> Tough Cookie and Syntax
>  by Blazewing
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Part 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was morning in Canterlot. Its restaurants and eateries were gradually filling up as their first customers came to fully rouse themselves with coffee and breakfast. One such establishment was The Golden Apple, one of the city’s most popular and prolific public houses, and already quite busy despite the early hour.

Inside, and seated at a table in a far corner, were two unicorns of distinctly different appearance, so much so that a casual observer would have taken them for table neighbors only by pure happenstance. The contrast between them would have made it very unlikely that any sort of familiarity existed between them. One at least, the stallion (for it was a stallion and a mare seated together) had the look of a member of Canterlot society, while the other might have come from Manehattan or Fillydelphia, by no means meant as a disparagement against such cities.

The mare had a peach-pink coat, dark brown eyes, and a dark red mane and tail, rather unruly, but sleek and shiny to the eye. She was a bit shorter than the average mare, and rather plump. This was further evidenced by her attire: a white tank top, damp with sweat, and stretched very tightly over a round and protruding belly, and gym shorts in much the same way over her ample hindquarters, obscuring her cutie mark. At the moment, she was drinking deeply from a glass of ice water, refreshing herself from a recent and exhausting bout of exercising. She had a hardy sort of face, but with no marks of unfriendliness.

The stallion, on the other hoof, had a powder-blue coat, dark-blue eyes, and a mane and tail a shade of blue in between, more neatly managed than the mare’s. He was slender, upright, and immaculate in attire, dressed in a gray jacket and black trilby hat, with a pair of spectacles perched on his nose. His cutie mark was comprised of the letters A and E joined together. An air of perfect serenity and calmness surrounded him, his eye steady, his expression denoting both geniality and cleverness. He paid no mind to the mare guzzling down water before him. On the contrary, he was reading a newspaper, held in front of him with his magic, insensible to all else around him.

The mare finally set her glass down with a grateful sigh, wiping her lips with the back of her hoof. 

“Boy, I needed that,” she said, in a hardy, streetwise voice. “Nothing like a jog around Canterlot to get the blood pumping, eh, Syntax?”

The stallion, thus addressed by this name, didn’t so much as move the paper to look at his table-mate. 

“I should think so,” he said, in that cultured, cosmopolitan type of voice habitual to native Canterlot citizens. “I admire your dedication to physical activity, Cookie, even if it makes no alteration in your abdominal circumference.”

The mare, labelled as Cookie, knit her brows.

“In Ponish, please, Mr. Language Master?”

Syntax sighed, bemoaning having to dumb down his vocabulary to a capacity understandable to his more crude companion. He folded his newspaper up and looked her straight in the eye. 

“You make a good show about exercising, yet you don’t get any thinner.”

Cookie scoffed.

“Look, Tax, we’ve been over this already. I don’t need to get thinner. I don’t exercise to lose weight; I do it to stay active. The problem with most fat ponies is that they just sit around all day doing nothing. They don’t have to be skinny to still be able to do stuff. I like doing what I do, but I’m not giving up on hayburgers and milkshakes in order to keep doing it. And besides,” she added, loftily, “unlike those ponies, I’m not fat. I’m ‘stout’. There’s a difference.”

“Of course there is,” said Syntax, with a smirk, as he picked up the paper again.

Cookie rolled her eyes. As she herself had attested to, this wasn’t the first time Syntax had made a pass at her bulky figure, nor would it be the last, she was sure. She knew he was only looking out for her health, and she appreciated it, but he was her partner, not her doctor. 

At just that moment, a unicorn waiter appeared, bearing a tray with two plates of eggs, toast, and fruit salad, along with two cups of coffee.

“Ah, about time,” said Cookie, as hers was laid down. “Thanks.”

Syntax merely nodded his appreciation as his plate was set down, and the waiter retreated. Cookie dug in hungrily, while Syntax took his time, burying himself behind his newspaper again. By the time Cookie was ready to speak again, she had already scarfed down her eggs and toast, and was now gulping down large spoonfuls of fruit salad.

“Anything interesting today?” she asked, as Syntax idly sipped his coffee.

“Oh, the usual,” he said. “Things are still winding down after the nationwide magic scare.”

“Hoo boy, that was dicey,” said Cookie, wiping a lock of her mane out of her face. “For a while, I thought I’d forgotten how to do my own spell, until I heard everypony else had lost their magic. Definitely didn’t do much good for the business.”

“Quite vexing, I agree, especially for unicorns.”

“And they’re saying it was some student from Princess Twilight’s School of Friendship?”

“That’s what they reported, yes. For somepony of such a young age and adorable appearance, she was apparently very clever, duplicitous, and power-hungry, not to mention unrepentant of her crimes, prepared to flee and start anew rather than atone for what she did. Although, happily, she seems to have been the only bad egg out of Princess Twilight’s class. From what I hear, the rest, especially the students who came from outside Equestria, have shown remarkable promise.”

“That’s good to hear. Still, is it true that that filly was sent to Tartarus? I mean, what she did was awful, sure, but she’s still a child, isn’t she? Was that really the best thing for the princesses to do?”

“It is not up to us to dictate how royalty decides to punish the guilty,” said Syntax, with dignity. “They act as they see fit, for the benefit of Equestria and its subjects.”

Cookie rolled her eyes again. 

“You’d have made a good lawyer, speechifying like that,” she said.

“My brother would be glad to hear you say that,” said Syntax, with a small grin. “He’s a lawyer, and he’s quite fond of making filibusters, the way he rambles on about justice. A shame he never went into the study of languages as I did,” he added, half-regretfully. “He’d be interested to see how many of them say quite a lot to express only a little, a point of familiarity he’d undoubtedly recognize.”

Cookie snorted with laughter, thumping the table with her hoof. 

“Ok, that was a good one,” she said, snickering. “How come you never joke like that more often, Tax?”

“Oh, I never joke,” said Syntax, composedly. “I may make a wry observation from time to time, but it’s not in my custom to joke.”

“Meh, suit yourself,” said Cookie, shrugging. 

There was a pause, during which Syntax turned the page of his newspaper. Cookie took a sip of coffee, then cleared her throat.

“So, nothing new in the winds today then?” she asked, casually.

Syntax didn’t reply. Cookie frowned slightly.

“Nothing up our alley?”

Again, Syntax didn’t reply. Cookie snorted, then asked, with a very deliberate and purposeful tone,

“Nothing interesting?”

Syntax looked up, raising an eyebrow.

“By which you mean?” he prompted.

Cookie huffed in exasperation. 

“You know what I mean,” she said, testily, leaning forward and nearly upsetting the contents of the table. “Any new reports? Any new mysteries? Any new leads?!”

“Shh!”

Syntax, after having first placed a hoof over his plump companion’s muzzle to quiet her, looked all around him in the packed eatery. Nopony was looking their way, and were in fact engrossed in their own affairs, in spite of Cookie’s momentarily raised voice. He sighed impatiently and removed his hoof. 

“Haven’t we spoken enough of your imprudence, Cookie? Talk of that nature is not suitable for public ears, lest it attract unwanted attention.”

Cookie’s ears flattened as she sat back, pouting. She knew Syntax was in the right, but disliked being spoken to like a misbehaving foal. Syntax cast another look about, then learned forward. Cookie raised one of her lowered ears.

“We’ll continue this discussion at the book shop,” Syntax said. “There, at least, we can be guaranteed some privacy.”

Cookie’s eyes lit up.

“So there is something?” she asked, eagerly.

“Perhaps,” said Syntax, with a small smile.

Reinvigorated, Cookie returned to the remains of her breakfast, while Syntax returned to his newspaper.


***


In a certain corner of Canterlot, adjacent to Restaurant Row, there stood a stately book shop, named Trotsworth Tomes. Sadly, the founder of said shop, Mr. Trotsworth, had long ago passed on. Since then, the shop had fallen onto hard times. Without the superintendence of the worthy literary mind, it foundered under ponies lacking the organization and knowledge he possessed. Shelves were haphazardly stocked, books were misplaced, left lying around, or even stolen, and the staff ponies were idle, lazy, and underprepared to answer customer queries. 

Thankfully, nowadays, the shop was steadily regaining its reputation, now that Syntax, whose grandfather had known Mr. Trotsworth, had taken ownership of it. Like a ship helmed by a skillful captain, Trotsworth Tomes was leaving the dangerous waters it had been mired in with Syntax scrupulously righting what had gone wrong, putting the disorganization to rights and restaffing with ponies who could be trusted to do their jobs. Even so, to preserve the memory of the pony who started it, his name remained affixed to the shop front.

After breakfast at The Golden Apple, Cookie and Syntax made their way to this shop, amidst ponies who had shaken off the stupor of early morning, and were now alert and active. Cookie had divested herself of her jogging gear, and was now attired in a dark green vest, which comprised her sole form of casual dress. Her cutie mark could now be seen on her curvy flank: a scroll of parchment. She also, by way of habit, had placed the blossom of her favorite flower in her mane. She never said why she did so, but her friends agreed that it was a nice touch.

