oils, spices—a whole assortment of random items which held no value to the one searching. He would crank open the wooden top, throw it aside, scramble inside with nearly his whole body, and move on to the next one disappointed.

"Hey, you hear that?" exclaimed the pony on guard, after about half the boxes had been cleared. He stopped, ears perked, stretching his neck every which way, then stopping, then searching again as if he did not trust his ears.

"Wha..." The pony who was searching gave him a tired, sullen look. He scrunched his face for a second. "Are you off your pills? Of course I hear something: it's the blasted cog noises from the engine. By the way," he said again after a brief pause, in a lower voice, "what happened just then? The whole train halted, now it's going at a snail's pace. Was that supposed to happen? We ought to check the conductor's room. Did we send anypony to check that?"

But his friend's face was in earnest attention. "No, I had something else in mind," he said. He turned around, then suddenly froze, and stared for a long moment over the searching pony's shoulder; his eyes were wide, stricken by the most awful terror.

"What's the matter with you?" the other gave a start. He was taken aback by the fear on his friend's face; puzzled, he turned around to look at what was behind him, coming face-to-face with some shadowy thing: a silhouette, as if it popped off the ground, was sticking out against the backdrop of the freight hold; something red glowed sinisterly on its face.

The pony who was searching did not have time to react, and the other who watched barely remembered a thing, only the sound of rushing wind and the splatter of blood everywhere. He screamed at the top of his lungs and sprinted out of there as fast as his legs could carry him.

That whole cross section became a dead zone. Soon enough and the beans were spilt, that some "red light" was going about cutting these ponies down into puddles of flesh and bone. The doors would unexpectedly swing open. The aisle would rumble. Up to the second-class compartments, several of the ponies in white gathered.

"Huh, what're you running for?" Knob had asked him.

"Th... there... there's..." the pony was out of breath.

"Boss!" cried one of the mares in white, striding up to Knob. "Some thing is killing our own, it's out there, just at the freight holds. We can't get close!"

"But not the passengers! Not them!"

"Is it killing our friends in black as well?" inquired Knob with the liveliest curiosity.

"Y-yes, it is," confirmed his exhausted compatriot.

"You know what this means, right?" said a third pony. "The Railway Beast is here!"

"The... what?" The exhausted pony went pale, not having heard that mystical name before, but nevertheless ready to accept any explanation with the most latent fear.

"The story of the Railway Beast," the mare went on fervently, "it's a d-demon... that haunts the railways... legend says it kills for the fun of it, every thousand moons." Her face dropped. "It's painted marks of death on all of us!" she cried in a hopeless voice.

The exhausted pony fainted from fright. The had to drag him to one of the cabins.

"Are you serious?" said Knob, rubbing a hoof under his chin. "Railway Beast, huh? That's a thing? Interesting. Ve-ry interesting."

"Wait, boss, where are you going?" asked the third pony. Knob was walking in the direction that the "red light" was reported to originate from.

"Huh, where?" Knob stopped for a second, then he chuckled. "To meet this rough-and-tough 'Railway Beast.' What? Don't give me that look. I wanna see the thing for myself."

"N-no, boss, you'll die!"

But Knob did not respond.


* * *


Luckily for Airglow, she did not find any of those black or white suited hijackers; on the contrary, as she ventured onwards down the rail of compartments, she began to trot faster, encouraged by the sight of several passengers following one another to the freight holds.

Have the guards come to our rescue? she thought optimistically yet reluctantly, being cautious that she did not falsely bring her hopes up.

She reasoned that they were all gathering together for safety; but still, it did not make much sense to her that those murderers would all of a sudden give up. And yet, she was distracted by other things. The whole scene had turned to such a tragedy, it was hard to think straight. Ponies were dead. She had heard several shrieks of horror all around, and she understood why.

The only thing on Airglow's mind was to find both Nova and Sharp. They were further back in the train, and she was heading in their direction; her eyes were scanning every single face, every inch of every compartment; she was sure to bump into them, or at least one of the two. But this was proving to be a challenge, as most of the lights had somehow gone out, and in many areas she found herself wandering in the shadows.

But more screaming arose when, far ahead, Airglow caught sight of two ponies in white firing their little crossbows about. She nearly froze in her tracks, and was about to run back alongside a few of the other unfortunate passengers, but she observed that the ponies in white were not necessarily hitting anything. Airglow squinted her eyes through the dark, while simultaneously taking cover behind a table; but then there was a flash of red. The ponies in white, half-covered in blood themselves, rushed into the compartment she was in. She immediately went cold and ducked, covering her mouth with both hooves.

"Where's Knob, damn it, where is he?" one was screaming at the top of his lungs. The other did not say anything in reply, but was instead breathing very heavily. "These things are useless," said the first again, and she heard them drop their crossbows to the ground.

Airglow listened very attentively.

"Doesn't matter; we're out anyway," said the second at last. "Running around everywhere isn't helping; we still got the blackies on our chopping block."

"But—"

"Knob ran ahead, said he wanted to see all that bloody mess for himself."

"Well, alright, but how about we leave that to him and go back to first-class, huh? We can return later for the elixir..."

"Maybe... Hey, who's hiding there!"

They had caught sight of Airglow. She started to panic.

"Yep, I see you bright and clear, sweetheart. Come here!" The first one gripped the table providing her the insufficient cover and threw it away.

Airglow jolted, as if by instinct, and with all her remaining energy flapped her wings to the air; she took off quickly and flew down the compartment. She felt one of their hooves graze her hind-leg, almost having been grabbed.

She flew swiftly, straight into the darkness, gaining as much distance as possible. The thought that this was where they had come from didn't even cross her mind. All the while she heard the other two shouting and cursing. "She must have heard us!" and "She got away!"

She felt the weight of her body bump into several things on the way, from all angles, which confused her for a second; and by the third compartment crossed she stopped to give her wings some rest. She felt lightheaded, silently groaning in fear and agitation. She scuttled to one corner and looked around.

The first thing Airglow noticed was how incredibly spacious the place had become; colder, yes, and relatively barren, save for a single row of five or six crates placed together to her right. She picked up a roundabout noise as well, a strident stream of wind: a little gust of wind was sharply seeping in and tickling her hooves.

What is that? she thought. Her eyes were still adjusting, but she could definitely see that the lateral door leading outside was busted open somewhat. The cold air was making its way in. But the opening was barely more than two inches.

The whole wall is open, sort of. Did somepony do that?

However, her ears twitched at another sound. It was the sound of some sort of breathing, quiet yet heavy. She stood up, ready to run away, but to her surprise she stayed put. The breathing was not like the others she had heard. Something about it, in its inflections perhaps, put her at ease, as if it did not care to be discovered. Then it hit her: this must have been a passenger. She stared in the general direction of that noise for a whole minute, and in a slow gait wandered to it, scraping her hoof against the wall.

"Is anypony there?" she blurted out, though somewhat awkwardly. She stopped and bit her lip. "I-I'm not dangerous or anything."

"Is that you, Ms. Airglow?"

A look of blank wonder swept over her. She blinked several times.

"Feelgreed?" she asked suddenly.

The room started to rotate slowly; the cogs underneath screeched lazily. The little opening from the door caught a ray of the moon's light; indeed, that fellow Feelgreed, the one from Maxim's birthday, was leaning with both his shoulders pressed against the wall. He was wrapped in a dark blanket, covering his shoulders and head like a sunken hood.

"No way," said the astonished Airglow, making out the stallion's weary and unsustained features through the nightly light. She was going to ask what he had done to find himself in the doomed Flying Rift, but the strident fall of multiple hoof-steps sounded from behind.

Airglow froze, looking back in perplexity; she did not know what to do, engulfed as she was in a moment of hesitation. Feelgreed hastily fell upon her, pulling her into his corner and drawing her under his blanket. She very nearly yelped at such a sudden movement, but he held a hoof to her mouth. Things remained in a sullen silence, then a pair of ponies entered. While Airglow could not make anything out, being hid under the shade of shadows, I will say at once that these were the ponies in black; even if she could take a peek, she would find it difficult to discern any notable features.

"Start in the back," said one. The second hummed. They swept by the row of crates to the other end of the compartment, slid the metal door open, and slipped inside. The door screeched and shut once more, producing a hollowed twang which reverberated all around the compartment.

Silence ensued once more. The hoof-steps faded.

Feelgreed threw the blanket off and stuffed it under his shoulder. But he did not get up from his spot, unlike Airglow, who all but jolted.

"I'm terribly afraid to inform you, Ms. Airglow, that we find ourselves in a bit of a pickle, see," said Feelgreed.

"B-but what do we do?" asked Airglow.

"The freight holds go a ways back. We can... only wait, miss."

Airglow felt her legs go cold. Her expression was full of strain from trying to analyze her situation, though no matter how she shuffled it, her only conclusion was despair. The stir of the situation was still hot and dangerous further ahead; she could not risk to make any stupid decisions. She had gotten up, started to pace, but only took two steps and fell down to her rump. No, both forward or backwards would prove fatal.

"T-thanks for hiding me," she muttered at length.

"Why, I was hiding myself, make no mistake; I found this blanket here in one of the third-class cabins, just sitting there, miss..."

"Why are you here?" she asked suddenly, having just recalled. "I know you from that birthday at Golden Oak... which ended so badly..."

"Me? Well," Feelgreed began in quite a rueful voice, as if he were ready to take offence to something; he began stretching his lips. "I'm not with my children. They were left with a caretaker. I am here on something very official, something which can change the course of my life, if you get my meaning."

"Maybe, but..." Airglow drew closer and sat down, still a little shook. "So you remember me?"

"You think I wouldn't? Why, Ms. Airglow"— He began to get up, and Airglow quickly did the same —"I'm only here to find a certain captain. I must speak with him. It's urgent, official and urgent."

"Here? In the freight hold? So were you always going to travel in the Flying Rift?"

"That is correct, Ms. Airglow, it was part of the plan for a long time now. I managed a spot here by the skin of my teeth, and for the sole risk of finding this captain for my own entrusted sensibilities, for my own future. Do you suppose I will find him?"

"But forget any captain, the train is under attack!" cried Airglow in quite a different voice, puzzled by his overt priorities. "I thought that was why you're in the freight hold, to hide, right?"

"But can it be helped now? See, miss, here I am on this train, with the chief aim of coming back to my daughter and two sons—my daughter Penni, by the way, has gotten sick. She has consumption."

"Okay, but—" She placed a hoof on his shoulder and peered into his face. "Don't you see your life is in danger? You can't be thinking about that stuff now."

"But what am I to do now, miss?"

"I'm looking for my brother—and a friend of my brother's. But it's almost impossible with all this chaos. Maybe you can come with me? Yeah, we can stick together." She turned around and stared down the entrance from which she had come. "I'm scared those criminals will bust in here again, but it's the only way. They had said to 'start in the back,' meaning they'll probably work their way up."

"You're piercing me to tears, miss, worrying about my health like that," Feelgreed suddenly and ardently exclaimed. "Allow me a word, miss: my daughter Penni, and my colts, Remedy and Spark Whip—my litter, miss. If I die, who will love them, and while I live, who will love me, a little wretch, if not them? Yes, miss, I really must live. They were taken from me, my own daughter, taken by the authorities over some legal matter, and now I must win them back, which is the sole purpose of my visit: I must confide in this longed-for captain no matter the cost!"

"I get that your worried about them," prompted Airglow in a faltering voice; she paused, exhaled slowly. "Yeah... I get that, I really do. But right now you've got to stop screwing around. Don't you see"— She took a step forth —"we could die, just like that, along with every other passenger onboard."

Exclamatory cries of terror and magical blasts echoed from far away, from further down the series of freight holds. Feelgreed instantly looked at the door. Airglow gave a start, face going pale; she almost felt her heart give out.

"N-no... no way..." the hardly sustained-in-spirit Airglow murmured in a weak, woeful voice. Her pupils shrank; she started to mechanically step back in the opposite direction.

A whole cacophony of hoof-steps and crashes resounded at once. Some came closer than others, but all eventually became overlapped by the deafening scorches of magic.

"Don't spare them!" was heard. "Kill every single one!"

"They're there... the passengers..." she choked out once more, now having lost all hope. It finally hit her that either Nova or Sharp Heat—or both—may well have been taking refuge in the back, but it was all in vain.

"Run, run—we have to run!" shrieked Feelgreed; he galloped out of the freight hold, and Airglow, having regained a modicum of her wits, did the same. She knew that this fear was a weakness, that it would compel her to freeze in the wrong moment, that it would eclipse her reason, as so often happened to ponies. But right now she needed to steel herself and run. She had even forgotten about flying, so focused was she on getting away.

Unfortunately they were caught in a rush of third-class passengers, all of whom had caught wind of the slaughter and were hauling to the second-class compartments. Everypony was running, shoving, tripping over one another. This did not help the situation, because there was no telling what sort of attention this would bring.

Without considering it any further, Airglow broke through the crowd and slipped to the side, breaking her way into a smaller, empty cabin. The first thing she noticed was that the lock had been broken. She immediately tried to catch Feelgreed by calling to him, so that they could wait out the mess, but he was out of sight. It was no use.

She fall back, panting heavily, watching as the last of the passengers ran past the doorway of the small cabin; then a few more seconds went by, and she was alone. She felt like her heart was ready to explode out of her chest.
> Part V – Chapter VII – The Start of a Secret
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Keep going... keep... going," Sharp went on repeating to himself, nearly out of breath. I've checked all the way to the last compartment. We're almost all there; but I haven't found Nova yet. I don't think I should have left Airglow like that, except...

Something twitched on his face. He stopped for a moment, analyzing his own suit, torn down and mattered, down to the ruffled cuffs 'round his hooves. He was covered in bruises, had developed a limp, and was on the verge of a terrible headache. The inside of his head buzzed like nothing else in tartarus. He must have taken a blow to the temples earlier without realizing it, because he certainly felt the trickles of blood running down to touch his chin.

One certain circumstance which doubtlessly lay in his benefit was the seeming turf war raging on inside the train. Because of this, the dual-parties of hijackers, in conflict with each other, were either disappearing or piling up at the front cars where it was supposedly safer for them, either to group up, form strategies, or both.

It seemed again, by way of positioning, that the "Tic Tocs" (whether the ponies in black really were the Tic Tocs still remained unanswered in Sharp's mind) had designed to retreat right up to the front of the train, entirely ignoring the luggage compartments. And while he had not yet decided if this was a benefit, the growing vexation from the inhibited magic all across the train more or less weighed on him and prevented him from thinking too far ahead. He was utterly determined to figure out the cause. But this was secondary.

Sharp Heat had taken command, rousing the passengers up and leading them to the first freight hold, bordering the third-class compartments. He acted accordingly to his noble duties, to place the lives of the ponies before his own, and to bolster himself up with courage—because, he reasoned, that was what he trained for. The former and turbulent confidence began to show on his face once again, which gave him a decidedly reassured look. This pain he felt started to burn itself out.

Only a few of the third-class passengers remained, pressed against the walls in a practiced habit of collective fear which possessed everypony that night. Behind Sharp came several barely audible mutters and groans of the half-conscious pony in black he had taken the liberty of dismantling. That had been the third one. He couldn't keep this up for much longer. He was running out of energy.

Speaking of which, he had quickly discovered that whenever the ponies in black were rendered unconscious, that same violent effect took hold, strangling the blood out of their sockets, twisting their necks, and completely killing them. Aside from the obvious implications of self-imposed suicide, this meant that nopony could know what these ponies in black were up to, nopony could properly interrogate them and draw out any reliable information. The worst of it was that the end of this Flying Rift massacre remained unknown, so that Sharp could not be sure when this would all reach its conclusion. For all he knew, he would never learn the truth, because he would probably be dead by the time a rescue team arrived.

"No, it's good she stayed there," he said in resolve, thinking about Airglow, and started walking, almost limping, to the end of the compartment where he spotted a pile of rope laying about. He snatched it, strode back to the barely conscious fellow in black, and began tying him up.

"Hey, everypony," he said out loud, pointing to the open door from which he had entered, "get off your flanks and haul tail. It ain't safe here. Go, go!" he raised his voice. Most immediately did as was told; they evidently placed great trust in this pony who was fighting these dastardly villains, all in order to hope for something beyond their grasp.

I ought to go back for Airglow now, he thought, dragging the tied-up pony in black with him to the corner of the compartment. He pushed the bound stallion to the wall and stood over him with a burning glare.

"Tell me," said Sharp, "who was it? Who hired you?"

The stallion ground his teeth, he was trembling with spiteful rage, ushering forth the final ounces of his consciousness and pronouncing strangely, "You... ruined everything."

"What did I ruin?" asked Sharp at once.

"You... your kind... it was supposed to be perfect, for our great Elder Solid. You, who brought so much pain to us... We have nothing but endless hatred... for your kind..."

"If you hate me, you're welcome to do so," replied Sharp. "Hate me all you like. And if you're in pain, just know that it won't bring your friends back from the dead. And my pain won't disappear, either."

But the stallion did not respond. He was perfectly motionless and did not even stir.

Dead, thought Sharp. "Of all the..." He spat and turned around.

Everything was taking a revolting turn in his mind. Sharp came to the morbid realization that every action he had taken thus far, or better put, every direction and compromise he had brewed up, all felt like he were delaying some inevitable and unsavoury end. True, he was still alive, but how did he plan to keep it that way? How would he fight all these murderers on his own? How would he venture to halt the train, send for help, and hold out till it arrived? The more he pondered these questions, the further he sank into a tormenting state of mind—that this was all for naught, and sooner or later, they would all be dead.

"But anyhow!" Sharp raised his voice for some reason. "I can't stop now. These fiends... I'll make 'em pay for what they've done..."

He started making his way up the car, but right before he crossed the threshold, the door behind opened, and Airglow plopped in, panting, hardly conscious of herself.

For a moment he gazed at her in shock, took a step back, then he shook his head and rushed ahead, grabbing hold of her before she stripped. "What're you doing back here!" he exclaimed. "I thought I told you to stay hidden in the first-class room! Heck, how did you even..."

"They... found out... I was there," she said finally, very feebly and still trying to find her balance; she even paused a couple of times.

The impression Airglow made on Sharp Heat in that moment was very strange; strange, yes, yet he understood the whole of her position almost instantly.

With how long I was away for—just what in Equestria has she seen? The fact that she's still alive is a miracle, and yet—

"Right, right," he said again more softly. He placed an arm under her shoulder, helping her stand; she was panting, but nodded her head in reassurance.

"I'm fine..." she rapped out. "Let's just..."

They turned around and began making their way through the car together, back to the freight hold. "It's on me that I took so long. Hey..." he suddenly remarked, as if it had just dawned on him. "You look clean out of shape. Listen, you should definitely stay hidden while I go look fo—"

Airglow stopped, freed herself from his support and backed away a few steps, much to Sharp's surprise; she was standing up right and with defiant look, showcasing that she was indeed fully capable of operating on her own.

"I'm fine," she said. "Really. I'm not trying to act tough or anything. It's fine. You, on the other hoof..." She turned again and they continued walking—well, half "walking," half limping.

"I ain't trying to act tough either," he said worriedly, not taking his eyes off her. "But I'm not going to stop. We need to find your brother and get him to the back rooms. That's where it's safe so far."

But they did not go very far. The door all the way from behind them swung open. Airglow and Sharp suddenly and anxiously looked behind their shoulders, exclamations abound. Knob stepped in, his face splattered with a matte finish of dark blood. His suit was almost completely unrecognizable, but a few spots here and there seemingly glowed its ivory colour.

Here Sharp again lost his breath and began to hold a hoof to his chest.

"H-hey!" cried Airflow frantically as he knelt down; she looked around wildly, instinctively looking for some way to help him up in the meantime. At last she looked warily at Knob, whose wild eyes ogled at her through that hideous smear of red.

"Get out of here," said Sharp in between breaths. And, having uttered this, he stopped abruptly, as if breaking off, and wordlessly took two steps forwards, narrowing his nearsighted eyes with their red veins at Knob. Airglow was so astounded, yet so frightened, that she quite frankly fell silent and and looked at him, not saying a word.

"Who's the mastermind behind this mess, huh?" threw in Knob with an inappropriately carefree tone. "Have you seen the place?"

Sharp stared straight at Knob, focusing on his own breathing. But he did not reply.

"The whole train is a canvas for whoever's crazy enough to start spilling blood—up, down, sideways, all without ceremony—it's that freaking red light! Right? Isn't it?"

"Red light?" muttered Sharp, not knowing himself why.

"It... is... amazing!" Knob cried out, eyes glittering with ecstasy, almost jumping up and down with the most reverberating excitement. "Aah! I got to meet this guy! He—or she, let's not discriminate—is a genius! Ha, ha, ha!"

It was clear to Sharp that this lunatic was not like the rest. The confident, almost inviting gestures of his arms, the seeming unawareness of the blood on his face, how he expressed the entirety of his character with arrogant strides—it all resembled a pony who had integrated this fatal lifestyle into the habits and patterns of his being, so much so that he would likely only notice the blood everywhere once the action had settled down.

In other words—

He's the most dangerous one, thought Sharp. He felt his legs grow heavier.

Meanwhile Knob, having laughed his fill, immediately turned serious, with only the hints of a smirk still lingering on his lips.

"But we're here to do a job," he said. "Half my squad are dead—and for what?—this elixir nonsense?"

Sharp's ears perked. Knob took notice.

"Yeah... I've stopped caring if ponies know what we're up to," Knob went on. He sighed and cranked his neck. "It's just such a pain, you know? Have you heard about the elixir onboard the Flying Rift? Do you want it for yourself? Is that why you're here, fighting us? First it's the blackies, and now you. Boy, this night can't get any crazier."

"Listen," said Sharp, almost relaxing his shoulders, "if you're looking for something then we can give it to you. Just wait there—and don't you think of harming anypony, got it, pal?"

"What?" guffawed Knob; he sounded so offended that Sharp was taken aback. "Nice try, friend. See, I'm here to kill ponies, as many ponies as I want. And judging by your nasty appearance, I'd say you've done a fair bit of bloodshed yourself."

Another pony entered the scene from behind Knob, but it only added to their dismay. It was pegasus stallion, a short fellow, also wearing a mostly white suit. One could see a crossbow strapped to his right wing.

"Hey, Knob, check it out," said Knob's companion, striding up to his boss, holding in his hoof a small, round bomb, with a short, fused wick propping out. "I found this thingamajig off one of the corpses of our black-suited rivals. Oh!" His eyes immediately turned wide when he set them on Sharp.

A change came over Knob's faces, as if some illumination struck him. He stretched his lips, stretched his neck, as if looking over Sharp at Airglow, then he declared to his companion, "Hey, Rotty, get that crossbow out, will you? We've got a 'hero' in our midst."

"That's uncommon!" remarked the pegasus as he threw the bomb aside and clumsily got hold of his crossbow. He spoke with servile undertones and looked onwards with popping eyes. He seemed almost too ready to please his boss. "Where do you...?"

"So what do you say?" addressed Knob. "Murderer to murderer, one final feast."

"This may strike you as surprising, but I haven't killed a single soul yet on this train," said Sharp.

"Is that so..." said Knob dismissively, walking forwards.

Looks like there's no other way. Sharp approached him.

"Get away!" yelled Airglow, though not very forcefully.

"You stay put, sweetheart," said Knob snappishly. "Once I kill this hero, you're next."

Sharp bolted forward with so much energy that it seemed as if he was not in pain at all. Knob, caught off guard, did the only sensible thing and attempted to intercept him, going forward himself and bringing a punch down with his full weight; but Sharp was too precise.

"Of course you'd do that"— Sharp dodged the punch, only grazing his cheek —"monster!" he cried, striking Knob square in the face.

Knob grunted, the force of the blow staggering him back, but he remained mostly unfazed. It was difficult to tell if he was hurt, considering all the blood which masked his face.

Suddenly a twisting sharpness impaled itself into Sharp, somewhere on the side, pushing him back in equal measure. He instantly traced the source—at the arrow sticking out of his trembling and broken shoulder. Hot blood squirted out from the edges of the deep wound.

The pegasus in white began to reload his crossbow, cursing under his breath.

"What the—gah!" Sharp, too shocked for his own good, did not notice the quick successions of punches dealt by Knob. He took four blows to the face before he managed to step out of his line of sight, crashing into the wall. His breathing cracked.

Knob looked to be enjoying himself; with a satisfied smirk he languidly turned to face Sharp. "There you go," he said, "you can take it, can't you, big guy?"

"You and me both," said Sharp; he spit on the floor, then hopped back into Knob's face with a wide hook punch. Knob took two large steps, putting too much distance between them to warrant any further attacks, but the purpose made itself known: the pegasus from before let loose another bolt, not at him, but at Airglow.

Sharp twitched his neck, put all of his weight in the back of his legs, and jumped to intercept, catching the razor end of the projectile with his fore-hoof, getting himself pierced in the process. He slid across the floor but instantly rose up. The feeling in his pierced hoof was started to fade away.

"Please, no..." Airglow chocked out, tears in her eyes, unsure of whether to run away or stay put, reaching out for Sharp. But she at once realized how foolish she was being, because quite frankly what could she do to help? Still, the intuitive fear which possessed the filly prevented her from moving.

"You're useless, you know that!" yelled Knob frenziedly.

"S-sorry, Knob!" The pegasus scrambled around with his crossbow for the third shot.

"And you!" Knob turned to the downtrodden Sharp with a vigorous stance. "You're really something, aren't you!"

Predict his next move. Go! thought Sharp—his formative years of military training in action. Right in that moment the only thing on his mind was to protect Airglow, no matter the cost. Adrenaline spiked throughout his bloodstream.

"I won't stop!" he screamed aloud, somehow running straight at them. This incredibly display of willpower surprised Knob; he charged forward himself, but did not perceive Sharp's hoof sweep across the table to his left, scattering several small glittering objects in the air. All at once, taking advantage of that distraction, Sharp jabbed Knob in the side of his torso.

But Knob took this factor into account; when those glittering utensils from the table flew at his face, he instantly dropped and landed on his elbows, waiting for the incoming attack.

Is that all? is what Sharp would have thought if he had had the time. That initial strike to Knob's torso served as a diversion: that particular hoof, undamaged by the bolt, hit the floor; Sharp used that momentum to propel himself, roll past Knob, and into the direction of the pegasus with the crossbow.

"You're kidding!" muttered Knob, dropping his head to witness the upside-down rendition of Sharp sprinting ahead.

The pegasus fellow cried out, pressed the trigger on the crossbow, but Sharp's arm forcefully swept the weapon upwards; the bolt shot out, ricocheted off the metal ceiling, and split a wooden plank. The only thing left to see was Sharp's hoof impacting the point of his snout, knocking him down to the floor.

All in that instance, two things occurred. First, Sharp's body had an involuntary reaction to the pain he was supposed to be feeling, in which his entire body shuddered and froze for a whole second. More blood spilt from his mouth. Second, Knob took advantage of this new opening; he had gotten back to his hooves, looked at Sharp, then at Airglow, and smiled. Airglow flinched in terror, falling down on the floor herself.

If I take her as a hostage, he'll he forced to back off! thought Knob, beginning to trot in the filly's direction. Airglow, try as she might, could not get her wings to aid her; she was trying to scramble back up and run away.

But Knob did not make it more than four steps when the flat end of a silver platter banged on the back of his head. He turned back ferociously. Sharp was sprinting at him on three hooves now, his pierce hoof rendered limp.

"You may be strong!" cried Sharp, stopping just in the striking zone. Knob quickly rose to his hind-legs and threw a punch; Sharp dodged. "But it's not enough!" He jabbed him in the torso—for real this time.

While Knob wobbled back, Sharp heard the voice of his compatriot, "Knob!"

What! He's back up already? Sharp blocked the forth bolt with his already-pierced hoof. He barely felt it, instead taking the opportunity to rush the pegasus, who in turn gave out a strangled battle-cry and leapt at him. Sharp ducked under, then swung with his pierced and bloody arm—stabbing the bolt end right into the pegasus's neck, connecting it with his own hoof. The pegasus made some incomprehensible and animalistic gurgles of pain, every feature on his name twitching and exaggerating; Sharp whipped his hoof back, dislodging the first bolt and leaving it inside the neck of the writhing opponent.

"I won't let you hurt her!" he declared as loudly as he could, unable to think of anything else and aware of nothing but the fight ahead.

"Let's go then!" roared Knob. Sharp turned back, tanking a blow to the face. He staggered but maintained his composure. Knob hit him once more, in exchange for an elbow to the jaw. Knob began to push him back. They exchanged another blow. Then two more, now getting each other dirty in each other's blood.

But, alas, one final hit from Knob struck Sharp in the temple, and his vision went hazy. He fell back, feeling all of his strength depleted, his throat burning, ears going deaf, and every other sensation going cold. He crashed face-first on the floor, unable to stand upright anymore.

Knob, still in combat mode, kicked him down on the back a few more times, then he stepped away. He watched with decreasing intensity as Sharp remained on the floor, moaning and hardly able to breathe, pathetically dragging himself away, inch by inch.

"Splendid performance," said Knob in between tightly compressed heaves and pants, finally noticing the efforts and struggles from Sharp utterly diminished; and for Knob's part that same vain and hideous smile spread on his face. Just beyond Sharp's reach lay the dead body of his compatriot.

"It's because of fools like you that I never get tired of killing ponies," continued Knob. "No hard feelings, right?" He took in one large, searing breath, and loudly exhaled. "Yeah, I'll definitely remember you."

He approached the hopelessly retreating Sharp Heat, rendered useless by the magic inhibitors, ready to strangle the life out from him. Unfortunately Knob had completely neglected Airglow, who all the while mustered enough reserve of spirit to move from her position and charge him—that is all to say, while Knob was running his mouth off, Airglow grit her teeth, mechanically grabbed the nearest object (in this case it was a glass bottle on the stool), and smashed it right across Knob's backside, shattering the bottle and injuring him quite badly.

He yelped out, newfound fury blazing out in his eyes once he was reminded of the filly he had forgotten. Within the next few seconds a whole multitude of actions occurred simultaneously, all in conjunction with one another.

Knob turned around, his face darkened with rage, glaring at a frightened Airglow, who was sluggishly retreating backwards and holding her hurting arm with her other one. Several of the glass shards from the bottle were pricked into his coat and sticking out. He had been so surprised by the fact that she attacked him that his usual violent instinct was delayed, but a second later he took a heavy step forth, pounding the floor hard, displaying the full intention of bloodlust.

With that next second Knob heard the metallic rustles of several small objects falling to the floor, but it was consumed by a strange crackling noise. Knob took heed of how Airglow, who before had her eyes glued to him, averted her gaze past him, and her face went deathly pale. She had even let go of her arm.

And when Knob, unable to consider any rational course of action, turned his head around due to curiosity, he witnessed the fatal image of Sharp Heat, once again on his hooves—the metal end of the bolt sticking out from his shoulder snapped loose—holding within his spared arm the small bomb from before, the wick lit and nearing its end point. To say that Sharp possessed a death wish would be an understatement; the expression on his face was almost stock-still, hardly any trace of thought or emotion remained on it. He only calmly said, "Take cover, Airglow."

"Wait, what?" asked the genuinely confused Knob.

Airglow's wings flapped as hard as they could, propelling herself over the far end of the counter. Sharp jumped and rammed right into Knob, both stallions falling to the floor; Sharp was holding him tight, the bomb's cold, round figure pressing in between their stomachs.

"Get off!" spluttered the panicked Knob, who indeed managed to throw Sharp off of him, so weak had he become. The bomb fell to the floor next to him, its final sparks emitting from the opening. Knob's mind froze. Without thinking he snatched the bomb and hurled it out a half-broken window he automatically caught sight of. But the bomb did not travel more than two meters across the air when it detonated.

The result was a blinding flash of light, the sound of rushing wind which consumed the whole car, and the ear-piercing noise. Both stallions were struck—Sharp thrown into the flat end of the counter behind him, and Knob was whipped to the side. Within that vicinity several things were ripped apart and blackened, with traces of smoke spread about. The explosion had torn a large, ugly whole through the compartment wall, the support beams ripped outwards; cold wind and flocks of snow rapidly gushed in, so did the sound of steady train tracks.

Airglow, having taken cover, still felt the shockwave. An incredible dose of pain surged through her body, hurling her into the corner. She definitely felt a rib crack.

All that was left was the crackle of flames and the frequent bumps of train tracks. After a minute of trying to recover, holding her ears together to stop the incessant ringing, she slowly peeked out, her whole body shaking. She moved her tongue around in her mouth, tasting blood.

Knob had gotten up, but the whole front of his body was black, and something steaming hot protruded from his chest. He leaned forward a bit, wobbling, instinctively heading towards the cold wind to allay the steaming heat. Then he stopped once more and went motionless. His whole body fell over the edge of the destroyed compartment wall and into the outdoors, falling over some cliff and vanishing into the blizzard.

Another ten seconds went by. Airglow, holding herself together, ignored the extraordinary pain in her ribcage and walked to the end of the room. Atop the pile of wooden planks and splinters lay Sharp Heat. His body sustained less damage than Knob, who had been slightly closer to the blast, but the condition of his body was critical.

"Sharp!" said Airglow, leaning over him.

He groaned, trying to open his eyes. His mane was scorched, the left side of his snout split open, the cut running up to his eye above.

Airglow's lips trembled. Tear drops dripped down to his chest. She had started to become covered in snow from the natural winds pouring into the compartment, but she did not notice this.

"Come on," she whispered in a tearful voice. "You gotta get up. We have to go. Please... please get up. Sharp, please get up."

But the rational part of Airglow's brain prodded her with other thoughts—namely, that she had to leave that room at once, because simply standing around in the open like she was would only serve to get her killed. Besides, if any other of those terrorists walked by, they would assume Sharp to be dead—assuming he would manage to live in any event.

Bad luck struck, because she heard hoof-steps approaching from the back end of the train. She observed a shadow drawing near from down the hall. Airglow instantly got up, wincing in pain at first but managing; she did not intend to find out who it was. She wiped her tears away, tearing herself away from Sharp Heat, and quickly trotted down the compartments back to second-class.

She could not even bother to notice the several bodies spread about to her left and right, while some she was forced to jump over. The further she ventured, the darker the shadow dawned over her face. Not of any kind of anger, no, she was too drained to feel any emotion. In fact, she was not even aware that the newcomer had started to chase her, having noticed her exiting.

"Hey, you!" the voice cried from behind her. A blast of magic whizzed past her, hitting the wall.

Airglow flinched but did not stop; she sprinted, faster than before, unable to think of anything else.

Before she knew it, she barged through a door into one of the first-class compartments, only to be halted by a group of four ponies in black suits—all unicorns, all donning those green rings on their horns. Everything in her mind which had been clouded before instantly rose up in her.

"Stop right there!" said the one in the front.

Airglow froze.

"One more?" another asked offhandedly.

Airglow turned around, ready to run away, her body in full alert, but she bumped face-first into a black-suited unicorn mare. Every single one of them had pitch black eyes; no light could be discerned in any of them.

"She tried to run away," said the mare, the aura around her horn vanishing.

Airglow darted her head back and forth, automatically searching for an escape route. But she was finally surrounded. It finally dawned on her that there was nothing she could do.

Why didn't I hide? she thought, feeling her heart rate increase. I'm such an idiot! Why didn't I—

"Finish her off; we have mission to complete," said the stallion in the front, dismissively waving his hoof, as the others seemingly got ready to walk back.

In front of her were those murderers, who had such a disregard for her life, that some were even turning around to walk away, not bothering to look at her. At all sides there was nothing that could help. From behind was the mare who had chased her, standing like a tower over Airglow, her horn glowing its deadly aura once more, charging up a killing spell. Airglow sat there, awaiting her execution.

This is it, thought Airglow dully. Time, indeed, slowed down for her, as they so necessarily do in our final waking seconds of life. She never managed to find Nova, Sharp Heat was left in scorches, and now...

Something flashed behind her, causing Airglow to jump; it was the flash of magic, but she felt nothing. The unicorns in front of her recoiled in shock; they all turned with their full attention in her direction. Exclamations arose on all sides.

The flash was red, quick, heatless. It hit the black-suited mare who had gotten ready to murder the filly; and she fell to the floor, dead.

Everything else was silent.

Airglow spotted a new figure stride up right besides her peripheral vision. At first she, alongside the black-suited stallions, were all in extreme enchantment and as if in delirium. She slowly turned her head, still under the spell of fear, and at last her eyes went wide.

"Hey," said Cluster Tale.
> Part V – Chapter VIII – A Blinding Surprise
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

But whatever was Cluster up to in the Flying Rift Express? Nopony else had caught wind of his entrance back in Fillydelphia, nor had his presence been made known before the dual hijackings. Yet there he was. To be sure, the rumour of the "red light," or the Railway Beast, as it were, had been spread and established throughout the train thanks to his enterprising course of action. He had been the one striding about, firing blasts of destructive magic at both the Tic Tocs and the Tough Furs, steadily exterminating every last one of them.

Had Cluster not encountered Rave Note in Filio's house, back in Baltimare, indefinitely piquing his curiosity, this whole attack might not have taken place at all. It was during this month-long juncture which led Cluster to discover these underground connections slinking and tracing about, producing reports of stolen magic, which had ultimately led him to the Flying Rift Express.

Just the day before, at night time, it so happened that Cluster stealthily inspected the Flying Rift about half a kilometer away from the station; then he inspected all of the packaged shipments by the railway station. Then, perhaps out of reckless bravado, he started to look over the locomotive in detail, studying the procedures, the gears, realizing that something was off, and finally noticed that the names on the guest list matched several accounts of the mysterious happenings I have just described. He reasoned that this could have been a coincidence, and that perchance he was making a mountain out of a molehill with his suspicions, but these suspicions were further strengthened when he caught sight of a shady pair of ponies, all dressed in black, tinkering with the train. Apparently he had not been the only one who was not supposed to be there that night.

Unfortunately Cluster had not found either Airglow or Nova on the guest list; this is because the golden ticket was registered in Misty's name. He did not see Misty in Fillydelphia either that night or on the morning of the departure, and he quickly discovered her cancellation of the trip. So, he supposed, that her name was not taken out by mistake, and that Misty would not come at all—and that certainly his brother and sister would not be coming, either. He also did not expect for the train to not arrive on time, nor did he see Airglow that morning, as bad luck would have it.

Disciplined by his suspicions, and driven by a curiosity to get to the bottom of this ordeal, he learned of a very special package, which he deduced was not supposed to be delivered on the train, but was instead meant to come from Ponyville. He knew this because a crate of books, published by Hay and Noble, was not under any official documentation. Nevertheless it was being shipped within the freight holds of the Flying Rift, buried under numerous other crates. If anypony attempted to search for it the night before, they would have surely been caught and arrested. But to search for it on a moving train, far away into the north of Equestria, with little interference? It was a good plan.

Still, this did not add up to the fullest sense of the facts. Cluster pondered very heavily why these criminal reports were all leading to this train, and why such an ominous air loomed over the place that day—as if everything had become ever so slightly out of place, where you notice something is wrong but cannot place your hoof on it.

Misty Gem, he thought at once. Back in Golden Oak, she mentioned that she received the "wrong book." Is it still there? There may not be enough time to go back and still catch the train. She mentioned the words "elixir sixty-six." Is that code, or what?

Then came the hijackings, and the dimeritium inhibitors took effect, depleting all magic. However, these inhibitors did not deplete magic infinitely into regression, but only blocked out a certain percentage level. This threshold stood well over the limit of almost any unicorn alive, so to them their magic was completely eradicated. Cluster's magic, having been so developed thanks to Princess Celestia's tutelage, had been reduced to a mere fraction of his maximum capacity. But despite what little magic he had left, he was still more powerful than any individual opponent.

When ponies began to die, a certain premonition flicked in Cluster's mind: that he had no time to wait and see what this was all about, that these threats were likely an offshoot of sinister intentions behind an invisible veil, and that if he did not stop them now, something far worse was likely to take place.

His assault as the "red light"—because that happened to be the colour of his magical aura—completely rattled the hijackers, and many of them retreated back to their established checkpoints within the train.

Inside one of the cabins in first class, the largest one of them all, the Tic Tocs regrouped two hours after the slaughter commenced. They retreated in fear of the mysterious red light flashing about and killing their own.

In the cabin was three of them; they were conducting a quick meeting, but now most sat in intense contemplation. The main one acted as the de facto leader; another was mostly quiet but kept repeating certain phrases, with the name "Elder Solid" flitting about in them; the last was gesticulating, as if giving a speech. They had come from a powerful line of ponies and intended to make their name known all over Equestria. But the way they spoke was as if badly rehearsed, wooden, hardly convincing; one would suppose they were trying with much difficulty to carry out some order outside their prerogatives.

They first addressed the facts: that just over half of their team were dead, but an equal amount from the white-suited Tough Furs were also dead. It was concluded that the red light (Cluster Tale) was some third party with their own agenda. Then came the arguments on how to solve such an issue. They spoke as if they had been robbed of something sworn to them, that is, in anger and indignation. The main thing which they emphasized was to secure the so-called package no matter what.

"Once we obtain the elixir," said the third one, "we can finally shed our weaknesses and obtain the recognition we deserve."

"True," said the leader, "we are greater than anypony else."

"And Elder Solid is greater than Princess Celestia herself," rapped out the second.

What they had failed to notice was that Cluster had followed them to their cabin. Try as he might, he could not get much information from them. He sat leaning in on the door, overhearing their conversation. He quickly learned, having picked up on their words, that they planned to completely detach the freight holds from the rest of the train. He also deduced several other pieces of information, but these deductions are based on a certain knowledge he possessed that I have not yet recounted to you, the reader. I will wait off till the time is right.

When the ponies inside reached an agreement and proclaimed to be heading out, Cluster concentrated the magic within his horn, being thoroughly annoyed as he already was by the inhibitors—and he teleported inside the cabin.

"Huh!" The leader gave a start.

"It's him! The red light!"

He appeared to the image of two alarmed stallions. The one to his left ran to the side, and he heard the third behind him begin to charge his horn.

Again Cluster teleported in a flash, just in time to avoid the attack from behind. He reappeared right in front of his attacker, crouched down, horn to his face. The stallion's face went numb, pupils shrinking and having no time to react. All the magic collected inside Cluster's horn fired forwards, ripping a blazing hole right through the stallion's face. His lifeless and disfigured corpse flung back, crashing into the wall.

"How is he using magic!" he heard from behind him.

Two more blasts of magic hurled Cluster's way, but he instantly teleported a third time. The second stallion felt a powerful aura push him: Cluster had grabbed hold of his body and whipped him across the cabin, breaking a lamp in the process. Within that instance the aura spiked, spreading to his horn, and destroying that green ring.

The final one—the leader—desperately fired off another attack, but Cluster fired his own magic, completely negating the attack. Cluster fired off another blast, a smaller one; the leader's eyes went blind for a moment, he was pushed to the ground, and his magic-conserving ring shattered off his horn as well.

Cluster drew a deep breath, waiting on the burning feeling within his horn to die down. The one who had crashed on the lamp was still alive, barely—he must have broken his back and kept grunting, but nothing came of it. The leader, for his part, was white as a sheet, fearfully looking at Cluster as if he were a ghost.

"What's the matter?" said Cluster. "Surprised? Shellshocked? Careful not to piss yourself; wouldn't want to make a mess, now would you?" He approached the defeated stallion, towering over him like some grand judge. The stallion tried to back away, but he only reeled further against the wall. "Give up," said Cluster again. "Now tell me—and if you're honest, I may just let you live—what's the name of your employer?"

"Just who in Equestria do you think you are?" reproached the leader, though not very confidently. He looked at Cluster with bulging eyes, propping himself up, but Cluster had no reaction. "Are you after the treasure, too? Is that why you're fighting us?"

Cluster pensively looked down for a second.

"Marble Solid," he said. "That's the name of your employer, isn't it?"

The leader winced, backing himself into a corner, shaking all over in rage but aware of the fact that he was powerless. The stallion from behind coughed, clearly in disbelief. "Forget this lowlife!" he yelled out.

"Oh, that's right," said Cluster, "I guess you're calling him 'Elder Solid' now, huh?"

"It's filth like you that we were warned about," said the leader venomously. "The treasure will grant us a life you can only dream of! We've fought for it, bled for it, slaved over it—it's ours!"

"Treasure? I think you mean this so-called 'elixir,' which has been making headway recently."

Cluster was responded with the most deafening silence. He couldn't help but grin, and a malicious little line flashed across his lips.

"Yeah, I know all about that," he continued. Unfortunately for these clowns, their package isn't onboard. Were they tricked? Is this all a distraction? "But answer me, for real this time—what's with the show? I mean, you put yourselves in such a terrible situation for nothing, ruining your own reputation in the process."

"You wouldn't understand," seethed the leader through his nearly compressed, pale lips.

"I guess I wouldn't, no," Cluster replied somewhat softly, speaking evidently from disciplined patience rather than expected mockery. And all at once a shadow seemed to dawn on his face. "But no matter how powerful your group is, you're still only mortal. Nothing more than that."

"You're wrong!" cried the stallion, suddenly offended. "We're special! We're not like your kind at all!"

They don't want to be called mortal, plus they mention an elixir. Connect the dots. Is it... some kind of elixir of immortality? "And you've grown so obsessed with the promise of an 'elixir' that you've developed tunnel vision," continued Cluster as if he had not heard the objection. "Don't make me laugh. None of you are even remotely qualified for such a drastic position of power."

"So you're telling us," wheezed the stallion from behind, "that we should go back to being commoners? You lowlife scum!"

"No, you're not getting it," Cluster snapped back, horn beginning to glow. "Just think about what you twits are for a damn second. You've always been a commoner, a cog in the population."

"Then... why have we been promised the elixir, unlike the rest of ponykind?" reproached the leader vaguely.

"Look, I'm a commoner!" said Cluster irritably, cutting to the point. "And I'm much more powerful than any of you will ever be. So tell me—what does that make you?"

The leader once more collapsed to the ground, utterly speechless. The other in the back kept squirming, but he, too, was out of things to say.

A certain question flashed through Cluster's mind as to whether his investigation was worth the bloodshed, but instead of contemplating it, he put it off. He blinked away the weariness in his eyes, took several steps back, viewing the two stallions in sight. He would simply keep moving forward.

They have nothing else to say. "Let me tell you where things stand," he said in a colder tone, his horn brighter than before. "I have an infant daughter. My only hope right now is make the world a kinder place for her, so that she won't have to suffer so horribly like the passengers on this train have. The only way I know how to do that is to exterminate those on the lighter side of the scale. That's the only viable method; as long as ponies like you are breathing, she'll never be truly safe. I'm a killer just like you, I know I am; but if I have to stain my hooves with your blood in order to protect her, so be it."

The leader simply looked onwards, scrunching his face, eyes blazing with extraordinary defiance, as if ready to accept any fate which lay ready for him.

"And that," Cluster rounded off, "is why I just can't let this go."

He struck down the leader, incinerating a hole right through his face. Then he turned around, blasted the remaining one dead in similar fashion, took one final look around, and teleported out of the cabin. The door remained lock, as if it had never been opened.


* * *


A flooding whirlpool of emotion overwhelmed our dear Airglow. She had completely forgotten about her broken rib and hurting arm, pushed to the back of her mind by the unprecedented sight of her brother.

"Cluster!" she cried with intense feeling, almost shaking with joy, as it were, and with tears streaming down her face. His very image was like a light to her all of a sudden, shining more brightly than the sun, casting away all advancing darkness.

"Airglow..." Cluster let fall, with a pained expression on his face, casting a brief glance at his sister. He couldn't stand to see her like this. He would never have even guessed that Airglow could be plunged into such despair as she was in now, and the dependence in her eyes made it worse. His horn continued to burn a dim red.

"He's using magic!" screeched one of the ponies in black. "How's that possible?"

Cluster instantly fixed his sights on them, and an extraordinary hatred flashed in his expression. He made some kind of subtle gesture, inclining his head forward, as if commanding his horn to charge up.

"Let me handle him," said the stallion in the front, taking direct aim at Cluster's face.

Both unicorns fired their magic straight at each other, but the effect was completely unequal: Cluster's attack blitzed right through his opponent's, cutting it aside like ribbons, and impacted with a flash, though not very forcefully. Cluster's magic had lost some momentum in the exchange. He clicked his tongue in annoyance.

The stallion was thoroughly knocked back, the flat of his snout singed. He grunted, struggling to get up. Ceaseless exclamation arose, followed by an explosion of shouts which signaled the inexpressible confusion the black-suited company found themselves in. Two more of them blasted their magic in unison, but the result was still the same: Cluster fired back, negating them, and everypony in front of him was shoved backwards.

The large sliding door opened up, and two more of the attackers came in support.

"This is impossible!" they cried.

"Fire! Keep firing!"

"Don't let up!"

Four of them now started to fire off their magic, indistinctly and out of order. Cluster's horn blazed outwards for a second, catching and deflecting the barrage of lethal magic which threatened him and Airglow—who, for her part, kept flinching when a new blast of magic came close, and she quickly covered her eyes with her hooves.

Then all at once, those four stallions blasted together, creating a super-charged beam of magic; it met and was halted by an even larger large flash of red magic. Cluster grit his teeth, losing his breath more and more, then with a rush of willpower he forced the attack back. A bolt of what seemed like lightning struck from his horn, and the whole struggle was inverted onto the attackers. Every window in the compartment shattered; planks from the walls and floors ripped apart; in the end, once the smoke cleared, Cluster was left weary, panting, and pale in the face. But he did not manage to take out a single enemy. Airglow brought her hooves down, daring not to leave her brother.

With a strange and reproachful gaze, Cluster looked straight into Airglow's eyes; his lips twisted, attempting to say something, but some twinge of pain prevented it. His constant use of magic under the sapping influence of the inhibitors was starting to take its toll on him. He had been giving it his all, and yet he could barely produce more than what he had before. Every second felt like an anchor sinking him deeper and deeper into helplessness.

While the enemies recovered from their daze, Airglow took notice of the sickly tint colouring her brother's weary face. She tightly grabbed hold of Cluster by the shoulder, and said in a faltering voice, "Please, we have to run away, hide somewhere, w-while... t-th-they—" She stammered at those final words, grunting and falling back, holding her sides with a hoof.

"You run," said Cluster quietly at last, seemingly having regained control over himself. His eyes went dim and, entirely forgetting himself, took a step forward.

Airglow's lips were trembling. She wanted desperately to say something, or to take an alternative course of action, but in the same degree as Cluster there was nothing she could do.

The entire company of enemies had recovered, all in a rage. There was six of them in that moment, horns all charging. The one in the front, who had his snout singed and who was especially angry, stepped forward.

"You can't take us all on," he snarled.

"Yeah, I know," replied Cluster solemnly. He began charging his horn.

"Ready... steady," began the main one. Their horns grew brighter all at once.

Cluster drew in a large breath, focusing all of his attention to his horn, all of his power, drawing from every nerve in his body.

"Fire!"

He fired off the strongest blast possible. The impact exploded in a flash of light, but strangely, some unexpected reaction spiked the point of contact upwards; that is, it turned out that Cluster had swung his head up when firing, causing his blast of magic to travel at an angle.

As a result the entire roof was ripped apart and incinerated from above, and most of the indoor light vanished at once. The faint rays of the moon filled the half-destroyed compartment. Everything inside filled in with the rush of the snowstorm. The wind was sharp and dry. For a moment the only sound was of the wind, frequently overlaid with grunts of pain from both sides.

Airglow was taken aback by the small explosion. She was pressed against the wall, instinctively leaning to where it was warmer in the other cart. She lifted a hoof over her face, blocking out the incoming snow, narrowed her eyes, and witnessed her brother struck down on the floor, panting, hardly able to manage himself anymore. But even Airglow, who frankly had endured much more than she deserved to, was starting to slip out of consciousness. The edges of her vision darkened, and she could hardly make out the pain anymore from her ribs.

Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up! thought both Cluster and Airglow to themselves.

Cluster indeed brought himself back up, but his horn was spent. The enemies all recovered, and he heard one of them saying, "Now what? Now?" Some more shuffling and stirring, then they approached a bit but halted. Then, "Eh? He's alive!"

Damn, not where I wanted to go, thought Cluster. His breaths were fainter than before.

The remaining six enemies—and to be sure, they were all that was left of their side—grouped together, some began charging their horns, but the main one raised his hoof, stopping them.

"This one is finished," he said.

"End him!" they cried.

"He's killed all of our own!"

"And what have you to say?" asked the main one, scowling. But he was thrown into confusion by a new sight: Cluster's inexplicable grin. There was something troublesome about it. "What is this?" The glowing on his horn stopped for a second. He looked with unease, as if realizing something entirely unprecedented. "I've seen this face before..."

But a response was the very last thing on Cluster's mind. His usual calm and pensive face, which all this while had been out of harmony with his painful efforts in combat, was now visibly animated by a new feeling; and yet he seemed unwilling to show it, and the perceived mockery remained on his face.

"What's going on?" asked one of them, whose horn ignited as well.

"Nothing!" cried the main one, snapping out of his stupor. "Don't get distracted, we don't take risks. Get ready to attack!" They all began charging their magic for a final time.

Not sure if this will kill me, thought Cluster, but...

Cluster's eyes momentarily went wide. Vague images of all the ponies dear to him—Airglow, Aurora, even the last wishes of Snowfall—flashed fleetingly through his head.

No... this is nothing.

He clenched his teeth in anger, clenched them so hard his jaws started to hurt.

It doesn't even come close to the fear of losing all I have.

His horn glowed once again, which threw his opponents off guard; but strange enough, this was quite unlike his previous magic. This glow was mostly white, tinged in certain places with pink or blue. It was very bright, yet remained flat against his horn and did not blaze out, looking like a thin veil of glowing mist.

"What the—!"

"He has more?"

"Don't get distracted!" commanded the main one again. "Get ready..."

One percent is the lowest I can go, thought Cluster, which is still gonna hurt like nothing else, assuming it won't snap me in two.

"Steady..." Their horns were all fully charged, at the dawn of firing.

A small vortex of white magic appeared on the tip of Cluster's horn, swirling into a single, small point, accompanied by the sound of something heating up rapidly.

Alicorn magic blast... one percent...

"Fire!"

All the while Airglow watched as the enemies fired their unified attack, and for a fraction of a second she sensed that it was all over; but suddenly a new spell took over, completely alien to her.

Cluster fired off his attack.

Some intense light covered her entire vision, and she couldn't see anything save for the the faint silhouette of Cluster's horn, of which the light originated. The brightness from this light soon overloaded all of her senses, till she could neither see, nor hear, nor feel much of anything. Strange, she found herself contemplating, because the sensation from all that brightness felt somehow serene, as if it had lifted all of her pain away.

She felt peaceful for some reason. She felt like she were floating in an empty white void and had forgotten about all the negative aspects of her life. The passage of time became uncertain. She wasn't sure if one second or one minute went by.

She let out a small, soft breath, feeling for the light surrounding her. It soon started to vanish, not all at once, or in any unexpected capacity, but slowly, lulling her away from its grasp. Her ears twitched; she could hear once more. She strained herself to listen, picking up on certain echoes which seemed far away. That same silhouette appeared before her, but this time it represented a whole figure, a rather imposing one. The echoes pricking her ear soon became discernible.

"Airglow... Airglow!"

Huh? Is that... brother Cluster?

"Hey, Airglow! Stay with me. Airglow... come on..."

What's he...? Airglow involuntarily gasped.

The light was gone, and reality snapped back into focus. She still felt herself pressed against the wall, but it tilted backwards a bit. Cluster leaned over her, but two things stuck out. First, he was speaking in a completely unnatural voice, one twisted and writhed in pain, as if he had damaged a vital body part but was trying to hide it. His words cracked every now and then, and he could barely hold his breath in for long.

But second, Airglow observed with horror, amid the moon's rays which outlined around Cluster's head and the rushing sweeps of wind—the physical colour of his horn had turned mostly purple, the way one's limb turns purple when they break it; the tip was completely black, and a thin, somewhat noticeable crack ran down the middle, twisting to the left halfway. His forehead was completely bloody, and his right eye squinted far more than the other.

"It's okay, Airglow," whispered Cluster with an effort, "they're gone. They're all gone. Hey, Airglow? Please... are you...?"

But he went silent. His face was the last thing Airglow saw before she passed out.
> Part VI – Chapter I – Something Ends, Something Begins
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


PART VI

HERE THEY COME



* * *


Airglow was certain she was awake when she started to sufficiently understand her surroundings. Though she came to her senses, it took her a long time to fully recover consciousness.

She vaguely remembered a doctor being called in to examine her injuries. She was given some kind of healing lotion and announced to that her bruises were not fatal in the least, although her ribcage still inadvertently stung with pain. She remembered feeling extremely agitated.

She had been transported to a bed amid many noises: hooves trotting in a multiple directions, objects clanging, voices chattering, wooden doors creaking, smoke whisking, and the haunting howls of a snowstorm. She spotted that doctor from before darting about, at times glancing in her general direction, at other times ignoring her entirely. Eventually he approached her, placing a thermometer in her mouth and checking if she developed a fever. Then, she was told that they were in Tolstrot, a small town to the far north of Canterlot, located only a few kilometres from the railway line.

But Airglow only listened to the doctor's words in the vaguest and most general sense. She understood only that she was not dead, but had been taken into some sort of safe haven. She let her head fall on the pillow once more, beginning to recall everything that had transpired in the last twelve hours, but soon after she dozed off.

I will be brief in recounting the facts which brought us to Tolstrot.

After Airglow fell unconscious, help in the form of wagons flown by military pegasi arrived roughly two hours later. Cluster had announced his presence in the Flying Rift the day before to Princess Celestia: he wrote a hasty report to her, and requested back-up in the event of dangerous circumstances. Unfortunately the Princess had not actually received the letter on time, due to minor bureaucratic delays. If the Princess had received the letter the day before, there is no doubt in my mind that she would have ordered a whole squadron of guards to intercept the package delivery incognito. She placed great trust in Cluster's intuition, but in much the same vein as she had pointed out before, he was prone to recklessness, which you have now been a witness to.

In any case, the fact that guards came to help in such a short time, considering the remote location in which the train had been halted, was impressive in and of itself. Princess Celestia had done all she could given such a short amount of time and uncertain expectations of the Flying Rift's fate. The idea that the luxury train would be hijacked by two separate interest groups, and that dozens of ponies would die—that was impossible to predict, which is why the news came as a shock to so many.

When help did arrive only a few questions were asked, quick and easy ones, with the chief aim to piece together the events that had taken place in an adequate fashion. The guards were completely shook by the general sight of everything in front of the train: a considerable section of the mountain range, alongside the tracks before curving off to the side, was completely gone, as if disintegrated. Cluster later reported to Princess Celestia that that had been his doing. The dimeritium inhibitors took an especially long time to find because of how well hidden they were within the train's underlying gears. Then, each of the surviving ponies were transported away to the nearest town, this being Tolstrot, as you know.

Tolstrot was built near the edge of a wide embankment, which bordered an expansive and icy lake. After all that had happened, with a recorded thirty-seven deaths and much property damage, and the whole conspiracy which sprouted after the fact—an investigation of the highest order commenced at once!

The news regarding the involvement of Princess Celestia's personal student, which reached Canterlot the next morning, was, as later confirmed, fairly accurate. Whether any of this had to do with those political tracts—the pamphlets, that is—this was still up for debate and, therefore, was undecided. Of course, it should come to no surprise that news of this sort could travel and become known so quickly.

Proceeding the recovery, the passengers were then transported in groups back to Fillydelphia. Airglow was transported on one of those light hospital beds, covered in a thick blanket, and surrounded by four medial ponies. On the way out, across the terrace and through a pathway of dispersed houses, Airglow caught sight of Cluster from a distance. She tried to lift her head, unable to take her eyes off him; he looked to be in conversation with two guards, and one more medical pony accompanied him from behind. But a hoof softly pressed her back down, informing her to rest.

Just before that, however, for a split second, Cluster turned his head in her direction, and their eyes had met, but he just as quickly looked away.

When she was taken into one of the wagons en route to Fillydelphia, Airglow kept gazing up at the night sky, total anguish highlighting her face. She did not know why, but she felt some inner, fixed, and horrible conviction that she would never see Cluster again.

There was still much to recount, many processes which required completion, countless conversations and courses of action that had been recorded. But I promised to be brief, so I apologize. Let it be known that we will continue our story some four days later, after all had been said and done, and Airglow was escorted out of the Fillydelphia general hospital by a pair of orderlies.


* * *


The several days Airglow had spent at the hospital was of very little comfort to her, largely because she could not get a good grasp of what was leading everything on; and on what foundations could she expect a good future, she did not know. This was all barred from her, on the priority that she was to get well soon, alongside many other injured and downtrodden ponies, which did not help her ascertain much of anything useful.

Airglow was visited by the doctor twice a day, received three meals a day, but only the occasional chatter of nurses kept her attention occupied. She had no books to read, no other pony to talk to besides answering basic questions of physical examinations, and as her weariness of mind grew over the long days, so did her worriment of everything to do with Ponyville.

Although weakened and anguished, Airglow had the outward appearance of an almost healthy young mare. Incidentally, on the day of moving, she felt that she had still not recovered inwardly. She was partly bandaged up, mostly around the waist, and she was provided with two crutches—one under each wing—to support her. Her ribs didn't hurt as much.

At the entrance of the medical institution she was informed that somepony "close in relations" asked for her release two hours in advance; she listened to this with surprise, but did not say anything else. Airglow was ready to head out, never even having thought about where to go, but when she turned around on her clutches, she immediately became overjoyed, as all of her previous anxieties momentarily left her.

There Cluster awaited her.

He was bandaged up himself, but the first thing she noticed was his horn: several layers of medical cloth covered it, which resembled a caste. Cluster's broken horn, after being examined, was treated for very carefully, though with great signs of perplexity at how much it had endured. He was informed that a full recovery could take anywhere from four to ten weeks, maybe more, and that in the meantime he was not to use magic of any kind, not even basic telekinesis to pick up small objects.

The brother and sister stared at each other for a few seconds, unable to say a word. Then, almost forgetting herself, Airglow ran to Cluster, dropping her crutches by accident and all but fell into him in a tight hug. Cluster smiled, returning the embrace.

"Cluster! I... I'm so happy you're safe!" Airglow weeped into his shoulder, squeezing her arms around him. She even seemed to be shuddering all over, as if from a cold.

"Everything's fine," said Cluster in a soft voice, after a moment's hesitation. He held her there, feeling her tears wet his shoulder. Her body felt almost cold to him. "Here, let me get those for you," he said again, slightly parting from her and bending down to pick up her crutches.

"W-Where's Nova?" she asked at once in a trembling, tormented voice, the thought of their brother rushing back to her. "Is he...?"

"He's fine, Airglow. Nova's here in Fillydelphia. He's alive and well."

But Airglow could hardly contain herself; she dissolved into tears once more, and with her long lashes glistening she pressed herself to Cluster again.

Cluster said nothing at first. He started to take a step back, but stopped; he could not make up his mind. Face downcast, he simply let her cry into his shoulder. Though she was still mentally stricken from the incident, she had never felt so happy in her life as she was then and there.

"Hey, sis..." Cluster lifted her chin up, staring into her face.

"Huh?" Airglow blinked a few times, her cheeks completely wet. Cluster's face, the expression of which, until that point, she had not fully taken in, briefly gave her a pause, and for a second she was at a loss for words—he looked so joyful and happy as she had never seen him before, without the least trace of his former aloofness or hints of derisive irony. His eyes were bright and sincere, he smiled gently, every feature on his face was simple to read. She almost didn't recognize him.

"Cluster?" she muttered vaguely.

He bent forth and kissed her on the forehead. He seized her hoof, very carefully and gently helped her back up, and gave her back the crutches.

"I'll stay by your side from now on," he said with that same tender brightness. "I won't leave, not like before, never again."

Airglow almost gave a start. Another thought flashed through her, realizing the gravity of his words, and a wide and heartfelt smile slowly spread on her face. She bent forth and kissed him in return.

"I'm so happy to hear that," she said, wiping her tears away. "I just... just don't even know what I could do... without you here."

"For starters, we can get out of this place. I've rented a room in a hotel, here in the city square. Nova is staying there, too." Cluster looked at the hospital before him, then he turned around. "Let's go before dusk settles in."

Airglow nodded ecstatically at his words, and the two took off down the street, slowly, at her own pace.

"And there's a reason I got you out early," he said. "Lot of ponies from the media are dying to get quick interviews with the survivors of the attack. I figured you wouldn't be ready for that kind of provoking."

"Thank you so much," she muttered, resting her head against him. She simply had nothing else to say.


* * *


They arrived at one of those large hotels with more volume area than is needed, not exactly five-stars, but it was fine enough. They entered through a gateway and stopped for a moment at the reception office. Because this was a hotel, there was a constant walking and running up and down the corridors from various ponies passing through.

Cluster, having his key returned to him and getting away before more of the media ponies could arrive, led Airglow up the flight of stairs to the fourth floor.

"I managed to retrieve most of your luggage from the Flying Rift," said Cluster. "I've also made your bed. Your luggage will be on it. You don't have to worry about anything."

"Thanks, Cluster. But... wait..." she muttered, as if remembering something.

"What is it?"

"Oh, i-it's nothing..." she added hastily for some reason, though with a faint look of solicitude in her eyes.

She followed him down the corridor, they entered the assigned room, and he quickly shut the door. Somewhat typical as far as hotel rooms went, but it was spacious indeed. He set the luggage down, put her crutches against the stool with the lamp, and helped her on the bed. She was watching him intently, very happily, yes, though somewhat dubiously.

"This is a lot of pink," remarked Cluster, having opened the luggage and being presented with almost nothing but pink clothes and accessories, with the occasional ivory white flashing here and there.

"Yeah, well... It's my favourite colour," she said sheepishly.

"I can tell," he chuckled in response. Having set the rest of the luggage aside, he sat next to her. "Here"— he tapped the bed —"there's some very soft pillows and sheets. I can get you a blanket instead if you get too hot."

Airglow acknowledged his comments with a small nod, though she was still in a state of doubt of sorts, not wanting to ask too much of him.

"Oh, that's right!" Cluster hopped off the bed. "You must be hungry, right, sis?" He walked to the cabinet, which Airglow noticed earlier had a menu sitting atop it. Having grabbed it, he placed it next to her. "Hospital food's no good, I'd imagine. I'll order something for you, anything you want. They've got some good options."

Airglow admitted he had a point: she had grown tired of the constant generic and bland food offered to her in the hospital, and only then did she notice how much she missed normal food.

She picked up the menu and scanned the numerous labels. She turned it around to see the desserts, then back to the lunch and dinner section.

"Maybe... um... what are you having?" she added obliquely, lowering the menu to look at him.

"Me? Nothing. I've already had lunch. Go on, get whatever you want."

"I dunno," she muttered, staring at the overwhelming number foods presented to her choosing. "Maybe... Option seven looks promising."

Cluster glanced over her shoulder. "The combo of hay fries and corn pie, with a salad on the side?"

"Yeah, I'll have that."

"Anything to drink?"

"Just water. Thanks."

"Alright, corn pie it is. You'll be as good as new in no time," he said with a smile, about to grab the menu away, but Airglow stopped him.

"Is everything alright, Cluster?" she asked, with the good-natured and honest inquisitiveness of a pony who one can usually trust to open up towards. Airglow had been listening to him very attentively, and glanced searchingly into his face.

"Huh?" Cluster followed her gaze in confusion. Airglow fell silent and her expression softened. Cluster noticed it, but he continued to (seemingly) be in the most excellent of spirits. "Of course everything's alright," he said, blinking a few times.

"Oh, okay," she said, somewhat bewildered. "It's just..."

"Just what?"

"I just wanna know, did something happen? I mean, you're acting really... eh..." Airglow smiled awkwardly, scratching the back of her head. "You weren't like this at all back in Ponyville. N-not that I don't appreciate everything you've done! Please don't get the wrong idea!" she added nervously, her face almost blushing.

"Not like this," muttered Cluster, his smile slowly fading away. He knitted his brows. He was evidently deep in thought. "How did I seem to you then?"

Something peculiar took place in Cluster as he spoke. Some kind of impatient determination, as if to prove himself of something, glittered in his eyes. He fixed his gaze on Airglow, as if wishing to read the whole of her thought.

"I don't know," she said in a low voice, tapping her hooves together, "but... you really seemed to have changed. Something about you is so... I don't know"— She paused, but it soon struck her to finish. "Just feels different, I guess. In a good way. The way you talk is so nice." She raised her eyebrows, smiling. "No, forget it, I'm just overthinking things."

Something did happen to me, thought Cluster absentmindedly, his eyes clouded over for a second. The image of Snowfall whispering to him, holding his hoof, flashed through his mind.

"Uh, Cluster?"

"Yeah, you're right," he said. "You're completely right. Things have changed." His voice was clearer, more sure of itself. "I don't want what's between us to change."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that I didn't know what I had before. What we have right here, here with us, I don't want to lose that. I'm here for you. That's what matters to me."

Airglow, though still unsure of his vague wording, nevertheless understood his sentiment at once. She felt such a warm reverence to see him like this, never having imagined it to be possible before. She was ready to hug him, but was interrupted by three hard, resounding knocks from the front door.

Cluster went and opened it. Nova Steel immediately jumped over the threshold into the room, laughing good-naturedly, throwing his arms around Cluster in a tight embrace.

"It's so good to see you again, brother!" he laughed, tapping him on the back.

Cluster almost got pushed back, but he regained his composure. "Hey, Nova," he said calmly, returning the taps.

"Nova!" beamed Airglow with sparkling eyes; she almost fell over the edge of the bed in excitement, but stopped herself. Nova mostly had bandages wrapped around his forehead, but by how he acted you would hardly be able to tell that he was injured. In his right hoof he carried a small bouquet of purple lilacs.

"Airglow!" Nova rushed to his sister and began planting kisses on her cheeks, laughing merrily. Airglow all too readily accepted his embrace, laughing her fill, with new tears in her eyes.

"Wait, wait," added Nova after a bit, breaking off, presenting her with the bouquet, "when I heard that you checked out of the hospital, I had to get these for you, good heavens, it was a prerequisite for celebration! The prettiest flowers for the prettiest sister in the world!"

"Oh my gosh, you shouldn't have!" Airglow took the flowers, almost sniffling, and hugged him again with her other arm. "Seeing you and Cluster was the best present I could've asked for."

"Didn't I tell you he was fine?" said Cluster, approaching them.

"Yeah, you did," said Airglow in a breathy voice, wiping her tears. "You really did."

Nova was overjoyed. He sat on the bed and went off on a tangent about how he was forced to stay in the hospital for as long as he had. Airglow was overjoyed, too. Cluster looked at his siblings almost with a tender conciliation.

"In any case, I must return to my room to organize my own lost luggage," Nova announced a few minutes after the reunion. "My heart strikes wonders at the sight of you ponies, ha, ha!"

"I'll go get your food," said Cluster to Airglow, feeling they had delayed long enough.

Airglow happily shook her head in agreement. She fell down on the bedsheets and sighed, a smile rarely leaving her lips, head in the clouds.


* * *


Three more days passed, officially marking a full week since the Flying Rift attack. All the while Airglow stayed with Cluster in the hotel room for most of that time; Nova, for some reason they still did not know, stayed in a whole other room. The longer they remained in Fillydelphia, the more the whole visit felt like business, with less and less time being allotted to recover. Not that much time was very necessary in the first place.

A whole new set of rumours circulated in regards to the aforementioned "red light," which several passengers had bore witness to—rumours which were strange and almost contradictory to one another. I call them rumours because many ponies drew a connection to the notion of the Railway Beast, and whether its validity from the children stories could be considered myth any longer. It reached the newspapers in no time at all, with headlines describing how the Railway Beast killed all of those terrorists because, as it was reported in fine print, "It simply acted on the instinct to defend its home, the Flying Rift." Cluster read those articles with no sign of surprise, and even forgot to bring it up in conversation with Airglow. But Airglow knew the truth, at least parts of it, though she could not supply any information about Cluster's magic, not because she promised her brother to keep quiet, but really because she felt like she was going to get way in over her head, and she did not want to give Cluster any unnecessary trouble.

The enormous explosion which had detonated in front of the train—that being Cluster's blast of alicorn magic—nopony witnessed it, and the whole thing was put under investigation. Till then, no official statement in regards to the destroyed mountain range had been put out.

Cluster took the initiative by writing to Olva Velvet, before Airglow had even left the city hospital, assuring her with affirmative phrases and personal guarantees that Airglow was perfectly alive and, quite contrary to her fears, that Airglow had made a full recovery. She wrote back, asking him half a page of questions, thanking him as well, and declaring that she should travel to Fillydelphia, bringing Twinkie along, for "moral support." Cluster's second letter advised her to stay in Ponyville, saying that he would be heading over there with Airglow soon enough, and that Olva would benefit from not leaving Golden Oak so as to "keep the business afloat at all times."

In regards to the media and the politics of the situation, Cluster tried his very best to avoid all of this "officialism," instead going about his days with his sister, taking her shopping, going on walks, talking about anything she wanted to talk about. He informed her that she would be required to make one final check-up at the hospital, then him, then they would take off to Ponyville. That is to say, he would drop her off there, stay in town for a little while, "Because there's something waiting for me there," he had told her, then he would ultimately have to go back to Canterlot (where his original home was located) to speak with the Princess.

There were only two topics of discussion that Cluster outright avoided. The first was anything to do with Snowfall Blaze, for reasons that should be self-explanatory. He resolved to inform Airglow of her existence and tragic death in due time, only he wasn't sure when exactly. The second thing was about Bronze Pocket. That is to say, Cluster not so much avoided talking about their father, but when Airglow once brought it up, asking if he had seen him till that point, he answered no, but just then his face would darken, he would look away while speaking, the tone of his voice would drop, only to change topics quickly.

I guess Cluster still doesn't like dad, Airglow had concluded.

There are many more things to touch upon before we continue on with the story for real, all the way back in Ponyville, so I will do my best to present these events with fashionable brevity.

By the start of the second week, it was revealed why Nova had been staying in a different room. One morning he had stopped by Cluster and Airglow's room. Nova had knocked quickly and energetically on their door; he was evidently animated by some kind of news. He called them down to the reception office, which had become noisy and crowded. Airglow had the impression that several ponies had come in from outside and others were still coming in. Several voices talked and exclaimed at the same time; there was even talking and exclaiming on the stairs, the door to which, from the sound of it, had not been closed. Apparently there was taking place some strange visit. Airglow and Cluster exchanged glances and followed Nova among the crowd.

"Yeah, I'm fine! I said I'm fine!" exclaimed one particular voice in annoyance. A unicorn pony on a wheelchair, his whole body utterly wrapped in medical cloth, including the face which was difficult to make out, wheeled himself to the middle of the room. One doctor and one guard followed him from behind. The annoyed tone displayed by the patient was directed at the doctor, who continuously attempted to control the direction of his wheelchair, but to no avail. The other, a hired bodyguard, simply followed for (as you can imagine) protection.

"Just get me a room here, will ya?" the pony in the wheelchair went on. "Huh..."

He was pressed again by the doctor, and the patient was just about to let him have it, when something caught his eye. He turned his wheelchair to see Airglow facing him directly, with Cluster and Nova just behind her. At first she was straining her eyes to make out his apparently mangled features, but then nothing short of shock and amazement was plastered on her face.

"Hey, Airglow, it's you!" said the pony, leaning forward, but the doctor put a hoof against his shoulder. "I know. Shocked, eh? I look like a freakin' mummy! It's been nothing but uncomfortableness on my end."

"Sharp Heat... is that... really you?" said Airglow in a low voice, feeling herself lose her breath more and more. She was surprised to see such a terribly disheveled, flushed, yet laughing face, in which she instantly recognized Sharp but was rendered horrified by such an appearance.

From behind the bandages and medical cloth he had acquired a nasty scar, a large one spreading all across his face, stopping just under his snout. This gave him a grave and perilous look which made him look like he was in continuous pain, but of course this was not the case.

"He saved at least half the passengers on the Flying Rift," commented Nova, bulging his eyes in emphasis and throwing his hooves in the air. "Sharp Heat, my friend! Ponies will be writing ballets in your honour for many years to come!"

"I owe you one," said Cluster importantly, and with some sense of familiarity that went unnoticed. "You've done a lot."

"There's too many ponies here," said Sharp's doctor, "we ought to be on our way. If you'll excuse me..."

"Eh, fine by me," said Sharp, "let's be on our way. Hey, Airglow!" Airglow gave a start, looking at him with eyes on the verge of crying. "Feel free to stop by my room whenever you want, I could use the feedback on my performance. Ha, ha! Um, anyway, uh, right... Later!" He was promptly wheeled out of the office, into one of the corridors.

"You okay?" asked Cluster, nudging Airglow.

She looked at him in a somewhat furtive way. Up until that moment, she had truly believed that Sharp had succumbed to his injuries and, therefore, would have bitten the dust; but even if he lived, she could not help but shoulder the blame to some extent. Everything he had done in that final fight—he did it to protect her.

But she was thoroughly reassured later that day that Sharp was expected to make a full recovery, and that the surgery which he had gone through the week before—something to do with repairing damaged organs and a loss of blood—was an absolute success.

Even so, ever since then it was as if some light in Airglow had dimmed, and she spoke her every word with less resolve and enthusiasm since then. She wanted very much to make it up to Sharp—though how she planned to go about doing so, she did not know. But the fact that he was alive was enough to put Airglow in a better mood, allaying the earlier solicitude in her expression.


* * *


Later that day Cluster took her to the hospital for her final check-up, then she came back and stayed in the room, reading some books Cluster picked up for her on the way. He was about to take off for his final check-up, but first he visited Sharp Heat in his room to go over the finalization of any remaining report to Princess Celestia. He had gotten acquainted with Sharp not too long ago.

Sharp was still on official duty, despite his less-than-inspiring condition. He had been gathering as much information as possible from numerous sources, piecing together the mystery of the so-called "elixir," and Cluster supposed he called him in for that very same reason. Cluster could in no way anticipate what impression awaited him there, but he imagined it as non-eventful.

"The ponies in black and white were all cut down, no half measures taken," remarked Sharp. "Did you know what they were up to?"

"No, I didn't. I was investigating on my own terms."

"Ahh... Well, can't blame you. Princess Celestia herself has issued numerous guards to patrol both Fillydelphia and Canterlot. The security for the upcoming Annual Autumn Festival has been beefed up, too. Do you intend on coming?"

"Maybe. I haven't thought about it all that much. I live in Canterlot, so travel distance wouldn't pose any problem. If anything it's a lack of interest."

Sharp gave him a look, but shook his head and gathered the pile of papers on his desk, shoving them into a saddlebag strapped to the side of his wheelchair.

"So," he went on more seriously, "did you really do it? Did you kill all of the terrorists?"

"Yeah, I did," replied Cluster, not quietly, but directly and bluntly.

"Was that all really necessary? Not that I'm judging you or anything. Just interested, is all."

There came a pause, in which Cluster surveyed the room they were in, as if it were his habit, then he stared keenly at Sharp.

"It's strange, isn't it?" he said after a while. Some kind of inappropriate smile was on his face. "When we're in the thick of it, with a hoof each in the grave, we do whatever it takes to survive. It's only after surviving do we think if what we did was right or wrong."

Sharp Heat hummed in thought, looking out the window for a second.

"I did what I had to," said Cluster. "That's all there is to it."

"Like I said, I was only asking, not judging. By the way"— he started searching through his saddlebag for something, but after half a minute gave up —"have you seen those political pamphlets, the ones which began with the story of that foreign investor?"

"Heard about them."

"Have you read them at all, even just some of the front covers? They've got quotes from a few of the fatherland articles you've written in the past."

"Haven't gotten around to reading that sort of stuff." Cluster was speaking decidedly, almost mechanically, as if he had no interest in these so-called pamphlets; although this was not exactly the case, it just so happened that his head was swimming with other unrelated apprehensions.

"The whole thing looks like one large, elaborate prank if you ask me. We-ell, maybe you shouldn't bother with it, anyway. What's really screwing me up is that word, 'elixir.' You told me that you think they were talking about an elixir of immortality? Is that even possible?"

"It's definitely possible. And in Celestia's case..." Cluster stopped. Is this why Celestia wanted me to keep out of it? I've read the history books: the elixir of immortality was a legendary artifact that existed thousands of years ago. Just like these fairytales of the Railway Beast or Nightmare Moon, it doesn't exist. But... I could be wrong. "No, I'd have to ask Celestia herself directly. I don't want to pointlessly speculate."

"I see," said Sharp. He sighed, with a look of total concentration, and he wheeled himself to the other end of the room. "I'll have to report it to the Princess at once. I'll also be leaving soon; I'm going to Ponyville."

"I know you were going to investigate, but soon? As in—"

"As in today soon. I'll be checking outta this piece of junk"— he lightly tapped the rims of both wheels —"and I have to look into that anomaly you mentioned in your report. Let me repeat what you told me, so as to be clear: a mare by the name of Misty Gem received a book from Golden Oak Library just this August; she claimed to have found a card inside with the words 'elixir sixty-six,' as well as a random series of numbers on the other side; her house was ransacked a few weeks after the fact; did I get it all?"

"The gist of it. But," Cluster raised his voice strangely, as if changing the subject, "are you going by yourself to Ponyville?"

"That's correct. I gotta make a grand sweep to find that card; it may just be the key to all of this. Will I be seeing you in Ponyville tomorrow night?"

"Probably. The problem is that I haven't confirmed yet if Misty Gem is still in Ponyville. She might have left."

"Perhaps..." Sharp simply waved him off. "We'll see when we get there."

But his words on the topic were left uncertain and unfinished. Cluster was ready to take off, but Sharp Heat grabbed his attention once more.