The bell of the shop tinkled as the two entered. While perhaps not as well-stocked as the Canterlot Archives, the royal library, or the library of the Crystal Empire, Trotsworth Tomes still possessed an impressive quantity of literature of all genres: fiction, non-fiction, even children’s. Scattered about were lamp-adorned tables surrounded by chairs, as well as armchairs beside side tables, all placed for the comfort of reading patrons.

Cookie, who had been full of anticipation ever since Syntax had hinted there was something to tell her, was about to start asking about it again, when the bell rang behind her. Turning, the two saw a skinny young unicorn mare with an orange coat standing behind them, her brunette mane done up in a ponytail, her brown eyes blinking benignly behind a thick pair of spectacles.

It was one of the shop assistants Syntax had hired after he took over. True to his nature, he ensured that whoever he took on lived up to his expectations of integrity, efficiency, and politeness, and so she did.

“Good morning, Paige,” said Syntax.

“Good morning, Mr. Syntax, Miss Cookie,” said Paige, in a tone almost as polished as that of Syntax, and accompanying it with a bow.

“Morning, Paige,” said Cookie. “And I’ve told you, you don’t have to call me ‘Miss Cookie’. Just Cookie’ll do.”

“My apologies, Miss– Excuse me. Just Cookie.”

Cookie rolled her eyes but said nothing. If this sweet-natured filly had a fault, it was, perhaps, that she was a bit too formal.

“Mind the shop for me, Paige,” said Syntax. “Cookie and I have private matters to discuss in the back lounge.”

“Of course, sir.”

“And while you’re at it, could you bring me a copy of Discoveries of the Undiscovered, by Strawvinsky?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Without even taking a step away, she lit up her horn. From the topmost shelf of the first non-fiction bookcase, a thick, hardcover volume bound in black and silver was levitated down to float right in front of her boss and his friend. Cookie let out a low whistle, impressed. Syntax smirked and took the book in his own aura.

“Excellent,” he said. “Thank you, Paige.”

“You’re very welcome, sir,” said Paige, bowing her head again.

“She’s incredible, that filly,” said Cookie, as she and Syntax walked towards the back of the shop.

“Indeed,” said Syntax. “She amazes even me sometimes, and I’m not a stallion who is easily caught off guard.”

Syntax led the way through the alleys of bookshelves, the book he had requested floating before him. Cookie followed, though with a little difficulty, as her wide frame brushed up against the shelves as she passed. It was a common hazard for a pony of her girth, having trouble maneuvering through spaces that were much roomier to smaller ponies. Still, they didn’t have to go very far. 

A solitary bookcase, full of faded and dusty volumes, sat at the very back of the book shop, hidden from view. It was obvious even at a glance that it was never touched by even the most devout patrons. With a rapidity and exactitude that proved how often he had done this, Syntax pulled one book from each shelf until they were sticking over the edge, then pushed the second one he pulled back in. There was a clunk, then a rattling noise, and then the bookcase slid away, revealing a doorway hidden behind it. Through this went the two friends, and Cookie’s tail had barely whisked inside before the bookcase slid back into its original place. She shuddered.

“I’ll never get used to that,” she muttered.

The passageway led into a simple but well-furnished room, something like a sitting room. A pair of cushy chairs were settled around a square table over a rug, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A tall wooden radio sat in one corner, a refrigerator in another, and a newsrack full of newspapers and books in yet another. The last corner was taken up by a writing desk, with all the appearance of being frequently used, but frequently tidied as well. This was Syntax’s private office, something only he, Cookie, and the shop staff were privy to, and even then, the latter still needed his permission to be allowed in.

Syntax set the requested book down on the table and sat down in one of the chairs. Cookie sat in the other, which creaked under her weight.

“So?” she asked, eagerly. “What are you so hush-hush about?”

By way of answer, Syntax’s horn glowed. As though caught in a high wind, the book opened, and the pages flipped, stopping at last on an entry near the end of the volume. Cookie leaned over, and saw a page headed with the title ‘The Scrolls of Equus’, followed by an illustration showing a bundle of sealed scrolls.

“The Scrolls of Eck-oos?” Cookie pondered, looking closely.

Syntax winced, as though Cookie’s pronunciation actually pained him. 

“Eck-wus,” he corrected. “The Scrolls of Equus. Legends say that they are some of the most ancient records of pre-Equestrian history, far before the reign of the princesses.”

Cookie’s eyes widened. 

“Is that right?” she asked.

“Yes, and the description of their resting place matches that of an ancient tomb in the Badlands, of which this–” Here he magically opened a desk drawer and drew out a faded piece of folded parchment, unfolding it for Cookie to see. “–is a map of said tomb. However, nopony has been able to recover them, despite knowing their reputed resting ground.” 

“How come?” Cookie asked.

“Supposedly, they are well-guarded by traps and puzzles. Too many failed attempts, and too many near-death experiences in the far past have turned explorers off to trying to uncover them. Not even the likes of Star Swirl the Bearded, so intrepid and dedicated a wanderer and so powerful a sorcerer, managed to find them. That’s how I came by this map. I can only guess that one such explorer had gotten a hold of it, but got cold hooves when they learned what lay before them, and left this between the leaves before it was donated to the shop. I discovered it was there by pure chance when doing inventory, and kept it hidden. Serendipitous, to say the least.”

Cookie rubbed her chin thoughtfully. 

“Interesting. A well-guarded treasure, potentially older than Equestria itself, that’s too secure for ponies to want to mess with.”

“Precisely,” said Syntax.

“What made you think of them?”

“Well, with the Pillars of Equestria back amongst us in the present day–”

“Still not used to that,” Cookie interjected. “When I heard Princess Celestia had recruited Flash Magnus as a drill sergeant for her royal guard, I thought it was some kind of spoof piece in the news.”

“Unbelievable, to be sure,” said Syntax. “Well, as I say, with the Pillars of Equestria back amongst us, Star Swirl has taken to wandering the land, and he made a brief stop in Las Pegasus to take part in what transpired to be a fraudulent friendship institution.”

Cookie blinked.

“I’m gonna have to ask you about that later,” she said.

“It appears,” Syntax went on, “that during his stay, he was approached by a reporter and, surprisingly, agreed to an interview. In the course of it, he mentioned the mystery behind the Scrolls of Equus, and about where they were reportedly hidden, but how even he was averse to meddling with the countermeasures surrounding them.” 

“The chance to find something that not even Star Swirl the Bearded wanted to try and find?” Cookie asked, her eyes glinting with enthusiasm. “I like the sound of that.”

“As I thought you would,” said Syntax. He then added, dryly, “A pity, then, that, despite having returned, his uncertain whereabouts would render you incapable of ‘rubbing it in his face’.”

Cookie gasped, a hoof over her chest, as though Syntax’s words had injured her physically. 

“You make it sound like I don’t respect my fellow discoverers,” she said, affecting a wounded tone. “Why, Syntax, I thought you knew me better than that.”

Syntax raised an eyebrow. 

“Just last month,” he said, “I remember you being quite celebratory over having discovered the Golden Horseshoe of Mustangia first, prompting Dr. Spelunker, who had made it a well-publicized mission of uncovering it, to declare you, as I well remember him putting it so bluntly, ‘an overstuffed, un-sportspony-like glory hound’.”

A dull red flush colored Cookie’s pink cheeks. 

“Ok, so maybe I get carried away when I find something,” she huffed, “but can you blame me?” 

Here she thumped the table with her hoof, making Syntax start, in spite of himself. 

“Ponies expect me to sit behind my counter in the shop and tell them how old their dusty old finds are, and what they might be worth. And don’t even get me started on the smart-alecks who try to fool me with some ‘valuable find’ that’s really just been rolled around in the dirt and scuffed up a few times. I’m tired of that! I want to be the one doing the finding, Tax! I want to feel some pride in being part of discovering a lost piece of Equestrian history! Don’t you?”

She looked at her old friend with such earnestness, such fervor, such undisguised emotion, that Syntax, taciturn as he was, was moved. He closed his eyes and sighed. 

“Of course I do. Do you think that I enjoy simply poring over old texts that have already been found? It gets dreadfully dull after a while. I can’t deny the acute pleasure it gives me to uncover the uncovered, to translate the untranslated. In a way, I do understand your frustrations, and your desire for more out of your life. It’s part of the reason why I enjoy these little excursions.”

Cookie smiled. 

“So, what do you say, old pal?”

Syntax looked her in the eye and smiled in turn. 

“I say that the Scrolls of Equus aren’t going to find themselves.”