"Wait, you actually reminded me of something," said Sharp. Cluster gave him an inquisitive look, and he was quick to add, "About those terrorists from the Flying Rift, I mean. I'm real curious—have you ever been to Saddle Arabia?"

"No, I haven't. What brings it up?"

"It ain't exactly the most pleasant story, but hear it out. My grandfather used to be in the Royal Guard, he served directly under Princess Celestia. This is the type of thing you'd only hear from your old folks, really. Around sixty years ago, back when my father was still a kid, my grandfather was assigned to travel with a group of mages on an excavation to Saddle Arabia, way out to the east of the Equestrian border. Putting aside the atypicality of culture shock, one thing they have there—or had, rather, I still dunno if they have it today—was capital punishment. It's a weird thing to have described to you, not the death part, but the whole process behind it. Completely different civilization there. I'd imagine that it'd almost be like a surreal experience, since we don't have capital punishment in the form of public execution, here in Equestria.

"Anyway, they used the guillotine, and in Saddle Arabia only the worst criminals get the guillotine. My grandfather was in the crowd when he first got to see the thing in action. Now!" Sharp clapped his hooves together, inclining himself forward. "Let's suppose that you, Cluster, are wanted for murder in their country. There you'd have to stand trial for murder. And if you're found guilty"— Cluster nearly cocked his head back at Sharp's strange emphasis —"the law enforcement of Saddle Arabia will execute you in the town square, at whatever city you happen to be in. You'll be brought on this wooden platform, head put through the opening, and an executioner will pull the lever to bring the blade down, lopping your head clean off. And, if all those things end up taking place, that's what Saddle Arabians call punitive justice—the punishment fits the crime, in this case murder, and it sends a message to every would-be murderer who values their heads. It's a pretty effective deterrent, ain't it?

"However," Sharp went on, leaning back on his chair, "if the relatives and loved ones of the pony you murdered barged into your house one night, pulled you out onto the streets, and killed you themselves with their own hooves, that would be frontier justice. The good part about frontier justice is that it's very gratifying. But the bad part is that it's apt to be wrong, as much wrong as it can be right. But really, what's the difference between frontier and punitive justice? The main difference is the executioner. To the executioner it really doesn't make a lick of difference what the criminal did; when he pulls that lever he gets no satisfaction for their death—it's his job. He cuts off some Arabian pony's head, gets paid, moves on to the next, and repeat. Thing is, the executioner is a dispassionate pony, and that dispassion is what drives the essence of justice."

"And justice without dispassion runs the risk of not being proper justice," Cluster rounded off.

"That's exactly it," replied Sharp Heat, and he suddenly bent him a long and comparatively curious look. "So, I really wanted to ask you, Cluster—for the sake of my analogy—when you were killing those terrorists back in the Flying Rift, knocking 'em down one at a time, were you acting under the mindset of punitive justice... or frontier justice?"

"Technically it'd be frontier, wouldn't it, since none of them were ever officially tried for murder?"

"Right, right..." Sharp shifted to the side in his seat. "But they were all caught red-hoofed, so obviously there's some grey area there. Still, I really got to wonder, was it personal in any way? How much passion did you feel in what you did?"

Cluster was silent, thinking it over. He almost grimaced but stopped himself, then said, "None at all." He placed his hoof on the doorknob.

Sharp Heat blinked.

"Well..." He shrugged and turned away. "Was just letting you in on something. Don't get too much into the habit of... eh, certain things. You never know."

They did not exchange anything else. Cluster bid him farewell and was off. Sharp Heat sat in silence for a full minute, doing nothing, then he starting checking through his saddlebag again.


* * *


Later that day a mailpony delivered a letter to Cluster. It was from Princess Celestia. The letter was very short, with only two sentences. The first expressed gratitude at his recovery and commended him on his bravery. The second asked to meet with him, and when would he be available. (Princess Celestia also added in parentheses that he did not have to come to Canterlot, and that she would come to him.)

Cluster found this somewhat confusing, but he did not think much on it. He wrote back to her that she could visit Ponyville the day after tomorrow, because, in his words, "I still have some things that I need to sort through."

When it was nearing evening of the next day—after Sharp left for Ponyville—when Cluster had exited the hospital and was heading back to the hotel, he unexpectedly encountered Nova on the roadside, heading for the coachpony station. They struck a brief yet bizarre conversation, and a fairly one-sided conversation at that.

"Wait, you're leaving now?" asked Cluster in surprise. Indeed, Nova looked to be all set for a trip. He had checked out of his room just an hour before.

"Yes, I have to leave this city, brother," said Nova. Something in his voice was strained, as if in conflict with itself. It looked like Nova was forcing himself to smile.

"Where are you going?"

"I am going to Ponyville." Nova paused, then he added in a stranger tone, "I am going to get those five thousand bits back. Do you... understand?"

Nova continued walking, but Cluster stopped him.

"Wait, you're going to see our dad? You don't mean...?" Cluster gave him a long look.

That same strain, now menacing, flashed in Nova's face. He nodded slowly, indecisively, then said, "I'm terribly sorry to cause you any grievances. Tell our sister as well that I apologize for leaving without saying goodbye." He took another two steps, stopped, then told Cluster in a clearer, more pronounced voice, "I need money, brother. I find myself in great extremities. Besides, those five thousand are still mine. So..."

What led to Nova's sudden departure was two things. First, his initial five thousand bits, which he had taken with him to spend in the Luna Bay casino, was indefinitely lost, caught up in the torrent of destruction from the Flying Rift. Not that this should have come as a shock: many ponies had lost their luggage, or parts of it, and Nova happened to be one of the unlucky ones. The second thing, perhaps more coincidental, is that he had chanced upon a conversation while wandering the span of the city, during one of his detours, in which he heard a mare say the name "Bouquet Rose." He turned in the direction of this mare and approached her. He had introduced himself as Nova Steel, stating that he stood on intimate terms with Bouquet, and that he was very perplexed to hear her name so suddenly. He learned that this mare was the maid which Bouquet had hired during her short stay in Ponyville (during Maxim's birthday party).

"It's my pleasure to have made your acquaintance, Mr. Steel," said the maid. "To answer your question, she's gone off to Baltimare."

"When?" asked Nova.

"Why, just about this morning. She was here, in Fillydelphia."

Nova was utterly dumbstruck. "What? Here, in Fillydelphia?" he cried. "Why has she gone off to Baltimare?"

"W-why, you ask?" the maid said in a faint voice. "Well, sir, I'm not sure why exactly. I think it's to see some officer, she called him her 'former one,' from some number of years ago. Perhaps somepony invited her there."

Nova looked upon the maid speechless, which frankly made her feel uncomfortable. He was pale as death, but one could see from his eyes that he had understood everything at once, everything, everything all at once, at half a word, had understood it to the last detail and figured it all out. It was not for the poor maid, of course, who had only worked under Bouquet for a few weeks, to notice at that moment whether he had understood or not. After they bid each other farewell, Nova had sat there on a nearby bench, not pondering exactly, but as if in fear, as if in some kind of stupor.

But everything was clear as day: this officer, this "former one"—he knew about him, he knew everything perfectly well, knew it from Bouquet herself, knew that a month ago a letter had come from him. So for a whole month this affair had been going on in deep secret from him, up to the present arrival of this new stallion, and he had not even given him a thought! Why had he simply forgotten about the officer, forgotten the moment he learned of him? That was the question that stood before him like some sort of demon. And he indeed contemplated this new information in fear, in cold fear.

Cluster felt within himself, in that moment of having bumped into Nova, something inconceivable and terrible was about to take place. He looked at his brother, now ready to leave, and all of his familiarity and casualness seemed to drop away; his whole face expressed extreme attention and expectation, but quiet and almost bashful now.

"Don't you want to say anything more?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not, brother." Nova reached out to shake his hoof, indicating his farewell.

But Cluster, much to Nova's surprise, did not say anything else, and he even laughed a little. Anypony could see from his face that he was certainly not laughing at all out of merriment. On the contrary, something ominous seemed to flash in his eyes. He turned around and quickly walked away, halfheartedly waving his hoof back. Nova looked onwards for a moment, then he shook his head, seeming beside himself, and went to the station.


* * *


Cluster walked quickly on the way back, the state of his mind indefinite. He himself felt that he had lost his bearings, and the idea of Nova leaving early to Ponyville, when in that same day all three siblings could have all gone to Ponyville together, was indeed very ominous. He even started to feel something hateful gnaw at his heart, as if he were about to take revenge on somepony.

Then he would stop himself, thinking with irritation, No, why am I thinking like this? I'm not going to be like him. Damn it... He took a little detour around several blocks, giving himself a moment to ponder the certainty of events which lay before him. Anypony could have seen that some kind of anxiety darkened his face, and it remained darkened for a long while. He was deep in thought, then noticed how far he had strayed, that he was already late, so he turned around.

Right before Cluster went back to the hotel, he had an encounter with a certain pony, one he would never have expected. Everything had seemed so normal starting from the previous week, with all accounts coming to a better than expected close. But first Nova's sudden departure, and now this encounter especially threw everything in for a loop.

Walking down the block, a dark, imposing figure passed Cluster by. Cluster almost stopped right then and there, feeling some revolting sensation surge through him, and he nearly turned around on his own accord. And right when he was about to go about his business, a voice called out to him, "Do you happen to be Cluster Tale?"

The voice had very strange intonations in its tone. It was deep, yet calm and full of charisma, the sort of voice which demands attention and respect once you hear it.

Cluster looked behind him. A unicorn stallion was staring at him, but he did not bear the slightest resemblance to any pony Cluster had ever set his eyes on.

Many features on this stranger struck out, particularly his eyes: the irises were red, but the parts around it shimmered gold. He flashed Cluster a smile, and his teeth were almost blindingly white. Everything else seemed to lay hidden in his dark coat and mane.

"Who are you?" asked Cluster, somewhat reluctantly.

At first Cluster guessed that this pony was one of those representatives from high society who seldom venture out to the streets, the sort who create a stunning effect when they do so, but his gut told him that this was not the case. Rather, this stranger was simply the type who possessed the charm and force of personality that could compel any pony to take his friendship at face value. But everything else about him, from his composure to the way he had asked the question, felt eerie to Cluster.

"I'm Marble Solid," replied the strange unicorn.

Cluster stared in silence, his pupils shrinking at the realization.

What?

They simply stood there, looking at each other, as if no other pony in the world existed. Countless thoughts raced through his head. His teeth clenched shut, but he did not say a word. This stallion now had his full attention, and he at once understood what had caused that revolting sensation.

"Don't be alarmed," said the so-called Marble Solid. "Nothing bad will befall you. Consider this nothing more than a preliminary course of action."

But Cluster did not respond. A light flashed in Marble Solid's eyes.

"I see you're occupied with other matters," he said again. He suddenly turned around and started walking away. "We will see each other sooner or later, won't we? I find myself very interested in you."

"Wai—" Cluster began to say, but stopped himself. He was breathing with difficulty, watching with horror as Marble Solid turned to the side and, striding into the dense crowds, saying to him, "There is nothing to worry about," vanished from sight behind everypony.

Cluster kept looking ahead for a long time, still coming to terms with what just happened. He took a step backwards, almost stumbling, pressing a hoof to his forehead. Something like nausea was coming over him.

Was I being too careless? he thought at once. Was that really...? Is somepony coming after me?

He did not even notice that several ponies were staring at him. Cluster was standing in the open with a completely distraught face, as if he had seen a ghost. Somepony was about to tap him on the shoulder, to ask if he was alright, but he audibly huffed, turned around, and continued down the block with a rapid gait.

Nothing bad will befall me, is that it? Don't get complacent. And was that really the guy behind the train attack? I need more information.

Having reached the hotel room, the first thing he said to Airglow was, "Pack your things, we're leaving."

"Leaving right now?" Airglow peeked under the curtains of the window. "Isn't it still kinda early?"

"A little bit, but Nova already left." Cluster was walking across the room, grabbing whatever would be necessary for the trip.

"Nova left? For Ponyville?" Airglow looked at him in considerable surprise.

"Yeah, for Ponyville. We should go now. It's better this way in any case, because we'll arrive there late evening instead of the dead of night, which gives me more time to sort some stuff out. You'll see."

Airglow acknowledged his point, but she was still startled by this sudden development, as it were. At first Cluster seemed to be in a hurry, but reaching the reception office he slowed to a crawl, almost seeming to stall for time. She wanted to ask him more questions, but he kept reassuring her that she would understand once they arrived in Ponyville. Soon after and they reached the station.
> Part VI – Chapter II – In Expectation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cluster and Airglow arrived in Ponyville much later than what was planned for, having reached the station house just over an hour after the break of dusk. There were several delays with the coachponies back in Fillydelphia, and to top it off, Cluster, who at first seemed to be all in a hurry, had inexplicably lost his haste, as if waiting in some kind of unknown expectation. The thought of Nova leaving so soon, and that strained look on his face, which bordered on a sort of hidden resentment, stuck with Cluster for a long time afterwards.

But worst of all was his unseemly encounter with the so-called Marble Solid. From what Cluster gathered of his own lone findings and investigations, Marble Solid was somehow the "mastermind," so to speak, behind the strange reports of disappearing magic all around Equestria. But what he found completely incomprehensible is that there was very little action being taken to understand these events, neither by the Equestrian government nor anypony else at all. In fact, these reports were being treated more as an inconvenience to be ignored than something to promote serious inquiry. The company with which Black Rover worked in Balitmare, as well as the Tic Tocs from the Flying Rift Express, and even some of the ponies he encounters along the way—all this tied back to the name Marble Solid.

So why would he just reveal himself? Cluster went on thinking along the journey. I just so happened to have found a lead to the Flying Rift, then "he" shows up. Is any of this connected, or am I getting ahead of myself? I just can't seem to put this together. If only I had the answers.

Unfortunately he did not reach very good conclusions; and like I said, they arrived in Ponyville very late.

The very first thing Airglow did was rush to Golden Oak Library. Tired though she was from the trip, still feeling overwhelmed with the previous events of her life, and even having forgotten the reassurances Cluster had made to her (or even that he was running after her), she barged right in Golden Oak without even knocking.

"Olva!" she called out, darting her eyes everywhere in search of the librarian. Something made a noise from the other room, then the door opened and Olva strode in, concerned at first, almost beside herself, but her eyes instantly went wide.

"Airglow, honey!" she cried in return, and it was as if they communicated without words. The two of them hugged each other very affectionately. They both started to cry into each other's arms. Cluster, for his part, watched by the door entrance, looking to the side, clearly being put off by such a lovey-dovey scene.

Well... what did you expect? he thought.

For a moment Airglow pushed aside any and all previous doubts about Nova to the back of her mind. She was having her joyful moment, and for once was ready to accept all of Olva's hugs and kisses.

"Airglow, please, please never do this to me again!" Olva wheezed, tears pouring from her eyes in streams. "I can't handle it, my heart is weak, it can't take it. I-if you... were t-to pass away..." But her throat tightened, and she burst into another fit of tears.

"I promise I won't!" exclaimed Airglow, her expression never dimming. She closed her eyes and hung her head over Olva's shoulder for a second. "Hey, where's Twinkie? Is she—"

"Oh, Twinkie, right, yes, yes," prattled Olva, dragging Airglow by the arm to the kitchen, as if afraid to let her go. She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. "Ah, yes. Twinkie is... Should I go wake her?"

"No, no, please don't. Let Twinkie sleep. She'll see me tomorrow morning, it'd be better that way. That should put her in a good mood."

Cluster took the liberty to step inside the library, letting the noises of Olva's continual weeping fade in the background. He scanned the bookshelves with curiosity, with a certain eye for something to stick out, something dubious. He was very much so deep in thought, as it were.

But eventually Airglow's reunion with Olva came to happy, albeit drawn-out, end. Upon seeing Cluster, Olva got into a bit of a flutter, rushing to him as if to make the initial acquaintance of a pony she admired.

"Oh, it's your brother!" exclaimed Olva, characteristically pressing a hoof to her chest, as if ready to orate a speech. "My dear Cluster, my eternal gratitude for taking care of her, oh, you're such a good soul, a thousand blessings your way! Oh, Princess Celestia really is the wisest of us all to have picked you."

"Hey, Olva," Airglow cut in with a jovial smile, striding back to Cluster's side, "I forgot to ask, but I was hoping I could stay at Cluster's place for the night. If you don't mind...?"

"What? Me, mind? Why, Airglow, why ask such foolish questions? He's your brother, of course you can go with him; he's our protector! He may as well be qualified to save all of Equestria!" Olva was, of course, delving into some mild exaggerations, a reflection of these intense and emotional reveals, but she was so carried away to see Cluster—of whom she held an almost perfect image—that she did not seem to notice it herself.

"Thanks, Mrs. Velvet," Cluster warmly approved, smiling that sincere smile which struck Olva, so rare it had been.

Olva blinked. "Oh, Cluster, my dear, whatever happened to your horn?" she asked suddenly.

"This?" He thought for a second, looking aside, as if distracted. "I guess you could call this an occupational hazard. But don't worry, it's nothing. These things happen."

Airglow simply chuckled nervously, still not sure herself of the precise cause of his broken horn. 

They did not leave all at once, Olva could not even have imagined it. She demanded that they stay a little while longer, for tea, or anything, really. The whole time Olva gazed at them with a beaming smile; every once in a while she would interrupt, taking some pride in the fact that she had lent a helping hoof in raising Airglow and, almost by extension, could consider Cluster part of the family. She had even started to make numerous promises, grand and optimistic ones, like how Airglow would eventually inherit the library, or that Cluster would always be able to depend on her no matter the circumstances, financial or otherwise. Airglow and Cluster listened to all this with smiles, nodding away to let Olva have her moment.

But then, catching them completely off guard, Olva brought up Nova, and told them a story they were not ready for.

"It's terrible, just terrible!" she exclaimed, gripping the edge of the table. "Just this evening Nova ran into this place like a madpony; he was completely wild, demanding that I fork over thousands of bits to him, almost threatening me! He was wild! I didn't know what to do!"

"Wait, Nova came here!" said Airglow in great shock, and all at once some uneasy foreboding took hold of her. "What did he do all that for? You also said 'threaten'? Really?"

"Like I said, it's terrible!" cried Olva, almost swooning.

"I never could have guessed he'd come here of all places," muttered Cluster.

"Oh, of course not, my dear. Who could blame you? No, it's really something out of this world..."

"Do you know if he's still here, in Ponyville?" he asked.

The response they got simply added to the surprise. They were informed that another pony—a self-proclaimed artillery captain by the same of Sharp Heat—came to visit around two hours after Nova. What's more, he had said that Nova took off to Baltimare.

And all of those lingering doubts Airglow had been harbouring, pushed to the back of her mind for the sake of Olva, all came flooding back in with no mercy. Something else, some kind of morbid fear mixed in with a sober understanding that disaster lay in store, rocked Airglow to her very core. She had glanced a few times at Cluster, not being able to discern any change in temperament or signs of dismay on his face, only to realize, Of course, Cluster is just putting on some pretense. He doesn't want to make this anymore unpleasant for Olva than it already is. But the reality is that he's just as worried as me.

After they bid their farewells (after some reluctance on Olva's part), they walked back to Cluster's house mostly in silence. In some ways Airglow was trying to set aside her feelings, trying as best she could to reason everything out. All of her present resolve still hung on the hopes that Cluster, in any case, had some plan of which he had not yet informed her. She was ready to accept most consequences, in spite of her attained resolve; simply too much stood before her and tormented her. But the thing was, the deciding factor in her mind, was Cluster's complete alteration in not only outlook but attitude as well. She felt it, truly in her troubled heart, that he would be able to fix everything if he put his mind to it, which she assumed that he had. It was a small semblance of hope in an otherwise sea of darkness.

When they reached the house, Cluster stopped at the porch, gave her an important look, and said, "Another pony has been staying here for the past month now, just so you know that before entering. She'll be staying here till I move out to Canterlot."

"Somepony is... here with you? Who?" she asked slowly, almost stammering.

"Her name is Daisy Sprawl. You're gonna see something you won't expect..."

Airglow almost cocked her head back at such an ominously worded remark. She kept looking at him, even after they entered and stopped in the living room. The hearth was burning with low embers, Airglow observed, so it was clear that somepony else had definitely been there.

His house still looked the same since her last visit. She took a seat on the couch, again the very same one from the night of the Summer Sun Celebration. Airglow simultaneously had many expectations of what Cluster would tell her, yet at the same time said nothing, politely waiting on him.

Then all of a sudden, catching even Cluster off guard, Daisy shot out from one of the other rooms into the living room; she was not out of breath, yet she could barely speak, looking entirely out of her wits, looking even dazed, as it were. She strode right up to him, not even noticing the pegasus filly next to him.

"Cluster! Oh my gosh, there you are!" she babbled, stopping in front of him and wildly pointing to the room from which she came. "It's... it's..."

"What is it, what happened? Daisy, calm down!" said Cluster quickly, looking worriedly at the direction of her hoof.

"My apologies for showing up uninvited," said Princess Celestia, revealing herself from the entryway and walking into the living room.

Airglow and Cluster—but Airglow most of all—were dumbstruck. Airglow watched in a stupefaction as the Princess herself approached them, finally getting a good look at her in person. She was so tall, so majestic in figure, and her multi-coloured mane was extraordinarily beautiful to say the least.

But this time a difference stuck out: Princess Celestia had a saddlebag, a white and gold one, strapped around her waist. She gave a cheery, friendly smile in the face of the stunned ponies. And suddenly Airglow dropped to the ground, bowing, not knowing what else to do.

"Y-Your M-M-Majesty," she exclaimed in a breathless voice. She was quite literally at a loss for words.

"Why did you come here tonight, Celestia? I thought I asked you to come tomorrow," put in Cluster, having overcome the initial surprise of her presence; but he asked his question so offhandedly, with such a lack of inflective reverence that was expected of everypony who addressed the Princess, that this very display shocked Daisy and Airglow even more. They each shot him wide-eyed glances.

"What'd you think you're doing, Cluster!" said Daisy in a frenzy. "You're supposed to address her as 'Princess' or 'Your Majesty'! Not... not..."

"Yeah, yeah..." Cluster waved her off her fatuous claims, glancing at his sister for a moment, then turned around and said resolutely, "Celestia, let's you and I go to the back room; Daisy, Airglow, you two stay here, get to know each other; well, that's all."

"Oh, that won't be a problem at all; it was very nice to get to know you, Daisy Sprawl," said Celestia. "Airglow Sky." She nodded at Airglow, who went stiff and started bowing her head up and down, saying nervously, "The pleasure's all mine, Your Majesty!"

Cluster withdrew with Celestia into the back room, leaving Daisy and Airglow numb with astonishment.

After a few seconds they looked at each other.

"So..." Airglow began awkwardly enough, in order to break the ice. "You're a friend of my brother?"


* * *


Cluster offered Celestia a seat, but she declined. He himself crossed one fore-hoof over the other and leaned his shoulder on the wall. Celestia made mental note of several things, in reaction to how Cluster stood before her with a sort of trusting and unstrained demeanour: something unquantifiable had lit up in his eyes, quite unlike the last time she had seen him, and, more than that, his gestures were much less mechanical than before, more openhearted; she even expected him to start smiling all of a sudden. And she was right.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked with a smile.

"Tea would be lovely," she replied, "but unfortunately I must decline. I again extend my apologies for coming earlier than expected, without forewarning, but I'm behind schedule as is, so I picked today." She returned the smile. "It's really good to see you, Cluster."

It was obvious that she wished to catch up on many topics of interest with him, and even spoke with the air of reassurance that this would not be the last time they talked, that there would be time for casualness sooner rather than later.

"Last time we talked was at the Summer Sun Celebration," he said. "That was a little too long ago, I know, and ever since then I've gone silent. But... not without reason."

"Oh, I'm sure you had good reason, that's not why I'm here at all." And suddenly her voice took on a more solemn tone; her smile waned slightly, but did not disappear entirely. "I wanted very much to put myself at ease by seeing you in person. Ever since I learned about what happened with the Flying Rift incident—even after I received your letter—I still wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Well then, consider yourself put at ease; I'm okay. And I know there's something else you want to bring up, isn't there?"

"I won't insult your intelligence," she continued, "so I assume you're already aware of a special package being shipped across Equestria, known only as the 'elixir.' Surely you must have heard of it."

"You mean the elixir of immortality?"

Celestia's eyes widened for a split second, not of surprise, as though he had discovered some long hidden secret, but of a confused curiosity.

"Immortality, you say?" she mused. "Well..." Her eyebrows seemed to crease, at least he thought so. "Perhaps. There are a plethora of elixirs that exist, each with their own unique properties. A hypothetical elixir of immortality shouldn't be ruled out."

"I came to that conclusion when I overheard one of those hijackers on the Flying Rift talk about their 'mortality,' or some such. I know it's just an assumption, but since immortality is, I'd imagine, such a sought-after trait, it makes sense there'd be all this commotion over it."

"That is a sensible conclusion, although I've yet to see strong evidence of this so-called elixir having been stored on the Flying Rift." She pursed her lips, looking at Cluster somehow distractedly, as if something had momentarily diverted her attention. "And your horn?" She inclined her head forward.

"Oh, this? This is—"

"Alicorn magic, I presume?"

"How did you...?" said Cluster, nearly cocking his head back, but he reminded himself who he was speaking to. That obvious, huh?

"I never would've guessed that you'd reach that stage so soon," said Celestia with a certain impressiveness. "But..." Now her smile completely waned and was gone for real. "Those terrorist groups, the train property itself—I shudder to imagine how the bad the situation was, to have pushed you so far."

He shrugged. "Somepony had to do something."

"It must have hurt, didn't it? To use so much power?"

"I'm alive. That's all that matters."

"And the hospital bill?"

"I've got all of that covered. It's not a problem at all."

Celestia looked fixedly at him, with that same feeling therein which he had gotten so used to, but this time something unprecedented took hold of her, something more ominous. He observed all of this and frowned, more at himself than at her.

"I'm no mindreader," she started, sighing, "but I can make an estimation as to what your next course of action will be. Correct me if I'm wrong, but are you thinking of going after the elixir yourself?"

"Of course not, Celestia," he replied readily. "If the incident at the Flying Rift is any indication of what this 'elixir' business holds in store, I want no part of it. Least of all now," he said in a lower voice. "Most I'll do is investigate what motivated the terrorists, but even then... I'm not sure yet."

Celestia let out a thoughtful hum, and, turning around, said cryptically, "I would advise against that."

"You think it'll be that dangerous?"

"I can't say for sure. I thought..." For a heartbeat he could have sworn he saw her left eyebrow twitch. "No, I won't say it now," she continued. "Just know that there's much more to this than you're aware of, and it would be in your self-interest to stay away from the problem before it grows out of control. Cluster," she enunciated with particular emphasis, shooting him a kind of hard glance, the well-meaning kind a mother gives to their misguided child, "I have business that I must attend to, and so I say this not as a polite request, but as a serious and stern suggestion for your consideration: stay out of the clear, and don't go looking into this panic. You wouldn't want to put your family in any danger, would you?"

"No, but..." Cluster began, but he instantly changed countenance. "Wait, is this about those political tracts, the ones that criticize you? Do they have anything to do with this?" he asked, getting more animated.

"I've yet to give those any serious thought, but I know you have no connection to them."

Is she only saying that to me because she's figured out some link between those tracts and the elixir? Or is she trying to say something else that I'm just not catching up on?

"Truth to tell, what led me to tail the Flying Rift were those reports pertaining to the disappearance of unicorn magic," said Cluster as he began pacing back and forth. "I considered bringing it up, since it seems so important, especially when the tracts sprung out of nowhere. Doesn't seem coincidental to me."

"We will see in due time, Cluster."

"If you think the ponies who're vying for this so-called elixir have something to do with any of this, or they intend to start some kind of disturbance, just say it. If yes, then I'll withdraw.  And haven't you thought of putting an end to these pamphlets, seeing as how whoever started them will be making an appearance next month, at the Autumn Festival?"

"And violate a pony's right to their freedom of expression?" she replied with considerable surprise. "Whoever do you take me for, Cluster?" And she let out a soft chuckle, a smile finally returning to her lips. "No, it's quite alright. It won't be a problem. Many of the board members of the Equestrian Council, including myself, are dealing with this whole issue. Those tracts and pamphlets were even pushed out of the front page by the Flying Rift incident, so yes, it really isn't an issue. Still, take caution. I would even advise you to stay in Ponyville until everything clears."

Cluster stopped in place, and before he could reply, she added, "For the sake of transparency I'll tell you outright that I had two goals in mind in coming here. First, I wished to make sure you really were okay and not just trying to sound tough in your letter. Second, to learn what you intended to do after the Flying Rift, and because you're still my student, I reserve the right to know. Thank you for satisfying my wishes, my faithful Cluster. That is all."

Having snapped these final words with the utmost resolution, she started out the door.

"But I still don't understand, what 'business' are you attending? Are you going to find the elixir?" put in Cluster hastily, following her into the living room. But he went quiet, having interrupted whatever conversation was going on between Daisy and Airglow. Upon entrance it was very obvious that they had taken a liking to each other, judging by the bright and goodnatured expressions on their faces, and how they were laughing just then. When Celestia walked by they immediately lost all of that chattery and even hastened to position themselves next to each other.

Celestia gave them friendly nods, they returned with profound bows; Cluster followed her to the porch and stopped there.

"Now I want my wishes satisfied," he said, lowering an eyebrow. "Did you perchance figure out that there are multiple of these 'elixirs,' and that's why you inadvertently implied it'll take long to solve the issue?" He had thrown this question more as a shot in the dark, just to get her reaction, nothing that was rigorously thought out.

But Celestia gave him a solemn and almost weary look. "I know I can't keep everything from you," she said quietly, with a sad smile of defeat, "you truly are the most extraordinary unicorn I've ever met. It will be a very long time before another surpasses you in terms of raw magical talent."

"I appreciate the compliment," replied Cluster slowly, not without narrowing his eyes, as if searching for something.

"As far as speculation is concerned, I can tell you that there are likely many different groups going after a similarly named 'elixir' artifact. What connection do they each have to one another—whether they're all working together, or some are working independently—that remains to be seen. But after much debate with the board members, we've concluded on certain courses of actions—actions, mind you, that a regular pony such as yourself shouldn't get involved in."

"Like I said, I won't get involved. But, you know, don't blame me for being curious. That and..." He frowned. "And I want to make sure we're all safe."

Celestia opened her mouth, but said nothing; she turned to face him, with a meditative expression, as if he had gotten her full attention for the first time. The way he spoke had some hitherto unseen sincerity to it—or rather, not sincerity, but something more vulnerable and tenderhearted; whereas before, in the Princess's experience, Cluster had always fashioned his words with the hint of some prepared comeback, now it was different. But in spite of this seeming tenderheartedness, he still had a touch of grit to his voice, as if he were in pain but was trying to suppress it, all to imply that something deep inside still troubled him, and he would not be upfront about it.

He's always been tenacious, but whatever brought about this change, it might prove to be... "As long as you don't behave unwisely, you should be fine," said Celestia, but paused to clear her throat; she was surprised by how dry her throat had gotten. "And I know you," she continued. "I know you're capable of great judgement."

"I'll trust you, Celestia," he said, flashing her a weak smile. "Take care."

"You too, my student." She took a step off the porch, her wings flared, and with immense force she propelled herself into the sky. Cluster watched for a minute as her figure grew smaller and smaller from afar, till it dashed away from the moon's light and was taken in by the cover of darkness.

Celestia's just as stumped as I am, isn't she? he thought. She's being honest, I think. It's almost like she's trying to stop a leak before the dam breaks, before something gets out of control, and that she's still trying to figure things out. Whatever that "something" happens to be is anypony's guess. She's definitely going to look for the reason which caused the attacks on the Flying Rift, but my mention of the disappearing magic didn't invoke much of a reaction. Has that already been solved? No, like she said, maybe it's best if I stay out of it and let the royal council handle things from here.

Cluster's eyes instantly went wide as another recent memory struck him. Damn it, I forgot to tell her about Marble Solid! He obviously has something to do with this. But... will I have to worry about him from now on... if I really do intend to stay out of it?

He silently stood there for some time in contemplation, almost giving himself a headache, as it were. But he decided not to think about it too much.

I'll write to her as soon as I can about this intel, he resolved.

In all this thinking he didn't even hear the door creak from behind him.

"Um, Cluster?" Daisy strode up right next to him, darting her blinking eyes between him and the empty space he was gazing upon. "Is Princess Celestia gone?"

"Yeah, she's gone."

"Oh! Well..." she started, tilting her head. "You wanna come back inside? Um, oh, your sister's really nice," she added sweetly, as if to encourage him.

Cluster turned around, gesturing with his hoof for her to go in first, then he followed suit. Having shut the door, he approached the couch, though that contemplative yet sad expression remained with him.

"Hey, Cluster," said Airglow curiously, hopping off the couch, "what'd you and the Princess talk about?"

"She just wanted to ask me a few questions, mainly about the Flying Rift incident." He stopped at the couch but did not sit down. "Hey, Daisy"— he turned to her —"how's Aurora doing? Sleeping soundly?"

"Yeah, I just got done feeding her around an hour ago," said Daisy with a bright smile. "She's in the crib right now."

"Aurora? Crib?" babbled Airglow, not sure who to look at. "Is somepony else here?"

"Aurora's my daughter," replied Cluster flatly.

"Oh, your daughter..." muttered Airglow, looking up. "Wait!" She froze, her memory bank failing her. She darted her dumbfounded gaze even faster between Daisy and Cluster, and then all but flew up to him. "You have a daughter!"

"Yeah, I do," he said, again with the same casual and flat tone.

"As in..." Airglow's ears drooped, visible confusion highlighting every feature of her face. "Your adopted daughter?"

"No, biological daughter."

"Biological, as in...?"

"Come on, surely you've been given the birds and the bees talk before."

Judging by how Airglow did not react to his wry comment, she seemed to have accepted this new groundbreaking fact rather wholly. She sat down, thought for another second, then said, though not with very much energy, as if deep in thought, "I mean, congratulations, but... who's the mother?"

"Um, I-I am," Daisy jumped in somewhat quickly, lifting her front hoof a bit. She responded to Airglow's resurrected astonishment with a nervous smile.

"You?" Airglow pointed at Daisy, then looked back at Cluster. "And you?"

"Yeah," said Cluster with a faint blush, rubbing the back of his head. "It's our child."

"Cluster..." Airglow let out in a breathy voice, eyes glittering with unexpected tears. The corners of her mouth shot up into the biggest grin he'd ever seen, right before she threw her arms around him. "I just knew there was some mare out there that you loved! Oh, I'm so happy for you!"

"Yeah, okay, okay!" said Cluster in a vexed and exasperated voice, receding his neck and raising a hoof. "Don't make it weird, Airglow."

But Airglow did not hear him, having flown right up to Daisy, grabbed her hoof with both of hers, and stared right at her with bright, bedazzled eyes. "You're so-o-o-o lucky to be starting a family with Cluster! He really is amazing, isn't he? Isn't he?"

"Y-yeah, he really is!" replied the frightened Daisy, with polite and timid attempts at backing away. She responded to Airglow's cheery giggles with her own forceful and wooden ones. She glanced at Cluster and mouthed the phrase "help me."

"Hey, I've got an idea!" Cluster deftly ran up and placed a hoof on Airglow's shoulder, drawing her attention to him, flashing her a warm and buoyant smile, speaking with the cheeriest and most upbeat voice he could muster. "Why don't I show you our dear Aurora? She's so adorable, sis, you're gonna love her!"

Apparently this display was effective. Airglow turned completely to him, beaming, almost hopping on her hooves. She gleefully nodded her head, like a filly who was about to open her first present on Hearth's Warming, as he began to lead her upstairs.

Wow, thought Daisy, watching Cluster lead his ecstatic sister away, he's a pretty convincing actor.


* * *


It was about thirty minutes later, and in the bathroom down the hall, on the second floor, the noise of a shower subsided. The curtain was pulled apart, and out stepped Airglow, completely drenched with heavy wisps of steam clinging to her body.

"Ahh, that's so nice!" she prattled blissfully, landing on the mat and grabbing hold of a white folded towel from the metal holder. She started drying herself off, finishing with her mane, around which she wrapped the towel. It had been a while since she took a shower, though she had tried her best not to explain. The soothing sensation of hot water falling rapidly on her, face to the shower-head, feeling the numerous spray points—there really was no better feeling.

After having seen Aurora dozing off in her crib, combined with the shower, and Airglow felt all prongs of tension and anxiety slip away from her. A warmness spread inside her, one she did not want to let go. The foal was indeed very adorable, and she couldn't help but stare at it with starry, almost tearful eyes. She felt happy for Cluster, for Daisy, and even for herself.

Unfortunately the foal had woken and started to make a fuss. That was when Cluster recommended her to go clean up, and to take as long as she likes. Weirdly enough—not that Airglow dwelled on it for long, but she still found it weird—was that Cluster had asked Daisy to bring the bottle of milk that was still in the fridge. That was when Cluster fed Aurora himself and Daisy watched by the doorway.

Why a bottle? thought Airglow during the shower while her eyes were closed, basking in the steaming water. Sweet Aurora barely looks older than a month. Aren't mares supposed to feed their foals, with their...? Nah, I'm thinking about it too much. I'm sure there's a reason. It's probably because I'm here, and they didn't want to make it look weird.

Still, the thought stuck to her almost half-consciously, as it were.

"I hope I wasn't the one who woke her up," muttered Airglow, leaning over the sink and wiping a spot of steam off the mirror, gazing somewhat absentmindedly at her reflection. She blinked a few times, looked aside twice, and took the towel off her head. Her mane, still slightly wet, flopped down over her face; she pushed it aside and kept staring.

Should I get a mane-cut? she thought again. It is kinda long. She blew a strand of hair that was still over her face and smiled. Or maybe not. I kinda like it long.

Having thoroughly dried off, she stepped out of the bathroom and starting making her way to the stairway, but her attention was caught by the door to Aurora's room which was cracked open. She stopped, having nothing better to do, and curiously peeked through.

Cluster sat there, looking over his daughter. His chin rested in his arms which were folded together, leaning on the crib. Airglow stood there for a while, not knowing why herself, simply observing the still image of her brother. What struck her was his expression: he was smiling, but there was something sad about his smile. His gaze was cloudy and somehow wistful. He looked at his daughter with a sense of loving care, longing, yet gloomily.

Airglow heard several whispered words coming from Cluster's mouth, but she could not make them out.

"You really have your mom's eyes," he said in an undertone. Aurora was quietly asleep, softly snoring and tugging at a blanket draped over her. "She would've been so happy to see you now..." Cluster went on even more quietly; he narrowed his eyes, and his smile slowly vanished.

Airglow smiled, and she was just about to leave them be, but she caught the tiniest glimpses of something trembling on Cluster's face. She squinted her own eyes, trying all she could to see through the darkness.

Cluster let out a long, heavy exhale; he brought a hoof up to wipe the tears that started to run down his cheeks.

"I'll protect you no matter what," he said, bending forth and very gently planting a kiss in Aurora's forehead. The latter squirmed for a bit, then resumed her sound sleep. "No matter what happens, you'll be safe."

Airglow was still staring, as if frozen in place, when all her senses rushed back to her and she was prodded on the shoulder by Daisy.

"Oh, hey," said Airglow quietly, backing away from the door.

"Did you have a good shower?" asked Daisy, smiling.

Airglow returned the smile and nodded. "It was something I didn't know I needed. Thank you so much."

"I'm really glad to hear that. If you need anything else, just ask." She looked at the door, then back to Airglow. "Is Cluster in there?"

"Yeah, he is. Aurora's sleeping right now. But... you know, I still find it crazy that I'm now an aunt. It's just so weird."

"You think so?" Daisy looked up for a moment.

"It's just that—I thought aunts were supposed to be old, y'know? Not somepony like me," she tittered, then sighed. "Yeah... maybe it's just me." Airglow's eyes suddenly softened, and still with that simple-hearted smile she took a step closer to Daisy. "You and Cluster must really love each other," she threw in gaily.

Daisy shot Airglow a look, but she suddenly cleared her throat. "Right, right," she chuckled, rubbing the back of her head.

"Come on..." Airglow batted her lashes, slowly backing Daisy into a corner. Daisy's excusified chuckling buckled and gave way to an impetuously nervous stare at Airglow's grin. "You gotta describe it to me more. I'm a sucker for this sort of thing, especially when he's involved."

"Um..." said Daisy dumbly, ears slanting down. What had gotten into her!

"Do you really love my brother?"

Daisy gulped. They held their stare for at least five seconds. All of a sudden Airglow dissolved into a fit of laughter, the kind of laughter which is mischievous at first but instantly turns to an innocent confession; almost falling, she leaned against the wall, holding her sides.

"Oh, sorry, I'm so sorry!" she said between titters, returning to her previous, more genuine smile. "That was so bad of me! I'm just joking around! Really, that was so silly, I don't even know why I did it. I must have caught that behaviour from Cluster..."

"R-right, that was a joke, yeah, right, I knew that..." Daisy exhaled a breath she didn't even know she was holding. She tried matching Airglow's cheerier mood, but it didn't hold; some new wave of encouragement seemingly swept through her and blazed out in her downcast eyes. She timidly crossed her legs. "But... yeah, you're right, I love him," she muttered, barely audibly enough to be heard, then muttered again, "I do love him."

"I think I get it now," said Airglow. "I mean, I think I understand why he's changed." She gestured at the door to Aurora's room. "I could never come to terms with what he was thinking before the Summer Sun Celebration, but now he must be a lot happier, right?"

"I guess so," she said, looking almost solemnly at Airglow. "But sometimes, I get the feeling that when he becomes happy, or when he tries to be happy, he's in pain."

Airglow blinked, not expecting such a comment.

The door behind her slowly opened. Cluster stepped out into the hall, closed the door, and approached them.

"Aurora's sleeping, she was just hungry," he said to Daisy. "And I can see you finished taking your shower, sis. Oh, by the way," he emphasized, looking at Airglow with slight concern, "do you really want to sleep over tonight? Aurora might start crying in the middle of the night—it's happened before—so I can't exactly promise you a good night's sleep."

"It's fine," replied Airglow. "I wouldn't mind at all, even if that were the case."

"Right. Anyway..." Cluster started heading to the staircase. "You guys can hit the hay whenever you'd like. I'll be in the living room for a bit."

Daisy and Airglow exchanged glances. Daisy in particular seemed stirred, having uttered those last few words, while in Airglow's case she could not shake that frigid air which suddenly started to come off of Cluster. Still, something else more openhearted and sensitive radiated from him as well, filling Airglow with some newfound hope that did not exist before Fillydelphia.

She and Daisy smiled courteously to each other. They parted ways in the hallway.

Cluster had hardly sat down on the couch when Airglow descended the steps as well and sat across from him.

"You want to stay here, too?" asked Cluster in surprise.

Shoot, I didn't even consider that he may want some alone time. "My bad, I'll go somewhere else," said Airglow sheepishly.

"No, it's fine," Cluster cut in before she could leave the couch. "Just got a lot on my mind, that's all. Want to think some things over. You can stay."

Airglow placed her fore-hooves between her legs in an almost childlike stance, pressing her back to the couch, trying to get comfortable. She cast a glance at the hearth, now burnt out, with a spiff of smoke releasing from the charcoal every now and then.

But she had a lot on her mind, too. Cluster was looking at her somehow attentively, yet with a preoccupied stare, evidently waiting for her to initiate some kind of conversation.

"What?" she said automatically.

"It's nothing, but"— he leaned forward, hunching his shoulders —"you look like you want to tell me something."

Airglow bit her lip, but immediately released it, having become conscious of what she was doing. "You think... Sharp is gonna be able to figure out whoever sent those bad guys to the Flying Rift?" she said suddenly, her face going hot for some reason.

"Sure. He's a capable guy, plus he's serving under Celestia." Which reminds me, he's here in Ponyville right now. I should go talk to him when I get the chance.

Cluster leaned his right cheek on his hoof. He and Airglow sat there in silence, and yet he noticed the distracted and almost unconfident expression on her face.

"I didn't know how to word it before," she said suddenly, "with everything that's happened. But now that it's all calm waters for now, I've been meaning to ask you for advice, or..."

"Advice?"

"No, not advice," she said again, shaking her head. "It's not advice. Sorry, I didn't phrase that well. It's just"— she looked at him more intently now; he lifted his cheek from his hoof —"I know that you've begun acting differently, ever since Fillydelphia, and I think that's really great and all. It's even encouraged me to ask you, because I really trust you, so... um... okay, here goes." She took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for something. She went on, "Have I ever told you the first time somepony asked me out?"

Cluster's ears perked at such an unexpected question, but his expression remained relatively unchanged. "I don't think so," he said.

"Well, you know, I'm a fan of romance novels, ever since I was little, and in those novels the guy always asks the girl out, and it's usually a high school setting. I remember how those scenes are often written—they always crown it as an important moment in the story, always a big deal, with how their hearts flutter, and how the girl is described as feeling like she's being lifted off her hooves. I know it sounds really dumb, but it was always a small dream of mine to have that happen to me. Then it... it did."

"I don't see what's so dumb about that," said Cluster. "Seeking romantic affection is completely normal. I've dated my fair share back in high school."

"But that's what I didn't understand. One day, during my first year of high school, a colt came up to me during our lunch break and asked me out. But I didn't feel anything. He was a nice guy, don't get me wrong, and he seemed really eager. But that fluttering in your heart, that rush of blood to your face, the feeling of floating off the ground—I didn't get any of that. Nothing. Needless to say I turned him down. That night I went to bed thinking if he did something wrong, or if something was wrong with me. That's when it hit me—there was never any colt I really liked, I mean, 'liked' liked, you know?"

Cluster was surprised, but astutely kept silent and stared at his sister, hoping she would express herself more clearly.

Airglow observed his astuteness and added, though with evident hesitation, "Is it... weird... for mares... to like... other mares?"

Now Cluster definitely did not know what to say. He shifted on the couch, looked around the room for a brief second, then said, "Well... I really have no idea. But does it matter?"

Though Airglow was hardly maintaining eye contact with him, instead timidly tapping her hooves together. Her whole composure betrayed some kind of concealed embarrassment. "I mean," she said in a barely audible voice, twisting her mouth to the side, "it could matter a little bit. Would it be weird if I liked mares?" She looked up at him.

Cluster's eyes lit up, and he at once came to understand what she meant. Though, to be blunt, it is funny that it took him that long to understand.

His whole face softened. And, smiling warmly and wholeheartedly, he rose from his couch, strode up to her, and embraced her in a hug. At first she was caught off break, but was almost instantly put at ease.

"It's not weird at all," he said, looking at her. "Like whoever you want to like. Nothing about you could ever change."

Now Airglow realized all at once that her previous apprehensions pertaining to this fact had seemed like so many bad dreams—impossible and even silly to fret over. She happily rested her head against his chest, and for a whole minute they stayed like that. She accepted her brother's affections without compromise.

"Thanks," she said, smiling. "I think I needed to hear that. I love you, brother."

"Love you, too, sis."

Little by little a warm ease of mind—that feeling she had felt the week prior when meeting Cluster at the hospital entrance—returned to her. She had always loved Cluster, ever since they met, but now she saw him somewhat differently. After that minute they separated and did not bring up the topic again, felt no need to. Everything that needed to be said and done was said and done.

"You wanna go to bed now?" asked Cluster, noting the time.

Airglow happily nodded, and the two left the couch. But just then three very hard, very distinct knocks came from the front door.

"Huh, who could be out here at a time like this?" he remarked. He went to the door, opened it, and was very surprised to see a guard, one decked out in full armour save for the helmet, standing at attention.

"Forgive me for intruding on your privacy at such a late hour, but this is urgent," said the guard. He indeed had a very grave expression. "Are you Cluster Tale?"

"Is something the matter?" asked Airglow from the stairway.

"Yeah, I'm Cluster Tale," replied Cluster. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Well, sir," began the guard, his frown growing more and more anxious, "I bring you very tragic news concerning your father, Bronze Pocket."
> Part VI – Chapter III – A Sudden Decision
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

To get the fullest and clearest account of all that had transpired in Ponyville before the arrival of Cluster and Airglow, we must take a step back and see what Nova was up to upon his return. It was still evening when he arrived in Ponyville, only a few hours away from dusk.

He had urged the coachpony from before to hurry, and on arrival he suddenly reached a new and "immutable" plan, he had said, "a plan to obtain that cursed money" before night time. "And to think that a stallion's fate should be ruined because of a worthless five thousand bits!" he exclaimed contemptuously. "I'll have it done today!"

And had it not been for ceaselessly thinking of Bouquet Rose and whether anything had happened with her, he would perhaps have become quite happy again. But the thought of her stabbed his heart every moment like a sharp needle. In his mind, he did not have much time left before Bouquet left with her "former one." Contrary to what you might expect, not a single ounce of anger or animosity remained in him. Jealous, yes, but not hate. He did not hate this former officer. Nova even respected him. But he still loved Bouquet, more than anypony in the world, he could not deny this fact.

And so jealousy was again seething in him. But he also despised himself for his bad feelings. He had to hurry in any case. The little money he was left with had helped him get by, but now he needed those five thousand no matter the cost. What faced him now was that "plan" he had thought up on the ride to Ponyville, the carrying out of which could not be put off any longer. What emerged was that in only a few hours before a certain incident, of which I shall describe below, Nova no longer had a single bit, and pawned his dearest possessions for enough to get by, whereas a few more hours later and it was reported that he suddenly had thousands in his hooves.

He ran to his rented lodging there in Ponyville first, washed himself up, combed his mane, replaced his old saddlebag with a larger one, and went to see Olva Velvet. Alas, his "plan" lay there. He had made up his mind to borrow five thousand from her. Moreover, suddenly and unexpectedly, he had acquired a remarkable certainty that she would not refuse him. It may be wondered why, given such certainty, he had not gone there first, to his own society, so to speak, instead of trying his luck at some impossibly remote casino in the far north of Equestria.

But the thing was that for the past month he had almost broken off relations with Olva Velvet, and even before then had been only slightly acquainted with her, and, moreover, he knew very well that she could not stand him. The librarian had detested him from the beginning, simply because he was Misty Gem's fiancé, whereas she, for some reason, suddenly wanted Misty Gem to drop him and marry Cluster Tale, because he was "so much more suited for her."

Olva detested Nova's manners, too. Nova even laughed at her and had said of her once that this lady "is as bold and lively as she is uneducated." And so that day, on the ride to Ponyville, he had been struck by a brilliant idea. "If she is so against me marrying Misty Gem, to whatever degree that may be, then why should she deny me the five thousand, when this money would precisely enable me to leave Misty and clear out of Ponyville forever? These spoiled high-up ladies, if they take it into their heads to want something, will spare nothing to get their way. Besides, she's so rich," Nova reasoned.

Nova became all giddy at developing his new idea, but that is what always happened to him in all his undertakings, all his sudden decisions, in a manner of speaking. He gave himself passionately to every new idea. Nevertheless, as he stepped up to Golden Oak, he suddenly felt a chill of horror run down his spine: only at that second did he fully realize and now with extraordinary clarity that this was his last hope, that if this should fail, there was nothing left in Equestria but "to kill and rob somepony for the five thousand, and that's all..."

All at once, nothing went his way. He knocked on the door, waited for about ten seconds, then knocked again a bit more loudly. On the second attempt, the door opened to reveal Olva, but she instantly gave him an irritated and disdainful look. He asked to be accepted inside. Olva let him in, though with some reluctance, and it was clear that for their entire conversation she did not listen to a single word he said. He sat on a couch across from her, in front of a table.

"I've come on some extremely important business, madame," Nova explained clumsily. "I am in a most desperate position, and if you do not help me, everything will fall through, and I myself will fall through first of all. Forgive the triviality of the expression, but if you were an experience doctor, I'd be an experienced patient."

"Just marvel at my instincts, Nova Steel," she replied with a haughty look, "all morning I felt certain you would come today."

"That is indeed amazing, madame," said Nova, "but like I have stated, I've come on important business... the most important, for me, that is, madame, for me alone, and I am in a hurry..."

"I know you have the most important business, Nova Steel, here there's no question of presentiments, no retrograde pretenses. This is even mathematics: you could not fail to come after all that's happened with Misty Gem, you just couldn't, you simply couldn't, it's mathematics."

"The realism of life itself, madame, that's what it is! Allow me to explain, however—"

"Precisely realism. I'm all for realism now, I've been taught a good lesson about it. Have you heard that there's a second auction to be hosted in Ponyville next month?"

"No, madame, this is the first time I've heard of it."

"Well, just imagine this—"

"Madame," Nova interrupted, "I can imagine only that my position is terribly desperate, and that if you do not help me, I... I might get a fever soon..."

"I know, I know you're in a fever, I know everything, and you could hardly be in any other state of spirit, and whatever you may say, I know everything prior. I took your fate into consideration long ago, Nova Steel, I've been following it, studying it. Oh, take my word for it, I'm an experienced doctor of souls, Nova Steel."

"Madame, if you have been following my case," said Nova, forcing himself into pleasantry, "then allow me to explain the reason for which I've ventured... for your help, I mean. I've come in despair, in the last degree of despair, to ask you to lend me money, five thousand, but to lend it on a sure, on the surest pledge, madame, on the surest security! Only let me explain—"

"Wh-at! You want five thousand!" she exclaimed, jumping up from her couch. "Whatever else you're going to say, Nova Steel, I've already told you—if you want money, you better fetch yourself off to hard labour!"

"B-but my situation, madame, if you'd only listen—"

"Ah! You're starting to give me a fever, Nova Steel," she interrupted in the strictest of tones. "I don't have what you want. You... you should probably leave."

Indeed, it had seemed for a very small moment that Olva would be ready to save Nova from ruin, given how she had been speaking to him. But this was not so.

"But the five thousand!" Nova went cold. "I admit it, I've betrayed Misty. I was completely dishonourable. But here I've come to love another, one you may despise, but with whom I absolutely cannot part, absolutely, and the five thousand—"

"Part with everything, Nova!" Olva interrupted once more. "Go find your wealth and glory somewhere else, go to a bank, I have nothing for you."

"Madame, that's not..." Nova clasped his hooves imploringly.

"Look, dearie, most of my money is stored up in Manehattan. I couldn't give you five thousand, even if I wanted to. Just now I was fighting with my manager, and the other day I borrowed five hundred bits from that auction maestro, Spender Spent. No, no, I have no money. Even if I had money, I would not give it to you. First, I never lend to anypony. Lending means quarrelling. But to you, to you especially I wouldn't give anything. Even if I loved you I wouldn't give anything. I never lend. Now—please leave or I will be forced to call the authorities."

"Ah, damn it all!" Nova suddenly roared, and banged his hoof on the table with all his might.

Olva cried in fear and flew to the other end of the drawing room. 

Nova spat and with quick steps walked out of the library, into the street. He ran like a madpony, drawing the attention of several random ponies he passed by.


* * *


He eventually reached away from town center and onto a gravel path, crossing a grassy field, after half an hour of running. He ran on, eventually stopping to catch his breath, having at once recognized the yellow bench between the tree and bush. And all at once he suddenly dissolved in tears like a little child. He walked on, unconsciously wiping his tears away, and at last found himself in front of a familiar meadow, and up ahead he could make out Bronze Pocket's house.

At first he thought of running across to Shovel Rod's cottage, but thought better of it. "No need," he muttered to himself, "no need to go there, no need at all. Mustn't cause any alarm. Pah! They've all been bought!"

A different plan took shape in him: he ran down a lane, making a long detour around Bronze Pocket's house, soon coming straight to a solitary back lane, empty and uninhabited, bordered on one side by a wattle fence, and on the other side by the strong, high fence surrounding Bronze's garden. He managed to jump over the fence, pulling himself up energetically, and sat there on the ground for a moment. He noticed that the sun was starting to sink below the horizon as the sky took on an orange hue.

There was a little bathhouse nearby in the garden, but from the fence the lighted windows of the house could also be seen. Just as I thought—father is in his bedroom, thought Nova. Though he knew nopony was there to neither see nor hear him, still he instinctively hid himself, stood stock still, and began listening. But there was dead silence and, as if in purpose, complete stillness, and not a single wisp of wind.

Having paused for a minute, he quietly trotted across the garden, over the grass; he walked for a while, skirting the bushes, concealing each step, listening himself to each of his own steps. It took him a few minutes to reach the particular window which had caught his eye. He saw that there, right under the window, there were several large, high bushes. The door from the house into the garden on the east side of the house was locked—he checked as he passed by. At last he reached the bushes and hid behind them. He held his breath.

I must wait now, he thought, wait till they reassure themselves, in case they hear my steps and are listening... if only I don't make a sound...

He waited for about two more minutes, but his heart was pounding violently, and he felt at moments as if he were suffocating. No, my heart won't stop pounding, he thought, unable to wait any longer. Quietly, he approached the window and stood on his hind-legs. Before him lay the whole of Bronze Pocket's bedroom. It was a small room, divided by several red portières. There was that old stallion, his father. He began examining Bronze. He was wearing a silk dressing gown, which Nova had never seen on him before. Clean, stylish linen, with gold studs, peeped out from under the collar of the gown.

Bronze stood near the window, apparently deep in thought. Suddenly he jerked his head up, listened for a moment, and, having heard nothing, went over to his table, poured himself a glass of brandy, and drank it. Then he heaved a deep sigh, paused again for a moment, absentmindedly went up to the mirror on the wall and began to examine his old, withered face. Some very light and faded bruises remained near his right eye.

He's alone, thought Nova, or at least I think he's alone.

Bronze stepped away from the mirror, suddenly turned to the window, and looked out. Nova at once jumped back into the shadow of the bushes to hide.

Bronze stepped away from the window once more. It seemed as if he were waiting for something, though why out the window—who could know.

Perhaps he's already spent those five thousand, the ones he keeps in his little chest, thought Nova painfully. He jumped closer and began looking through the window again.

The old stallion was now sitting at a table, obviously feeling dejected. Finally he leaned on his elbow and put his right hoof to his cheek. Nova stared greedily.

Nova later recalled that his mind at that moment was remarkably clear and took in everything to the last detail, every feature. But anguish, the anguish of indecision, was growing in his heart with exceeding rapidity. Then suddenly, having made up his mind, he reached out and tapped the window-pane.

Bronze gave a start, jerked his head up, and stared at the window for a whole ten seconds. He squinted his eyes, got up from the table, and slowly made his way to the window. He opened it and stuck his head out.

"Eh, is it beggars again?" he muttered in a hoarse whisper, looking in all directions, left and right. "I'm not running a charity, you hear me! Go back to your groveling!"

Nova watched from the side and did not move. The entirety of his father's profile, which he found so hideous, the whole of his wicked eyes, his hooked snout, his sickly sweet smile, his thin, chapped lips—all was brightly lit from the left by the slanting light of the lamp shining from the room.

Terrible, horrible fury suddenly boiled up in Nova's heart. There he is, my tormentor, the tormentor of my whole life, my enemy, evil itself! It was a surge of that same sudden, vengeful fury which had possessed him during the financial dispute scene, of which Cluster mediated. I said that I would come back and kill him. I don't know anymore, but now, it's so hateful to me, that... The personal loathing was increasing unbearably.

Bronze shrugged, and started to withdraw his head back into the room. Nova, all beside himself, suddenly leaped up, jumping right through the window and tackled Bronze to the ground.


* * *


Just at that time Shovel Rod happened to be passing by, having left his cottage. Why it had to have happened in that instance, I cannot say for sure. Perhaps Shovel Rod felt pangs of conscience for leaving the house unguarded, after that incident of Nova's initial assault on his father. These were perilous times.

Of course, Shovel Rod only wanted to take a look from the porch, because he was having trouble walking, the joint pains of old age catching up to him. Just then he remembered that he had not locked the garden gate that evening. He was a most precise and punctilious pony, one of established order and age-old habit. Almost limping now and in need of one of those four-legged canes, he went down the porch steps and walked out towards the garden. Sure enough, the gate was open. He stepped into the garden—perhaps he assumed something out of place, perhaps he heard some noise, but, glancing to the left, he saw Bronze's window open.

"Why is it open? It's not summertime no more," said Shovel Rod. And suddenly, just at that very moment, he caught a glimpse of something unusual right in front of him in the garden. Several dozen meters away from him a large figure, that of a stallion, seemed to be running in the shadows, and it was moving quickly.

"In the name of—!" cried Shovel Rod, and, forgetting himself, ignoring the pain in his back, he rushed to intercept the running pony. He took a short cut, obviously knowing the layout of the land better than anypony. The dark figure ran behind the bathhouse, dashing for the wall. Shovel Rod kept his eyes on him and ran. He reached the fence just as the fugitive was climbing over it. Beside himself, Shovel Rod yelled, rushed forward, and clutched the fugitive's leg with both arms.

He recognized the pony, it was him, Nova Steel. He was wearing a saddlebag, and both sides were completely bulky and drooping downwards; evidently he was carrying sometime (or several things) which happened to be fairly heavy. Just so you know, Nova was hauling a whole stack of five thousand bits on him.

"Murderer!" Shovel Rod shouted at the top of his lungs, but that was all he had time to shout; suddenly he fell, having been struck down by a heavy force. Nova climbed back down the garden and bent over the stricken elder. For a second he examined the prostrate figure before him.

The elderly stallion's head had a bloody bruise on it; Nova had stomped down on him a little too hard. He reached out and began feeling his face, unable to see clearly through the cover of shadows. He wanted to know whether Shovel's skull had cracked or he was merely dazed. But the blood was flowing, flowing terribly, and instantly poured out in hot streams all over Nova's hooves.

"Wh... wha... what have I done?" Nova suddenly came to his senses. He got up and stared hopelessly at the blooded old stallion before him, laying on the grass. "If he's dead, then..." Tears emerged from his eyes, and he said out loud in a trembling voice, "You brought this on yourself, old fellow, now you have to lie there!"

He dashed back to the fence, jumped over it into the lane, and started running. His hooves, chest, and even a part of his face were all soaked in blood. It was almost dark now, practically dusk—astronomical dusk, that is. Many ponies, in the streets of the town, remembered afterwards how they had met a wildly running stallion that day.


* * *


Eventually he found the lodging in which Sharp Heat had rented out, because he had told him the anticipated address in Fillydelphia.

Sharp had managed to obtain a warrant to search Misty's house (who was now in Canterlot), listened to the whole story from the aunt about how thieves had broken in and trashed the place, but that objects of value—necklaces, bracelets, and so on—were all left untouched, that is, all thrown to the floor, but nothing stolen as far as they could tell. He had gone over a list of recent transactions, noted the specific book of interest, searched for it, found it, but no card was inside.

She found the card herself, he had thought, so maybe she disposed of it? Or she gave it to somepony? Phew, this is tough!

While Sharp no longer depended on his wheelchair, he was still covered in medical wrappings: both his fore-legs, his chest, up to his neck, all still covered. He had donned a frock coat to appear a bit more normal. It worked to some effect. At this time of the day Sharp had returned to his lodging.

It was close to eight o'clock when Nova knocked on Sharp's door. He was having tea at that time, and was getting ready to look over the official documents to see if he had missed anything. He opened the door and Nova immediately stepped inside.

"Nova?" said Sharp in bewilderment, but only a second later did he see his bloodstained face. "What in Equestria happened to you!"

"So," said Nova, "I've come for my crossbow and brought you the money. Many thanks. I'm in a hurry, Sharp, please make it fast."

Sharp grew more and more surprised: in the large pouches of Nova's saddlebag he suddenly noticed piles of bits, and, what was more, he had walked in with all of that, as if without care for being seen. Nopony in the world would walk around with thousands of bits on them, just like that. Banks exist for a reason.

And afterwards, to the further questioning of certain interested ponies as to how much money there was, Sharp replied that it was difficult to tell then by eye, maybe four thousand, maybe five; his saddlebag was big and "hefty." Nova, as Sharp also testified later, "wasn't quite himself, really, not that he was drunk but seemed to be in an animated state, distracted, and at the same time apparently concentrated, as if he were thinking about something, getting at something, but couldn't make up his mind. He was in a great hurry, responded abruptly in a very strange manner, and at moments seemed not grieved at all but even cheerful."

"But what's going on? What happened?" Sharp shouted again, staring wildly at his visitor. "How did you get so covered in blood? Did you fall? Look!"

He seized Nova by the arm and placed him in front of a mirror. Nova saw his bloodstained face, gave a start, and frowned wrathfully.

"Ah, to tartartus! Just what I need," he muttered angrily, sliding the saddlebag off of him; it hit the floor with a very audible thump. "Have you got some rag... to wipe myself off?"

"So you're only stained and not wounded? Then you'd better wash," said Sharp. "There's the basin, let me help you."

"The basin? Good, good... only where am I going to put this?" With quite a strange sort of bewilderment he pointed at his saddlebag on the floor, filled with bits, looking questioningly at Sharp, as if the latter had to decide where he should put his own money.

"I don't know. Put it here on the table, or leave it by the stool—nothing will happen to it."

"By the stool? Yes, there. Good... No, you see, it's all nonsense!" he cried, as if suddenly coming out of his distraction. "Look: first let's finish this business, the crossbow, I mean, give it back to me, and here's your money... because I really, really must... and I have no time, no time at all..."

And searching through the saddlebag, he collected a small pile of ten-bit coins—not bothering to count if it was twenty exactly, it was probably more—and placed them on the table nearby.

"How'd you get so rich?" asked Sharp. "Wait, why are you even here? I thought you'd be coming with your brother and sister... or was I mistaken?"

"I have many things that I must do—splendid things!" exclaimed Nova strangely, as if some thought had struck him. "I'll start a whole feast, just like before, with champagne and caviar, and cheese and fruits, everything, whatever they've got. And I mustn't forget the sweets, the candies and chocolates, toffee as well."

"Eh, well, whatever you mean by that," said Sharp sternly. "Let's go wash up. Here, leave the saddlebag here"— he started to lift the saddlebag, grunting from the weight, and placed it on the table, but suddenly he cried out, "Look, there's blood on it, too!"

"It's... it's not the saddlebag. Only a little bit from my coat, it soaked right through," Nova explained at once with surprising trustfulness. Sharp listened, frowning.

"How in Equestria did you get like this? You must have had a fight with sompony," he muttered.

They began to wash. Sharp held the jug and poured water. Nova hurried and did not soap his hooves well. His hooves were trembling, as Sharp recalled afterwards. Sharp at once ordered him to use more soap and scrub harder, cleaning both himself and the saddlebag. It was as if, in that moment, he was gaining more and more of an upper hand over Nova. Let us note that Sharp Heat was not of timid nature in the least, though that should already be obvious to you.

"Look, you didn't clean behind the ear very well; now scrub your face, here, on the temples. Where are you going? Do you want a shirt?"

"No time. Look, I'll just..." Nova went on with the same trustfulness, wiping his face and hooves and re-equipping his saddlebag.

"Tell me, now, how in Equestria did you get like this? Did you have a fight with somepony? Was it in the tavern, like the other time? It wasn't that sick young fellow again, was it—the one you beat and dragged around?" Sharp recalled as if in reproach. "Did you beat somepony else... or kill them, possibly?"

"Nonsense!" cried Nova.

"Why nonsense?"

"Never mind," said Nova, and he suddenly grinned. "I just ran down a very old stallion by a garden."

"Ran down? A very old stallion?"

"Yes, that's right!" Nova shouted, looking Sharp straight in the face, laughing for some reason.

"For Celestia's sake, did you kill somepony?"

"We made peace. Had a fight, then made peace. Somewhere. We parted friends. Some fool... he's forgiven me... surely he's forgiven me by now. If he'd gotten up, he wouldn't have forgiven me." Nova scrunched his face for a second. "Only, you know, forget him, banish him to the moon like Nightmare Moon! Do you hear, forget him! Never mind! No more now!" Nova snapped resolutely.

"I mean, why go getting into trouble with everypony... like the other time with that kid, over some stupid comment? You've had a fight, and now you're going off on a spree? You mentioned a feast and a whole banquet of food. What do you need all that for?"

"Please just give me the crossbow, Sharp. Like I said, I have no time. I'd like to chat with you, but I have no time. And there's no need, it's too late for talking. Ah! Where's the money, where's the saddlebag?" he cried, looking around the room.

"It's on you. You're carrying it right now. Did you forget? Really, money is like water for you. Here, I'll get your crossbow for you. I have it with me, fortunately for you, I've been carrying it around till I return to Canterlot. Strange, just last month you pawned them for two hundred, and now look how many thousands you've got. How much?"

"Five!" Nova laughed, feeling at his saddlebag.

"You'll lose it that way. Did you get it from a lender?"

"A lender? A money lender!" Nova shouted at the top of his lungs, and burst out laughing. "Do you want to know about a lender, Sharp? There's a lady here, the librarian at Golden Oak, who'll fork out five thousand on the spot. She did it for me. You know Mrs. Olva Velvet?"

"Not personally, but I've heard about her and seen her. Did she really give you five thousand? Just forked it out like that?" Sharp looked doubtful.

"Go there tomorrow, when the sun soars aloft, when the sky praises and glorifies Princess Celestia. Go to her, to madame Olva, and ask her yourself if she forked me out five thousand or not. See what she says."

"I don't know what terms you're on with her... since you say it so positively. I suppose she did. But where are you running off to?"

"Baltimare, to that tavern."

"Baltimare? But it's practically night!"

"I'm after a mare's heart! To tartarus with these thousands!"

"I don't understand you..."

"You think I'm drunk?"

"Not drunk. I'm not sure what."

"I'm drunk in spirit, Sharp Heat, drunk in spirit, but enough!"

Sharp, meanwhile, had retrieved the case with the crossbow stored inside. Nova opened the case, took out the crossbow, and carefully checked if any bolts were inside. Not seeing any, he opened the cartridge, picked up one of the bolts from the case, and rammed it in. Then he clicked the mechanism and stored it back inside the case.

"What are you doing?" Sharp watched him with uneasy curiosity.

"Just a whim. Now, if you had decided to blow your brains out, would you look at the bolt before you loaded the crossbow?"

"Huh? What are you talking about?" asked Sharp uneasily

"Ah, forget it. It's all nonsense, a moment's nonsense. There, that's done," he added, strapping the case on top of his saddlebag. "Nonsense, my dear Sharp, it's all nonsense." Then he gave Sharp a long, meaning smile, and said, "Time to go now."

"To Baltimare? No, wait... So you're thinking of blowing your brains out!" cried Sharp.

"The bolt? Nonsense! I want to live, I love life! Believe me. I love the golden light of the sun most of all. My dear Sharp Heat, do you know how to remove yourself?"

"What do you mean, remove myself?"

"To make way. To make way for one you hold dear, and for one you hate. And so that the one you hate becomes dear to you—to make way like that! Go, pass by, while I..."

"While you...?"

"Enough. I'm going."

"I swear, I'll write to the authorities," reproached Sharp, looking at him, "to keep you from going there. Why do you need to go to Baltimare now? It's hours away. And what tavern? The same one from before, the one you told me about?"

"There's a mare there, a mare, and let that be enough for you, Sharp, drop it!"

"Listen, even though you're a pretty crazy and wild-living guy, somehow I've always liked you. That's why I worry."

"Crazy, you say? You're right, I'm as crazy and wild as can be. Enough. Farewell, my dear friend." Nova took off without another word, running at full speed.

Sharp, for his part, remained far too bothered by this ordeal. He started cleaning up, disposing of the rest of his tea, pondering very heavily what to make of this, still with incredible unease shackling his thought process. After half an hour passed he could no longer take it, so he left his desk and bolted outside, deciding to get to the bottom of this.
> Part VI – Chapter IV – At the Former Tavern
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was officially dusk by the time Nova reached the coachpony station. Luckily Baltimare was a bit closer to Ponyville than FIllydelphia, so the trip took about five hours instead of the previous five-and-a-half. He had badgered the coachpony, hastening him along, offering more bits than was necessary. The coachpony, who at first was all indignant, happily accepted and even took off especially fast when Nova promised him an extra tip.

The swiftness of the ride had refreshed Nova. The air was cool; by the time he arrived it was well past midnight, and big stars shone in the sky. But Nova was troubled, very troubled, and though many things now tormented his soul, at this moment his whole being yearned for her, for his queen, to whom he was flying in order to look at her for the last time.

I will say just one thing: his heart did not argue even for a moment. I will also say that, having thought it over during the ride, this jealous pony no longer felt the least jealousy towards this new rival who had sprung up from nowhere, this "officer." If some other stallion appeared, he would at once have become jealous, and would perhaps have drenched his hooves with blood; but towards this other one, "her first," he felt no jealous hatred as he flew along to the city, not even any hostility.

"This is beyond dispute, this is his right and hers; this is her first love, which in years she had not forgotten; so she has loved only him for all this time and I... what am I doing here? Why am I here, and what for? Step aside, Nova, make way! And what am I now? It's all finished now, even without the officer, even if he hadn't come at all, it would still be finished..."

It was with these words and resolve that the carriage came rattling into Baltimare.

"Here I come!" cried Nova. "Everything involving she and I took place at this tavern, so she must be here!" He paid the exhausted coachpony an extra ten to reign in right up to the high porch of the tavern. Nova jumped from the carriage just as the innkeeper, who was in fact on his way to bed, peered out from the porch, curious who could have driven up like that.

"Is it you, Bore Hoof?" asked Nova.

The innkeeper bent forward, peered, and ran headlong down the steps, and rushed up to his guest in servile rapture.

"My dear Nova Steel! Do we meet again?"

This Bore Hoof was a thickset and robust stallion of short height, with a somewhat flabby face, a stern and implacable appearance, especially with those down on their luck, but endowed with the ability to change his expression to one of the utmost servility whenever he smelled profit. He went about dressed in an old apron, had quite a bit of money, but constantly dreamed of a higher role. He had more than half of the lower-class citizens within that district of the city in his clutches; it seemed like everypony was in debt to him. He rented land from the landowners, and had also bought some himself, and the peasants worked this land for him in return for their debts, which they could never pay back.

He was a widower and had three grown-up daughters. One was already a widow and lived with him with her two little ones, his granddaughters, working for him as a charmare. Another of his peasant daughters was married to an official, who had risen from being a petty clerk, and one could see on the wall in one of the rooms in the inn, among family photographs, also a miniature photograph of this little official in his uniform and official ornaments. The two young daughters, on feast days or when going visiting, would put on dresses of fashionable cut, but the very next morning, as on any other day, they would get up at dawn, sweep the rooms with birch brooms, take the garbage out, dirtying themselves up.

Despite the thousands he had already made, Bore Hoof took great pleasure in fleecing a lodger on a spree, and, recalling that only a few months ago he had profited from Nova in one day, during his spree with Bouquet, to the tune of many bits, he now greeted him joyfully and eagerly, scenting his prey again just by the way Nova ran up to the porch.

"My dear Nova Steel, will you be our guest again?"

"Wait, Bore Hoof," began Nova, "first things first: where is she?"

"Bouquet Rose you mean?" The innkeeper understood at once, peering alertly into Nova's face. "She's here, too... staying..."

"With whom? You must tell me!"

"Some visitors passing through, sir. One is an official, must be a Germane from the way he talks, it was him who sent for her; the other one is a friend of his, or a fellow traveler, who can tell? They're both in civilian clothes."

"Clothes? They're wearing clothes?"

"Right. A couple of shirts with loosened collars. She's wearing a blouse with a little necktie."

"What, are they on a spree? Are they rich?"

"Spree, nothing! They're small fry, Nova Steel."

"Small? And the others?"

"They're from town, I think, two gentlecolts. They were on their way somewhere and stopped here. One of them, the young one, is a merchant, only I forget his name. The other one is a Prench fellow, I suppose you know him: the clerk, Rapière. He was in Ponyville before, and now he's going around with this young merchant."

"And that's all?"

"That's all."

"Stop, listen, Bore Hoof, now tell me the most important thing: what about her, how is she?"

"She just arrived, and now she's sitting with them."

"Happy? Laughing?"

"No, she doesn't seem to be laughing much. She's sitting there quite bored; she was combing the merchant's mane."

"The officer's, or...?"

"He's no young pony, and no officer either, not at all; no, sir, not him but this merchant... he claimed to have known Bronze Pocket... I just can't remember his name."

"Merchant? Hmm..." Nova thought for a few seconds. "Cold Leg?"

"Exactly—Cold Leg."

"Good, I'll see for myself. Are they playing cards?"

"They played for a bit, then they stopped and had something to drink. The official ordered brandies."

"Stop, Bore Hoof, stop, my dear soul, I'll see for myself. Now answer the most important thing: the institute mares... I mean, the girls, are they around?"

"There's been no word of them lately, Nova Steel, but you can send for them. They'll come."

"Send for them, do send for them!" cried Nova. "And you can wake up the girls like the other time, Hazel Blossom especially, and Pearl, too. Eight hundred bits for the chorus!"

"For that money I'll wake up the whole neighborhood, though they've probably all dropped off by now, given this time of night. Are they really worth such pampering, our girls, I mean? To lay out so much for such coarseness and crudeness? It all stinks, you know. Why spend so much? I'll wake up my daughters for you for nothing, they just went to bed, but I mean, I'll kick them in the backside and make them sing for you. Last time you gave the peasants champagne to drink, ah!"

Bore Hoof had no call to feel sorry for Nova: he himself had hidden half a dozen bottles of brandies and liqueurs from him last time, and had picked up several bits from under the table and clutched them tightly.

"I ran through more than two thousand that time, do you remember, Bore Hoof?"

"You did, my good sir, how could I forget? You must have left five thousand here."

"So, I've come with as much again, see?" And Nova took out his saddlebag and held it right under the innkeeper's nose. "Now listen and understand: I want you to open up your cellar and bring everything—wine, appetizers, caviar, and candies—send everything upstairs at once. This case that I have with me here, it's an antique crossbow, it should go upstairs as well. And above all, the girls, the girls, especially Hazel Blossom..."

He turned back to the cart and paid the coachpony what he was owed. The coachpony flew off, completely satisfied with his payment.

"Now, Bore Hoof, take me in quietly," said Nova, "and let me first have a look at them all, so that they don't notice me. Where are they? In the back room?"

Bore Hoof looked warily at Nova, but at once obediently did as he was told: he carefully led him to the front hall, and himself went into the first large room, adjacent to the one in which the guests were sitting, and removed the candles. Then he quietly led Nova in and put him in the corner, in the darkness, from where he could freely watch the company without being seen by them. Nova did not have to search for long: he saw her, and his heart began to pound, his head swam.

She was sitting at the end of the table, in an armchair, indeed wearing a light blouse, and next to her, on a sofa, sat Cold Leg; she was holding him by the hoof and seemed to be laughing, and he, without looking at her, was saying something loudly, apparently irritably, to Rapière, who sat across the table from Bouquet. Rapière was laughing very much at something. He sat on the sofa, and next to the sofa, on a chair by the wall, was some other stranger.

The one on the sofa sat casually, smoking a pipe, and it flashed through Nova that he was a sort of disagreeable, plump stallion, somewhat fat, who seemed to be angry about something. His companion, the other stranger, appeared to Nova to be exceedingly tall; but he could make out nothing else. His breath failed him. Unable to stand there any longer, he huffed, and with his long, quick strides, he walked straight into the back room and up to the table.

"Ah!" Bouquet yelped in fear, noticing him first.

"Gentlecolts," he began loudly, almost shouting, but stammering at each word, "it's... it's nothing! Don't be afraid," he exclaimed, "it's really nothing." He turned to Bouquet, who was leaning towards Cold Leg in her armchair, firmly clutching his shoulder. "I... am traveling, too. I'll stay till morning. Gentlecolts, may a passing traveler stay with you... till morning? Only till morning, in this same room..."

These final words he addressed to the fat little stallion with the pipe, who was sitting on the sofa. The latter imposingly removed the pipe from his lips and said sternly, "Herr"— he began in Germane, but quickly corrected himself —"sir, this is a private gathering. There are other rooms."

"It's you, Nova Steel. What's the matter?" said Cold Leg suddenly, giving a conceited little grin. "Come on, sit down with us."

"Good evening, er, night, my dear... and priceless fellow! I've always respected you," Nova joyfully and impetuously responded, holding his hoof out to him at once across the table.

"Ouch! What a grip!" laughed Cold Leg.

"He always shakes hooves like that, always," said Bouquet gaily, still with a timid smile, seeming suddenly convinced by the looks of Nova that he was not going to start a brawl, but peering at him with terrible curiosity and still uneasily. There was something in him that struck her greatly, and she had not at all expected that he would come in like that and speak at such a moment.

"Good evening, sir," said Rapière sweetly. Nova rushed over to him as well.

"Good, you're here, too! Gentlecolts, gentlecolts, I..." He turned again to the one with the pipe, evidently taking him to be the most important pony present. "My apologies, but I'm Nova Steel. I didn't get your names."

"The one with the pipe is Alabaster," cut in Cold leg, "and the tall one... we call him the bodyguard."

"I came flying here, Mr. Alabaster," Nova went on more quickly, in a respectable voice, "I wanted to spend my last day and my last hour in this room, this very room, where I once adored... my queen! Forgive me, sir!" he cried frantically. "I came flying, and I made a vow. Oh, don't be afraid, it's my last night. Let us drink for peace, Alabaster! Wine will be served presently... I brought this." Suddenly, for some reason, he pulled off his saddlebag. "Allow me, sir, I want music, noise, racket, everything just as before. And on my last night I will commemorate the day of my joy, the day justice was served!"

He was almost breathless; there was much that he wanted to say, but only odd exclamations flew out. The pipe-wielding Alabaster gazed motionlessly at him, at his stacks of money, gazed at Bouquet, and was clearly taken aback by it all.

"If my königin permits..." he started to say.