Cookie let out a squeal of delight, falling back in her chair with such force that it nearly toppled over, if she didn’t catch herself in time.

“We still need to make preparations, of course,” said Syntax. “It is a trip to the middle of the Badlands, after all. I’ll need to inform Paige and the rest of the staff that I’ll be away from the Tomes for an undisclosed period of time.”

“Whatever time we need, Tax,” said Cookie. “Just tell me when, and I’ll post a sign saying the shop’ll be closed until we get back. Might not even matter. Business has been pretty slow lately.”

“One of the unexpected perks of a slump,” said Syntax. “For now, however, we must keep mum about this. As I have often needed to tell you, you never know what winds may carry careless words to unwanted ears.”

Cookie scoffed. 

“You and your pedantic poetics. I don’t want anypony trying to steal our glory, so unless there’s a hayburger in front of these lips, they’ll stay sealed.

“Then that’s as good a promise as I can hope from you,” said Syntax.


***


Just down the street from Trotsworth Tomes, there stood another building, one whose appearance also bespoke a considerable age and legacy. It wasn’t just in the exterior, either. The street window was populated with items made of weathered wood, faded cloth, chipped stone, and worn, tarnished metal. Inside were pieces of furniture, shelves of books, rows of trinkets, pieces of pottery, boxes of jewelry, and much more besides. Nearly all of it was fascinating to look at, especially those items one wouldn’t be likely to find in a normal shop nowadays, but showed unmistakable signs of age and use from bygone days. 

This was Curios, an antiques shop that appraised and sold items of considerable age and worth. There was a smattering of these sorts of establishments all about Equestria, though they were more likely than not labeled as mere ‘junk shops’ or ‘second-hand stores’, accepting any item and reselling it if it could still be used. Curios was unique in that it not only put donated items up for sale, but could accurately determine just how old they were, and have a clearer say on their value. So it was in the days of its perceptive former owner, Knick Knack, and so it was today with his successor, Tough Cookie.

In Cookie’s case, it was thanks to her special talent: using her magic to determine the age of whatever she chose to scan. This spell was never off by more than five years, so Cookie’s analyses were nearly always accurate. This meant that, as she told Syntax, if a pony tried to pass off something as older than it really was, Cookie could see through the deception easily. This made her respected by antiquarians, but disliked by con artists. It made no difference to her. The spell could work on both inanimate objects and living creatures. If used on the latter, they wouldn’t even feel the spell being cast on them, and the accuracy in determining their age was never off by more than a few months. 

As a filly, it hadn't been long after she discovered her signature spell before a wide range of possibilities opened up to her young mind. Apart from the usefulness of determining if certain foods were still fresh or past their expiration date (an important perk for a filly who, even at her age, was becoming wider than she was tall) and finding out how old her friends’ pets were, she could determine the age of fellow ponies without needing to ask them. This made her the bane of middle-aged Canterlot ponies who felt bespeaking their true age was below their precious dignity, and who could hardly contain their indignance at Cookie’s impetuosity if she slyly hinted at it. It had also gotten her in trouble at school, when she made one too many jokes about her history professors knowing their subject all too well, when they were ‘practically old enough to be there when it happened’. This had given her the reputation of a rascal among the older ponies of Canterlot, but her friends thought she was brilliant and funny, and to her credit, she never used her talent to blackmail or bully anypony.

Unfortunately, while Trotsworth Tomes saw a fair bit of business nowadays, patronage for a shop like Curios in an aristocratic city like Canterlot was hit or miss. Some days it saw a decent flow of customers, allowing Cookie to keep herself busy with appraising items, arguing over their authenticity, or chatting it up about certain pieces or new discoveries. Other days saw the shop practically empty apart from Cookie herself, for she was the only staff member to keep it running at all. Her predecessor, Knick Knack, had had too many incidents with shop assistants neglecting their duties, so when she took possession of Curios, she resolved to keep it running with a staff of one. Of course, this meant that slump days gave her the perfect excuse to close up early, and if, by chance, somepony had stopped by looking to do business, they were usually back first thing the next day, so no harm, no foul.

Today was yet another sluggish day. Ponies passed by on the street, sure enough, but the most any of them did was give the shop a casual glance, if that. Cookie saw it all, of course, from where she sat behind the counter, her forelegs folded on top of it, her chin resting on her forelegs, and her work glasses perched on the end of her nose. She let out a bored sigh, making her pudgy cheeks wobble.

“We could’ve headed out today,” she mumbled. “Nopony would’ve noticed. I’ll betcha as soon as we go, that’s when all the big customers will come crawling out of the woodwork, and by the time we get back, they’ll have lost interest. That’d be just my luck.”

A loud gurgle suddenly sounded from Cookie’s stomach. Her horn flared up, pulling a glass jar full of chocolate chip cookies across the counter over to her side. The lid floated off, a cookie floated out, and she popped it into her mouth, munching away. 

“It’s a miracle I even make enough bits to get by,” she went on, with her mouth full. “If it weren’t for our adventures, I’d lose this place, and then where would I be? Bumming off Syntax and helping him sell his books. Old Knick Knack would haunt my nightmares if anything happened to this place.” 

She popped another cookie into her mouth, wiping the crumbs from her lips with her hoof. 

“Maybe I should get an assistant,” she muttered. “At least then I wouldn’t be sitting here, stuffing my face and talking to myself like a crazy pony.”

Just then, the doorbell tinkled as the door opened. Cookie sat up in a twinkling, straightening her vest and adjusting her glasses, trying to look professional, even with her belly pressed up against the counter. 

“Welcome to Curios,” she said, in her best ‘customer service’ tone. “How can I help you?”

“Well, well. Still collecting dust in here with the rest of your trinkets, Cookie?”

Cookie’s smile dropped. A unicorn mare had stepped inside. She had a cream-colored coat, brown eyes, and a chestnut mane and tail. In contrast to Cookie’s considerable size, this mare was curvy but sleek, her mane silky and shiny. Her cutie mark was a yellow teardrop-shaped gemstone. She was quite pretty, though this was marred by the look of smug disdain on her face, the face of one who constantly has the smell of something undesirable in their nose.

“Hello, Beryl,” said Cookie, coldly. “Long time no see.”

“It has been a long time, hasn’t it?” Beryl asked, walking up to the counter with a sway in her step. “I hardly see you anymore, Cookie, but then again, I just assume that you’re stuffing your face down at the Golden Apple as usual.”

Cookie rolled her eyes. Jabs at her gluttony were nothing new to her by this point, but Beryl had been rather fond of poking fun at her weight when they were in school together. They had taken a few of the same classes, and had never seen eye-to-eye. The final straw was when Cookie had proved, with her spell, that Beryl’s beloved pearl necklace, the envy of many a mare at their school, wasn’t nearly as old and valuable as she pretended it was; in fact, it hadn’t even been made of real pearls. Beryl had treated her as a sworn enemy from then on, while Cookie just found her obnoxious.

“So, what brings you here?” Cookie asked. “This hardly seems like your kind of shopping spot.”

“Well, normally, yes,” said Beryl, casting a disparaging eye over the collection of aged miscellanies. “I much prefer being surrounded by the shimmer of new gems, rather than the dust of old junk.”

Cookie snorted. Beryl just couldn’t get to the point right away, could she? She just had to throw in a few more barbs. Beryl’s horn flared, and she drew a cloth bag from the saddlebag at her hip.

“Still, I wanted to see how old this was, and I couldn’t think of anypony more qualified to ask than you. Believe me, I tried,” she added, snidely.

Not even deigning to respond, Cookie turned her attention to what Beryl had brought. From inside the bag, she drew out a small silver goblet. It was tarnished in one or two spots, but it still shone in the sunlight filtering through the shop. Cookie’s interest was piqued, in spite of herself.

“Where’d you find that?”

“At the Trader’s Exchange in Rainbow Falls, funnily enough. I went there for a browse, and saw this among a whole set of silver kitchenware. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough to trade for the whole set, and this goblet really was the most intact and presentable piece of it. The owner told me it was ‘priceless’, but I figured I should get a second opinion.”

Beryl smiled with what she must’ve assumed was innocence and pleasantry, but Cookie didn’t smile back. Her eyes narrowed as she looked from the goblet to Beryl, but she said nothing at first.

“Yeah, I can tell you how old it is,” she said. “I do charge an appraising fee, though.”

“Oh, now, Cookie,” said Beryl, in a playfully pouty voice, “you wouldn’t charge an old friend for a small favor, would you?”

“Of course not,” said Cookie, dryly. “If you find one, I’d be happy to let them know, but you’re the only one here, so ten bits.”

Beryl scowled, but said nothing. She drew out a hoof-ful of bits and placed them on the counter. Smirking, Cookie slid them aside, took the goblet in her magic, then stared hard at it, her horn flaring brighter as she cast her spell. Numbers filled her head, going higher, then lower, until a final answer came to her.