"What's a 'königin,' a guideline or what?" Bouquet suddenly interrupted. "It makes me laugh the way you all talk. Sit down, Nova, what're you talking about? Don't scare me, please. You aren't going to scare me, are you? If you aren't, then I'm glad to see you..."

"Me? Scare you?" cried Nova, throwing up a hoof. "Oh, pass me by, go your way... I won't... hinder... y-you..." And suddenly, quite unexpectedly for everypony, he flung himself down on a chair and started crying, his head turned away to the opposite wall, and his arms firmly grasping the back of the chair as though embracing it.

"Now, now, is that any way to behave?" reproached Bouquet, biting her lip. "That's just how he used to be when he came visiting me—he'd start talking, and I wouldn't understand a thing. Then once he began crying just like that, and now again—shame on you! What are you crying for? As if you had anything to cry about!" she suddenly added mysteriously, emphasizing her words with a sort of irritation.

"I... I'm not crying. Well... good evening!" He turned around instantly on his chair and suddenly laughed through the tears, not his abrupt, wooden laugh, but a sort of long, nervous, inaudible, and shaking laugh.

"What, again? Come on, cheer up, cheer up!" Bouquet urged him. "I'm very glad you came, Nova, you hear that? I'm really glad. I want him to sit here with us," she added imperiously, as if addressing everypony, though her words were obviously aimed at the fat pony sitting on the sofa. "I want it, I want it! And if he leaves, I'll leave, too, that's that!" she said with flashing eyes.

"Whatever my queen pleases is the law!" said Alabaster, gallantly kissing Bouquet's hoof. "You, sir, I ask to join our company!" he addressed Nova courteously.

Nova jumped up a little again, obviously intending to break once more into a tirade, but something else came out. "Let's drink, my good sir!" He stopped short suddenly instead of making a speech. Everypony laughed.

"Sweet Celestia! I thought he was going to start talking again," exclaimed Bouquet nervously. "Listen, Nova," she added insistently, "don't jump up anymore, and it's lovely that you've brought more to drink. I'll drink some myself, though I can't stand liqueur. It's great that you've come here yourself, it's been such a bore. Are you on a spree again, or what? But please put that saddlebag away! Where did you get so much?"

At that same moment, the innkeeper brought an open bottle of champagne on a tray, with glasses. Nova seized the bottle, but was so confused that he forgot what to do with it. Cold Leg finally took it from him and began pouring.

"Another bottle, another!" Nova cried to the innkeeper, and, forgetting to clink glasses with the Germane sir who he had just so solemnly invited to drink for peace, suddenly drained his whole glass by himself, without waiting for anypony else. His whole face suddenly changed. Instead of the solemn and tragic expression he was wearing when he entered, something childlike, as it were, appeared in him. He seemed suddenly to have humbled and diminished himself. He looked timidly and joyfully at everypony, giggling nervously and frequently, with the grateful look of a guilty dog that has been patted and let in again. He seemed to have forgotten everything and looked at everypony around him admiringly, with a childish smile. He looked at Bouquet, laughing continually, and moved his chair up next to her armchair.

Gradually he made out the two Germane stallions, though he could make little sense of them. Alabaster struck him by his bearing, his Germane accent, and, above all, his pipe. Well, what of it? It's good that he smokes a pipe, Nova contemplated. Alabaster's nearly fifty-year old face, somewhat flabby, with an upwardly bent snout, under which appeared a pair of the thinnest little pointed moustaches, dyed and insolent, so far had not aroused the least question in Nova. Even his stupidly brushed mane, which was brushed aside at his temples, did not particularly strike him.

As for the other one sitting by the wall, the tall bodyguard, who was younger than Alabaster on the sofa, he was looking impudently and defiantly at the whole company, listening with silent disdain to the general conversation; he, in turn, struck Nova only by his great height, terribly disproportionate to Alabaster sitting on the sofa. Very tall indeed, flashed through Nova's head. It also flashed in him that this tall pony was most likely the friend and henchpony of the pony with the pipe, "his bodyguard," so to speak, and that Alabaster of course gave orders to his bodyguard.

But all this, too, seemed terribly good and indisputable to Nova. All rivalry had ceased in him. He did not yet understand anything about Bouquet and the mysterious tone of some of her phrases; he only understood, trembling with his whole heart, that she had treated him tenderly, that she had "forgiven" him and sat him down next to her. He was beside himself with joy seeing her take a sip from her glass. Suddenly, however, the silence of the company seemed to strike him, and he began looking around at everypony, his eyes expecting something

"Why are we just sitting here, why don't we get something started, gentlecolts?" his grinning eyes seemed to say.

"It's him, he keeps telling lies, and we keep laughing," Cold Leg suddenly began, as if guessing Nova's thought, and he pointed at Rapière.

Nova swiftly fixed his eyes on Cold Leg and then at once on Rapière.

"Lies?" he burst into his abrupt, wooden laughter, at once becoming happy about something. "Ha, ha!"

"Yeah. He maintains that twenty years ago our entire cavalry allegedly married Germane mares; but that's awful nonsense, isn't it?"

"Germane mares?" Nova chimed in, now decidedly happy.

Cold Leg well understood Nova's relations with Bouquet; he had also guessed about Alabaster; but all that did not interest him very much, and perhaps did not interest him at all: what interested him most was the eccentric Rapière. He had turned up there with Rapière by chance, and met the Germanes for the first time in his life there at the inn. As for Bouquet, he had known her previously and once even visited her with somepony; she had not liked him then. But now she kept glancing at him very tenderly; before Nova arrived she had even caressed him, but he remained somehow insensible. He was a young stallion, somewhere in his mid twenties, stylishly dressed, with a very haughty yet good-looking face. And set in that face were a pair of lovely light blue eyes, with an intelligent and sometimes deep expression. Generally, he was very original, even whimsical, though always arrogant.

"I've been taking him around with me for four days now," he went on, drawing the words out a little, lazily, as it were, but quite naturally. "I know he took part in the scandal over at that auction in Ponyville. But now he keeps telling such lies that I'm ashamed to be with him. I'm taking him back..."

"The Prenchie says many impossible things," Alabaster observed to Rapière.

"But I was married to a Germane lady myself, sir," Rapière giggled in reply.

"And did you also serve in the cavalry? You were talking about the cavalry. But you're no soldier," Cold Leg immediately mixed in.

"No, indeed, he's no soldier! Ha, ha!" cried Nova, who was listening greedily and quickly shifting his questioning glance to each speaker in turn, as if he expected to hear who knows what from each of them.

"No, you see, sir"— Rapière turned to him —"I mean, sir, that those young Germane mares... pretty mares, sir... as soon as they'd danced..." But he giggled.

"The sir is a scoundrel!" the tall one on the chair, the supposed "bodyguard," suddenly growled. All that caught Nova's eye was his enormous greased collar. Generally, the clothing of both ponies was rather grimy.

"So it's 'scoundrel' now! Why's he calling names?" Bouquet suddenly became angry.

"Wait, wait, what he said before is interesting," interjected Cold Leg, getting excited himself. "Did you get married in Germane, or what?"

Alabaster became imposingly silent. He started to chew on his pipe. The ensuing conversation continued on in such a ridiculous fashion for another two minutes. Rapière babbled onward, making many dubious claims, something or other about his wife leaving him for another Prench stallion, then more laughter from Cold Leg. Nova and Bouquet laughed as well.

"Listen, listen!" Cold Leg was really bubbling over. "Even if he's lying—and he lies all the time—he's lying for our entertainment. That's not bad, is it? You know, sometimes I love this guy. He's awfully bad, but in a natural, endearing way. Don't you think? Other ponies are bad for some reason, to get some profit from it, but he just does it naturally. For instance, he claims (he was arguing about it yesterday all the while we were traveling) that Princess Celestia wrote about him in her personal archives. But is that even possible? Her archives were completed well over a hundred years ago, so the dates don't fit at all. He couldn't have been written about. He really couldn't, could he?"

It was hard to conceive why Cold Leg was so excited, but his excitement was genuine. Nova entered wholeheartedly into his interests. "Well, that's a story to tell!" he cried with a loud laugh.

"What time is it?" Alabaster addressed his companion with a bored look. The latter shrugged his shoulders in reply: neither of them had been carrying a watch.

"Why not talk? Let other ponies talk, too. You mean if you're bored, no pony should talk?" Bouquet roused herself again, apparently provoking him on purpose. For the first time, as it were, something unbefitting flashed through Nova's mind. This time Alabaster replied with obvious irritation.

"Ms. Bouquet, I do not contradict, I do not say anything."

"Alright then, sheesh!" said Bouquet. She suddenly started to speak in a lower voice, as if changing her mind. "Eh, enough, I don't want to listen, I thought there would be some fun in it."

Nova, thrown into a flutter, stopped laughing at once. The bodyguard rose from his seat and, with the haughty look of a pony bored by company unsuited to him, began pacing from one corner to the other, face almost downcast.

"Look at him pacing!" Bouquet glanced at him contemptuously. Nova began to worry; besides, he noticed that Alabaster kept glancing at him irritably.

"Sir," said Nova, "let us drink, sir! And the other one, too: let's drink to you lot." In a second he moved three glasses together and poured champagne.

"To your health, Mr. Alabaster, I drink to your health!" exclaimed Nova.

"That is very nice, let us drink," said Alabaster gravely and benevolently, taking his glass.

"And the other guy, what's his name? Hey, Excellency, take a glass!" Nova fussed.

"Call him Rookie," prompted Alabaster.

Rookie—the "bodyguard"—came swinging up to the table and, standing, accepted his glass.

"To your health, gentlecolts! Hurray!" shouted Nova, raising his glass.

They all drank. Nova seized the bottle.

"Pour some for us," said Bouquet. "I'll drink to your health."

"Hit me," said Cold Leg, clanging his glass on the table.

"I wouldn't mind either, sirs... to our dear health," Rapière joined in, giggling.

"Everypony, everypony!" cried Nova. "Innkeeper, another bottle!"

Three more bottles were brought, paid by Nova himself. He poured.

"To Nova," said Bouquet warmly, finishing her glass in one gulp.

"To me!" laughed Nova.

Everypony drank except for Alabaster and Rookie.

"And us?" pronounced Alabaster.

"Don't be foolish, we saved the best for last," suddenly escaped from Nova.

"Sir!" both Germane stallions shouted threateningly, turning on Nova in anger. Rookie especially was boiling.

"Stop it! No fighting! There are to be no fights!" cried Bouquet commandingly and stamped her hoof on the floor. Her face was flushed, her eyes gleaming. The glass she had just drunk was having its effect on her.

Nova got terribly frightened. "Ah, please forgive me! It was my fault, I'll stop. Alabaster, Rookie, I'll stop..."

"You keep quiet at least, sit down," snarled Bouquet at him with spiteful vexation.

They all sat down, they all fell silent, they all looked at one another.

"Gentlecolts, I'm the cause of everything!" Nova began again, grasping nothing from Bouquet's exclamations. "Why are we all sitting here? What shall we do... for fun? What's for fun?"

"We haven't been having that much fun to begin with," mumbled Cold Leg.

"Why not a little game of cards like before, sirs?" tittered Rapière. "Something like baccarat, perhaps?"

"Baccarat? Splendid!" Nova picked up. "If only they..."

"Spät, sir," said Alabaster, though reluctantly.

"True," agreed Rookie.

"Huh? What does that word mean?" asked Bouquet.

"It means 'late.' The hour is late," he explained.

"For them it's always late, always some excuse!" yelled Bouquet in vexation. "They're bored sitting here, so they want everypony to be bored, too. Before you came, Nova, they just sat there saying nothing, puffing themselves up in front of me..."

"Fine, fine!" huffed Alabaster. "It'll be as you say. Ah... well... ahem, I'm ready," he concluded, turning to Nova.

"Begin, my good sir!" Nova picked up, snatching a pile of bits from his saddlebag and laying it on the table. "I want to lose a lot to you, sir. Take the cards. Make the bank!"

"We should get cards from the innkeeper," said Alabaster gravely and emphatically.

"From the innkeeper? Very good, let them be from the innkeeper, that's fine. Hey, innkeeper! Cards!" Nova called out.

The innkeeper brought an unopened deck of cards and announced to Nova that the girls were already gathering, and that the feast he had requested was still being prepared.

Here Rapière suddenly touched his shoulder.

"Give me five bits," he whispered to Nova. "I'd like to chance a little baccarat, too!"

"Wonderful! Splendid! Here, take ten!" He gave him the bits. "And if you lose, come again, I'll provide more..."

The deck was opened and the cards were prepared in orderly fashion. Alabaster looked much more amiable, almost friendly. He lit up a new pipe and prepared to deal; there was even a sort of solemn look on his face.

"Take seats, sir," announced Rookie.

"No, I won't play," said Cold Leg. "I've already lost to this game before. It's stupid."

"How much are we betting?" asked Nova, getting excited.

"That depends," said Alabaster, "maybe a hundred, maybe two, but anymore than five hundred and we'd surely be directed to a casino."

"Ah, I can't go to any casinos now, I'm blacklisted!"

"Be that as it may..."

They began to play. Rapière immediately lost his ten bits. Nova won the first round.

"Twenty-five!" he cried.

"Another bit, a little stake, a simple little stake," muttered Rapière, wanting very much to stay in the game.

"Lost!" cried Nova. "Double on the seven!"

The double was lost, too.

"Stop!" said Cold Leg all of a sudden.

Time was passing slowly. The game continued with some sort of unexpected distress.

"Double! Double!" Nova kept doubling his stakes, and every time he doubled a card, it lost. "Double!" he roared again.

"You've lost four hundred, sir. Will you stake more?" inquired Alabaster softly.

"What, four hundred already! Here's another stack! The whole thing on the double!" Nova pulled another stack of bits from his depleting saddlebag and set it down on the table.

But Cold Leg suddenly reached over and covered it with his hoof. "Enough!" he said in a ringing voice.

"What do you mean?" Nova stared at him.

"You've had enough! I won't let you play anymore!"

"Why?"

"Because."

"Er... 'because' what?"

"Just because. Seeing you throw away all that money is seriously starting to piss me off."

Nova looked at him in amazement.

"Quit, Nova. Maybe he's right; you've lost a lot as it is," said Bouquet, too, with a strange note in her voice. Both Germane ponies rose from their seats, looking terribly offended. Alabaster especially was furious.

"Are you joking?" said Rookie, looking sternly at Cold Leg.

"How dare you do that!" cried Alabaster. "You're a spineless buffoon!"

"Wanna say that to my face, you fat bastard!" yelled Cold Leg, heaving himself up, glaring straight at Alabaster.

"Stop, don't you dare shout!" Bouquet raised her voice.

Nova looked at each of them in turn; then something in Bouquet's face suddenly struck him, and at the same moment something quite new flashed through his mind.

"Bouquet Rose!" Alabaster, all flushed with defiance, began speaking, when Nova suddenly came up to him and slapped him on the shoulder.

"A word with you, Excellency," he said.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Let's step into the other room, over there; I have some nice news for you, the best news, you'll be pleased to hear it."

The fat little pony was surprised and looked warily at Nova. However, considering that Cold Leg was ready to throw the cards in his face and was looking down on him, and in that moment he wanted to get away for a bit, he agreed at once, but on the firm condition that Rookie also come with them.

"The bodyguard? Let him come, we need him, too! He must come, in point of fact!" exclaimed Nova. "Let's go!"

"Where are you going?" asked Bouquet anxiously.

"We'll be back in a moment," replied Nova.
> Part VI – Chapter V – Bouquet Rose
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A certain boldness, a certain unexpected cheerfulness, flashed in Nova's face; it was quite a different look from the one he had when he entered the same room an hour earlier. He led the Germane ponies into the room at the right, not the big one where the chorus of girls was gathering and the table was being laid, but a bedroom, where there were trunks and two beds put together. A candle burned on a little wooden table in the corner.

They all sat down at this table, facing each other, while the giant Rookie stood to one side of them. The ponies looked stern, but were obviously curious.

"What can I do for you?" rattled Alabaster.

"Here's what, sir, I won't waste words: take this money," said Nova, pulling out the saddlebag he had brought with him, "if you want five thousand bits, take it and go wherever you like."

Alabaster acquired a keen look, he was all eyes, fixing his gaze on Nova's face.

"Five thousand?" he exchanged glances with Rookie.

"Listen, my good sir, I see you're a reasonable fellow. Take five thousand and go wherever, you hear? But now, this minute, and forever, do you understand, you'll walk out this door forever. I'll bring it to you. The carriage will be harnessed for you this very moment, and—goodbye, just like that! Eh?"

Nova waited confidently for an answer. He had no doubts. Something extremely resolute flashed in Alabaster's face.

"How will it be done?"

"We'll do it this way: I'll give you one thousand right now, for the coachpony and as a first installment, and four thousand will come tomorrow in town—I swear on my honour, I'll dig it up somewhere!" cried Nova.

The Germane ponies exchanged glances again. Alabaster's expression took a turn for the worse.

"Fifteen hundred, fifteen hundred, not one thousand, right now, this minute, in your hooves!" Nova upped his offer, sensing that things were not going well. "What's the matter, my good sirs? You don't believe me? I'm not going to give you all five thousand at once. I'd give it to you, and you'd go back to her tomorrow. And I don't have a whole five thousand with me, I have it at home," Nova babbled weakly, losing heart with each word. "I swear... I have it hidden..."

In an instant a look of extreme dignity shone on Alabaster's face.

"Is there anything else you'd like?" he asked ironically. "Who do you think we are?" He got up and spat. Rookie also spat.

"You spit, sir, because," Nova spoke as one in despair, realizing that all was over, "because you hope to get more from Bouquet. You're a couple of swine and nothing more!"

"And now you insult me!" Alabaster suddenly turned red as a lobster, and briskly, in terrible indignation, as though unwilling to listen any longer, walked out of the room. Rookie went trotting after him, and Nova, confused and at a loss, followed them out. He was afraid of Bouquet, anticipating that Alabaster would now make an uproar. And that, indeed, is what happened. The fat pony walked into the room and stood theatrically before Bouquet.

"Madame Bouquet Rose," he began pompously, "I came to forget the past and to forgive it, to forget what was happened till today..."

"Forgive? You came to forgive me?" Bouquet interrupted and jumped up from the sofa.

"Just so, dear, I am not faint-hearted, I am strong-hearted. But I was surprised when I saw your lover. Mr. Nova Steel, in the other room, offered me five thousand to depart. I spat in the sir's face."

"What? He offered you money for me?" said Bouquet. "Is that true, Nova? How dare you! I'm not for sale!"

"Wait, sir, wait," Nova cried out fretfully, "she's pure, she's a shining light, and I've never been her lover! It's a lie..."

"Don't you dare defend me before him," reproached Bouquet angrily, the features on her face twitching with some strange melancholy. "I'm not pure at all, and I'm not some 'light.' I've never been able to stand proudly before you, but..." She stopped for a second, as if catching her breath. "But did he really not take your money?"

"He was, he was taking it!" exclaimed Nova. "Only he wanted all five thousand at once, and I offered him just fifteen hundred down."

"My sweet Bouquet," cried Alabaster, "I am a knight, a noble knight, not a scoundrel. I arrived to take you for my wife, but I see a new mare, not as she was before, but completely shameless!"

"I can't believe this. Go back where you came from! I'll order them to throw you out right now, and they will!" cried Bouquet heatedly. "Oh, I was a fool, a fool to torment myself for so many years, to let you torment me. I was tormenting myself out of spite, because... because I felt like I deserved it. But Nova was different, he laughed, he sang songs to me... and I... I've been shedding tears all this time, and for nothing!"

She fell onto her armchair and covered her face with her hooves. At that moment the chorus of girls, finally assembled in the next room, suddenly burst into a rollicking dance song.

"This is an outrage!" Alabaster suddenly bellowed. "Innkeeper, throw these shameless ponies out!"

The innkeeper, who had been peeking curiously through the door for a long time already, hearing the shouts and seeing that his guests were quarreling, came into the room at once.

"What're you yelling about? Shut your trap!" he addressed Alabaster with incredible rudeness.

"Scoundrels, the lot of you!" roared Alabaster.

"Scoundrel, am I? And what sort of cards have you just been playing with? I gave you a deck and you hid it! You were playing with marked cards! I can pack you off to the dungeons for marked cards, do you know that, it's the same as bad money..." And going over to the sofa, he used his magic in between the cushion and the back and pulled out an unopened deck of cards.

"Here's my deck, unopened!" He held it up and showed it all around. "From there I saw him shove my deck behind the cushion and put his own in place of it—you're not a sir, you're a cheat!"

"I saw it, too," said Cold Leg spitefully.

"Ah, I can't believe this!" exclaimed Bouquet, pressing her hooves to her chest and genuinely blushing with shame. "Just look at what he's come to."

"And I thought so, too!" shouted Nova. But he had barely spoken when Alabaster, embarrassed and infuriated, turned to Bouquet and, shaking his hoof at her, shouted, "Irredeemable slut!"

But he had barely exclaimed it when Nova flew at him, seized him with both arms, hauled him on his back, and in an instant carried him out of the room into the bedroom on the right, the one where he had just taken the two Germane ponies.

"I left him there on the floor!" he announced, returning at once, breathless with excitement. "He's struggling, the rascal, but there's no chance he'll get out!"

He closed one half of the door, and holding the other wide open, he called out to Rookie, "Would you care to follow him? If you please!"

"Nova Steel, my dear," exclaimed Bore Hoof, "take back the money you lost to them! It's the same as if they'd stolen it from you."

"I don't want my four hundred!" exclaimed Nova. "Not for anything will I take it back, let him keep it as a consolation."

"Bravo, Nova! Well done!" cried Bouquet, and a terribly malicious note rang in her exclamation. Rookie, purple with fury, yet by no means losing his composure, started for the door, but stopped and suddenly said, addressing Bouquet, "If you want to come, come; if not—farewell."

And pompously, puffing with ambition and indignation, he went through the door. The stallion had character: after all that had taken place, he did not lose hope that Bouquet would follow after him. Nova slammed the door behind him.

"Lock it with a key," said Cold Leg. But the lock clicked from the other side; they had locked themselves in.

"Bravo!" said Bouquet again, mercilessly and maliciously. "Bravo! And good riddance!"


* * *


What began then was an enormous feast, one fit for the kings. Bouquet was the first to call for more wine, "I want to get drunk, I want to get really drunk, like before—remember, Nova, remember when we met?" Nova's head was in the clouds, unable to reply very coherently. Bouquet, incidentally, kept chasing him away from her all the while. "Go, enjoy yourself, tell them to dance, everypony should just enjoy themselves, like before," she kept exclaiming. She was terribly excited. And Nova would run to give orders.

The chorus gathered in the next room. The room they had been sitting in so far was small in any case; it was divided in two by a large curtain, behind which, again, there was a humongous bed with a plump mattress and a pile of the same sort of cotton pillows. Indeed, all was bustling in the highest order of ecstasy and disorderliness. Bouquet settled herself just by the door; Nova brought her an armchair: she had sat in the same place then, on the day of their initial spree, and from there had watched the chorus and the dancing.

The stallions were all roused up and enjoying the girls. Nova bustled about. Uninvited guests came to watch, peasant mares and stallions who had already gone to sleep but woke up sensing some unheard-of entertainment, like that of two months before. Nova greeted and embraced those he knew, recalled their faces; he uncorked bottles and poured for all who came. Champagne was popular mostly with the mares; the stallions preferred rum and liqueur, and especially the hot spiked punch. Nova ordered hot chocolate for all the girls, and three kettles to be kept boiling all night so that everypony who came could have punch: whoever wanted to could help themselves, that is.

While the whole scene could be described as absurd, Nova was in his natural element, as it were, and the more absurd it all became, the more his spirits rose. If anypony had asked him for money at that moment, he would start handing out bits left and right without counting. That is probably why, in order to protect Nova, the innkeeper Bore Hoof, who seemed to have given up on sleep that night, was almost always scurrying about, vigilantly looking out, in his own way, for Nova's interests. When necessary, he intervened in a friendly and servile manner, reasoning with him, not letting him spend too much too quickly. He was highly indignant that the girls were drinking his wine, but alas, he let that pass.

Cold Leg did not want to drink at first, and very much disliked the whole chorus, but after drinking two glasses of champagne, he became fairly happy, laughing and telling jokes. Rapière, all in a tipsy state, never left his side. Bouquet, who was also beginning to get drunk, kept pointing at Cold Leg and saying to Nova, "He's such a darling, isn't he? He's so confident!" And Nova would run up to Cold Leg in a state of rapture and hug him, only to me pushed away by the annoyed merchant.

She had not said anything to Nova yet, obviously putting off saying anything on purpose, and only glanced at him from time to time with caressing but ardent eyes. Finally she suddenly caught him fast by the arm and pulled him forcefully to herself. She was then sitting in the armchair by the door.

"I still can't believe how you walked in here... I was so scared! So you wanted to give me up to him, hmm? Did you really?"

"I didn't want to ruin your happiness!" prattled Nova blissfully. But she did not even need his answer.

"Now go—go enjoy yourself," she said, chasing him away. "And don't cry, I'll call you back."

He would run off, and she would begin listening to the songs and watching the dancing again, following him with her eyes wherever he went, but after ten minutes she would call him again, and he would again come running to her.

"Here, sit beside me now," she would say. "Tell me, how did you hear about me yesterday, that I had come here? Who told you?"

And Nova would start telling her everything, somewhat feverishly, about how he had a random chance encounter with her last maid, and how the coincidence on its own was worthy of an investigation; that he raced to Ponyville, managed to procure the five thousand, though he explained it very disconnectedly and incoherently. He spoke strangely, too, often suddenly frowning and breaking off.

"Why are you frowning?" she asked.

"It's nothing... I left a sick, old pony there. I'd give ten years of my life for him to recover, just to know he'd recover!"

"Well, if he's old, I wish him well! Were you really going to shoot yourself tomorrow? Gosh, you're such a silly stallion! But why? I love such stallions, reckless stallions, like you," she prattled to him with a heavy tongue. "So you're ready to do anything for me? Hmm? But were you really going to shoot yourself tomorrow, you idiot? No, wait now, tomorrow maybe I'll have something to tell you... not today, but tomorrow. Would you like it to be today? No, today I don't want to. Go now, go enjoy yourself."

Once, however, she called him over with a worried and perplexed look.

"Why are you sad? I can tell that you're sad. Is it because of me?" she added, looking down, then peering vaguely into his eyes. "I can see something, even though you're shouting and laughing I can still see it. No, enjoy yourself. I'm enjoying myself, you enjoy yourself, too. Oh, I love somepony here—guess who...? Ah, look, he fell asleep, he's had too much, the dear."

She was referring to Cold Leg: he had indeed had too much, and fell asleep for a moment sitting on the sofa. He fell asleep not only from drink; for some reason he suddenly felt detached, or "bored" as he put it. Towards the end he was also greatly disheartened by the girls' songs, which despite the drinking gradually became rather licentious. Even the dancing was starting to lose its charm.

"Well, let it all be," Bouquet kept saying sententiously, with a bright look on her face, "I mean, how often do they have fun like this, so why shouldn't ponies enjoy themselves?" Eventually Cold Leg had grown tired of the whole feast, of the tired songs. He was even starting to get angry. And, almost offended, he declared that he was bored, sat down on the sofa, and dozed off. His face, funnily enough, lost its arrogant and haughty countenance when resting, replaced by something more tranquil and pretty.

"Look how pretty he is," said Bouquet, drawing Nova over to him. "I was combing his mane earlier; it's very well kept..."

And, leaning over him fondly, she kissed him on the forehead. Cold Leg opened his eyes, looked at her, rose a little, and said dryly, "Sorry, hun, but I've got a girlfriend. By the way, where's Rapière?" He started looking around.

"That's who he wants," laughed Bouquet. "Do sit with me for a minute. Nova, run and fetch his Rapière."

Rapière, it turned out, now never left the girls, and only ran off from time to time to pour himself some liqueur, of which he had two glasses. His face was starting to turn red. He ran up to them and announced that he was going to dance to the tune.


The land is cloaked in the deepest blue,
The shadow of eagles across the moon—


"You see, I learned all these well-bred society dances, and the like..."

"Go with him," said Bouquet, "I'll watch from here."

Though no special admiration was produced. Cold Leg sat up, remained watching with arms crossed, yawning every once in a while, with a calculated gleam in his eyes. Some chocolate was asked for. It was pointed out that a whole pile of them was on the table for the taking. The track of time was lost amid all the noise.

Nova's head was burning. He walked out to the hallway and up to the upper wooden veranda, which ran part way around the inner side of the building, overlooking the courtyard. The cool night air revived him, almost sobering him up even. He stood alone in the darkness, in a corner, and suddenly ran a hoof over his head, down his face. His scattered thoughts suddenly came together, his sensations merged, and the result of it all was an awful illumination.

If I'm going to shoot myself, what better time than now? swept through his mind. Go and get that crossbow, bring it out here, and end everything here, right here, in this dark and dingy corner. For almost a minute he stood undecided. Everything laid in shame: the theft he had committed, the blood he shed—but everything else was finished, too.

Oh, what more can I say for Nova? All these tragedies rushed into a single point of inevitability, the tragedies invoked by realism! At least now one negative thing was out of the way: the "former one," that indisputable and fatal stallion, had vanished without a trace. In hindsight it all seemed so small and comical; it was carried to the bedroom and locked up. It would never return.

Now it was clear who Bouquet loved. So now all he had to do was live, but—but he could not live, not anymore. Nova wished to remove the shame of his remaining disgrace, to dig up the rest of the money to give back, but this he knew was an impossible dream.

If you would like my opinion on this matter, dear reader...

No, forget my opinion. I don't think it matters; besides, I gave that up some time ago.

At last Nova tore himself away from the darkness and rushed back inside. He intended to spend his final hour with her. He ran to the innkeeper, Bore Hoof. The latter looked gloomy and worried, and seemed to be coming to find him.

"What is it, Bore? Are you looking for me?"

"No, sir, not you," said Bore Hoof, suddenly taken aback. "Why should I be looking for you? Just that... where were you, sir?"

"Why do you look so glum? Did something happen? Wait a bit—you'll go to bed soon—but what time is it?"

"Close to two by now. Maybe even past two."

"We'll stop then."

"Don't mention it, it's nothing, sir. As long as you like, sir..."

What's with him? thought Nova fleetingly, and ran into the room where the girls were dancing. But she was not there. She was not in the back room either; only Cold Leg was dozing on the sofa. Nova peeked behind the curtain, and there she was. She was sitting in the corner, on her stomach, her head and arms leaning on the bed beside her, crying bitterly, trying hard to hold back and stifle her tears so that no pony would hear her. Seeing Nova, she beckoned to him, and when he ran over to her, she caught him firmly by the arm.

"What's the matter, dear?" asked Nova, frowning. "Did something... I mean, you know, we can end everything right now if you'd like."

"I'm such a fool," she began in a whisper. "I don't know what I'm even doing anymore. All these years... wasted for him, because of him. I can't even remember if I ever loved him to begin with. Now he's so awful. He may have saved me once, made promises on his behalf, but... but..." Her lips trembled, head downcast. "I didn't want this life. Everything you see here... everything you know about me... I didn't want it. I felt frozen back then, and it was as if he dumped a bucket of cold water on me. I've made so many bad decisions. I feel so stupid!" And again she dissolved in tears, yet without letting go of Nova's arm, holding on to it firmly.

"Nova, my dear, wait, please don't go, I wanna ask you something," she whispered, suddenly looking up at him. "Listen, do I deserve to be happy? Would you forgive me for all the torment I've brought on you? Do you... love me? Do you?" A smile brightened on her face, her eyes shone in the semidarkness.

Nova silently gazed into her eyes, at her face, her smile, and suddenly, embracing her firmly, began kissing her. She kissed him, too, her mind going almost blank as if it were a habit.

"Listen to me," she said, breaking away, "keep kissing me, kiss me harder!" They kissed passionately. "Let's make love, if we're going to anyway! I'll be your slave now, it's sweet to be a slave. Kiss me! Beat me, torment me, do something to me, I'm yours! Wait, stop, not now..." She suddenly pushed him away. "Go, Nova, I'll drink more wine, I'm going to get drunk, really drunk, as drunk as possible."

She broke away from him and went out through the curtain. Nova followed after her. Come whatever may, I'll give everything to be with her, for the rest of my short life, flashed through his head.

Bouquet indeed drank another glass of champagne in one gulp and suddenly became very tipsy. She sat in her former place, in the armchair; her cheeks were glowing, lips burning, bright eyes turned bleary. Nova felt a stab in his heart and went up to her.

"Did you like how I kissed you?" she babbled to him. "I'm drunk now, that's what... And you, why aren't you drinking? Drink more. I drank and you're not drinking..." She suddenly pouted.

"I'm drunk! Drunk anyway..." Nova assured. "Drunk with you, and now I'm going to get drunk with wine." He drank another glass and, he found it strange himself, only this last glass made his drunk for real, though until then he had been relatively sober. From then on everything began whirling around him. He walked, laughed, talked with everypony, all oblivious of himself, as it were. Only one fixed and burning feeling made itself known in him every moment, as he recalled afterwards.

He would go over to her, look at her, listen to her—and she became very talkative, kept calling everypony to her, would beckon to some of the girls from the chorus, and in another minute she'd be in tears. She was also very amused by Rapière's buffoonish dance moves.

"Give him something, Nova," said Bouquet, "give him a present, he's poor. Ah! Let them dance, don't interfere. Everypony in Equestria is good, but I'm bad. We may be bad, but the world is good. Both good and bad. No, wait, tell me, I'll ask you and you have to tell me: do you think I'm a good girl?" Thus Bouquet babbled on, getting more and more drunk, and finally declaring outright that she now wanted to dance herself. She got up from her armchair but staggered. Nova ran to her and helped her move; but she swayed and fell into his arms, laughing.

"I feel weak..." she said in an exhausted voice. "Sorry, I feel weak, I can't, I'm sorry..."

"Somepony sure had her fill," remarked Cold Leg half-sarcastically.

"She's had a drop, the pretty lady's had a drop," voices were heard saying.

Nova brought her back behind the curtain.

Well, now I think I really will leave, thought Cold Leg, and going out of the room, he closed both halves of the door behind him. But the feast in the main room thundered on. Nova laid Bouquet on the bed and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss.

"Don't touch me," she murmured to him in a pleading voice, "don't touch me, I'm not yours yet. I said I was yours, but don't touch me. We shouldn't do it with them here, in the next room."

"I wouldn't dream of it," muttered Nova. "You're right." And without letting her go of his embrace, he bent on the floor by the bed.

"I know there's still good in you," spoke Bouquet with difficulty. "We should do it honestly... from now on it'll be honest. Take me away, far away, do you hear? I don't wanna be here, I wanna be far away."

"Oh, yes, yes!" Nova pressed her in his arms. "I'll take you, we'll fly away. Oh, I'd give my whole life to be with you for only a year, if only I knew about that blood!"

"What blood?" Bouquet repeated in bewilderment.

"Nothing!" growled Nova. "Bouquet, you want it to be honest? I'm a thief. I stole money from Misty..."

"From Misty? You mean the young lady? No, you didn't steal anything. Give it back to her, take it from me. Come on, don't shout. Why do we care about money anyway? We'll just throw it away on a spree. It's bound to happen with ponies like us. Hey, do you hear a bell ringing...? Where's that little bell ringing? Are ponies driving? Now it's stopped..."

She closed her eyes helplessly, and suddenly seemed to fall asleep for a moment. A bell had indeed been ringing somewhere far away, and suddenly stopped ringing. Nova lowered his head onto her chest. He did not notice how the bell stopped ringing, nor did he notice how the singing suddenly stopped as well, and instead of songs and drunken racket, a dead silence suddenly fell, as it were, over the whole inn. Bouquet opened her eyes.

"Huh? Did I fall asleep?" she asked.

"I'm right here," murmured Nova, kissing her neck. And suddenly something strange struck him: he noticed that she was looking straight ahead, not at him, not into his eyes, but over his head, intently and fixedly. Surprise, almost fear, showed on her face.

"Nova, who's that looking at us?" she whispered suddenly.

Nova turned and saw that some new pony had indeed parted the curtains and was apparently trying to make them out. More than one new pony, it seemed. He jumped up and quickly went towards the intruder.

"Here, come out here, please," somepony's voice said to him, not loudly, but with firm insistence.

Nova stepped from behind the curtain and stood still. The whole room was full of ponies, not those who had been there before, but completely new ones. A shiver ran down his back. He recognized many of them instantly.

The middle-aged mare in the middle, the one wearing a coat and a service cap, was the district police commissioner, Ruby Spirit. And the stallion next to her, the one with a trim cut and roundabout gaze, was the deputy prosecutor. The other mare in spectacles, a unicorn, Nova could not remember her name, but she was a young attorney, recently arrived. And that one—the deputy commissioner, she was the one with badges. Cold Leg and Bore Hoof sat there in the doorway.

"Mares and gentlecolts... what is it?" Nova started, but in a hallow voice, as if he were not himself.

The young mare in spectacles suddenly came forward and, stepping up to Nova, began in a dignified manner, though a little hurriedly.

"Would you kindly come over here, to the sofa," she said. "It's of the utmost importance that we have a word with you."

"The old servant!" cried Nova at the top of his lungs, as if finally understanding something. "The old servant and his blood! I understand!" And as if cut down, he fell more than sat on a chair standing nearby.

"You understand? Well, would you look at that, he understands! Your old father's blood is on your hooves!" the district police commissioner suddenly roared, going up to Nova. She was almost beside herself.

"Wait a sec," said the young mare in spectacles, the attorney. "Something's weird. Why say 'servant'? I would never have expected such an episode from you."

"It's way too obvious!" the police commissioner kept exclaiming. "Look at him: in the middle of the night, celebrating, not a care in the world. The whole thing is just..."

"Calm down, Ruby," the deputy prosecutor whispered rapidly to her, "otherwise we'll complicate the process."

But the attorney stepped up, turning to Nova and firmly, gravely declaring, "Retired guard Nova Steel, sir, it is my duty to inform you that you are charged with the murder of your father, Bronze Pocket..."

Something else was said, but Nova did not hear it. His eyes went wide. He stared wildly at them all.
> Part VI – Chapter VI – The Alarm Begins
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sharp Heat was vaguely familiar with the tensions between Nova and his father. Having seen the bloodstains on Nova, and having helped him wash up, the question was what had gotten him so bloodied up in the first place. Sharp even knew of Bronze's exploits, due to the fact that Bronze was somewhat famous for his controversial and muddleheaded character.

One would think that the most immediate and direct thing for him to do, having seen the desperate and bloodstained Nova bolt out of his house as he did, having procured his crossbow, would be to go to Bronze's house and find out if anything had happened, and, if so, what exactly; and being convinced beyond any doubt, only then to go to the police commissioner, as Sharp firmly resolved to do so.

But the night was getting darker and darker, and the gates of Bronze's house were locked. He was only distantly familiar with Bronze Pocket—and so he would have to keep knocking loudly until he was heard and the gates were opened. But what if suddenly nothing happened at all, and a jeering Bronze were to go all over town tomorrow telling jokes about how a stranger, the artillery captain Sharp Heat, had forced his way into his house at night in order to find out if anypony had murdered him?

The risk of a scandal like that was certainly possible, and a scandal was the last thing Sharp wanted. Nevertheless he was moved by so strong a feeling that, having irritably stamped his hoof on the ground and given up knocking, he at once rushed his way to Golden Oak, to Olva Velvet.

If she, he thought, would answer just one question—whether or not she had given Nova five thousand bits at such-and-such a time—then, in case the answer was negative, he would go straight to the police commissioner, without making sure Bronze was home. Otherwise, he would put everything off until tomorrow and go back to his rented lodging.

Here, of course, it is immediately obvious that Sharp's decision to go at night, at roughly nine o'clock, to the residence of a society lady who was practically a complete stranger to him, and perhaps get her out of bed (because he assumed beauty sleep meant sleeping in early), in order to ask her an, under the circumstances, astonishing question, was perhaps much more likely to cause a scandal than going to Bronze Pocket. But it sometimes happens that way—especially in such cases—with the decisions of the most precise and coolheaded ponies. And at the moment Sharp was not completely coolheaded.

He remembered afterwards that he felt like he was being carried forth by a growing anxiety, almost against his will, as it were. Naturally, he kept having to tell himself, going to the library, "Just go through with it, just go through with it."

It was past nine o'clock when he came to Golden Oak. He knocked on the door and, after waiting for a bit, received the nervous inquiry of who it was through the door. Sharp Heat politely but insistently asked to be let inside, because he was there on some important (thought admittedly unofficial) business. It took some difficulty to convince her to let him in, given the fact that the library was closed, and Olva indeed had already retired to her bed, earlier than usual. She had been upset since Nova's visit and now anticipated she would not get through the night without a migraine.