“Well, it’s your lucky day,” she said, handing it back. “This goblet’s got about 200 years behind it. A little polish, and you’ve got some prime silver there.”

Beryl’s momentary scowl vanished, a look of gleeful triumph on her face as she put the goblet away in her saddlebag. 

“Wonderful. Thanks, Cookie.”

“Oh, no problem. It’s a nice, rare treat to see anything valuable in your hooves before you go and dismantle it.”

Beryl raised an eyebrow. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” said Cookie, her eyes narrowing. “I heard from Syntax about how you outbid everypony at the last grand auction for that gem-encrusted tiara. It was at least 500 years old, belonging to a late Maretonian duchess, with seven precious stones set into it. And what did you do?” 

Here, Cookie’s voice took on a heated tone as she leaned forward over the counter, glaring daggers at Beryl. 

“You took it apart to make pendants out of the stones, using the rest of the tiara for embellishments! 500 years of Maretonian smithwork, broken to pieces and sold as trinkets!”

Beryl looked unconcerned.

“And? What of it? That tiara became mine fair and square, and I put it to the use that suited me. Is it a crime to decide what to do with my property?”

“It’s a crime against the memory of that old tiara!” snapped Cookie, rearing up and slamming both hooves on the counter, while also making her gut plop down on top of it. “It was a priceless piece of Maretonian history! It deserved to sit preserved and respected, not chopped up into baubles! Think of how much it was worth at the time, and what it was worth now, before you decided to recycle it! The same goes for that goblet! Just wanted me to tell you if it was ripe enough, huh?”

Beryl shook her head with a small laugh. 

“Celestia, Cookie, you sound like one of those rabid comic book collectors, and you’re about as girthy as a lot of them that I’ve seen.” 

She prodded Cookie’s abdominal pudge with her hoof at this. 

“I have a business to run, and I’m simply being creative with resources. Compared to what else was put up at that auction, I bought that dusty old tiara for a pittance. It’s not like anypony else would’ve done any better with it. And this goblet was, as I said, the nicest-looking piece out of the lot. It’s not like it was being put to better uses. What would you do if you’d gotten it, or the tiara: stick them up for display in this dump?”

Cookie said nothing, but continued to scowl.

“And as for Syntax,” Beryl went on, derisively, “he was only at that auction to add some moldy old volumes to his already-moldy collection, so what business is it of his what I do?”

“Hey, leave Syntax out of this,” said Cookie, sternly.

“Why should I?” Beryl asked, coldly. “The both of you have the same problem. You’re both stuck in the past, skulking in the shadows of the old days while ponies like me are moving on in the world. When you’re not squatting in your musty shops, you’re bumbling around Equestria, looking for even more old junk to add to your collections. Face it, Cookie: you two are a pair of fossils,” she added, with a scornful laugh.

Cookie bared her teeth furiously. Sure, she complained about sitting behind her counter all day with nothing else to do, but this shop was still dear to her through her old mentor’s legacy, and nopony dragged Syntax’s name down as well and got away with it, not on her watch. She would have dearly loved to grab the nearest piece of bric-a-brac and chuck it in Beryl’s smug face, if she wasn’t concerned about damaging the bric-a-brac. 

Instead, she said, icily, “It figures someone who sees the world through a jeweler’s loupe wouldn’t understand something’s historical value, instead of just how many bits they fetch on the market. As for why Syntax and I keep these old shops, it’s because we have strong ties with them, though I wouldn’t expect you to understand anything about integrity or commitment. Tell me: which naive young billionaire are you making spoil you this month, until his money runs dry and you toss him away like a used tissue? Don’t think I don’t know about what happened with Silver Coin or Lucky Day.”

Beryl’s tan cheeks flushed pink at this, and her smug smile vanished. Cookie had struck a nerve. She spluttered in indignation for a second or two, unable to think up a counterattack, while it was Cookie’s turn to smirk. Finally, when no retort would come, Beryl merely scoffed, stuck her nose in the air, and flounced back toward the door. She stopped to glare over her shoulder at Cookie.

“You think you’re so clever,” she muttered. “At least I can get a coltfriend. The only stallion who could stand a blimp like you is Syntax.”

“Then that just means my somepony’s still out there,” said Cookie, shrugging. “Better to find them at the right time than burn through poor saps waiting to get their money bled out. And for the record,” she added, “a lot of this stuff may be dusty and old, but they’d still sell for a lot more than that old pearl necklace of yours.”

Beryl snarled, yanked the door open, and stormed out, slamming it behind her. As soon as she was alone, Cookie burst into a hearty fit of laughter, collapsing back into her chair.

“Hoo boy, I really needed that,” she sighed, wiping a tear from her eye. “That just made today worth it.”

She sat back, still giggling to herself for a bit, when the doorbell rang again. She straightened up, and saw Syntax approaching. 

“Ah, hey, Tax. You missed one heck of a show here.”

“I figured as much. I just passed Beryl on the street, coming from your shop, and she had a face that would curdle fresh milk.”

“She just came by to try and get under my skin. She wanted to find out how much a silver goblet she found was worth, and I called her out for what she did with that Maretonian tiara she bought at the auction.”

“Ah, yes,” said Syntax, grimly. “If I hadn’t been at that auction to bid for that collection of Trotcer’s poems, I might not have known.”

“So she called us a pair of fossils for sticking around our shops,” Cookie went on. “Made me wanna deck her right in the muzzle.”

Syntax’s brow furrowed at this, both at the idea of Beryl calling him a fossil, and at hearing Cookie contemplating violence on her, however much it might feel deserved.

“And did you?”

“Nah. I did better than that, and asked who her new temporary coltfriend was this month. I even brought up Silver Coin and Lucky Day.”

Syntax snorted, covering his muzzle with his hoof. Cookie grinned to see herself get such a reaction from her normally stoic friend. However, Syntax felt it was below his dignity to give way to mirth at such a joke, so he cleared his throat.

“By Star Swirl’s bells, Tough Cookie,” he said, “you’re one of the most spiteful, vindictive mares I’ve ever met.”

“Turnabout’s fair play, Syntax,” said Cookie, cheekily. “She started it, so I finished it.”

Syntax merely shook his head.

“Well, I’m not here to chastise you for giving Beryl a bit of just desserts,” he said, adopting a more confidential tone of voice. “I came by to see when you would be ready to set out on our ‘little trip’.”

Cookie’s eyes lit up at these words, and she leaned forward so that she and Syntax were almost nose-to-nose.

“I’ll pack right after closing, and I’d be ready to leave tonight, if we could.”

“Tomorrow morning, at the earliest. I still have some preparations to make. I have to hire a private airship to take us to the Badlands, for a start. Nopony knows, do they?”

“Of course not. It’s been a slow day today, and I didn’t say a word about it to Beryl. Like she’d care. She can’t make brooches out of scrolls.”

“True. All the same, not a whisper, not a syllable. Meet me at the Tomes tomorrow morning at 6 AM, and we can be off.”

“All right. It’s a pain to have to be up so early when it’s not for a jog, but it’ll be worth it. You can count on me to be there.”

“Excellent,” said Syntax, patting her hoof. “I’ll see you then.”

With that, he turned to leave, but paused at the door, much like Beryl. 

“Incidentally, Cookie,” he said, in a light, casual tone, “Beryl’s ‘new coltfriend’? Young Lord Goldstrike.”

Cookie’s jaw dropped.

“No!” she gasped. “The gold baron’s son?”

“The very same. I saw them together, side by side, Goldstrike looking like the perfect picture of a lovestruck fool. Such a pity. He always seemed to be a stallion of good taste. When did he suffer such a lapse in standards?”

Cookie snorted with laughter.

“Now who’s the spiteful one?” she asked, giggling.

Syntax merely winked, and went on his way.
> Part 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stage one of the operation had come off just as smoothly as planned. In the wee hours of the morning, long before many ponies would even be thinking of waking up, Cookie, though still very drowsy herself, met Syntax outside of the Tomes, her saddlebags packed for the journey. With Curios bearing a notice that it’d be closed for an undisclosed period of time, and with Paige set to take care of the Tomes in her employer’s absence, the two made their way to the Canterlot port, boarding a private airship that Syntax had hired, and which was expected to take them back again once they had accomplished their goal. No creature but the birds would be witnesses to their departure, and to all appearances in Canterlot, the two would just be off on another expedition to parts unknown. 

“I never get tired of this feeling,” said Cookie with relish, as she walked the gangplank onto the deck. “The two of us, getting away from sitting behind dull desks all day, putting the stuffy air of Canterlot behind us, setting out for new discoveries to wow the public with. It makes me feel…uplifted, free.”

“As light as a feather?” Syntax asked.

“Actually, yeah.”

“Well, that’s quite an accomplishment, for a mare of your size. Perhaps I can rest easy knowing you won’t weigh the ship down and slow us up.”