But on hearing the inflexions of sincerity in Sharp's voice, and how polite he sounded, she decided to open the door and was amazed. She at once asked about his appearance, and why he had been bandaged up so much, despite the frock coat masking the concerning sight. He explained to her in the briefest way possible how he had gotten badly injured on the Flying Rift; and now he tried with difficulty to change the topic, because she piled inquiry after inquiry about what had happened there in detail. Still, he was very polite, which produced an unexpectedly positive impression for Olva.

Let me note that Sharp was quite handsome, and he was aware of it himself. Olva finally decided to let him in. She was already in her dressing gown and slippers. Sharp Heat, "the official," was shown into the foyer. She sat him down and looked sternly at him, asking, "So what business is this? What do you want?"

"My apologies for troubling you, madame, but I've come in connection with our mutual acquaintance, Nova Steel," began Sharp, but as soon as he spoke his name, Olva's face suddenly showed the greatest irritation. She all but shrieked and furiously interrupted him.

"How long, how long must I be tormented by that awful stallion?" she cried frenziedly. "How dare you, my dear sir, how could you venture to disturb a lady not of your acquaintance, in her own house, and at such an hour? And come to her to speak of a stallion who, right here, in this very room, just an hour ago, came to murder me, stamped his hooves and walked out as no pony walks out of a decent house. Let me tell you, my dear sir, that I will lodge a complaint against you, I will not stand for it, now kindly leave my house at once... I am a mother, I shall... I... I..."

"Wait a bit, you said murder? So he wanted to murder you, too?"

"Why, did he already murder somepony else?" asked Olva impetuously.

"Madame, I ask only for a minute of your time, I'll explain everything in a jiffy," Sharp answered firmly. "Today, a bit before eight o'clock, Nova walked into my house carrying heavy stacks of bits. His hooves and face were all covered with blood, and it looked like he had gone crazy. To my question of where he got so much money, he replied that he precisely received it from you, that you had loaned him a sum of five thousand bits."

Olva's face suddenly acquired a look of extraordinary and morbid excitement.

"Oh, sweet Celestia! He's murdered his old father!" she cried out, clasping her hooves together. "I gave him no money, none! Oh, run, run! Not a word more! Save the old stallion, run to his father, run!"

"I beg your pardon, madame, but you're saying that you didn't give him any money? You firmly recall that you didn't give him any?"

"I did not! I absolutely did not! I refused him, and he walked out furious and stamping his hooves. He rushed at me, but I jumped aside... And I shall also tell you, as a pony from whom I now have no intention of concealing anything, that he even spat at me, can you imagine it? But why are you standing? Ah, forgive me, I... or—no—run, run, you must run and save that unfortunate old stallion from a horrible death!"

"But what if he's already killed him?"

"Goodness, of course! What are we going to do now? What do you think we should do now?"

Sharp Heat gave her a brief but rather clear account of the affair, at least that part of the affair he himself had witnessed earlier, which included Nova mentioning his next destination: Baltimare, to some tavern. All these details struck the agitated lady to no end, so that she kept crying out and covering her eyes with her hooves.

"Imagine, I foresaw it all! I am endowed with this property: whatever I imagine always happens. How often, how often have I looked at that terrible stallion and thought: here is a stallion who will end up by murdering me. And now it's happened... that is, if he hasn't killed me now, but only his father, it is most likely because Princess Celestia's divine powers are protecting me, and, besides, he would probably be ashamed to murder a defenseless, middle-aged mother. I was so close to death at that moment! I went up to him, quite close, and he stretched his neck out to me. You know, Sharp Heat—eh, forgive me, you did say your name was Sharp Heat?"

"That's right, Sharp Heat."

"Oh, you know, I don't believe in miracles, but now I'm ready to believe in anything. Have you ever heard of the Mare in the Moon...? Ah, anyway, I don't know what I'm saying. He only spat, he didn't murder me, and... and... so that's where he flew to, Baltimare? But what about us? Where shall we go now, what do you think?"

Sharp Heat stood up and announced that he would now go directly to the police commissioner and tell them everything, and let them do as they would think is best.

"Ah, she's a wonderful pony, I know Ruby Spirit. Of course, go precisely to her. How resourceful you are, Sharp Heat, and what a good idea you've come up with; you know, in your place I'd never have been able to come up with that!"

"That's good to hear, I'm also well acquainted with the police commissioner," observed Sharp, still standing and evidently wishing somehow to tear himself away from the impetuous lady, who would not let him say goodbye to her and leave.

"And you know, you know," she went on prattling, "you must come back and tell me what you see and learn... and what they find out... and what they will decide about him, and where they will condemn him to. Tell me, we don't have capital punishment, do we? But you must come, even if it's three o'clock in the morning, even if it's four, keep knocking until I wake up; in fact, I'll leave the door unlocked, shake me to wake me up if you have to."

"That really won't be necess—"

"Oh, my goodness, but I'll never be able to fall asleep. You know, why don't I go with you myself?"

"N-no, madame, there's no need at all. Instead you should write down a few lines on a clean piece of paper, just in case, saying that you didn't give Nova Steel any money. It might prove to be useful... just in case..."

"Certainly!" The animated Olva leaped to her chest of drawers. "And you know, you amaze me, you simply astound me with your resourcefulness and your skill in these matters. Are you in service here? I'm so pleased to know you're in service here."

(Sharp was in service in Canterlot, not Ponyville, but he did not bother correcting her.)

While she spoke she quickly inscribed the following three lines on a half sheet of writing paper:

Never in my life did I lend the unfortunate Nova Steel (because he is unfortunate now) the sum of five thousand bits today, or any other money or valuables, never, never! I swear to it by all that is good in this world. I swear to it by the name of Princess Celestia herself.

Olva Velvet

"Here is the note!" she said, turning quickly to Sharp. "Go now and be a hero. It's a great deed on your part."

She kept looking with admiration at him. She even followed him to the front door.

"I am so grateful to you! You wouldn't believe how grateful I am to you now, for having come to me first. How is it we've never met? I shall be flattered to receive you in my house in the future, either here or in Manehattan. And how pleased I am to know that you're an artillery captain... and with your precision, your resourcefulness. They must appreciate you, they must finally understand you, and whatever I can do for you, believe me! Oh, I love the younger generation so much! I'm in love with younger ponies such as yourself. Young ponies—they are the foundation for all of today's modern Equestria, her only hope... Oh, go, go!"

But Sharp Heat had already run out, otherwise she would not have let him go so soon. All the same, Olva made quite a pleasant impression on him, which even somewhat softened his alarm at getting involved in such a nasty affair.

As for Olva herself, she was simply enchanted with the young captain. "Such skill, such exactitude, in our time, and all that with such manners and appearance—just like Cluster Tale! And yet they say our modern young ponies can't do anything, but here's an example for you," and so on and so forth. So that she simply forgot all about the terrible incident, and only on the point of going to bed did she suddenly recall again "how close she had been to death."

"Ah," she said, "it's terrible, just terrible!" And she at once fell into a sound sleep.

And it was with these incidental details that led to the arrival of the police commissioner, the deputy, and all the rest to Baltimare several hours later. How they got there so quickly is a testament to the quality of their service.
> Part VI – Chapter VII – The Interrogation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

And now we return to Nova after that brief interlude.

He was sitting and staring around with wild eyes at those present, without understanding what was being said to him. Suddenly he rose, threw up his arms, and cried out loudly, "I'm not guilty! Of my father's blood I am not guilty! I wanted to kill him, but I didn't! Not me!"

But no sooner had he cried it than Bouquet jumped out from behind the curtains and collapsed before the police commissioner.

"It's me, me, I did this!" she cried, all in tears, stretching her arms out to everypony. "He did it for me! I tormented him and drove him to it inadvertently! It's all me, I'm the guilty one!"

"Yes, yes, you're the guilty one, you're the mastermind behind all this, you're the guiltiest of all!" yelled the police commissioner, shaking her hoof at her, but this time the prosecutor resolutely put his hoof her shoulder and even pulled her back a bit.

"This is entirely out of order, Ruby," he said, "you're positively hindering the investigation!"

"Measures have to be taken," put in the deputy commissioner, "otherwise it's impossible to judge this right."

"Judge us together!" Bouquet went on exclaiming, still bent down on the floor. "Punish us together, I'll go with him to the dungeons for life!"

"Bouquet, please, wait!" Nova threw himself to the floor beside her and caught her tightly in his arms. "Don't believe her," he shouted, "she's not guilty of anything, of any blood, or anything!"

But several guards pulled him away from her by force, she was suddenly taken out.

When he came to his senses, he was already sitting at the table. Beside him and behind him stood ponies with badges. On the sofa across from him, Honey Heart, the district attorney, sat trying to persuade him to sip some water from a glass that stood on the table.

"It'll refresh you, it'll calm you down," she kept saying with practiced courtesy and politeness.

On the left, at Nova's side the prosecutor sat down, and to Nova's right, a blue-coated pegasus stallion, very young, in front of whom there was an inkstand and some paper. He turned out to be the district attorney's clerk, who had come with her. The police commissioner now stood near the window, at the other end of the room, next to Cold Leg, who was sitting in a chair by the same window.

"Drink some water," repeated the attorney soothingly for what seemed like the tenth time.

"I drank some, Ms. Heart, I drank some... but... come, mares and gentlecolts, punish me, decide my fate!" exclaimed Nova, staring with bulging eyes at the district attorney, Honey Heart.

"So you positively assert that you're not guilty of the death of Bronze Pocket?" she asked calmly but insistently.

"Not guilty! I'm guilty of another blood, but not my father's. And I weep for it! I killed, I killed the servant, I struck him down! But it's hard to answer for this other blood. A terrible accusation, my good ponies, as if you'd stunned me on the head! But who killed my father, who could have killed him if not me? I wonder at that absurdity!"

"Yes, who could have killed him..." the district attorney began.

But the prosecutor, Ace Mark (the deputy prosecutor, but for the sake of brevity we shall call him just the prosecutor), exchanging glances with the district attorney, said, turning to Nova, "You needn't worry about the old servant, Shovel Rod. I can tell you that he's recovered and is alive, despite the severe beating inflicted by you, according to his and now your own evidence. It seems he will undoubtable live, at least in the doctor's opinion."

"Alive? So he's alive?" Nova suddenly shouted, his whole face lighting up. "Thank goodness, I thank you for this greatest miracle, which you have done for me, a sinner and evildoer, according to my fervent wishes! Yes, yes, it's all according to my wishes, I was wishing all night!" And he clasped his hooves together. He was nearly breathless.

"And it's from this same Shovel Rod that we have received such hard evidence regarding you, that—" the prosecutor went on, but Nova suddenly jumped up from his chair.

"One moment, everypony, just one moment; I'll run to her..."

"Sorry! Right now that'd be impossible!" the attorney raised her voice, and she, too, jumped to her hooves. The ponies with badges laid hold of Nova, but he sat down on the chair himself.

"What a pity!" he said. "I wanted to see her for just one moment. I wanted to announce to her that this blood that was gnawing at my heart all night has been washed away, and I'm no longer a murderer! She's my fiancée!" he suddenly spoke ecstatically and reverently, looking around at them all. "Oh, thank you. Oh, how you've restored me!"

"And so you..." began the district attorney.

"Sorry, Ms. Heart, just one more minute," he interrupted, putting both elbows on the table and covering his face with his hooves, "let me collect myself a little, let me catch my breath. It's all terribly shocking."

"Have some more water," she muttered.

Nova looked up and laughed. His look was rather cheerful; he had quite changed, as it were, in a moment. And his whole tone was changed: here now sat a pony once again the equal of all these other ponies in badges, of all these previous acquaintances of his, exactly as if they had all come together the day before, when nothing had happened yet, somewhere at a social gathering. But this friendly display was not shared. Some of them even frowned.

"You, Honey Heart, are, I can see, a most skillful investigator," laughed Nova, "but now I will help you myself. Oh, really, I have been restored, resurrected... and do not take it amiss that I address you so casually and directly. Besides, I'm a little drunk, I admit. I believe I have the honour of meeting you... But please, I do not claim to be equal, I quite understand who I am now, as I sit here before you. A horrible suspicion hangs over me. If dear old Shovel has given evidence regarding me... then of course, oh, of course it hangs over me! Horrible—this I understand! But—anyway—to business, I'm ready to get to work. You see, if I know I am not guilty, then of course we can make short work of it, eh? Can't we?"

Nova spoke much and quickly, nervously and expansively, and as if he decidedly took his listeners for his best friends.

"So, for now we'll write down that you completely deny the accusation brought against you," said the attorney imposingly, and, turning to her clerk, she dictated in a low voice what he was to write down specifically.

"You want to write it down? Well, write it down then, I consent, I give my total consent. Only, you see... Wait, wait, write it down like this: 'Of violence, guilty; of savagely beating a poor old stallion, guilty; and within himself, he, a horrible sinner, guilty!' But... uh, there's no need to write that down..." He turned suddenly to the clerk. "That is my private life, that doesn't concern you now, the bottom of my heart, I mean. But the murder of his father, not guilty! It's an utterly wild idea! I'll prove it to you and you'll be convinced immediately. You'll all laugh, mares and gentlecolts. You'll roar with laughter at your own suspicion!"

"Calm down, Nova Steel," said the attorney, apparently as if she wished to subdue the frenzied earth pony with her own calmness. "Before continuing the interrogation, I should like to hear from you a confirmation of the fact that you seem to have disliked the late Bronze Pocket, and were in some sort of permanent dispute with him. Here, in any case, not too long ago, I believe you were even pleased to say that you wanted to kill him. Not that you did, but that you explicitly wanted to."

"I said that? Ah, maybe I did, Honey Heart. Yes, unfortunately I wanted to kill him, wanted to many times..."

"You wanted to. Would you be willing to explain what principles guided you in this hatred for your own father?"

"What's there to explain?" Nova shrugged gloomily, looking down. "I've never hid my feelings, the whole town of Ponyville knows of it—everypony in the tavern knows. Recently, on the day of this year's Summer Sun Celebration, I beat my father and nearly killed him, and swore in front of witnesses that I would come back and kill him. Oh, there's many witnesses! I've been shouting for a long time about it now, everypony knows it. The fact is right there, the fact speaks, but—feelings are something else. You see"— Nova frowned —"it seems to me that you have no right to question me about my feelings. You are empowered, I understand that, but this is my own personal business. But... since I haven't hidden my feelings before... in the tavern, for instance, but talked of it to all and sundry, so I won't... I won't make a secret of it now. You see, Honey Heart, I quite understand that the evidence is stacked against me: I told everypony I would kill him, and suddenly he is killed. Who else but me in that case? Ha, ha! I don't blame you at all, mares and gentlecolts. I must ask, where was he killed? How was he killed?" he asked quickly, looking at the prosecutor and district attorney.

"We found him lying on his back, on the floor of his study, with the side of his head smashed in," said the prosecutor.

"How horrible!" Nova suddenly shuddered, leaning in on the table.

"Let's continue," said Honey Heart. "What, then, led you in your feeling of hatred? I believe you have announced publicly that it was a matter of an inheritance unfairly kept from you? A dispute about money?"

"Yes, about money."

"The dispute seems to have been over five thousand bits, allegedly due to you. Is that correct?"

"Five thousand, hah! It was more, more"— Nova heaved himself up —"more than ten, maybe more than twenty. I told everypony, I shouted it to everypony! But I decided to let it settle for a mere five thousand. I desperately needed that five thousand... the little chest containing it, the existence of which he had let slip to me. I considered it stolen from me, I considered it mine, just as if it was my own property."

The prosecutor exchanged meaningful glances with the district attorney and managed to wink at her unobserved.

"We'll come back to that subject later," she said at once. "For now, I'll take note of this point and write it down: that you considered the money in that chest as your own property."

"Write it down, I quite understand it is one more piece of evidence against me, but I'm not afraid of evidence and even testify against myself. Do you hear, against myself! You see, you seem to be taking me for quite a different pony," he added suddenly, with a glum expression. "I happen to have done many mean things in this world, but do not lose sight of this—above all, not this—I have remained a most noble pony, one inside of whom is his depths... well, in short, I don't know how to say it. This is precisely what has tormented me all my life. Ah, my head aches." He winced with pain. "You see, I did not like his appearance, it was somehow dishonourable, boastful, trampling on all that's good, mockery and evilness, loathsome! But now that he's dead, I think differently."

"How differently?"

"Not differently, but I guess I don't hate him as much now."

"So you feel regret?"

"No, not really regret, don't write that down. I'm not good myself, that's the thing, I'm not so beautiful myself, and therefore I had no right to consider him repulsive, that's the thing. Perhaps... perhaps you can write that down."

Having said this, Nova suddenly became very sad. Gradually, for some time now, as he answered the district attorney's questions, he had been growing more and more glum.

"Would you permit me, if you could, to see Bouquet again?" he asked all of a sudden. "Where is she? I'd like to meet with her."

"She's downstairs, being questioned," said the prosecutor. "What do you want with her? She's innocent."

But this time the police commissioner stepped up, and in a loud voice said to the prosecutor, "Would you permit me to say just one thing to this stallion? It would be in your presence."

"As you wish, Ruby Spirit," answered the district attorney, "in the present case we have nothing against you."

"Listen, Nova Steel," she began, turning to Nova, "I myself took Bouquet Rose downstairs and gave her over to the innkeeper's daughters, and I talked with her, understand? I talked with her and calmed her down, and I told her that you need to clear yourself and remain free from distractions, otherwise you may get confused and give wrong evidence against yourself, understand? She's a smart mare, you shouldn't worry about her, and, like Ace Mark said, she's innocent. She even told me to tell you that you shouldn't worry."

The police commissioner said much more than was necessary, but the grief displayed by both Bouquet and Nova started to get to her, in spite of her initial disdain for him. She gave Nova a few taps on the shoulder and retreated.

"Oh, you're right!" he said. "She's such a wonderful soul, I thank you for her! Very well, I'll be cheerful, tell her in the infinite kindness of your soul that I am cheerful, cheerful, I'll even start laughing now. I'll finish with all of this now, and the moment I'm free, I'll go to her at once, she'll see, she must wait! Alright then, let us continue!"

He collected himself at once, having gotten teary-eyed. The commissioner was very pleased, and so the jurists seemed to be, too: they felt that the interrogation was now entering a new phase.

"Well, mares and gentlecolts, now I am yours, yours completely. And... if only it weren't for all these small details, we would come to an understanding at once. I swear, we must have mutual trust—you in me, and I in you—otherwise we'll never finish. I'm saying it for your sake. To business, and above all don't go digging around in my soul so much, don't torment it with trifles, but keep to the point, to the facts, and I'll satisfy you at once. Forget the small details!" so Nova exclaimed.

"We find that very encouraging to hear, Nova Steel, thank you for your readiness," Honey Heart started saying, with an animated look and with visible pleasure shining in her eyes, from which she had just removed her spectacles a moment before. "And you've made a very just observation concerning our mutual confidentiality, without which it's sometimes impossible to proceed in matters of such importance, in the case and sense that the suspected pony is able to vindicate themselves. For our part, we will do everything possible to conduct this case efficiently. Do you approve, Ace Mark?" she asked, turning to the prosecutor.

"I do," the prosecutor approved, though somewhat dryly compared to Honey Heart.

I will note once and for all that on the way to Baltimare, the ponies in badges had time to make arrangements for the impending case, and now, at the table, the sharp mind of Honey Heart caught and understood every indication, every movement in the face of her older colleague, from half a word, a look, a wink of the eye.

"My fellow investigators, give me leave to tell my own story and do not interrupt me with trifles, and I will lay it all out to you in no time," said Nova, clenching his jaw.

"Excellent, thank you," said the district attorney. "But before we go on to hear your account, allow me simply to mention one more little fact, an interesting one, namely, that antique crossbow you pawned to your friend Sharp Heat for two hundred bits."

"I pawned it, true. What of it? As soon as I got back to town from my trip, I took it back."

"Got back? So you had left Ponyville?"

"I did. I was in Fillydelphia. I was in the Flying Rift... during the incident..."

"Ah." She nodded understandingly. "My condolences. That truly was a tragic event, and I'm glad you're safe now. Anyway, suppose you begin your story with a systematic description of your whole day yesterday, starting from the morning. Let us know, for example, why you came to Ponyville at the time that you did."

"But you should have asked me that from the very beginning," laughed Nova loudly. He at once began to relay the whole account of his previous day, when he got up in the morning, had decided that his previous five thousand was lost during the train attack, the meeting with Bouquet's maid, and so on and so forth.

"Allow me to interrupt," the prosecutor interjected, "why did you so suddenly need precisely that five thousand?"

"Eh, please, why pick on such little things: how, when, and why, and precisely this much money and not that much, and all that hogwash... if you keep on, it'll take you eight volumes and an epilogue to cram it all in."

All this Nova said with the good-natured but impatient familiarity of a pony who wishes to tell the whole truth and is full of the best intentions.

"Anyway," he caught himself, as it were, "don't murmur against me for my raggedness. I ask you again: believe once more that I feel the utmost respect and fully understand the situation. And don't think I'm drunk. I've sobered up now. And it would be no hindrance if I were drunk, because that's how I am. Ha, ha! I see it's not proper on my part to start cracking jokes with you yet—that is, before we've explained everything.

"Allow me to keep my dignity. I quite understand the present difference: I'm still sitting before you as a criminal, and, therefore, unequal to you in the highest degree, and your duty is to watch me: you really can't pat me on the back for Shovel Rod, one certainly can't go breaking old servants' heads with impunity, you'll probably try me and lock me up for, what, six months or a year in the penitentiary for that, or, I don't know, whatever the sentence would be—but without loss of rights, it will be without loss of rights, won't it, prosecutor? And so... I quite understand the difference. But you must agree that you could confuse these questions: where I stepped, what I stepped in... I'll get confused that way, and you'll pick up every dropped stitch and write it down at once, and what will come of it? Nothing! And finally, since I've already begun telling my tale, I'll finish it now, and you, mares and gentlecolts, being most noble and highly educated, will forgive me.

"I'll end precisely with a request: you must unlearn this official method of interrogation, I mean, first you begin, say, with something measly and insignificant: how did you get up, what did you eat, how did you spit, and having lulled the suspect's attention, you suddenly catch them with a stunning question, 'Who did you kill, or rob'? Ha, ha! That's your official method, so to speak. It's what all your cleverness is based on! I understand the system, I was in the service myself, ha, ha! You're not angry with me, are you? You'll forgive my boldness?" he cried, looking at them with almost surprising good-naturedness.

Honey Heart listened and laughed, too. The prosecutor, though he did not laugh, was studying Nova intently, without taking his eyes off him, as if not wishing to miss the least word, the least movement of his face.

"Incidentally, that's how we began with you from the beginning," she said, still laughing, "not confusing you with questions about how you got up in the morning, but from the essentials."

"I understand and appreciate it! And I appreciate still more your present kindness to me, which is unprecedented, worthy of the noblest souls. We are all noble here, and let everything with us be based on mutual trust, bound by nobility and honour. In any case, allow me to look upon you as my best friend in this moment of my life, in this moment when my honour is humiliated. That's no offence to you, is it?"

"Not at all, you've expressed it very well, Nova Steel," Honey Heart gravely and approvingly agreed.

"And away with little details, with all these petty details," Nova went on, "otherwise who knows what will come of it, isn't that so?"

"I'll follow your sensible advice," the prosecutor suddenly mixed in, addressing Nova. "However, I still won't withdraw my question. It's all too necessary for us to know why precisely you needed such an amount—that being the five thousand."

"Why I needed it? Well, you know, for this and that... well, to repay a debt..."

"Repay a debt to whom?"

"That I positively refuse to tell you, good sir! You see, it's not that I cannot tell you, or don't dare, or am afraid, because it's all a paltry matter and perfectly trifling. No, I won't tell you on principle: it's my private life, and I will not allow you to invade my private life. This is my principle. Your question is irrelevant to the case, and whatever is irrelevant to the case is my private life! I wanted to repay a debt, a debt of honour, but to whom I won't say."

"Fine then, we'll write that down," said the prosecutor.

"As you wish. Write down this: that I just won't say. Write that I even consider it dishonourable to say. You've got lots of time for writing, haven't you?"

"Let me caution you and remind you once more, in case you're still unaware of it," said the prosecutor with particular and rather stern respectableness, "that you have every right not to answer the questions that are put to you now, and we have no right to extort answers from you, should you decline to answer for one reason or another. It's a matter of consideration on your behalf. On the other hoof, it is our business to point out to you and explain the full extent of the harm you'll be doing yourself by refusing to speak. In this regard, I ask you to continue."

"My fellow investigators, I'm not angry... I..." Nova started mumbling, somewhat taken aback by this reprimand. "You see, when the first attempt at an agreement backfired..."

I will not, of course, reproduce his detailed account of what is already known to you. I am starting to get impatient in my task to tell everything in the smallest particulars, and at the same time I wish to get through it quickly. But his evidence was being written down as he gave it, and therefore he necessarily had to be stopped. Nova objected but submitted, was angry, but so far good-naturedly. True, from time to time he cried out, "Please, what's the point of this?" or "Don't you know you're irritating me for nothing?" But despite his exclamations, he still preserved his friendly and expansive mood.

He explained everything again from the beginning, this time including his brother and sister, as well as describing in detail his jealous torments over Bouquet. Little by little he became more gloomy. He was listened to silently and attentively; they particularly went into the circumstance of his having long ago set up to go risk everything in the Luna Bay casino. All this information was written down.

Of his jealously he spoke ardently and extensively, and though inwardly ashamed at displaying his most intimate feelings, so to speak, "for general disgrace," he obviously tried to overcome his shame for the sake of being truthful. The indifferent sternness of the district attorney's and the prosecutor's eyes, which they kept fixed on him during his account, disconcerted him in the end rather strongly.

And so, everything was carefully written down. At the end of it the attorney brought his antique crossbow to the table and laid it before him.

"So is this your crossbow?" asked Honey Heart, analyzing it herself.

"Ah, yes!" Nova grinned gloomily. "Let me see it... or don't, never mind!"

"You forgot to mention why you brought it with you," she observed.

"Ah, of course, it completely slipped my memory. I wouldn't hide anything from you, would I?"

"In that case, could you tell us in detail why you bought it back from the artillery captain Sharp Heat, loaded and everything?"

"What purpose? No purpose! I just got it back, because it belonged to me."

"But why, if there was no purpose? I mean, you were in a hurry to get to Baltimare, weren't you? Why stop for this thing?"

Nova started to huff angrily and looked fixedly at the clerk, grinning gloomily. The thing was that he felt more and more ashamed of having just told "such ponies" the story of his jealousy, so sincerely and with such effusion.

"I spit on that crossbow," suddenly escaped him.

"Even so..."

"I bought it back because it was mine. Or because it was dark. Or just in case."

"And has it always been a habit of yours to carry a crossbow around when going out at night, since you're apparently so afraid of the dark?"

"Argh, to tartarus! It's literally impossible to talk to you!" Nova cried out in the utmost annoyance, and turning to the clerk, all red with anger, with a sort of frenzied note in his voice, said quickly to him, "Take this down: 'I got the crossbow back to kill my father, Bronze Pocket, then to kill myself!' Well, are you content now? Have I satisfied your curiosity?" he said, staring defiantly at the ponies before him.

"We realize that you've given such evidence against yourself just now because you're annoyed with us and annoyed by the questions we put to you, which you regard as petty, even though they're quite essential," said the prosecutor dryly. "Besides, what you said doesn't even add up. How could you have used the crossbow to kill your father if you obtained it after leaving his house for the final time?"

"For pity's sake, what does it matter? So I took it. That's all. Shame on you, good sir—or I swear I won't say anything more!"

Nova leaned his elbow on the table and propped his head on his hoof. He was sitting sideways to them, looking at the wall, and trying to overcome the bad feeling inside him. In fact, he really had a terrible urge to declare that he was not going to say another word.

"You see, mares and gentlecolts," he suddenly spoke, overcoming himself with difficulty, "you see, I'm listening to you and imagining... You see, this is all a tragedy. I'm the cockatrice, and you're the hunters—to hunt the cockatrice down."

"You really shouldn't make such comparisons," said Honey Heart very softly.

"Why shouldn't I, huh? Why shouldn't I!" Nova boiled up again, though he had apparently unburdened his soul with this outburst of sudden anger and was growing kinder again with every word. "You may disbelieve a criminal or a prisoner in the dock whom you're tormenting with your questions, but to disbelieve the noblest pony, the noblest impulses of the soul—no! That you cannot do... you even have a right to... but anyway, shall I go on?" he broke off gloomily.

"Of course, if you're willing," said Honey Heart.

Though Nova began speaking sternly, he apparently was trying all the more not to forget or skip over the least detail in his account. He told how he had jumped over the fence into his father's garden, how he went up to the window, and, finally, everything that took place under the window. Clearly, as though hammering it out, he spoke of his feelings that had troubled him during those moments in the garden, when he had wanted so terribly to know whether or not Bouquet was "alright," that is to say, taken by her former one.

But, strangely, this time both the prosecutor and the district attorney somehow listened with terrible reserve, and looked at him dryly, asking far fewer questions. Nova could gather nothing from their faces.

They're angry and offended, he thought. Well, to tartarus with them!

When he told them of the moment he tapped on the window, and he saw his father leaning out, he described the hatred that boiled within him. Then he suddenly stopped. He sat and looked at the wall, knowing they both had their eyes on him.

"So then what?" asked the district attorney.

"Then? Oh, then I killed him, smashed him on the side of the head. That's your version anyway!" He suddenly flashed his eyes. All the wrath that had almost died out in him suddenly rose up in his heart.

"Our version," she repeated. "What's yours?"

Nova lowered his eyes and was silent for a long time.

"My version... is this," he began softly. "Whether it was somepony's tears, or the bright spirit of Princess Celestia herself watching over me, I don't know—but that murderous intent in me was overcome. I still broke in, hit him, and reclaimed my five thousand. But I made sure, I very carefully inspected—he was still alive, breathing, only half-conscious and groaning. There was practicably no blood at all, and the side of his face was certainly not smashed in. No, he was very much alive. Then I dashed away from the window and ran to the fence. Father must have gotten up the moment I left, because I remember him catching sight of me, and that he had cried out; he was sluggishly leaning out the window, then he jumped back. I remember that very well. And I ran through the garden to the fence... it was here that Shovel Rod caught up with me, when I was already escaping."

At this point he finally raised his eyes to his listeners. They seemed to be looking at him with completely untroubled attention. A sort of twinge of indignation went through Nova.

"But I see right now you're laughing at me!" he said suddenly.

"Why come to that conclusion?" remarked Honey Heart.

"You don't believe a word of it, that's why! I quite understand that I've come to the main point: the old stallion is now lying there with his head, or face, or temple, or whatever smashed in, and I—having tragically described how I wanted to kill him—I suddenly run away from the window. A poem! In verse! Take the good pony's word for it! Ha, ha! You're all scoffers!"

And he swung his whole body around on the chair so hard that it creaked.

"And did you notice," began the prosecutor in an even voice, as if paying no attention to Nova's excitement, "did you notice, when you broke in, whether or not the door in your father's room was open?"

"No, it was not open."

"No?"

"Not open at all, it was shut. Who could have opened it? Pah, the door—wait!" He suddenly seemed to collect himself and all but jumped up. "Did you find the door open?"

"Yes, we found it open."

"But who could have opened it, if you didn't open it yourselves?" Nova was terribly surprised.

"The door was open, and your father's murderer undoubtably entered the room from there and, having committed the murder, went out the window to escape," the prosecutor spoke slowly and distinctly, as though emphasizing each word. "We're still examining the scene, but so far not a single trace of magical residue has been found in the area, meaning there was likely no magic used, either to move things around via levitation, or to teleport, or anything like that. It's perfectly clear to us. The murder obviously took place in the room, which is positively clear from the investigation carried out, from the position of the body, and everything else. There can be no doubt of that circumstance."

"But that's impossible!" he cried out, astounded and completely at a loss. "I... I didn't go in through the door... I tell you with exactness that the door was shut the whole time. I remember it being shut when I saw it through the window. Are you sure... eh, sure it was not Shovel Rod who opened the door, after I left? Perhaps he went in to see if father was alright?"

"Not likely. When we got there the servant Shovel Rod was lying on the ground, completely bloodied and unconscious."

"What about the other servants! Sandy, for instance?"

"No pony else was on the premises at the time of the murder, from what we've gathered."

"Well, in that case... damn windigos killed my father!" suddenly escaped Nova, who was in extraordinary and spiteful agitation.

The prosecutor shot the attorney a dubious, sidelong glance. He was clearly thinking something over.

"We'll, uh, return to this fact later," resolved Honey Heart, "and now, wouldn't you like to go on with your evidence?"

Nova asked for a break. It was politely granted. Having rested, he began to go on. But it was obviously difficult for him. He was worn out, insulted, and morally shaken. Besides, the prosecutor, now quite intentionally, began irritating him every moment by pestering him with "details." As soon as Nova described how, going over the fence, he had kicked Shovel Rod, who was clutching his leg, on the head, perhaps out of instinct, and then jumped down at once to the stricken old pony, the prosecutor stopped him and asked him to describe in greater detail. Nova was surprised.

"You must have kicked him pretty hard," said the prosecutor.

"Yes, I kicked hard—but what do you need that for?"

"Why don't you tell us how you kicked? Act it out visually for us, for the sake of clarification."

"You're not mocking me, are you?" asked Nova, glancing haughtily at his interrogator, but the latter did not even bat an eye. Nova got up from his seat, placed his fore-hooves on the table, turned aside a bit, raised his right hind-leg, and kicked out.

"That's how I hit him! That's how! Anything else?" he seethed out, sitting back down on his chair.

"Thank you. Now may I ask why you bothered to go back and check the servant? What purpose had you in mind?"

"Pah! To tartarus! I went back to Shovel Rod... I don't know why!"

"Even though you were running away, and specifically 'running out of time,' as you described?"

"Yes, running away..."

"Did you want to help him?"

"Help him, hah! Well, maybe also to help him, I forget."

"You forgot? Did you go unconscious or something?"

"Oh, no, not unconscious at all, I remember everything, to the last shred. I went back to look at him, to see the blood, to see if I could wipe it."

"Hmm. Did you hope to bring him back to life?"

"I don't know if I hoped for anything. I simply wanted to make sure if he was alive or not."

"Ah, so you wanted to make sure. And did you?"

"I'm not a doctor, I couldn't tell. I ran away thinking I'd killed him, but he recovered."

"Thank you, sir," concluded the prosecutor. "That's just what I wanted. Please continue."

Unfortunately, it did not even occur to Nova to tell them, though he remembered it, that he had gone to check on Shovel Rod out of pity, and that standing over the murdered stallion he had even uttered those tearful words.

The prosecutor drew just one conclusion, that Nova would only have delayed to check "at such a moment and in such a hurry" with the purpose of making completely sure whether the sole witness to his crime was alive or not. He was a very resolute and cold-blooded pony, in my opinion. The prosecutor was pleased, thinking, I irritated the morbid fellow with "details" and he gave himself away.

Nova went on painfully, but he was again stopped at once, this time by Honey Heart.

"How could you have run to Sharp Heat, and throughout Ponyville for that matter, with your face and body so covered in blood?" she asked.

"But I didn't notice it at the time that there was any blood on me!" replied Nova dismally.

"That's plausible, it can happen," said the prosecutor, exchanging looks with Honey Heart.

Next came the story of Nova barging into the tavern, meeting up with Bouquet and the rest, and having his feast. Then the question of the crossbow was brought up once more.

"So I decided to kill myself. Why should I go on living? Naturally that jumped into the picture. Her offender arrived, the former one, and he came riding to her with love, after many years, to end the offence with legal marriage. So I realized that it was all over for me... And behind me was disgrace, and that blood, Shovel Rod's blood... So why live? I went to redeem the pawned crossbow, to load it, and to put a bolt in my brain at dawn..."

"And the feast?"

"And the feast? Eh, to tartarus, let's get it over with quicker. I was certainly going to shoot myself, not far from here, just outside town, and I would have disposed of myself at about six o'clock in the morning."

"And didn't you think of washing yourself off before entering Sharp Heat's home? In other words, you weren't afraid of arousing suspicion?"

"What suspicion? Suspicion or not, all the same I'd have flown here and shot myself at six o'clock, and there would have been no time to do anything about it. If it weren't for what happened to my father, you wouldn't have found anything out and come here. Oh, forget it, fate is punishing me, it was fate that let you find out so soon! How in Equestria did you get here so soon? It's a wonder!"

"Captain Sharp Heat told us that when you came to him, you were carrying a lot of bits, and that you were bloodstained all over."

"Yes, that's true, I remember."

"Now one little question arises. Would you mind informing us," Honey heart began with incredible leniency, "as to how you knew where your father was hiding the chest with the five thousand?"

"No, I won't!" Nova turned all stubborn suddenly, crossing his arms and looking away. "You know, you're both afraid now: what if he won't tell us more? And so it is: I won't tell you, ladies"— he looked at the district attorney —"gentlecolts"— then at the prosecutor —"you'll never know!" he hammered out with great determination. The investigators fell silent for a moment.

"Understand, Mr. Nova Steel, that it's an essential necessity that we know this," said Honey Heart softly and humbly.

"I understand, but I still won't tell you."

The prosecutor intervened and again reminded him that a pony under interrogation was of course at liberty not to answer questions if they thought it more beneficial, and so on, but in view of the harm the suspect might do to themselves by keeping silent, and especially in view of questions of such importance—

"And so on and so on! Enough, I've heard the whole speech already!" Nova again interrupted. "I'm not telling."

"What's it to us, sir?" remarked Honey Heart nervously. "It's not our business but yours. You'll only be harming yourself."

But Nova remained stubbornly quiet.

"Could you not, at the very least, give us some slight hint as to what sort of compelling motives might force you to keep silent—and at a moment so dangerous for you in your evidence?"

Nova smiled sadly and somehow pensively.

"I am much kinder than you think, Ms. Honey Heart. I've been putting up with your game for far too long now. I tell the truth and you ponies 'write it down,' you pick up every stitch. There's no need dirtying myself. I've already dirtied myself enough on you. You're not worthy, you or anypony else. I'm done."

This was said all too resolutely. Honey Heart almost winced and stopped insisting, but she saw at once from a glance at Ace Mark, the prosecutor, that he had not yet lost hope.

"Could you not at least state how many bits was in your possession when you came with it to captain Sharp Heat's place—exactly how many bits?"

"No, I cannot."

"I believe you made some statement to Mr. Sharp Heat about five thousand bits that you supposedly got from the librarian, Olva Velvet?"

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. Enough, I won't tell you how much."

"In that case, will you kindly describe when the coachpony was present when you came here?"

"No."

There was not much else they could do. They decided to end the interrogation.

"I must inform you," said Honey Heart, "that we will be taking in your saddlebag, alongside all the remaining bits inside, as part of the physical evidence."

Even as the guards came to take him away, Nova wore an expression of unusual importance; and all the while a solicitous debate went on in half-whispers between the district attorney and the prosecutor. Every other pony in the tavern eventually went home.
> Part VI – Chapter VIII – Still Remembered Among Us
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few hours earlier...

"What did you say?" muttered Cluster in a strained voice, staring at the guard as if unable to believe what he had just heard.

"I'm very sorry, sir," replied the guard with extreme readiness. "But it's as I said. Your father... he's—"

"What's going on?" asked Airglow, having instantly picked up on the terrible change in atmosphere. She started walking to them but stopped. There was a growing anguish in Cluster's expression.

Only a few more words were exchanged, but faint and scattered ones, hard to pick up on from the staircase.

"Listen, you and I are going to his house right now," said Cluster to the guard. The guard hastily nodded and started to take off. Then Cluster turned to his sister and said, "You wait there, got it? Stay here till I get back."

"But what's going on? What happened?" said Airglow in profound dismay. She had heard the word "father" and not much else.

"Just wait here, and don't follow me!" Cluster shut the door before she could get another word out, leaving Airglow in terrible shock.


* * *


Everypony was met with the astounding news that Bronze Pocket really and truly had been murdered in his house that late evening, murdered and robbed. It had been learned in the following way.

About an hour after having been struck down, Shovel Rod, bloodied and amid the darkness, came to his morbid senses. He started to crawl across the garden, saying in a weak, wailing voice, "Guards, guards... where..." He probably had crawled for some time and had even passed out several times. Shovel Rod kept muttering incoherently, "He killed... father... killed... must... stop..."

He saw that Bronze's window was open and that there was light inside. Shovel Rod managed to drag himself to it and began calling for Bronze Pocket, in spite of his premonition. But, looking through the window, he saw a horrible sight: his master was lying on his back on the floor, not moving. The side of his face, as well as the top part of his dressing gown, were soaked in blood. A candle on the table shed a bright light on the blood and on the motionless, dead face of Bronze Pocket. Now horrified to the last degree, Shovel Rod screamed, attempted to rush out of the garden, but fell unconscious again. The local police and guards, having gotten there per Sharp Heat's request soon after, found him there.

I will note that while most ponies were asleep by then in Ponyville, little by little they each started to wake up due to the general commotion which was spreading all over town.