“Like I couldn’t see that joke coming a mile away,” said Cookie, sarcastically. “Let’s just ship out, ok, Captain Snark?”

“As you wish,” said Syntax, doffing his hat in a mock bow. “Full steam ahead for the Badlands.”

And so, with Syntax at the helm, the ship left the Canterlot port, with the sun only just rising, and the adventurous duo were on their way.


***


The noonday sun was high and hot in the sky, and Cookie was just about to ask, for the umpteenth time, if they were there yet, when at last, they came upon their destination, as indicated by the map Syntax had so scrupulously kept hidden. It was a secluded spot in the middle of the desert, tucked away at the foot of a lone mountain. There, with the geological giant looming overhead, the airship touched down, and the pair disembarked.

“It’s lucky you studied piloting, Tax,” said Cookie. “Otherwise, we’d have to deal with a lot of awkward questions for another pilot about where we were going or what we’d be doing.”

“Agreed,” said Syntax. “Under circumstances of the greatest secrecy, it does best to create as few witnesses as possible.”

“Sheesh, the way you talk, you’d think we were criminals trying to hide a stash of loot.”

“You were the one who started the conversation with bringing up awkward questions.”

“And I’ll end said conversation by asking where the entrance is.”

Syntax drew out the map.

“If my readings are correct, and they always are, the entrance to the tomb should be at the foot of this peak, on the eastern side. We’ve landed on the eastern side, so it shouldn’t be far from here. Come along, and keep an eye out.”

They started walking from the airship, heading closer to the peak, while looking this way and that for any sign of an entrance. The wind blew fitfully as they moved under the shade of the mountain, ruffling Cookie’s mane. Even then, and even with the mountain looming over them, temporarily blocking the sun, the air was still hot and dry. The sooner they found the way in and got out of the heat, the better.

Suddenly, Syntax came to a halt, so that Cookie bumped into him.

“Oof! What?” she asked, sharply.

“I see it! There!” said Syntax.

Cookie’s annoyance vanished in an instant. She looked eagerly where Syntax was pointing. Standing between a pair of cacti, a sizable mound of rock sat before them. A square section had been cut into it, and covering it was a smooth stone slab, like a door. Cookie raised an eyebrow.

“You sure that’s it?” she asked. “Doesn’t look very impressive.”

“I’m positive,” said Syntax. “It matches the appearance of the entrance on the map. That’s the doorway to the tomb that, if the legends are true, holds the fabled Scrolls of Equus.” 

The two approached the solitary stone, Cookie still looking skeptical.

“I’m just saying,” she said, “for a place that’s meant to hide such a priceless treasure, it looks pretty ordinary.”

“Well, if it was more grand and impressive, it would stand out, and would be discovered too easily,” said Syntax, “and what civilization is that keen for their well-kept treasures to be found by the common pony?”

“All right, all right, point taken.”

“Now, the only question is, how do we open the door?” Syntax mused.

“Good point,” said Cookie, squinting at the slab. “I don’t see a keyhole or anything.”

Both unicorns began examining the door and the rock wall supporting it, trying to find some indication of how to enter, peering closely here, tapping with their hooves there, directing the magic in their horns elsewhere. Of course, as Syntax said, somepony who was particularly determined to safeguard their treasure wouldn’t give up their secrets so easily. It wasn’t as though they would leave a placard proclaiming directions to finding a key, or spelling out an ancient password for all to see.

“Aha!” cried Syntax, suddenly. “Cookie, over here!”

Cookie came plodding over, looking excited. Syntax was rubbing away at a spot of rock beside the door. Beneath a layer of dirt, they could see miniscule words etched into the stone, small enough to fit on a postage stamp.

“This could very well be the clue we’d been seeking,” said Syntax. “It’s been written here so long that, had it not caught the eye of one with attention to detail, it would have remained undiscovered. And even in its day, the lettering is so minute that it would very well be taken for mere scratchings on the surface.”

“Well, don’t just sit there, Mr. Tedious,” said Cookie, jostling him impatiently. “Translate it! See what it says!”

“I’m getting there,” said Syntax, irritably. “You could show a little appreciation for how well-hidden it was. It’s a mark of the originator’s ingenuity.”

“I’ll better appreciate how brainy and clever and whatever else they were after we get in. Now make with the translate!”

Syntax sighed, muttering under his breath, then directed his horn at the text on the stone. His horn glowed dark-blue, and the glow surrounded the letters as well. As though being displayed on a projector, the words, surrounded by a square border of Syntax’s aura, grew outwards until they were clearly visible, large enough to read from a distance.

“Looks cool every time you do that,” said Cookie, appreciatively.

Syntax smirked, in spite of himself, then peered at the letters before him, his brow furrowed.

“Odd. The words are written in Old Ponish, but the language is that of the Eastern Unicorns.”

Cookie tilted her head and squinted at the lettering. 

“Really? I’ve never heard of anypony using somepony else’s language in their alphabet.”

“Oh, it can happen, but it’s very rare. The few times I’ve seen it have been when the writer was desirous to hide a message’s true meaning by throwing the translator for a loop. Well,” Syntax added, with a touch of pride, “there has never been a cryptogram that I could not decode in the end.”

Cookie grinned. It always made her happy whenever Syntax was happy, with him being such a stoic pony naturally. 

“So, what does it say?” she asked.

“It says, ‘The sound of a friend will see you through.’”

Cookie raised an eyebrow. 

“The sound of a friend? Does it mean it’ll open if it knows it can trust you like a friend?”

“I’m not sure,” muttered Syntax. “If that’s the case, it’s up to the discretion of whatever monitors this tomb’s defenses whom it allows to pass.”

“And since we’re here to find a hidden treasure, I can’t exactly count myself a friend of the tomb, now can I?” asked Cookie, grimly.

“Nor can I, frankly,” said Syntax. “But we may as well give it a try.”

He stood squarely before the door, head held high, and spoke, loud and clear, “Patoffnen! (Open!)”

Nothing happened. The stone remained unmoved.

“Very well,” said Syntax. “Then, perhaps, if the language is that of the Eastern Unicorns, it desires an answer in that tongue.”

He cleared his throat, and said, loudly and clearly, “Kaisuo! (Unlock!)”

Nothing happened. The door may as well have been a piece of the wall, for all the movement it made. Syntax frowned.

“I see,” he said. “It’s not simply a matter of speaking in one tongue or the other. This warrants thinking about.”

Cookie sat on her haunches, pouting thoughtfully. Syntax sat down as well, looking deep in thought himself. For several minutes, they sat in silence, but though a sudden new brainwave unknit Syntax’s brow a few times, it would just as quickly reknit again as the wave passed. As for Cookie, she was utterly stumped. Exploration in the physical sense was more of her speed. Riddles and puzzles were more Syntax’s specialty, so she felt lost.

“I still don’t get what the connection with the Eastern Unicorns is,” mused Cookie at last. “Did they have something to do with Old Equestria?”

“That I cannot say,” said Syntax. “They are, assuredly, an ancient race of pony, from the days of Mistmane, and powerfully magical. Perhaps something in their spellwork is relevant to the safeguarding of this tomb.”

“Well, then, maybe there’s something different in the clue if it’s in another language. ‘The sound of a friend will see you through’.”

Syntax put his hoof to his chin again, thinking. 

“‘The sound of a friend will see you through’...”

He began to mutter under his breath, speaking in different languages. Cookie let him carry on, partly because she didn’t want to break his concentration, and partly because she couldn’t understand a lick of anything but pidgin scraps of certain languages. Having Syntax as a best friend hadn’t yet let the fruits of his talent absorb into her mind.
 
Suddenly, Syntax jumped to his hooves, his face lit up.

“Of course! It’s brilliant! Cookie, you’ve done it this time!”

Cookie stared, perplexed. 

“What did I do?” she asked.

Syntax faced the door and spoke, loud and clear, “Rijan!” There was a rumbling sound. The stone slab shifted, and then slid upward, vanishing completely, revealing a square hole. Cookie’s jaw dropped.

“What was that?” she asked.

“I thought about what you said, Cookie,” said Syntax, “about the disparity between the lettering and the language, so I ran the same phrase in my mind in the language of the Eastern Unicorns. It’s a much more literal translation: ‘The sound of the word ‘friend’ will show you the way’. As in, say the word ‘friend’, and the door will open. However, it had to be spoken in Old Ponish. Therein lies the subtlety in the linguistic double-play: the alphabet was still Old Ponish, so the answer would still be Old Ponish. Quite ingenious!”

“Wow,” said Cookie, amazed. “That’s definitely something I never would’ve pieced together. Nice going, Syntax.”

“All thanks to your choice of words, my dear Cookie.”

Cookie blushed at this compliment. Syntax approached the doorway, lowering his head and lighting his horn as he peered inside.