And in regards to Sharp Heat, he stated that upon their arrival, he had heard the terrible and piercing cries of Shovel Rod from the garden, which could have been heard from quite the distance. Having found the servant in such a bad condition, they carried him to his cottage. His head was washed with water and vinegar; the water brought him back to his full senses, and he asked at once to the badged ponies, "Has the master been murdered?"

The guards, including the police commissioner herself, went in through the garden and saw the open window, while Sharp stayed with Shovel for a moment.

It was decided to act energetically. The assistant police chief was immediately ordered to round up as many as four potential witnesses, and, following all the rules, which I am not going to describe here, they broke into Bronze's house and carried out an investigation on the spot. The district doctor, that being Dr. Tubercuhoofis, all but invited himself to accompany the commissioner, the district attorney, and Sharp Heat (but not the prosecutor who was not present in Ponyville at that time).

I will give a brief outline: Bronze Pocket turned out to be thoroughly and utterly murdered, his temple having been smashed in against the corner of the table. They conducted the autopsy research, as well as scanning the whole room for abnormalities in comparison to the descriptions from Shovel Rod, to whom all possible medical help was administered. He gave a quite coherent, though weak and faltering, account of how he had been struck down.

They began searching near the fence with an illumination spell and found stains of blood across the grass. The unusual disorder in Bronze's room was noted: the rug beneath his hooves was out of place, the door was open, and the sheets upon his bed were thrown aside, from under which a little chest was supposedly missing. But after another minute of searching they found the chest resting next to a bush by the window, opened and empty.

One circumstance among others in the evidence, coupled with Sharp's testimonial, made an extraordinary impression on the attorney and police commissioner: namely, the guess that Nova would certainly shoot himself with the aforementioned crossbow towards dawn, that he had resolved to do it, spoken of it to Sharp, loaded the cartridge, and so on. And worse was when Nova had told Sharp, "I have no time," when the latter was unwilling to believe him. It followed that they had to hurry there, to Baltimare, in order to catch the criminal before he perhaps really decided to shoot himself.

"That's really clear, isn't it?" had said the prosecutor. "That's just how it is with these hotheads: 'tomorrow I'll kill myself, but before I die—a spree.' It's all very predictable, especially in our times."

This was all detained, of course, by the investigation, the search of Bronze Pocket's house, the paperwork, and so on. All this needed time, and therefore they sent to Baltimare, roughly two hours ahead of them, the commissioner Ruby Spirit with the attorney Honey Heart. Ruby Spirit was instructed to go to Baltimare and, without raising alarm, to keep watch on the "criminal" tirelessly until the arrival of the proper authorities, as well as to procure witnesses, deputies, and so on and so forth. Ruby Spirit did all that, preserving her incognito, and initiating only Bore Hoof, the innkeeper, and then only partially into the secret of the affair.

This coincided precisely with the time when Bore Hoof had been looking for Nova, when he had asked him, "Where were you, sir?" Thus neither Nova nor anypony else knew that he was being watched; his case with the crossbow had long been taken away by Bore Hoof and hidden somewhere safe. And only after three o'clock in the morning did all the authorities arrive together—the police commissioner, the prosecutor, and the district attorney—in separate carriages, and the interrogation took place, as you have already read.

The doctor stayed behind in Bronze's house with the purpose of performing a postmortem in the morning on the body of the murdered stallion.

But now, after such a long explanation, I will return back to the perspective of Cluster Tale, who had arrived at his father's house just as the investigation began.


* * *


A small crowd of ponies, some civilians egged on by curiosity, others guards and police, were bunched up against the gates to the house. One guard in particular had his hooves full: he was trying to keep the ponies at bay, telling them to step back, to go home, but alas it was largely in vain.

The first guard who had fetched Cluster brought him right through the crowd, up the gate, and declared at once, "Here is the son, Cluster Tale, as requested. He was indeed in Ponyville."

"Thank you for coming," said the second guard.

"Enough of that, let me in," Cluster interrupted with extreme imperiousness. The guards scrambled about, still holding off the growing crowd, but Cluster slipped inside and walked quickly across the front yard.

Two more officials were standing attentively at the porch by the front door. From the side, where Cluster spotted the garden, were more ponies wandering about, collecting evidence and analyzing the scene in general. The whole thing appeared to be in disorder, or rather in a sort of organized chaos. Voices, whistles, and flashes of unicorn magic could be heard and seen from all sides, as well as the exclamations which everypony produced that night.

"Cluster Tale, there you are!" called out Sharp Heat. Cluster fully turned this time to see Sharp jogging, almost running, from the garden to the front of the porch. He stopped in front of him, sounding almost out of breath. Expectation and suspense lingered on their faces.

Cluster noticed that Sharp was no longer in his wheelchair, but much of the bandaging remained. He had also donned a coat.

"I sent a guard to get you just in case," said Sharp again, "but I never thought you'd get here so soon!"

"Sharp, you have to take me to him," said Cluster with gravity. "I need to see him for myself."

Sharp blinked a few times. He wanted to lay the details on Cluster at an appropriate pace, but did not expect such hastiness. He responded in a clear though hesitant voice, "I... I mean, right! He's in there, in the study room... to the right hall. But, Cluster—"

"Did it really happen?" asked Cluster. "Are you sure he's been killed, and not just beaten down?"

"I'm really sorry..."

Cluster cast a glance at the shut gates, taking notice of the onlookers. He shook his head, as though clearing it of something. There was some terrible vigour burning up in him, a sort of anger that he did not know where to direct.

"Let's just go inside," he said.

Sharp looked at him for another second, as though unable to make up his mind. Then he drew him along, murmuring almost inaudibly, "Come."

Sharp gave a subtle gesture to the officials by the door and they opened it. With this they moved on towards the study, past several investigators and medical personnel. The whole house was essentially under lockdown.

On the way a certain darkness was clouding Cluster's mind, which prevented him from thinking beyond the margins. He could only bring himself to think seconds in advance, not being able to bother with anything else. But for some reason he was not exactly frightened; as a matter of fact, Cluster felt strangely calm, clearly perturbed by the whole situation but still not exactly in any kind of disbelief.

He was nevertheless thankful for Sharp, who remained an incredibly sharp (mind the pun), resourceful, and dependable pony. He then remembered what Olva had said to him, about how Nova had run in there earlier, to Golden Oak, followed by Sharp. The dreary state of his mind began to connect several misplaced dots.

He recalled with perfect clarity the last image of his brother Nova, as the latter was leaving Fillydelphia, without a word of warning. He especially recalled how cryptic and ominous the whole thing presented itself as, but the worst part is that this had not surprised or shook him. Something terribly twisted and spiteful flashed in Cluster's face, but this was seemingly directed at himself.

In any case, there was not much time to dwell on that. He was led to the study room and found something large covered up in a blanket, laying motionless on the floor, and surrounded by more investigators.

Sharp Heat exchanged some words with them. They recognized that the personal student of Princess Celestia herself, as well of the son of the victim, had showed up. Cluster stepped up, waited for a moment, then the blanket was lifted. He was met with the horrible image of his father's face, pale and bloodied, flat on the floor, verifiably dead.

Cluster tried to say something but did not manage it. He took two steps back. A hazy look seemed to bend over his face. He put a hoof over his forehead, feeling that a headache was imminent. Sharp Heat observed him and quickly shook his hoof to the investigators, and they covered the dead pony again.

"I'm really, really sorry," said Sharp in a low voice, after they left the room and stood in the foyer.

But Cluster did not respond all at once, as though working out what he had just witnessed.

Sharp was silent, too, reluctant to comment any further, but after thirty seconds he added, "I wanted for it to be a gradual reveal, but then I considered that you might be in Ponyville early and that you wouldn't want to waste a second."

"Unless this was all some accident, how far have you gotten? Who's the prime suspect?" asked Cluster.

"For the time being," Sharp began, frowning, "it would have to be your brother, Nova Steel."

"Did anypony see the murder take place with their own eyes?"

"For the time being, no, not that we're aware of."

"When did you last see Nova?"

"Well, he came to my house around eight-ish, covered in blood. It had really bothered me, seeing him like that," he added in a mutter.

"Eight-ish. Hmm..." Cluster hummed in thought, with a look of extraordinary concentration on his face. Most of that previous anger and animation was replaced with a boundless concentration. He thought back to when Nova left for Ponyville.

"More importantly, it would be very useful if you could answer us some questions," said Sharp, but then he reconsidered the unnecessary hastiness of this proposition, all things considered. "Just a few things, doesn't have to be now, 'cause now you probably need some time to... In any case... uh, maybe that could be put off..."

But Cluster was entirely uncommunicative and decidedly uneasy. He gave a weak nod to Sharp, to show that he understood, and began walking back to the front door. He overheard some dispersed mumbling behind him, something about an autopsy. He spotted Dr. Tubercuhoofis. He was gradually passing into a new, somehow conciliatory mood.

When he exited through the main entrance he was entirely caught off guard by Airglow, who had run all the way from the front gate, with a guard behind her.

"What're you doing here!" exclaimed Cluster.

"The lady here says she's your sister, sir," the guard threw in, but Airglow stepped up.

"Cluster, what's going on?" she asked with a distraught look. 

"I thought I told you to stay put!"

"But you just bolted out with no warning! What else was I supposed to do?"

"Look"— he stepped down the porch and put an arm around her —"just go back to my house. I'll explain everything. I promise."

But Airglow did not budge. She fixed her eyes on him, waiting impatiently.

Cluster looked to the side, thinking very hard about what to say.

"What happened here?" she pressed on. "Why are there so many ponies surrounding the place? Is dad okay?"

Cluster's strained expression and uncomfortable position visibly heightened. He looked at his sister with a very strange, very defeated gaze, but he did not reply in full.

"I..." he began, struggling, but could not get anything else out.

Airglow was not ready to let him stall for time. She huffed and started walking ahead, but his arm stopped her.

"Airglow, please go back to the house," he said quietly. "Just... It'll be better this way. Let me handle this."

"I just wanna see dad. Where is he?" she exclaimed, her annoyance growing.

The further she pushed him to answer, the graver the look on his face became. She observed all of this, and then began making sense of the presence of so many investigators and guards. It all started to come together. She stopped resisting and took a step back. Both brother and sister stared painfully into each other's eyes.

"Cluster," she said again with visible anguish, "I won't go inside. But... just tell me where dad is. That's all I want to know."

But just then and there Sharp Heat emerged from the front door, carrying a small stack of papers in his hoof. He was heading somewhere, by the looks of it, but came to an abrupt halt.

"Airglow? You're here?" he said in astonishment.

"Sharp, what's going on!" Airglow fell upon him instantly, without ceremony. "Where's our dad?"

But much to her agitation, Sharp himself was stunned just like her brother, then a whole wave of melancholy came over him. He and Cluster exchanged brief glances. Airglow stood there staring at them, slowly passing into indignation.

"Oh, uh"— Sharp darted his head back and forth —"I'm not sure if I should be the one to..."

Something dreadful struck Airglow. She almost stumbled backwards, as if in a semi-dazed condition. Given the impression, as to how both stallions could not speak to her with straight words, she reasoned it out. But she did not want to believe it.

"Look, Sharp," she said in a weak and shaking voice, forcing herself to smile bitterly, "I just want to talk to dad, just to hear his voice. Can you..." She paused, ears drooped.

Cluster sighed, dropping his arm at last, not wanting to shift the burden to Sharp. He bent down and replied, "I'm really sorry, sis. Dad... he's been..."

"He's been what?" she asked quietly.

"He's... dead." The word struck out like a stab to the chest. "Murdered, most likely."

Airglow's hardly sincere smile vanished instantly; she all but fell down. Her face was unmoving, eyes clouded over. She opened her mouth but did not say anything. It was as if her whole body had frozen.

Sharp gave a quick nod to the guard from behind, who quickly dispatched himself from the scene. Then, walking by, he said, "I'll handle the questions on your behalf, Cluster. You two could leave if you wish. I'm... very sorry for your loss. Very. Please excuse me." And he was off.

Cluster could hear the shortness of Airglow's breathing, and not much else. She was staring down to the ground, entirely unresponsive. He lifted her hoof up, without resistance, and held it with both of his, helping her up.

"Come on," he said, "I'll walk you out of here."

As for Sharp, he had been approached by the commissioner in regards to the papers he was holding. Sharp was asked for the basic biographical descriptions of any close relations of the victim.

"I have it here, in official documenation," said Sharp, handing over the papers. "First there's the oldest son. Name: Cluster Tale. Gender: male. Race: unicorn. Age: twenty-eight. Occupation: magic researcher, as well as Princess Celestia's personal student. The second son is Nova Steel, who happens to be the main suspect. Male, earth pony, twenty-five, former street guard. Precautions will be taken, don't you worry. Last there's the daughter. Name: Airglow Sky. Gender: female. Race: pegasus. Age: fifteen. Occupation: assistant librarian at Golden Oak Library."

There were a few more details discussed, but I will not relay them here.

To Cluster's relief, Airglow followed him quietly, but mechanically, as if her mind was completely blank. At first Cluster was confused, but not all disconcerted. He and his sister walked through the gate, past the wandering stares of the onlookers, who had been made aware that the son and daughter of the murdered victim arrived on the scene, but they were ignored.

On the way out, once or twice, Cluster glanced at his sister. A shade of dead grief was visible on her face, which grew with every passing second as she walked alongside him. Probably she was unconscious of her own movements; but this very unconsciousness added to the worriment of its suggested meaning.

After having walked for about three minutes, when they were on the gravel path away from Bronze's house, Airglow stopped. Cluster stopped, too. They were next to a solitary tree and a yellow bench. He looked straight into her eyes, and read all there was to read. She was crying, tears streaming down her cheeks in silence.

Then she plopped to the ground, sniffling, stammering, almost choking and all but shaking violently.

"Just... why...?" she said at last, quietly. Tear drops started to hit the ground beneath her. "Why couldn't he... why did... it have to be this way..."

Cluster gave a start. He strode over to her, gently threw his arms around her, for comfort. And she suddenly burst into bitter tears. She cried bitterly for some time. He was completely stuck, and simply embraced her, annoyed with himself for not knowing what to say to calm her. As she wept he felt the continuous sting in his heart.

"I didn't want this to happen," he muttered, with a strange note in his voice. "But I don't know why..."

He felt Airglow's whole body go rigid. She was still crying, but not so loudly anymore. She had loosened her hold on him, too.

"I think Nova left before we arrived," Cluster continued, after a stretch of silence, "so I think that gives us something to consider. I also think that... huh?"

Cluster was caught off guard by the new and sudden expression blazed in Airglow's tearful eyes. She stared fixedly at him and rose from the ground.

"You 'didn't want this to happen'?" she said in low voice. "Is that what you said?"

Cluster listened to her with a decidedly grave look. "Are you..." he began, cocking his head back. A shadow seemed to have dawned over her whole face.

"Don't you remember what you told me?" she continued, forcing the words out with shaking lips and almost distorted features, evidently not pleased with a single word he had said. "Remember, back at the Summer Sun Celebration? You told me... that you'd 'gladly let it happen'... let them kill each other. Don't you... remember that?"

Cluster immediately understood where things were trending.

"That's not what you think," he said, frowning.

"The way you looked at me then..." she said again, ignoring him. "And when you told me that Nova was leaving without us..." She started to shake for real, as if a chill ran through her. She could hardly sustain the pitch of her voice. "Why didn't you stop him? Why?"

It crossed his mind that she suspected Nova just like he and the others did. But this hardly surprised him.

"Look, sis, why would I ever want this to happen?" As he spoke he reached out to her. "I really couldn't have seen this coming. This wasn't supposed to—"

But she retreated from him. Sudden fury came over her. "Am I supposed to believe that!" she snapped, new tears emerging from her eyes. "You come back after going who-knows-where, after you told me that you'd let our dad be killed, after acting all nice... Was that just an act to make up for it? Was it? You tell me that you didn't want it to happen, as if you couldn't have stopped it... But now that he's gone, it's only now that you pretend to care about him? Are you kidding me!"

Airglow hardly believed a single word of her own tirade, but, at the same time, she was for some reason doing her utmost to prolong the moment of self-deception.

Cluster stared at her, utterly speechless. An inexpressibly painful expression came over his face. Airglow seemed to have noticed this herself, and it was as if all that rage which had boiled up to the surface died down all at once. She stopped, almost choking, and breathing with difficulty.

"Cluster, I..." she said again, with a despairing face that softened once she realized the extent of what she had said. "I'm sorry... I just... I didn't mean to..."

She almost fell back in a staggered daze, but Cluster quickly caught her.

"It's okay," he said to her quickly. "Sometimes you just have to let it out. It's fine. Don't worry about it. I'm not upset."

But she was looking aside, not exactly at him but more towards the dark horizon. Her eyes started to stain from the flowing tears. She hid her face in her hooves, sniffling, and said senselessly, "He's gone. He's really gone. I never thought... that... why did..."

Now she rose up, took a step forwards, then stopped. All was silent; they both waited in some kind of expectation. Cluster had no idea what to say.

Though he had seen it with his own eyes, it truly dawned on him that their father, the very pony who had represented so much significance in their livelihoods, for better or worse, was dead. He was never going to speak with him again, even if he had intended to. It had all slipped away.

I thought I tried, swept through Cluster's mind in that dark and silent moment. I thought I... was going to do it right this time. Like you wanted, Snowfall. But I... I think... But something prevented him from thinking too far, like before.

Airglow looked back at him with senseless eyes, something in them was quivering, almost bloodshot.

"What do you wish for, Cluster?" she asked him at length, pointblank.

"I don't know what you mean by that," he replied.

"I mean," she began again in a timid voice, as if compensating for her prior outburst, "what do you wish could happen with this family? With Nova. With you. With... with me. Now that you have a family of your own..."

Cluster stood there, deep in thought. What does she want me to say?

Airglow dropped her eyes, hunched her shoulders, and said apologetically, "Forget it. I don't know why I asked that."

But Cluster took in a deep breath, with a new and expansive expression, steeling his nerves, without the least intention to hide anything.

"I wish," he said, walking up to her, "that you were born in a different family."

Something seemed to twitch in Airglow's face. She looked at him with some sort of reserve, but did not say anything right away.

"I wish you were born in a more caring, more loving family, one that would never disappoint you, never abandon you; one that would always be there for you, would always show you affection and guide you to the right path. I wish you never had to experience something as terrible as us."

"Cluster..." muttered Airglow inaudibly.

"You... don't deserve this. A sweet, honest, incredible pony like you—why did it have to be with us? If you had never met me, or Nova, or dad, you might have been happier. I wish you could have had a happier childhood. It just isn't fair. I'm so sorry... for what I put you through... what all of us put you through."

Airglow was silent for some time, but not exactly out of pity. She was simply processing all of his words, unexpected as they had come out. The only sounds that resounded were her now-infrequent sniffles.

"And that's just how life is: some are born with a better deal than others."

"But how could you say that?" she said suddenly and reproachfully. He gave her a surprised look. She pressed a hoof to her chest, lowered her shoulders, expressing herself in some reserved yet melancholic agitation. "The brothers that I love are you and Nova. I don't care about some other hypothetical siblings or parents. Cluster, you're the one I got to meet, you're the one who matters to me. Who cares if I might have been happier with some other family? How could that 'happiness' ever be worth it if I never met you?"

She stopped, as if checking herself from speaking too much.

"I wouldn't give this away for anything," she said again after a few seconds, a very pale blush infused on her cheeks. "Not if it meant I would have to give up knowing you. Or Nova. You're my family, aren't you?"

"That's not..." he said, his voice having become awfully dry. He swallowed.

"Aren't you?" she asked again.

"Yes, but... That's not how a pony should live," said Cluster, twisting his mouth. "Airglow, who in Equestria could admire that kind of rough and broken path a pony would follow in life? Who actually dreams of that?—of willingly being surrounded by such dysfunctional ponies, without regard for their own happiness? No pony would ever envy a life like yours, Airglow. No pony. Sometimes you can't make the ponies you care about happy. Sometimes all you can do is seek something better and let go."

She almost winced at that last remark, as if some other memory struck her very strongly in that moment and made itself known before anything else.

"Just... let go...?" she said in a half-whisper, with a sidelong glance at her brother. But another sensation seemed to take precedence in her mind a second later. "But it's all set and done, isn't it? No, I don't even know why I'm thinking about it," she said again with solemn resolve.

"Airglow, listen—we'll find Nova and talk to him, and get to the bottom of this. There's still a lot that we don't know."

"I don't—" Airglow bit her lip, sensing her eyes start to water again. She seemed to be shaking all over, as if in some inner-conflict which could not be resolved. "But I can't think about that now. I want to believe it wasn't him, it just can't be him. I don't want to let go, not yet anyway. But... I'm sorry, forget it..."

She continued walking down the path, wiping her tears, with Cluster tailing behind her. He was pensive now, contemplating over their conversation, but she suddenly said, "I think I'll go back to Golden Oak now. I-I think... I think it might be for the best."

"Sure. If that's what you want," he said. A few more seconds slowly swept by.

"I guess this is goodbye for now..."

Is she trying to keep a stiff upper lip about this? he thought. But he considered otherwise.

Cluster stopped in front of his house and watched as an awfully familiar, low-spirited sensation stirred in him, watching his sister leave with her head hung low. Yes, this felt all too familiar. This must have been what she felt when he left her, back during the Summer Sun Celebration. Only now far more uncertainty lay ahead than ever before.


* * *


A dark and tragic event took place in Ponyville, which is still remembered and discussed among our good folk to this day: the dark and tragic death of the infamous Bronze Pocket. From this moment onwards, the topic of his death had held dominance over what everypony in Ponyville talked about for many days, unsurprisingly. This was a very small, humble, and in many respects boring town that did not tend to gather much in the way of controversy. Complications arose from his lack of a will, as well as who would be the rightful owners of his property. Ponies discussed the hundreds of thousands of bits tied to his name, what all that meant for the household, and how it was to be handled. But I will not bother to elaborate on these financial problems, because quite frankly, it makes very little difference in the long run.

Unfortunately, this was not the main "point" of the story from the very beginning. Yes, this was a tale about Bronze Pocket's death, but everything else that had been brewing in the background, from the mysterious artifact known only as the "elixir" to those political pamphlets, for a while forgotten by some, nevertheless had to take center stage sooner or later, and I am sure that you, the reader, have been keeping all of these oddities in mind.

There are times when the most grand and significant events of life come unannounced, unprepared for, and unexpectedly from the side. Everything from here on out was about to change radically.

The "point," so to speak, will at last be revealed to you at once. I only hope that I, the narrator, will manage to do it justice.
> Part VII – Chapter I – A Visit at Night
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


PART VII

EVERYTHING IS PERMITTED



* * *



I know you tried your best
And now it's time to put this all to rest
Minutes pass and those days seem long ago
A distant voice, one that I used to know

There's a voice and it's trying to drag me down
If you go then I'm going with you now



* * *


Ponyville that night was duskless. One could see far down the empty streets. Such emptiness had resulted from the circulating news of the death of Bronze Pocket. Everypony was stirred, anxious, and in expectation of something significant.

Cluster had found a spot on the grass to lie down by the path, right after Airglow left him. He was in that dreary state of mind where you experience something terrible and positively life-affecting, and right after sit down to contemplate it all, only to feel strangely calm and confident that it would not be the end of the world. He must have been sitting there for at least five minutes. Every once in a while a his forehead stung, and he would automatically place his hoof at the base of his broken horn. He wondered when the pain would go away.

Then he suddenly got up, thinking, I should head back and speak with Sharp Heat. He's got some questions for me to answer, maybe about what I was doing in Ponyville before Fillydelphia.

He indeed returned, walking somewhat lazily, ears drooped, pushing aside all other decisions. Even more ponies were there, pressed up against the gate, and countless animated gazes were directed his way. He found Sharp Heat in front of the house, talking to one of the investigators, the latter of whom appeared evidently worn out.

The whole scene occurred as if in a dream. Cluster hardly remembered a thing, his head having been somewhere else; he was even confused with himself as to why he returned, having forgotten that he returned to answer any more important questions.

"What happened with your sister?" asked Sharp.

"Huh?"

"How did she take it? Did she...?"

"She cried a lot, got angry, then went back to her library," replied Cluster bluntly, without the slightest nuance. This bluntness suggested that it made no difference to him whether they lingered on this topic or not.

He learned that the autopsy was still ongoing. He also learned, from Sharp's erudite commentary on matters of such legal actions, that his brother Nova Steel had most likely committed the murder—supposedly committed the murder, that is—not too long ago.

He was asked questions with potential answers, hinging on how much Cluster was paying attention, but nothing came of it. Then Cluster bid Sharp an abrupt farewell and left, informing the captain to contact him tomorrow, because he had suddenly become very exhausted.

The walk back to his house felt like an eternity. Every step took some effort.

I can't know for sure if Nova did it; maybe it's not him, he thought automatically, as if his head were run by clockwork, but then he seemingly came to his senses. No, who else could it have been? Back then... when he left... he must be the culprit. What should I tell Airglow when I see her again? Why did I let this happen, even when I thought I wouldn't? Wait... I...

He became partly oblivious, or so he felt. Cluster could not remember for how long he had been walking. The night sky was darkening significantly, yet the full moon, with its faint unicorn-shaped array of craters, shone brighter and brighter. The air became especially stifling.

Cluster was still carried on by some purpose, that is, he recalled having had to do something, and quickly, something vaguely to do with those political tracts—but what precisely, he had forgotten. Only he had Aurora; she was the main thing in his world of complications.

He began walking to his front door, but suddenly stopped and noticed that a pony—a stallion judging by the size—standing on the other side of the gravel street. The pony lifted his hoof and gave Cluster a fleeting wave. And Cluster almost gave a start—something about this pony seemed horribly familiar, familiar yet surreal, like a dream. He looked somewhat like him even.

Cluster started across the street towards the figure but the latter suddenly turned and went on as though nothing had happened, with a hasty gait, not looking back or showing any signs that he had waved.

Was he calling to me? thought Cluster, and nevertheless went after him. When he was only half a dozen paces away, he caught a glimpse of the pony's face from the light of a lantern post, and went cold; this pony looked virtually identical to him, save for the mane which was entirely black.

Cluster's heart was pounding. He tried to keep his distance. They turned down a side street—the doppelgänger still refused to turn around.

Does he know I'm following him? thought Cluster.

They walked through the gates of a particular house, an old-looking one, largely made out of wood. It stuck out like a sore thumb. The doppelgänger walked up a set of stairs. Cluster rushed after him. This was an apartment, Cluster noticed, not a house. Where had he seen it before?

They were on the third floor. The silence had become deafening, so much so that even his steps alarmed him. The doppelgänger wandered into a lone room. Cluster went inside but he was gone.

Is he hiding?

Everything was dark and empty. His heart was pounding painfully, and still the same silence. Then a voice.

"Why did you let her die?"

Cluster instantly turned around, but saw nopony. An awakened fly suddenly swooped and struck against the window, buzzing plaintively. At the same time he made out a bed in the corner. He approached it quietly and realized that somepony seemed to be hiding under a blanket on the bed. He cautiously moved the blanket aside and saw a mare lying down, all hunched up, with her head completely bent down so that there was no way he could see her face.

Cluster squinted his eyes. "Who is...?" he muttered, instantly becoming confused. Snowfall came to mind. "Is that you?"

That doppelgänger from before was next to him.

"You're the one who did this."

Cluster jumped back, nearly losing his balance. He stared in fright, then looked back at the bed, but on the bed was nothing but blood. The blood started to ooze and spill on the floor.

"I didn't..." said Cluster breathlessly. His throat felt like sandpaper.

Suddenly laughter filled the room, soft laughter dissolving from multiple unknown sources. He wanted to run away, but could not move. Now the room was filled with ponies, all head to head, all looking—but all hushed and waiting, silent.

"If you had never left—"

His heart sank.

"You're a murderer."

Cluster woke up, breathing very heavily, almost sweating. That's right, he remembered—after having returned from his father's house, he considered going back to Golden Oak to see Airglow but changed his mind, then he went inside, exchanged some words with Daisy, checked up on his daughter, then went to sleep.

Yet strangely, it was as if the dream were still going on: the door to his room was wide open, the lamp was lit, and a pony seemingly unknown to him was standing on the threshold, studying him intently.

Cluster had not yet managed to open his eyes fully, and he instantly closed them again. He lay on his back without stirring.

Another dream? he thought, and again imperceptibly parted his eyes a little: the stranger was standing in the same place and was still peering at him. All at once the stranger stepped across the threshold, closed the door carefully behind them with magic, went over to a table, and noiselessly sat down on a chair.

A minute went by. There was total silence in the room. Daisy and Aurora were both asleep; no sound came from anywhere else. Only a big fly buzzed and struggled, striking with a swoop against the window. Finally a feeling of dread and agitation settled upon Cluster: he raised himself all at once and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Who are you?" he threw in automatically, as he had gotten up, but he immediately went quiet. Marble Solid was in his room, he was right there, staring straight at him. Am I still dreaming? came at once to his mind.

"Ah, I knew you were awake. I believe now is the best time for a proper introduction, though you already know who I am," said Marble Solid strangely, with a quiet laugh. "Right, Cluster Tale?"

Cluster was about to say, "This can't be real," for lack of tact, but instead what came out was, "What do you want with me?" out loud and in perplexity.

The visitor seemed not in the least surprised at this exclamation.

"I've come to you for two reasons," he said with extreme readiness and a habitually self-confident posture. "First, I wanted very strongly to meet you—and to do so in private, which goes without saying. Second, I hope that you may not refuse to assist me in a matter which directly concerns your welfare. Rather... without you involved in the mix, I think it would go against your interests, which is poor form."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Cluster sternly, but also somewhat openheartedly.

"I should hope not, but you will. To explain, I'm the one who orchestrated the attack on the Flying Rift Express, as well as those unfortunate incidences of missing magic which you regard as important."

And with this Marble Solid spread his hind-legs dashingly, placed a hoof on his knee, with a hunching motion forth and an expression full of significance and even benevolence, as though waiting patiently for his interlocutor's reaction.

All previous fatigue and dream-like absentmindedness disappeared at once from Cluster. His gaze sharpened; the dull pain from his horn seemingly strengthened his determination. There were far too many things to consider. Was Marble Solid here to threaten him? Kill him? Did he come alone? Did he intend to hold his daughter hostage for some kind of ransom? Did he want information on Princess Celestia? Everything seemed to be swirling around him, demanding his undivided attention.

He's figured that I know something about the elixir. He must be here to get rid of me. Or make a deal. I don't know what to do. Damn it, if only I had my magic!

But then Cluster steeled his nerves. Losing oneself to nervous fear could only make it worse. There were two sides to this in his mind. On the one hand, he really did not know what to make of this, or to what degree was his life in danger. On the other hand, he was terribly curious, though perhaps something else lay hidden underneath this fatal curiosity.

In any case, Cluster made a conscious effort to conceal his emotions. He needed more time to understand the current predicament, and so, all he replied with, in a low, almost fluctuant voice, was, "Why are you... telling me this?"

"Well..." Marble Solid chuckled in the frankest way. His eyes practically glowed like piercing embers through the semi-darkness, sometimes dimming, sometimes blinking, but never wavering. "You have only to assume that I'm an ordinary unicorn, but that would not be so. And don't regard me as a cynic; I am perfectly aware of the events which have transpired of late, of how many ponies have died. Yes, many have died. But to shift gears: did you not follow the thread to the Flying Rift? Did you not figure out the secret behind the elixir?"

"Okay, so you're the one who's behind all this," said Cluster. "Behind the Flying Rift incident, behind the demise of that crime family. It all must have taken a long time to accomplish, right? I don't know how you pulled it off. Still... I understand that much, but... Still, why me?"

Marble Solid waved his hoof. "It's only because you are an extraordinarily gifted unicorn, the most gifted I have ever seen. You are Celestia's prized pupil, which is no easy feat. I've come to you for that. My interest is not in you alone," he added, as if ascribing no importance to this fact.

(Let it be known that, to Marble Solid, Cluster had the potential to even sink his teeth into Princess Celestia, as if sensing this highly dubious potential underneath the unrefined veneer of the young unicorn.)

"Fine, but what do you even need me for? I've figured 'Marble Solid' isn't your real name, probably just an alias—who are you?"

"I can sense your apprehension. You must think that you're walking on eggshells, that you're being held at the threat of death, which, believe me, is a pointless concern. I shall get what I want all the same."

This last line produced an altogether unexpected effect on Cluster, which sent a cold, perturbing sensation through him.

"Where's—!" He all but leaped up and raised his voice, scowling. "Where's Aurora? And Daisy?" Cluster threw in at once, in a clear and imperious voice; he noticed how utterly quiet the house had become, instantly coming to the conclusion they were the only ones there, and asked his question from both anger and a fear that something terrible had indeed happened to his daughter.

Marble Solid's eyes dilated fleetingly in surprise. "What do you mean?" he said. "They're asleep in their own room right now. They haven't gone anywhere."

For ten whole seconds they were silent. They stared into each other's faces. Then Cluster's scowl disappeared, he almost slumped down with his whole body, having realized that he was in no position to be speaking as he had just done.

"You are correct in assessing that 'Marble Solid' is merely an alias," the visitor went on at length, without concealing the fact that he would not mind being asked whatever question Cluster could come up with. "I go by many names—Woland, Cynric, Arioch; the world is a big place—but my true name is Eidolon."

The light from the lamp flickered.

"Wait a minute," Cluster raised his voice, as if some very strange idea struck him. "Arioch? Eidolon? Those are"— he paused, becoming confused, perhaps at his own miscalculations —"those are all pre-Equestrian names."

"Very well observed," Eidolon picked up with his usual confident frankness.

"Just how old are you?"

"Six thousand years old, more or less. But after the first thousand, who's counting, really?"

"Six th—" Cluster stammered, but then immediately scoffed. "You really expect me to believe that?—that you're older than even Celestia?"

"You will believe it in due time. After all, you're the one who thinks the elixir is in fact an elixir of immortality, correct? I know it, you precisely suspected immortality, and now here you are casting doubt like an eager rationalist."

Outwardly Cluster frowned disagreeably, but inwardly he admitted that he had a point. The only conclusion he reached was that "Eidolon"—if that really was his name—had been listening in on his conversation with Celestia earlier. That, or he was there during the Flying Rift attack. Or both.

Otherwise, how would he know that I was tracking down the elixir, starting from the reports of missing magic?

"But as it so happens, you are wrong," said Eidolon. "The 'elixir' is exactly what it sounds like—a drink with many magical properties, some far beyond your comprehension. But the elixir is not one of immortality."

"I considered that much," replied Cluster slowly. He was trying to keep within the limits of whatever this sudden and inexplicable conversation represented, now then and for the future, without meaning to do anything risky. He looked at Eidolon and felt that things would only get more precipitous from there on. One could see that he was trying to get ahold of his bearings.

"So you considered it," said Eidolon, "but do not be so crass as to think that my presence here is without a purpose that is certain to happen. I know more than you ever will. I am an enemy of Equestria. I may just destroy all of it, or perhaps only half of it, and I can say as a foregone conclusion that you will take part in it, as if it were prophecy foretold."

Cluster was unsure of what to make of that utterly strange declaration. The shadow of confusion was starting to return. But then the tiniest hint of a melancholic haze gleamed in Eidolon's golden eyes.

Is he sad? struck Cluster.

"Technically it does grant immortality," Eidolon went on. "But to be more specific, the elixir is a wish-granting device."

Cluster raised his eyebrows, his lips parted slightly. So that's what it was all about. But if that's true, then...

"That doesn't exist," he replied, considering it appropriate to express disbelief and not to accept this idea right away. "That can't... No, no. Immortality? Sure, maybe. But granting wishes? How can you expect me to believe that?"

"Yet you have heard the word 'elixir' thrown around. What do you suppose that means?"

"I don't know yet."

"But surely you must know something, anything about artifacts and their wish-fulfilling properties. Anything?"

"I said I don't know, but it's obviously not the nonsense you're spouting."

"Cluster, stop and listen," Eidolon suddenly spoke in a much dryer voice, raising his tone to something more expressive; there was in this tone an entreaty which suggested that Cluster was not taking things as seriously as would have been necessary. Cluster was caught off guard by it. "For the time being just assume that I'm telling you the truth, and nothing but the truth; you will get your proof very soon. Just have patience.

"The elixir is indeed that: an all-powerful vessel which, when drunk, shall grant the pony virtually anything their heart desires. Now, is it really so surprising that so many ponies would be filthying themselves up over something so precious? Does it surprise you that even Celestia is taking action?"

"Wait," said Cluster suddenly, "you want my help to track down this wish-granting device, this 'elixir,' right? That's why you're here, that's why you haven't done anything to me yet. Is that it?"

"You certainly know how to embellish your inquires!" chuckled Eidolon, with a sly and haughty reserve that felt oddly suitable to him. "Depending on what happens now, you may enter the fray and fight for the elixir. I would deem you a worthy candidate to join my team."

Team? Cluster frowned. "If this is about you and me, or a group of... other ponies, obtaining immortality, then I want no part of it. Not to mention Celestia would stop you, if that really is what you're after."

But then Eidolon nodded his head, as if approving of Cluster's rebuttal. "And what of your own adventures, so to speak?" he said. "You have come this far on your own, completely ignoring the wise words of your mentor, instead plunging into the game." The smile on his lips turned into a new expression, something bitter yet sympathetic. "I have studied your work for some time now. You have certain... interesting aspects to yourself, very specific things that you may not be aware of, without which you would be incredibly boring. But, really, you must have learned about the true nature of the elixir by now. You write of Celestia's status and what it all means, you argue around it all; and if immortality does not interest you, why do all that you have done?"

"I don't understand..."

"You don't understand? That's fine. You, Cluster, are an obtuse unicorn who cannot even recognize his own happiness. Regardless of its own self-awareness of this fact, a soul instinctively seeks out happiness. This expression of the soul appears in the form of interest or appreciation, thus—having told you the true nature of the elixir, namely that it is a vessel which grants your most fervent desires—it gave away your own interest, which is in and of itself of great importance to me, and was very instructive indeed. The elixir started to interest you more once you realized you could get something else out of it, something other than immortality. But a conscious interest is no more than a mere obsession."

"Maybe I've made an error in judgement then," said Cluster. "It seems that my overly thorough investigations of the elixir have led to your unnecessary speculation about me."

"Then imagine a scenario in which chance and fortune has allowed you to obtain the elixir for yourself. Can you imagine what you would do then? What would you wish for?"

Cluster went silent, obviously taking the question posed to him very seriously. A look of profound pensiveness covered his whole face, so much so that he almost forgot he wasn't alone in the room. It sometimes may happen, especially with these types of characters, where a pony spends so much time in a cynical and pessimistic cycle of thought that once the opportunity for idealistic thinking presents itself, it stuns them into immobility.

Would it be possible, he was thinking, and the more he thought the more his eyes lit up, to bring back... back...?

After nearly a minute, Eidolon spoke up, dragging Cluster's attention back to him.

"Listen, Cluster, isn't it time that you've understood the actual question that I am asking you? The fact that you didn't recognize the futility of you obtaining the elixir, yet you still imagined it, makes the meaning clear: you have a certain desire for the elixir, namely, you have a wish you want granted."

"What?"

"To explain. If I were to ask what you would do if you had obtained an elixir of immortality, you would have rejected the question, deeming it a waste of time, because you do not seek immortality. But for the wish-granting elixir, you wasted your time in pointless thought; you ignored the futility and the waste of effort. You found enjoyment in the exercise. Celebrate, Cluster—you have finally understood what you really want."

Again silence ensued, and again another minute swept by.

Cluster pressed a hoof to his forehead, feeling another bout of stinging. He waited for it to pass.

"Enjoyment? What I really want? Give me a break," said Cluster in a quiet, constrained voice, feeling a sort of irritation press him to his depths but consciously attempting to appear as if he were not irritated in the least. He shook his head dismissively. "Whatever reason you've been stealing other ponies' magic, a pile of corpses have been left behind. You said that many have died. I'd probably get killed, too; and this is in light of the fact that I won't be able to use my magic for another month or so."

"I'll be perfectly frank," said Eidolon. "There are few of us left. That is why this very conversation we are having strikes me as a completely opportune moment." He smiled somewhat disdainfully, apparently not feeling the slightest concern over the so-called pile of corpses. "There are types of ponies who doom themselves by tying themselves up in the affairs of others, and those are not worth fretting over. If you always worry about stepping on ants, you can never walk.

"I possess both the capability and willingness to secure your safety, if that is what bothers you; you would not have to die. But then again, the prospect of death has not yet halted the hearty drive within explorers, warriors, and law-makers, but even enhanced it. Many of these promising souls had believed in the existence of a future life, which served as an anchor against this common fear, which is quite astonishing."

"Future life?"

"Life after death."

"As in... an afterlife?"

"Why yes. Do you suppose a future life—this 'afterlife'—will be granted to you upon your death?"

"Can't say I do."