“The door’s rather small,” he said, “but the chamber widens on the inside. Mind yourself, Cookie,” he added, looking back at her.

Cookie rolled her eyes.

“We deal with this all the time on these spelunks, Tax,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

Syntax shrugged, bent down low, and crawled inside. Naturally, for a stallion of his lean stature, it was easy enough for him to creep in, but a mare like Cookie was another story. One look from her plump physique to the small doorway would’ve been enough to cast doubt in any reasonable mind, but the mare herself wasn’t hesitating at all, and was right behind her companion.

Bending down, so that her belly actually touched the ground, Cookie began to shimmy into the hole herself. It was dark inside, but Syntax had already lit his horn to study the map, so she did the same. The chamber was indeed spacious on the inside, and up ahead, she could see a tunnel that led onward, the only way ahead. 

As she edged forward, slipping her head and forelegs through, she began to feel a tightening sensation around her barrel. She frowned, then continued forward, wriggling a little, until it happened.

“Oomph!”

Her cheeks puffed up as she felt a great discomfort right at her middle. Outside, her plump gut had completely swallowed up the little hole, and was now pressing up against the rocky aperture, denying her entrance. Cookie gave a hard push with both sets of legs, straining to budge through, before she was forced to stop, no further inside than before. Inside, Syntax sighed.

“I do wish we didn’t have to go through this every time,” he muttered.

“Hey!” snapped Cookie, still struggling to squeeze through. “Is it -mmph- my fault that these -rrgh- ancient ponies made their -oof- doors so small?”

“I could easily pass through,” said Syntax. “I believe the problem is that the door was not made for a pony of your ‘ample proportions’.”

“Oh, like ponies my size didn’t exist back then,” snorted Cookie.

“That wasn’t my point.”

Cookie took a deep breath, trying to suck her gut in as much as possible, and gave another great heave. Her face slowly turned red, both from the strain of pushing and from holding her breath in. However, at last, with a lurch, she felt herself budge forward, so that her paunch now bulged out around the hole on the inside. In consequence, she could feel her rump wedge itself into place. She paused to take a breather, panting from all the exertion.

“You know, Cookie,” said Syntax, “you’re reminding me very vividly of a story I heard in my youth. It was about a silly bear who went to visit a rabbit in his hole, and ate too much honey.”

“Oh, shut up,” grumbled Cookie.

She braced her hooves against the wall behind her and gave a hard push. She strained, heaved, and shoved with all the strength she had, but after a few minutes’ exertion, she had made no headway, and was as tightly stuck as before.

“Would you care for some help?” Syntax asked, in a tone that wasn’t without sincerity.

“No thanks,” said Cookie, flatly. “I’d rather not make you throw out your back trying to pull me through.”

While some might take this to be a patronizing, ironic statement pointed at Syntax’s slender and slightly gangly frame, the learned linguist knew Cookie better than that. He felt sure she was saying this to mean she didn’t want him to injure himself because of her own fault. That was one of the oddities of Tough Cookie: sometimes, when she said something, she meant it in a different way than seen at face value, and which only someone as close with her as he was could understand.

Cookie had resumed trying to push herself through, twisting her rotund frame as she tried to squeeze in. Meanwhile, her bottom remained obstinately stuck on the outside, and what was more, thin cracks began to form around the edges of the hole. It seemed that the pressure of an overweight mare trying to fit through a hole patently too small for her was testing the limits of the aperture. Syntax observed this, but said nothing. Cookie, seeing nothing, continued to strain and push against her geological prison.

At last, with a cracking, crumbling noise, the hole in the rock actually gave way, and Cookie’s rump slipped inside, followed by her back legs. Her waist and hips aching, she stood up and looked at the hole, now more roughly shaped from that experience, as well as the small pile of pebbles that had accumulated due to the reshaping.

“I don’t know how you do it,” said Syntax, looking mildly impressed, “but you always manage to get yourself out in the end.

Cookie grinned. 

“Ha. I wouldn’t be called ‘Tough Cookie’ if I gave up, now would I?”

“I suppose not. Well, shall we proceed?”

“Let’s.”

With that, the two started off down the passage that lay before them, deeper into the tomb.


***


Neither pony dared to speak much as they walked along, their horns lit, looking about at the tunnel before and around them. The total silence, apart from the sound of their hooves on the rocky floor, or the swish of water as they quenched their thirst with their canteens, was eerie and ominous. It was as though it was something physical, something tangible, something that ought not to be disturbed. Of course, Cookie and Syntax had experienced it before, but it never grew any less creepy.

The tunnel continued on a steady, unbroken path, deeper and deeper downward, with no immediate sign of an approaching end. There weren’t even any paths branching off from their tunnel. There were, however, tiny gaps and holes in the walls, which brought rats, scorpions, and snakes crawling through them to mind, which wasn’t comfortable thinking in an oppressively quiet atmosphere.

“How long does this tunnel go on?” Cookie asked in a whisper, which echoed nonetheless.

“I’m not certain,” Syntax whispered back. “The map only has the general layout of the tomb. It doesn’t include measurements of distance.”

Almost as soon as they had discussed the matter, as though the tomb itself had been waiting for it to be addressed, the tunnel leveled out, and the two suddenly found themselves in a new chamber. 

At first glance, it looked completely empty. A door lay ahead on the far side, and the floor was elaborately tiled. Each section was set with a different pattern, and the patterns themselves were each their own color: red, yellow, green, and blue.

“This looks pretty easy,” said Cookie, looking about.

“Yes...too easy,” muttered Syntax. “This must mean something.”

Cookie’s eyes, still scoping out the room, suddenly widened and sparkled. “Tax, look there!” she cried, pointing forward. 

Syntax followed her gaze, and saw that a square section towards the back of the room was made of blank stone, surrounded by a border of green tiles. Sitting within it, on a carved pedestal, was a statue made of green crystal, shaped like a serpentine dragon balanced on its tail. Syntax adjusted his glasses and peered at it, frowning.

“Another treasure? I was under the impression that the Scrolls were the only items of interest in this tomb. I don’t recall reading anything about a dragon statue being here. I might be able to identify it, if I could get a closer look.”

“Well, don’t worry about that,” said Cookie, confidently. “I’m on it.” So saying, she stretched her leg out towards the tile immediately before her, set with a blue pattern.

“Cookie, wait!” said Syntax, sharply.

Too late. Cookie placed her hoof firmly on the tile, which sank down into the floor. At the same instant, something made a clicking noise from above. There was a sharp whizzing sound, and Cookie drew her hoof back with a yelp, just in time for several arrows to strike the tile, exactly where her hoof had been. The plump mare gulped, looking from the arrows to her partner, who was looking serious.

“That was far too close,” he said. “I knew it looked too easy, and you should have realized it too, or at least had the courtesy to wait when I told you to.”

Cookie gave Syntax a sour look. 

“You’re the one who wanted a closer look at that statue,” she grumbled.

“Not if it meant springing a trap,” countered Syntax. “You should know better.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a filly,” Cookie snapped. “How was I supposed to know?”

“Why didn’t you at least try to move it from a distance with your magic?”

Cookie opened her mouth, then closed it again. She hadn’t considered that. She directed her magic at the statue and tried to grab it, but it was too far away for her to get a good grip on it. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate, her aura only flickered feebly around it, not enough to pick it up. Sighing in frustration, she sat back on her haunches, casting a longing look at the statue, as it glimmered tantalizingly in the light of their horns.

“At least that didn’t trigger anything further,” said Syntax. “Let’s consider these tiles and see what we can glean from them. They may lend a clue to how to traverse this floor safely.”

“And get that statue,” Cookie added.

“And get that statue,” echoed Syntax, dryly. “Now, let’s see.”

He levitated a stone sitting on the floor, and placed it on another blue tile. It sank as well, and more arrows rained down on it, making Cookie wince. Next, Syntax placed the same stone on a red tile. It sank, and this time, a barrage of darts shot from the left and right walls, whizzing through the air over the tile. Cookie gulped. Syntax then placed the stone on a yellow tile. This time, neither arrows or darts shot at the spot, but the pattern on the tile glowed white, and an intense heat emanated from it, creating a momentary haze until the stone was removed.

“Sheesh,” Cookie muttered. “Have to give them points for creativity.”

“I’m detecting a pattern with these tiles,” said Syntax, thoughtfully. “Each color corresponds to a different trap when pressure is applied to it. Blue shoots arrows, red releases darts, and yellow produces heat.”

“Which means the green ones are safe to step on,” said Cookie, with a new surge of confidence. “Nice process of elimination, Tax.” 

She started to step forward again, but Syntax held out a hoof to stop her.

“Not necessarily,” he said. “You can’t be too certain.” 

He levitated the stone again, and laid it on a green tile. Rather than sinking down gradually, it fell open like a trapdoor, and the stone disappeared into a dark abyss below. Cookie stared in disbelief.

“You see?” Syntax said.

“But then none of them are safe to step on!” Cookie protested. “So what do we do?! How do we get across?!”

“Puzzling indeed,” mused Syntax. “It’s rare that I meet a puzzle where every answer is a wrong one, which must mean there’s something we overlooked…”

He looked around the chamber from top to bottom, but apart from the pebbles and stones littering the floor, there was nothing but the tiles and the statue. There wasn’t even any writing inscribed with instructions. Cookie paced back and forth impatiently, biting her lip as she tried to think as well, casting more glances at the inaccessible statue, which still twinkled invitingly.

“Stop mocking me,” she muttered at it. “You know I’d love nothing more than to snatch you up and bring you back to the shop, but you’ve gotta be difficult about it, don’t you?”

“Arguing with something that can’t argue back isn’t going to make this any easier, Cookie,” said Syntax, without even looking at her. 

Cookie huffed and kept pacing. 

“We can’t just be stranded here,” she said. “The ponies who built this temple would wanna make sure the traps worked, so they had to have a way to go in and out.”

Syntax’s gaze roved around the chamber again, this time focusing on the floor, and as he looked at it more and more, his brow began to unknit. 

“I wonder…” he muttered. 

Cookie stopped pacing.

“Got something?”

“I can’t say for certain, but I see no other option under the present circumstances. If none of the tiles can be trusted, then it only stands to reason that we circumvent them altogether.”

Cookie raised a puzzled eyebrow. 

“I hope you don’t mean we make a jump for it, cuz neither one of us can leap that far.”

“I wouldn’t chance that, no. What I mean is, we make our way around the tiles. There’s a perimeter of the floor that isn’t made of tiles that leads to the opposite door. You see?”

He pointed out a section of bare stone that lay before the tiles began, and which wound its way in a square around them, along the walls and to the door. Cookie looked dubiously at it.

“I dunno, Tax. That’s not a lot of room to go on four legs. What if we lose our balance and hit a tile?”

“If necessary, we’ll edge our way along the walls on our hind legs. Unless we wait to sprout wings or learn self-levitation, Cookie, there’s no other way across.”

Cookie groaned, but didn’t argue further. 

So, taking careful steps, so as not to trigger one of the tiles, Syntax began a slow, gradual walk along the perimeter of the chamber, looking perfectly composed, yet determined. Cookie followed, but with far less confidence than her partner. It was easy enough for him to keep to the walls on all fours, being so skinny. Cookie’s side and hip brushed against the stone as she moved along, barely able to walk at all, with her legs clamped as close together as she could muster, her belly squished in between. 

It got to the point where she did have to stand up on her hind legs, with her back braced against the wall, shimmying and shuffling her way along. She moved a bit quicker this way, but in this position, she couldn’t even see where her hooves were past her paunch, and she was not at all comfortable with having her curvy backside brush against the cold stone behind her. All the while, she kept looking back at the statue, as it drew ever closer.

Syntax had already reached the other side, and was standing by the door, waiting for Cookie to join him. She was only halfway along the outer wall, and was trying hard not to lose her nerve.

“That’s it, Cookie!” Syntax called, encouragingly. “You’re nearly there!”

Cookie didn’t answer. She felt that if she opened her mouth to do so, she might throw up. She just had to keep edging along, keeping her distance from the tiles, even if she couldn’t see where her hooves were going beneath her jiggling gut.

“Now this is the Tough Cookie I know,” said Syntax. “Facing the peril head-on! You’ve got this!”

The tight knot inside Cookie loosened at Syntax’s words of encouragement. He believed that she could do this, and if he believed in her, she couldn’t let him down. So, with renewed energy, she began to quicken her pace a bit, not even looking down as she moved along.

“That’s it! You’re almost there! You’re– Cookie, look out!”

“Wha–? Ack!”

As though fate had decided to toy with Cookie’s fortune at the very end, a small shower of stones came dislodged from the roof of the cavern, and one came down right above her, conking her on the crown. Stars danced before her eyes, and her hind hoof slipped on the pebbles that fell beside her, causing her to step on the very last green tile before the door.

With a clunk, it fell away, and Cookie dropped with a yelp down it…

...up to her hindquarters, whereupon she was brought to an immediate halt.

Whereas an average-sized pony, like Syntax, would have plummeted straight down, Cookie’s girth had brought her to a lucky stop, corking her in place and preventing her from going further. The mare herself blinked, still shaking off the dizziness from the blow to her head, while Syntax stared in bemusement.

“Are you all right, Cookie?”

“I think so,” said Cookie, looking down at her wedged hips. “Pretty close call, wouldn’t you say?”

“Fairly,” said Syntax, adjusting his glasses. “Once again, it appears that the makers of this tomb did not construct its defenses with mares of your circumference in mind. This time, for once, it’s become more help than hindrance.”

“See?” said Cookie, with a hint of pride. “Told ya I didn’t need to be skinny to be an explorer.”

“Don’t let one lucky break go to your head, Cookie. You should consider yourself fortunate that you didn’t land on another tile.”

“I know, I know. And I do feel lucky, believe me, and not just because of that.” 

With a broad grin on her face, she looked over at the dragon statue, which now stood right beside her. Her horn glowed, and her appraising spell briefly swept over the statue. 

“Now I’ve got you, you ancient beauty,” said Cookie, eagerly. “Come to Mama.” 

“Cookie, I wouldn’t just now…” Syntax warned.

Cookie wasn’t listening. She directed her magic at the statue, and this time, she was able to get a good grip on it. Her face alight with joy, she lifted it off its pedestal, half-expecting to hear a choir of angels singing in celebration of her achievement, even if she was wedged halfway into the floor.

The moment was fleeting, however. The door behind them slammed violently shut, as did the one they had entered through. Then, the entire room began to shudder violently. The two ponies looked about hurriedly, trying to find the source of the shaking. Then both looked up, and Cookie felt her heart plummet. 

The ceiling of the chamber was shifting down towards them at an alarming rate. 

Cookie let out a yell that was lost in the rumbling. Syntax looked anxiously from the ceiling to Cookie, then to the statue, and then to the pedestal. There was a hole where the statue had been sitting, and an elongated peg at the statue’s base. In an instant, he knew what had to be done. Leaning forward, he prodded Cookie’s shoulder to get her attention. Her eyes on him, she saw him mouth the words ‘Put it back!’ while pointing at the statue. 

Cookie hesitated. She understood what he was saying, but didn’t like what he was saying. 

Once more, Syntax mouthed ‘Put it back!’, more forcefully this time. Cookie looked longingly at the statue, her prize for making it across the treacherous chamber. She didn’t want to just give it up, after coming all this way, but if she didn’t, the two of them would be pony pancakes. Her eyes flitted to the descending ceiling, then over at Syntax.

It was the only way.

She slammed the statue back onto the pedestal, and the ceiling came to a halt, mere feet above their heads. Hardly daring to breathe, Cookie watched as it ponderously rose back up to its original height, and the doors slid open again. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“I take back what I said. That was a close call.”

“Much closer than I would have liked,” said Syntax. “It seems that the statue is meant to be another failsafe, should the tiles prove ineffective in stopping ponies from getting across.”

“Which means we can’t take it with us,” Cookie grumbled.

“I’m afraid not,” said Syntax. “I’m sorry, but it’s certainly not worth being subjected to booby-trapped tiles or being squashed by a descending ceiling. Your hesitation in putting it back was very worrisome, so I’m glad you did the right thing, though I know it must have been difficult to give it up.”

Cookie didn’t answer. She didn’t even look Syntax in the eye. She felt irritated at having to give up such an appealing treasure, when it was sitting right next to her. It would’ve certainly turned quite a few heads if she brought it back, and she could just picture Beryl’s jaw dropping at the sight of such a crystal carving. 

However, the irritation soon passed away into a sinking, guilty feeling. She and Syntax could have been killed, all because she was bent on getting her hooves on this statue. Syntax was right. It wasn’t worth it.

“Come now, Cookie,” said Syntax. “Let’s not sit here sulking any longer. We’ve had a good dose of excitement, and the Scrolls of Equus await. Let me give you a hoof.” 

He gripped Cookie under her forelegs, took a deep breath, and gave a hard tug. It only took a few seconds, and the porky mare was pulled free, dragged safely onto the perimeter of non-tiled stone, whereupon she got onto all fours again, brushing herself off.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Of course,” said Syntax. “Shall we press on, partner?”

He patted her shoulder, giving her a small smile. Cookie took one last look at the statue, then back at her friend. Even in spite of their momentary peril, he was still the same placid, imperturbable pony he always was. Finally, she smiled again herself.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Syntax.

“If this is only the first room, though, I’d hate to see what comes next.”