"Really? No afterlife of any kind? Consider this argument: ghosts, spirits, phantoms—they are fragments of other worlds, the beginning of them. A pony in health has, of course, no reason to see them, because they are above all a pony of this world and is bound for the sake of complete satiety and order to live only in this life. But as soon as they are ill, when their normal worldly order is broken, they begin to realize the possibility of another life. And the more serious the illness, the closer becomes their contact with that other life, so that upon death, they step straight into it."

"No, sorry. I just don't believe in that stuff."

"And what if there are only insects there, or something of that sort?" remarked Eidolon suddenly.

Cluster became confused again, for what felt like the tenth time.

"We always imagine the afterlife as some eternity beyond our conception, something vast and lofty. But why must it be vast? Why lofty? Instead of that, what if it's one little room, like a bathhouse, black and grimy, with insects and spiders in every corner, and you sit there paralyzed, with the insects crawling over you and inside you on repeat forever, and that's all an eternal afterlife is? I sometimes imagine it like so."

Cluster felt a shudder pass through him, likely a reaction to the horridness of Eidolon's words. He was trying to think about the elixir.

"You must believe that I'm seeking my own ends, but there is no need to be so uneasy. You are still speaking to me with perfect casualness, which resembles your own interests. Don't think I haven't noticed. But excuse me, I am just coming to the main point..."

"You mentioned a 'team,' right?" said Cluster suddenly and distinctly. "What's that look like? How does it work?"

"I happen to be leading a team of some very special ponies, hoof-picked by myself. You would have to meet them first."

"Where?"

"Do you know where to find the Castle of the Two Sisters, the old ruins deep within the Everfree Forest?"

Cluster gave Eidolon a distinct and heavy look, not with any traces of confusion like before, but something like sober clarity. Eidolon at once understood that the answer was "yes."

Then Cluster, unable to restrain himself, started firing off, "But how's this all going to work? How did this all start to begin with? What do you want from all this? And how do you know Celestia and the official council, the senates and mages from Canterlot, won't stop you first thing tomorrow morning? How do you know Celestia isn't two minutes away from knocking on my front door in search of you?"

As Cluster went on, Eidolon's face more and more took on an expression of boredom, still with that plain frankness which could not be mistaken for anything else, waiting for Cluster to finish his inquires but with no intention to answer them all point-by-point.

"And what happens if I say no? What if I go to Celestia and tell her where you're hiding? You'd be ruined. I'm guessing I have no choice in the matter, is that it?"

"By all means, go to Celestia and tell her everything I have just told you," Eidolon answered this last set of questions as if there were some special meaning to it all. He suddenly looked less bored.

"But..." Cluster clenched his teeth. "But why would you let me? You're just going to kill me if I try."

"Ah, of all the pitiful... You still don't seem to understand." Eidolon rose from his chair. "You have exactly one week to make your decision. You know where to find me. You are more than welcome, of course, to go to your Celestia in this intervening time. You wouldn't want to underestimate her abilities, now would you?"

"What do you mean?"

"We both very well know that Celestia is on the hunt, both for this elixir and for me, an enemy of Equestria, as I've stated. Don't think that she would overlook the possibility, perhaps even inevitability, of this offer I am making."

"You mean to say that Celestia would suspect me of helping you?"

Eidolon shot him a deadly serious gaze. But then in spite of that he smiled, which gave him an almost menacing look.

"Perhaps. Take my advice: it is sometimes better to engage in mildly suspicious activity in order to throw off suspicion altogether. Don't tell her about the Castle of the Two Sisters, if you should take me up on my offer, but tell her everything else. You have my permission to do that. I can see very clearly that you have an interest in all of this."

Cluster blinked, and was ready to say something in opposition. But then Eidolon continued with a cold familiarity, "Don't you want to become a moral master, as you once proclaimed?"

Cluster did not expect this. Not at all. His face took on a dazed grimace of extraordinary agitation. So he's read those pieces, huh? The muscles under his cheeks twitched. He was still thinking on what to say.

"You have one week," Eidolon repeated, "and no more. Make your decision until then. You may even come to the old ruins in the Everfree, learn what is necessary for you, and still make your decision later. You will learn everything there."

I think I get it now, thought Cluster. Even with so much I still don't know, the promise of any wish I want should prove a strong enough incentive to draw me in. That's probably what he was banking on. Still, I don't know if this elixir is even real to begin with, or if this guy is really six thousand years old like he says he is.

"Cluster?" Daisy's voice came ringing quietly from across the hall, approaching his room.

Shoot. Was I speaking too loud? Cluster glanced at his door.

"Let's meet up soon, shall we?" Eidolon rounded off, then his voice fell to dead silence; the instance Cluster looked back he was gone. He imperceptibly vanished from sight, as if vanishing from thin air. Cluster hardly registered it.

The door opened up, and a concerned-looking Daisy came in.

"Is everything okay in here? I thought I heard you talking."

Cluster stood there, still in his daze, his eyes glassy and distant.

"Daisy," he whispered strangely, looking at her and ignoring her concern, "how's Aurora? Is she sleeping well?"

"Y-yeah, she's fine. She's tucked in. She's..." Daisy paused, now confused. "Uh." She looked around the room for a second. "Was... somepony else in here?"

Then Cluster gave a slight start, as though coming to his senses. He sighed, pushed himself further into his bed, and weakly waved his hoof. "It's nothing," he said. "Was just talking to myself. Sorry I woke you. Goodnight."

"Um, okay then, goodni—"

They were interrupted by the faint cries of an infant from across the hall.

"Oh!" Daisy instantly turned to the entrance. "I guess we woke Aurora up."

"You can go back to bed, let me take care of it," said Cluster, swiftly hopping off his bed and striding down the hall. "It's okay," he said again, waving his hoof.

Daisy stood there for a second as if in doubt, but seeing that Cluster had not waited for her to respond and merely went his way, she nodded her head without a word, and retreated to the room provided for her.

It was a shame that Aurora woke up. She became restless when she did. Cluster picked her up, wrapped in her blanket, went to a corner, and started rocking her soothingly.

He did not get to do this more often, much to his chagrin: in the past month he was constantly out and about, having spent a great deal looking for the causes behind the missing magic, so that Daisy had been the one taking care of her. He was grateful for the mare.

In that moment Cluster was at ease. Aurora was now shifting to the side in his arms, feeling for a comfortable position. She spread her tiny arms, tapping him on his chest. The corners of his mouth twitched, but he did not exactly smile. He stared at the infant in his embrace somewhat sadly, as if something were missing from this scene.

Eventually Aurora fell asleep again. Cluster gently placed her back in her crib, tenderly kissed her, and left the room. And the sad expression on his face remained intact.

Unfortunately he could not catch a single second of rest; even just closing his eyes in an attempt to rest agitated him somewhat. It felt like his daughter's restlessness had passed on to him. Much less could he be bothered to think about his dead father, or his supposedly guilty brother.

He sat on the sofa in the living room, staring at the blackened hearth. He kept thinking everything over.

If Eidolon was here, that means Celestia hasn't found him yet, and she just left Ponyville, so I guess she's behind on the trail. Hmm. The fact that it's taken this long for him to confront me means it wasn't safe to do so till now. Or I wasn't considered "worthy" till now. And with Celestia especially... I'll have to assume that she knows the true nature of the elixir, and whether it really can grant wishes or not. Where did this thing even come from? What's going on? I'll have to write to her as soon as possible.

But for myself to get involved in all this... His face darkened. As if I'd do that.
> Part VII – Chapter II – Aftermath
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Exactly six days had passed since that peremptory encounter between Cluster Tale and Eidolon.

One would think, under ordinary circumstances, or even under quite extraordinary circumstances, that one would find themselves in anxious expectation of a bleaker future, having experienced such an astonishing late night visit as Cluster had had. But this was not quite the case with him.

Quite the contrary, the next day he had found himself perfectly in control of his rational and emotional faculties, seemingly in no anxiety whatsoever. His thoughts were organized, his intentions clear. He had written a letter to Princess Celestia, requesting an audience with her as soon as possible, on the coattails of everything he had learned: namely, that a very mysterious pony had visited him, and that he had much information to share with her pertaining to the "elixir."

"Which," he included in his letter, "might not be an elixir of immortality at all."

This expression of honesty and haste, so openhandedly put forth for the sake of conclusion, seemed like a very daring temptation, yet it was not so openhanded as one might think. That is to say, Cluster had anticipated this course of action from himself, and yet he went along to "expose" Eidolon very carefully, for his own benefit, and still not putting all of his cards on the table.

In short, he drew a resolution in the far corner of his brain and consulted it, which was: if there was no wish-granting elixir, then Eidolon was a fraud, and he deserved exposure for talking to Cluster so carelessly and stupidly; but if it were all true, and Eidolon was smart, he must know what he's doing, and therefore would earn Cluster's greater attention.

Because to assume everything Eidolon had told him was the complete truth, then newer ulterior motives would replace his current ones. But like I said, he would have to be very careful.

Before we continue on with the story which comes after this passing week, allow me to conclude with the likes of Bronze Pocket and what became of him—that is, "him" in the general sense of his estate, his properties and money, and even his corpse.

But what is my opinion on his death and his character as a whole? It is often taught to us that a narrator must remain as unabashedly objective and unbiased as they are detached from the physicality of the events and characters which comprise the story, insofar as they narrate from a bird's-eye view, like an invisible sentinel, and nothing more than that. I believe they call that an "omniscient narrator."

But, excuse me, first: I'm not omniscient. Second: I love truth and opinions more than conventional rules. Third: recall what I once said, about how pleasant it is to break the rules out of spite? It still applies. And lastly, I am only an amateur writer, not a professional, and so it does not and cannot apply to me.

So what is my opinion? I would prefer it to go without saying that I did not like Bronze Pocket all that much. Other than Filio, I regarded him as the most muddleheaded madcap this land has seen, and perhaps will see for quite some time. But I doubt this was out of stupidity—most of these madcaps are pretty clever and shrewd—not to mention his annoyingly successful business ventures. And now that he is dead, I have come to realize something. In most cases, many wicked ponies like him are far more naive and simple-hearted than what we usually assume.

Back when Airglow came to visit him, an hour after he had been struck down by Nova on the day of the Summer Sun Celebration, he had shed tears in earnest and expressed a very real kind of fear. I felt sorry for him then. But that, in any case, was only a lone moment in an otherwise sea of wickedness, which I think is hard to dispute. So while I quite disliked him, I did not ever hate him, if that makes sense; maybe my sympathy was misplaced. Just be careful when you look at the speck in somepony's eye, but never consider the plank in your own eye.

Anyway, to continue...

There was no funeral prepared for Bronze Pocket. Instead his corpse was taken in, first for further examination within the justice department, then to a mortuary where his associates and investment partners decided he would stay, till burial in the little cemetery of his backyard.

The thing is that a funeral could very well have been set up, it was not impossible, but nopony—not Cluster, not Shovel Rod, not any of the servants, not any of his "friends," such as Spender Spent or Maxim Wingus, not even Airglow—said anything, when a word from any one of them would have produced quite a different conclusion. It seemed that literally nopony wanted a funeral at all.

Nevertheless, when the burial was completed, Cluster and Airglow visited it, but not at the same time, they did so independently. A few ponies came by as well, such as Spender Spent.

Cluster came by well into daylight, among several other passers-by who dropped in to see what the backyard looked like. Much talk was going in, but Cluster ignored it all. He was accustomed to it. Some of the guests walked up to Cluster to express their sympathies, and Cluster responded by flatly thanking them, yet there was evidently not a hint of goodwill in his exchanges.

"I knew your father for seven years, my friend," Spender Spent told him with feeling. "Who in Equestria could have foreseen such a tragedy as this one? Why, it was only last week that I was having tea with the old fellow! Life comes and goes at the blink of an eye; death is a mere abstraction before us, yet it comes nevertheless. Do you suppose something like levity is even possible in situations like these? I suppose it would not fit, depending on the pony. I sometimes wish it were so, to help, that is, only to help lighten the load for others! Do you get me? I wish you relief, both for you and your sister. And your brother, too."

And then, as if using his declarations of sympathy as a springboard, Spent brought up the topic of his imminent second auction, to acquire Cluster's assistance just like the first one, but the latter gave him a condescendingly peevish look, held together by a faint smile, curtly said, "I'll see you later," and left. Spender Spent was obviously flabbergasted, and resolved to talk to him later.

The weather schedule that week was especially cloudy. The sky was a dull grey, everywhere from the town's train station to its outskirts and the hills beyond. Chilly winds were picking up as well. It almost compelled one to go back indoors and drink something hot over a warm fire.

What came as a surprise, even in the case of the aloof Cluster, was that he had an expression of impatience on him over the course of those days, as if demandingly wanting it all to be over for his sake. He neither wanted a funeral nor any consolation from others. Some quickly reached the conclusion that he had not an ounce of love for his father. Nor was this seen as all that unnatural or significant. He did not talk about his feelings to anypony.

Most of Bronze's estate and belongings were liquidated and transitioned to banks and government revenue. That plot of land which maintained his big house did not necessarily become vacant, though. It became a sort of famous crime scene, an attraction of sorts, and for a long time afterwards many ponies came to visit it out of curiosity. On top of that, many ponies were negotiating what to do with the house, with some wanting to turn it into a nice accommodation for rent, while others wished to renovate the whole thing entirely for some other purpose.

As for the half-million bits he left behind, it was ruled in the Equestrian Supreme Court that this inheritance would be split three-ways among the three children, wherein each would receive roughly 166,000 bits in the upcoming months, after all of the legal and financial logistics had been dealt with. Of course, it should come as no surprise that the criminal-in-waiting Nova Steel did not receive any money exactly, and that his share of the inheritance was put on an indefinite hold as they figured out what to do with it.

This was all a result of the fact that Bronze never left a will, and so the results of who got what did not play out very smoothly. His house, for instance, was not due to any of his children.

And in regards to our good old Nova, he remained in Baltimare, that is to say, he was transitioned to a jail cell, kept on waiting with a few other convicts before his time in court would be ready. There was much talk about these court proceedings—what would the verdict be, who was the defence attorney, and so on—but I will not delve into these details.

Both Airglow and Cluster knew of this, which is why they had scheduled to travel to Baltimare together to visit their brother, on account of familial relationships. The train was taking off that day, at about eleven in the morning.

Indeed, he will continue the story that morning, six days after Cluster had met Eidolon for the first real time.


* * *


Airglow was taking her bath with Twinkie, which usually happened every other day. Both sat still in the soapy water. Airglow leaned against the head of the tub and held Twinkie in front of her, the latter's back pressed to her stomach. Sometimes they would wash each other with the sponge, but usually it fell to Airglow to wash up Twinkie and help her with most other things.

This was typically a time for relaxation, and it remained so. Yet the whole time Airglow was dead quiet, a glassy look on her eyes, scrubbing Twinkie in front of her mechanically, as if not conscious of it.

"Hey, Airglow!" said Twinkie, suddenly turning around and looking straight at the pegasus's downcast face. "Did I tell you what mama bought me yesterday? She bought me a kite, like I wanted for months! Isn't that nice? That means we can go fly a kite together on the grassy fields, just like we talked about before."

"Hmm..." Airglow subtly inclined her head forward.

Twinkie, with the childlike anticipation of discussing her "good" fortune with others in order to procure their reactions, seeing that Airglow did not saying anything, continued in between constrained giggles, "Oh, but it's really gonna be a lot of fun. I've never flown a kite before. Mama never let me before, and for some reason you always took her side, but not anymore, right? We should do it on a windy day, too, but before the winter season starts."

"Here, put your head down," said Airglow, scrubbing her mane and in between her ears. The soapy water rippled with their movements.

Twinkie opened her mouth to say something else, but felt it would have no good effect on the one-sided conversation, and instantly closed it. She stayed silent for another minute.

In one way, she felt it necessary to try to prod out certain characteristics from Airglow, certain friendly features, the way one does when attempting to cheer someone up; but in another way, it all felt terribly awkward and she had no idea how to broach the topic of her father's death, or even if it would be worth it.

Nevertheless, Twinkie felt with complete certainty that her past habits of frivolous joking and tactless banter would do nothing but make things worse, and the last thing she wanted was for Airglow to feel sad.

"Um, I think you look really pretty today. I hope I can be as pretty as you when I grow up."

"Hmm..."

"Maybe later today we can go fly the kite."

"Can't. Going out today."

"Oh, that's okay. Any day is good if you're not busy."

Airglow did not respond this time. Worry was growing more and more on Twinkie's little face.

"If you wanna... talk about... we can... anything..."

Still no response.

By now the bath was finished, they had dried up with the towels, and Airglow helped carry her downstairs and into her wheelchair, on which Twinkie instantly started to rock out of concern, fidgeting from side to side.

Soon after and Olva came into the foyer.

"Off to see that captain right now, dear?" she asked.

"Yeah. May as well get it over with."

She was talking about Sharp Heat and his requested delivery of a certain book from Hay and Noble, an exact copy delivered to Misty those months ago. It was obviously an important factor in the leading investigation, both in the sense of the recent robbery and of the elusive "elixir," or so it was called. Sharp had learned about the note she had found in the book, with those mysterious numbers, and now he wanted to be sure he wasn't missing anything.

"I'm going out," said Airglow again, donning her saddlebag and securing the book inside. After all this time she found out what it is, though before she never bothered to check: it was an autobiography on a famous stock broker from Canterlot, not that she was familiar with such ponies.

Airglow took off from the library precisely when Olva was about to ask her something else, but she knew that: Olva had been trying to comfort her all week. She was going to ask if Airglow "needed anything" when she got back as a bright gesture.

She had seriously started to grow apathetic from everyone's ambiguous attempts to encourage her all of a sudden. Not upset, not annoyed, no introspection, nothing of that sort—it was simple apathy. Not that this should come as a surprise. Airglow, for the better part of her entire life, never had any penchant for making friends, aside from perhaps Twinkie, which I don't think counts. She had always been something of a loner back in school, without the initiative to get to know anypony or share in any mutual interests, the only exception being her immediate family members.

In this case of Pyre, who she remembered solemnly, it was more on the grounds of fulfilling the wishes of Nova, who evidently expressed his desire to see the poor fellow lifted off the ground and into a better life. But that, too, came too late. She was not the type to befriend ponies her age.

Again, let me say that Airglow was very good-tempered and considerate at a moment's notice, she had her wits, she was smart, she was not disliked by any pony at all. But perhaps her good and amicable nature depended on certain conditions, namely the condition to see her family together. But now that it was over, what else did she have?

No, I still have Cluster, she thought, and I'll be seeing him in a few hours. I'll see Nova, too. Everything is all one huge misunderstanding. So... so it'll all be fine. It'll be fine.

On her way to Sharp's lodging, she received a few sidelong glances her way. Some were borne out of pitiful curiosity, others too bunt and noticeable to be sympathetic. Everypony in town knew about Bronze Pocket's death, but what remained uncertain till now was the relationship between Bronze and his children. It had become clear that Cluster showed no want for pity, and in a matter of days fell upon the collective conscious to not reciprocate him with any. Airglow, however, never made public her true feelings on the matter, and therefore no pony knew if she resembled Cluster in that regard.

She was obviously aware of all this, which is what led to the aforementioned apathy. She did not make eye contact with any pony on the way if it were not necessary, but if some pony were to show her a good deed, or speak words of solidarity, or simply be a good samaritan for her sake, she would nod her head gratefully, say "thank you," and nothing else.

Nightmare Night's gonna be in two weeks, she went on thinking. Last year Twinkie went trick-or-treating, only a month after I started working at Golden Oak. But nowadays she says she's too old, doesn't want to go. Never would have expected her to refuse free candy. Well, it is what it is.

Time was passing in any case, and the thought of her dead father never left her, not for any minute, since she had learned of it that night. But those initial feelings of extreme sadness had passed, and all that was left was for time to take its course, to give oneself up to fate, and to not rebel against any conventions. What good would it do?

Upon arrival she knocked lightly on Sharp's door and was admitted inside almost instantly.

"Ah, thanks a bunch for coming," he said hastily; indeed, everything with him that day was in haste. Several cabinets with their keys were swung open, an open notebook lay on his desk, stuffed saddlebags laying on the floor, carpets rolled up and placed against the wall—by the looks of it, he was moving out.

"It's been a while, eh? I hope you're doing alright. Say hi to your brothers for me, would ya? Sorry, everything is kinda all over the place, and I've yet to write up a report to the Investigation Bureau. I was gonna pass off Misty's case to another department, but something in it really intrigued me, or, well, you know, that's just me."

From his continuous use of the things around him, one could see in Sharp a very industrious spirit that had not yet abandoned him and, in fact, may have been strengthened by his near death experience at the Flying Rift; one could see he was very persistent in his work, in figuring out whatever it was he was trying to figure out. He was still bandaged up around his torso and neck, but he regained much more of his prior energy in the past week.

"You guessed it," he said, reading the conclusion in Airglow's face, "today is my last day in Ponyville; I'm making my bow and hitching back to Canterlot where my team is waiting for me. Eh, not that I'll be missed here, after everything that's gone down." He paused, pondering something. "Anyway, my bad; you're here for..."

"I brought the thing," said Airglow, and with the extension of her wing she undid the flap on her saddlebag and lifted the hardcover biography from it. "The book. Here. Um, where do you want it?"

Airglow scanned the room, seeing that Sharp was as orderly as his room was disorderly, and contrasted his haste with her calm demeanour. She nevertheless understood that she was there on one particular point of business, that aside from this delivery, her presence was not necessary, and therefore felt no urge to bring up any other topic.

"There." Sharp stretched his neck and tossed the direction of his face on the table sat squarely in the centre of the room. His expression was bright yet strained, as if he had a mutual understanding of Airglow's languid apathy, and started to compliment it with his own casualness.

Airglow did as requested, then backed away, looking with steady dubiety at Sharp, and asked, "Is that all?"

"Oh, well..." Sharp immediately halted and looked back at the pegasus. His eyes momentarily flickered past her shoulder, then to his desk. "I was hoping you could do one more thing for me, if you've got the time for it. Just another delivery, would be quick. But you don't have to."

"Sure. What is it?"

"You know who Feelgreed is? He's a civil servant, or was, rather."

"Actually yeah, I do. I met him a few months ago. I think he's back here in Ponyville."

"Exactly, here in Ponyville." Sharp rummaged through his desk, and a second later he emerged holding a trio of coin pouches, all tied together at the top with a sturdy piece of string, all filled with bits. "I was involved in his... adjacent to his line of occupation, let's say. Something to do with a legal matter, which is part of what I do. Canterlot captains aren't just soldiers, ya know. Well, 'legal matter'—helping him with a personal problem, and I have to give him this sum of money. I rather not get into details. It's three hundred bits here, it's officially due to him. I know he was looking for me, but I just lost track of the whole ordeal, much to my chagrin. Think you could give it to him in my name?"

"I get it," replied Airglow, mechanically taking the coin pouches. "You're leaving soon, which I guess would delay this important, er, transaction. Right?"

"Ha! Word of the day—transaction. Keeps the world moving, huh? Anyway, anyway—if you could, I'd appreciate it a bunch. There's no receipt required, or any sort of written confirmation. It's just a one-way deal. I trust you know where to find him."

"I do, but..." She shrugged. "You sure you want me to do this?"

"Why not? I trust ya. I know, I should have done it myself, but things get so hectic these days, you lose track of certain tasks. This is why ponies hire servants, hard to do everything on your own, ya know? Sorry, I hope it won't be a problem, but I really got to get going soon... My team is waiting for me."

Airglow nodded, twisting her mouth slightly, giving a sort of submissive expression which could have either been interpreted as devotion or an uncaring acceptance. Sharp interpreted it as the latter. This sort of expression rarely appeared on Airglow in such a manner.

"Okay. I'll do it," she said, staring dully at the coin pouches. "Anything else you need?"

Sharp blinked at her, then shook his head.

"That's it, that's all," he said more slowly and assuredly; the thought entered his head that perhaps she did not want to do this at all, and only carried through with it because, maybe, she felt her servitude was owned to him after he had saved her on the Flying Rift. But then he smiled half-ironically to himself, thinking it strange to think such things.

Something evidently changed in Airglow's mind. Whereas before it looked like she was occupied by her own line of thought when speaking to others, which gave the impression of apathy, now she immediately became aware of the air she was putting off and seemingly wished to rectify it.

"It's really not a problem," she put in again, a grey light flashing in her glittering eyes. "I have the time. I'll do it. I'll also say hi to Cluster for you, I'm seeing him today in a few hours. I'm just, uh, happy to see you're doing okay... and all that."

"Me, okay?" Sharp let out a dry chuckle. "I'm good, all is good for me. But I know with everything that's been swirling around town this past week, ya know, I think you'll be okay, too."

"Yeah... Yeah, thanks."

All was silent for ten seconds as Sharp continued to work around the room, then at last he sat down and began jotting down words with a quill in the open notebook on his desk.

Airglow became aware of how awkward she must have sounded, or looked, and, turning around to leave, said, "Bye then, Sharp. Maybe I'll see you again. So, bye."

"Stay safe." He waved his hoof.

She left the door and was off.

Sharp stopped writing, glanced at the entrance of the room, and heaved a melancholic sigh. He slumped down and suddenly lost the bright expression on his face.

Her dad was murdered, he thought, and her brother is the prime suspect. Phew! Should I have brought it up? Nah, what could I say? She's a very good pony. I hope it doesn't get to her.

"But now's not the time for that," he said out loud and, wringing the dreary mood out of his system, he resumed his work.
> Part VII – Chapter III – Latent Untruth
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

This shouldn't take too long, and besides, Feelgreed seemed like a nice enough guy, concluded Airglow on her way down the gravel path, yet she did not seem particularly pleased by this conclusion.

She felt the weight of the big coin pouches on her. The filly had no idea on what grounds Sharp stood with the muddleheaded Feelgreed; the thought sprung up in her mind when she turned around a hill and viewed his house in the distance, seemingly nestled into a dirt depression by the base of an elongated valley, which was located in the far south of Ponyville.

But upon further contemplation she reasoned it did not matter in the least. Her opinion was irrelevant. She was there to make a delivery and nothing else.

The clouds at this time of season were grey, heavy, and enormous. A few large ones in particular looked like they could host a small party of pegasi, or were about ready to rain. Airglow craned her neck up and stared for a long time into the sky as she walked onwards.

Despite the fact that she was a pegasus, as well as a perfectly adequate flyer, Airglow never found much joy or motive to fly. She was what some call an "earth-pony" pegasus: born with wings, but functionally an earth pony in almost every aspect of life. Not a derogatory term, but no compliment either.

Not that you could blame her: apart from a lack of necessity, throughout her entire life the encouragement to fly from others was absent. She would much rather sit back and watch the other pegasi at work. She was even thankful she didn't have to apply for weather patrol; it simply did not feel like the right thing to do.

Sometimes she loved the feeling of wind blowing through her feathers. At other times, her wings were an obnoxious inconvenience when the time for preening came. She really hated preening, especially since there was always that one feather that gets stuck and hurts when you pull it out. Maybe if flight was a regular practice for her she would not mind, because then the benefit would largely outweigh the cost. It didn't help that no pony she knew in her personal life was a pegasus like her.

It was in these moments of wistful introspection that Airglow regretted her asocial disposition.

But it's always like that, isn't it? The asocial lot will invariably have those moments where they wish to not be asocial, to garner a larger group of friends and associates, yet nevertheless will continue the way they are, because the thought is a lot more appetizing than praxis.

As she entered the front view of the sunken little house, she heard some sort of discussion between two voices from within. She quickly jogged down one side of the depression, automatically finding her balance on a narrow stone path. She paused, listened to the "discussion" for almost a minute, but could not make anything out, only that it sounded hasty and personal. She went up and knocked on the door with her usual light knocks.

"Oh! It must be...!" She made out those exact words, and took two steps back.

The door opened and out came Feelgreed, with his expected countenance of nervous excitement, his mildly unkept mane, parted more on one side than the other, brushed side whiskers, and a crooked smile which vanished as quickly as it appeared.

It was obvious that he had anticipated to see captain Sharp Heat at the front of his abode, but upon seeing Airglow he cocked his head back, looked behind him, waved his hoof to the sound of another voice (which sounded young and female, probably his daughter), likely conveying all that needed to be said, then softly closed the door behind him. An expression of the most genuine amazement washed over his features.

"Why, it's you!" he exclaimed. "Sincerest apologies, miss, for catching me in such a state as this. My little castle here isn't clean in any sense of the word. Are you in search of something, miss... eh... Air..."

"Oh, it's Airglow. I'm here in place of Sharp. Sharp Heat, I mean. He wanted me to give you something, on account of some... 'personal matter' he had with you? His words."

"The air is fresh today, isn't it, miss Airglow? Come, walk with me, let's walk slowly, we have such sublime views here. I'm very glad you of all ponies came, because I should very much like to enlist your interest, miss."

"But I..." she let fall, but he started walking and she automatically followed him. "I'm not looking for anything else. I just have this one business with you, nothing else as far as I know."

"Didn't I know you had business with me, miss? The good captain I expected, but for some utterly astonishing reason, in the back of my head, I was expecting you; perhaps it was providence, like at the Flying Rift, yes?"

"I guess. If you want to put it like that..."

"Without business you never would have come, or is this business about an even more personal matter, with my children, that is?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't know anything about that. I'm only here to make a delivery."

"Well, my two sons already left; my daughter, who is the oldest, is leaving tomorrow, so I spent all day yesterday and now hopefully today with her. What about you, dear miss? Did you provide the time of bonding to your dear old father when you had the chance?"

"Y-yeah..." Airglow almost winced at her response.

"Good, good! All is well is the world then! See, the proceedings of this 'business' which I had anticipated from you must come only from the nobility of your fervent heart. Allow me to elaborate on the matter of the highly soldierly spirit of my late wife's brother and their extended family, who of course have all the need in the world to step into these worldly affairs which are not of their own, for reasons borne out of their chivalrously intentions. So they look at me, and at the mother who had just died, and think, 'Well, this unseemly sod just isn't fit to provide,' do you get me? And so they take me to court, and all the bureaucracy that come along with it. 'You,' says my late wife's brother (I refuse to call him anything else), 'are a pony of trade, and I am too; I will not throw you to rock bottom, though you might deserve it!' That is what he told me, miss. Truly a chivalrous spirit! My kids and I withdrew then, but this genealogical family picture forever imprinted itself in the memory of our souls. No, it's not for us to stay gentry, miss. And judge for yourself, miss, you were just so good as to visit my castle."

Airglow blinked heavily a few times. Her head started to dip. She was beginning to feel impossibly tired, precisely because she had only slept in intervals of about twenty minutes every twenty-four hours for the past few days now. That is to say, she would feel exhausted, lie down to rest, wake up again twenty minutes later, and from then on she'd be incapable of sleeping any further until the next day.

These instances of drowsiness would wash over her unexpectedly, and now, as she listened to Feelgreed prattle on, it was coming over her that morning.

"Oh, but you don't know all of it," the good and sincere Feelgreed went on, as if dictating. "Allow me to explain the story more particularly. The thing is that my sons, and especially my daughter Penni, can barely attend school due to concerns of bullying; they all make fun of them for their familial situation, as if they had any control on the matter whatsoever! Children are merciless; individually they're angels, but together in groups?—utterly merciless. Just last week they were teasing Penni; an ordinary filly would have accepted it, would have given in to the shame, but not my Penni, no, she stands up to her disgraced family, as if bound by the heights of honour. She got into a fight and got suspended for the week. Recently she was asking for my forgiveness, because her two younger brothers are now in the care of my late wife's brother, and she knows I only have her, and she does not wish to leave!

"Now she's come down with a fever of sorts, she was in a bad state all night. All that day she hardly spoke to me, but she kept leaning more towards the window, pretending to be doing her homework, but I could see she didn't have homework in mind. Last night I did some drinking, miss, and forgot a lot, because that's my sinful nature, miss. I had a dot on my last few bits. Please don't despise me, miss; in these parts of Equestria, the drunks are the kindest ponies.

"I remember when Penni arrived home after the suspension. 'What's wrong?' I ask. Silence. Well, there was hardly any need to speak of it. I understood why she was so upset. Love for your family can drive you to much short-sightedness, wouldn't you agree, miss? But I could tell she was awfully angry, and that she hated every pony at her school, even the teachers. So, miss, I took out my girl for a walk. And you should know, miss, that even before that, we would often go on walks together, just like how we are now, from our gate to that wattle fence down there, where the town common begins. You see, I usually prefer talking to fillies; I find females vastly more empathetic than the males, their company puts me at greater ease. A family without any females, not even one, is truly a sad state of affairs."

Jeez, I guess I wasn't "female" enough to help them, thought Airglow in a sort of dismal self-deprecation, the image of her own family flashing in her head.

"We were walking along, Penni and I, her little hoof in mine, as usual," Feelgreed went on. "She has such a tiny hoof, her arms are thin and cold—my girl suffers quite a bit, I can tell. 'Papa,' she said, 'papa!' 'What?' I said to her, and I could see that her eyes were flashing. 'Papa, why do they say such mean things about you!' 'It can't be helped, Penni dear,' I said. 'I don't wanna ever forgive them!' she said. 'No, Penni,' I said, 'there's no need to forgive right now, just forget about it.' Then she started shaking all over, and seized my hoof with both of hers. 'Papa,' she said, 'one day I'll get back at them, I'll make them pay for what they said, I'll hurt them bad' And her eyes were flashing and shining. Well, I'm still her father for all that, I had to tell her the right thing. 'Violence is wrong,' I said, 'even for the sake of revenge. Violence only breeds violence.' But I could tell she was not very satisfied by that.

"You see, miss, you see what a process went on in her little head over that day! Day and night she was thinking precisely about revenge, and that must have been her fever, miss. I suppose she won't go back to that school anymore, she will move out of Ponyville altogether. When I learned that she was going alone against the whole class, and that she was so bitter, that her heart was burning—I was afraid for her. Again yet we still went on our walks. 'Papa,' she asked, 'papa, is it true that the rich are stronger than anypony in the world?' 'Yes, Penni,' I said, 'no pony in the world is stronger than the rich.' 'Papa,' she said, 'I'll get rich, I'll become an important pony, and I'll beat everypony, and Princess Celestia will reward me. Then I'll come back, and none of them will...' She was silent for a while, then she said, and her little lips were still trembling as before: 'Papa,' she said, 'our town isn't that good.' 'Yes, Penni,' I said, 'it's really not a very good town.' 'Papa, let's move to another town, a good one,' she said, 'a town where they don't know about us, so I can stay with you.' 'We will,' I said, 'we will move, Penni, as soon as I save some money.'

"I was glad to be able to distract her from her dark thoughts, and so we began dreaming of how we'd move to another town, how we'd buy our own place, and all the like. We went over many details. She was overjoyed with that, most of all because we'd have our own place and a new school for her to attend. It was around that time when I met the exquisite captain Sharp Heat, he noticed my situation, and offered to help me; he struck me as incredibly well put together. Perhaps he offered to lend me some money, thought Penni was against such a proposal. Perhaps moneylending is seen as humiliating on some intuitive level. But, well, I must do what I can miss! I miss trudge through, for the sake of my family, I must show them that I can be a good father!"

He ended on a cracked note of spiteful derision. Airglow, despite her weariness, still made an effort to listen to Feelgreed, though she did not understand all of it. But she knew that he already trusted her, and that if somepony else were in her place, then this "talk" might not have taken place at all.

"Well," she said, "I really wish you luck on that."

"Right, miss," he muttered.

In any case, a bout of sympathy struck her, dampened though it was by her own familial situation. She considered that perhaps, in helping out some other pony with their own family, it might lead, by way of encouragement or the realization of a new idea, to improve the relationship between Cluster and Nova.

But that consideration immediately fell to the wayside of pure reason, because frankly, it did not make much sense. Airglow had spent so long wrestling with her father's death, and Nova's imprisonment, and Cluster who was still such an enigma to her, that she now wished to forget about it all, only that was clearly impossible.

"I..." she started, twisting her mouth to one side. "I really wish I could do something for you. Maybe this errand will. You said Sharp was going to lend you a hoof; well, that's why I'm here. Take this." She took out the three coin punches. "He said it's three hundred bits. It's for you."

The pouches seemed to make a terrible impression on Feelgreed. He started, at first from astonishment; he did not expect anything of the sort, nor such an outcome. He might have expected a sum of money to be lent to him, but never so much. He took the three pouches, and for a moment could not reply; something new flashed in his face.

"is it for me, miss, these three hundred bits? For me? By Celestia, I haven't held so much in my hooves in years! And captain Sharp Heat... is it true... really?"

"Yeah, it's the truth, it really is," she said in a livelier voice than before. She detected his increasingly hopeful disposition, which started to animate her. "It could really do some good on your part. Sharp is a great guy, he wants to help those down on their luck, like you. Please accept it."

"Listen, miss," he said, blushing, "if I do accept so much, won't that humiliate me? In your eyes, my good Airglow, would it dishonour me? But, no, wait, Airglow, listen to me, miss"— he was hurrying, touching Airglow with both hooves —"here you are offering me three hundred bits, persuading me to take them, because, in your words, the captain is a 'great guy' who bears a willingness for welfare, but inside, in your own heart—would you consider me dishonoured if I accept, miss?"

"Of course not, why would I? When is it ever humiliating to accept help from others? I mean, if it really bothers you, no pony has to know about this, no pony but me, you, and Sharp. But it's really not humiliating at all, at least I don't think so."

"Forget the captain! Listen, my good Airglow, listen to me, miss, because now is the time of all times for you to listen, miss, because I'm not sure you understand what these three hundred bits mean for me," the stallion went on, gradually getting himself into a sort of confused, unconstrained fervour. He was almost disoriented, as it were, and was speaking with incredible haste, as if he were afraid he might not be able to get it all out. "One time the excellent Dr. Tubercuhoofis came to examine my kids, and he offered a prescription for mineral water, which would do them good. The mineral water is awfully expensive, it costs twenty bits, because of how rare it is, because of its low supply and high demand. The prescription is still there, it may help with Penni's fever, and now I can buy it. I can rent a new place for a few months now, and in that time acquire a new job, and make more money that way. The only thing I would need to worry about it food. So now, with these three hundred bits, I can do so much, I have a new opportunity to stay with my daughter, to prove that I am able to provide. Do you understand that, miss Airglow? I can undertake treatment for my dear ones. Goodness, am I dreaming?"

Airglow smiled at last. She was glad that she caused so much happiness and that the poor fellow agreed to be made happy.

"Goodness," he said again, "if I could pay off even one lousy debt, then maybe that would be enough for that, miss!"

"It should be enough," she said brightly and openheartedly. "And if you need more, I'll ask Sharp to send more, or my brother Cluster, or anypony who'd listen. I could lend to you, too, and you can pay me back later. You can write to me, too, wherever you go; there's nothing wrong with dreaming, right? Not everything has to fall apart. You can prove to everypony that just because a family hits rock bottom, it doesn't have to stay that way forever. S-so... please accept this, and more if you need it."

Perhaps that previous consideration wasn't entirely senseless: it was possible, through encouragement at the happiness of others, to improve one's conditions. She wanted to believe that. Airglow was very pleased and was about to embrace the stallion, but she suddenly stopped.

Feelgreed stood there, pale in the face, with a wild look in his eyes, the sort of look of a pony who has decided to throw themselves under a train track, yet at the same time was smiling, but only with his lips.

"I... you... listen, miss Airglow," Feelgreed broke off in a mutter, staring her straight in the face. "Would you like to see where things stand?" he said suddenly in a low voice, this time without falter.

"Huh?"

"I just want to let you know where things stand, like the end of a show," he went on in that same low voice, one of his eyes squinting, almost as if it was riveted on Airglow.

"What're you talking about? Things stand where?" explained Airglow, now quite alarmed.

"Like this!" Feelgreed suddenly cried and, holding up the coin pouches, he threw them onto the ground with all his strength. "Well, so there, miss! There's your money!" he cried again, pointing at the bits on the ground.

He then leaped back and straightened up before Airglow. She took his whole figure to represent some picture of extreme pride.

"Report to the one who sent you, and anypony else who would send you, that I won't be humiliated for your own altruistic feelings!" Then he quickly turned around and broke into a fast gait the opposite way they were walking.

But after not even ten steps he turned around, and now there was no twisted or frenzied mockery on his face, only tears.

"And how could I face them, telling them that I relied on so much from so many?" Having said this, he went on his way, for real this time.

Airglow looked after him with real sadness on her face. She instantly came to understand that Feelgreed was genuinely ready to accept Sharp's delivery, and that perhaps her mention of receiving even more from others, herself included, is what set him off. She knew he would not look back.

Why did I mention other ponies helping? she chided herself. Why did I do that? I only made it worse.

When the stallion was out of sight, Airglow stared down at the coin pouches. She bit her lip, then bent down to pick them up. At first she thought about keeping the money, but shook her head. She decided to go back and return the bits to Sharp Heat. If he was no longer home, then...

Well, she didn't know what then. Those feelings of utter despair, the ones she was trying so hard to forget after her father's death, was again creeping its way inside.