“I’m not without misgivings myself. However, we’ve come this far, so we must press onward.”

“Right. Let’s go.”

And so, turning their backs on the tile chamber, the two explorers pressed onwards, heading deeper into the tomb.


***


Just as before, the tunnel wound its way on, forwards and downwards, with no deviation in appearance or route. It did make a turn here, or a turn there, but other than that, there was no alternate path to throw them for a loop or make them guess which way to go.

“For such a secret and secure tomb,” said Cookie, “the way through is pretty straightforward.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” said Syntax. “Even looking at the map, the layout is rather simplistic, with only a few chambers to access altogether. The tunnels between them are drawn long, to be sure, but there are no branching paths or potential dead-ends.”

“Makes the map seem kinda pointless, doesn’t it?”

“Well, not necessarily. It did point out where the entrance was, and it gives an idea of how much there is to expect. I suppose the challenge lies less in how spacious and confusing it could be, and more in coping with what’s inside, as evidenced by that room we just faced.”

“Good point,” said Cookie, grimly. “Still, if temple traps don’t turn explorers off to going deeper, then all the walking might. My hooves are killing me…”

Once again, as though discussing the subject of distance was the key to bringing their next objective closer, no sooner had Cookie complained than the tunnel opened out into another chamber. This one was smaller than the last, and there were no elaborate tiles on the floor. There was, however, a pedestal in the middle, surrounded by a circular pattern on the floor, and upon which sat a scroll and an hourglass.

“A pretty barebones room,” said Cookie, looking around. “What’s the catch this time?”

“I’m not sure. I can only surmise that it has to do with that pedestal in the center. Tread carefully, Cookie.” 

The two approached the pedestal, Cookie looking this way and that with each step. At this point, she was expecting something to come springing out of the walls to attack them before they got to the center, but nothing happened. They came to the pedestal without incident. Frowning slightly, Syntax picked up the scroll in his magic and opened it, while Cookie stared at the hourglass. Her face’s reflection distorted itself in the bulb-shaped glass as she gazed at its intricate framework, set with jewels.

“Get a load of this thing, Tax,” she breathed. “I’ve had some fancy timepieces brought into my shop, but nothing like this. Gem-encrusted and everything! If Beryl got her hooves on this, it’d be the tiara all over again…”

Her horn flared, and she levitated the hourglass from its place. Syntax noticed.

“Cookie, don’t!” he shouted.

“What? I’m just looking at–”

She stopped, taken aback. The hourglass had flipped itself the other way in her magic, the sand-filled side uppermost. There was a loud rumbling noise, and in the next instant, just like in the last chamber, the door ahead and the door behind both slammed shut. The hourglass fell back down on the pedestal.

“I didn’t do that!” Cookie cried. “It flipped by itself! All I did was pick it up!”

Syntax sighed, rubbing his temple with his hoof. 

“If you had waited for me to translate what was on the scroll,” he said, trying to keep his tone level, “you would know what would happen if you moved it, but you couldn’t wait a few more seconds, could you?”

“Well, what is gonna happen, then?” Cookie asked, choosing to ignore the rest of what Syntax said.

“According to the scroll,” said Syntax, “we have reached the ‘Chamber of Resolution’, having gotten past the ‘Chamber of Dexterity’.”

“I think ‘Chamber of Death Tiles’ sounds better, personally,” muttered Cookie.

Syntax went on as though he hadn’t heard that. 

“To pass through this chamber, one must possess the resolution and fortitude to press on, even in the face of imminent danger.”

“So what does that mean?” Cookie asked, warily.

As though to answer her question, several sections of the walls on either side shifted away, leaving holes in them. With a hiss and a scuttling noise, several live snakes and scorpions came slithering and skittering out from both sides. Cookie blanched. Syntax frowned grimly, looking from them to the hourglass.

“I can only presume it means surviving in this chamber with those creatures long enough for the sand to get to the bottom of the hourglass.”

“What?!” Cookie squeaked. “That’s insane! By that time, we’ll be bitten and stung to death! Can’t we undo it?”

Her horn flared up, surrounding the hourglass in her aura, but though she tried to lift it back up again, it didn’t budge. It was as though it was magnetically affixed to the pedestal, and no amount of tugging was going to lift it up.

“It would seem that’s not an option,” said Syntax, dryly.

“Well, then, what do you suggest we do, Mr. Calm and Composed?!” Cookie snapped, scowling at him.

All of a sudden, with a loud clang that made them both jump, several long, thin metal poles sprang from the floor, connecting with the ceiling above and making an exact circumference around the pedestal. Within seconds, Cookie and Syntax were encircled by an iron-barred cage. A rather confined one, at that, as it squashed them together, forcing them onto their hind legs until they were nose to nose. They stared at each other, bemused, as the slithery and skittery denizens of the chamber drew ever closer.

“Nothing to do but wait it out, it would seem,” said Syntax, calmly.

“Great,” huffed Cookie. “Just great. Not only am I gonna get bitten and stung to death by snakes and scorpions, but I’m gonna die while trapped in a cage with you.”

“I assure you that this is no picnic for myself, either. Your girth doesn’t leave me with much mobility inside this cage.”

Indeed, Syntax was rather firmly sandwiched between Cookie’s prominent belly and the bars behind him. The portly mare practically took up the whole space of the little cell by herself.

“I can’t exactly move about either, genius,” retorted Cookie. “This cage is tiny.”

“Once more proving my point that this tomb was–”

“–not built for ponies my size, yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Cookie, impatiently. “I get it, ok? I’m fat! Nopony ever designs these temples with fat ponies like me in mind, cuz no other fat pony would think of being an adventurer! How many times do you have to bring it up?!”

“Apparently enough for you to forget that you’re ‘stout’, not ‘fat’,” said Syntax, with a wry grin.

Cookie blinked, momentarily surprised, then huffed, her cheeks going red.

“Gonna gloat about it now, are ya?” she mumbled.

“I see no reason to. Hearing you have the maturity to admit it is refreshing, coming from a mare as stubborn as you are.”

Cookie rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help smirking herself.

“And I would be lying,” Syntax went on, “if I said that while our current confinements are rather cramped, there wasn’t a level of comfort in being pressed up against something as soft as your well-padded paunch.”

“Flatterer,” quipped Cookie. “You’re one of the few ponies who actually appreciates this gut of mine, even though you poke fun at it just as much.”

She gave her belly a pat to emphasize, but as she looked down, she suddenly shuddered and uttered a small shriek. The snakes and scorpions had slipped their way through the cage, and were now crawling about at their hooves. Syntax looked down as well.

“Oh dear. That’s troubling.”

“Ya think?!” squeaked Cookie. “What do we do? Should we start stamping them?”

“I wouldn’t advise that. If they perceive us as a threat to their safety, that might heighten their aggression and make them attack us in earnest.”

“So are we just supposed to wait for them to attack us first?” Cookie asked, sharply.

“Keep calm, Cookie,” said Syntax. “These serpents and scorpions are more afraid of us than we are of them.”

“Oh, yeah, these little creeps look absolutely petrified, crawling all over our hooves!” snapped Cookie.

“And yet, haven’t you noticed? They have had ample opportunity to bite or sting us, and they haven’t.”

Cookie stared at Syntax, open-mouthed, then at the creatures below. Now that she thought about it, Syntax had a point. They hadn’t done more than crawl about them. None of them had made any gesture of aggression or territoriality against them. None of the snakes had even shown their fangs.

“So, the ‘resolution’ of this chamber,” Cookie said, slowly, “is resisting the urge to fight back, if you don’t want to get hurt?”

“It would appear so,” said Syntax. “Rather ingenious, I must admit.”

“If you say so.”

All of a sudden, she felt something tickle against her leg. With a thrill of horror, she watched as one of the snakes crawled up along her leg, winding its way up her curvy body until it came to rest atop her belly. Cookie stared at it, her heart beating fast, as the snake stared unblinkingly back, flicking its tongue in her direction.

“H-hi there,” Cookie said, shakily.

The snake simply stared, looking faintly curious. Meanwhile, Cookie was exercising all of the willpower she possessed not to slap the little reptile off of her before it even thought about biting her. Across from her, she saw, with another terrified thrill, that Syntax had a scorpion perched on his nose. He was looking as composed as ever about it.

“Why, hello,” he said, pleasantly. “Fine day, isn’t it? We’re ever so grateful to you and your fellows for allowing us to wait things out here in peace.”

“What is this, a tea party?” Cookie muttered.

At that moment, a loud, echoing clang, like the ringing of an enormous bell, rattled the chamber, making the two cramped ponies shudder in place. The snake and scorpion made their way back down to the floor and, as they and their kin slithered and skittered away back to their dens, the cage retracted, and Cookie and Syntax sprang about, settling back on all fours. With a rumble, the two doorways slid back open, and all was silent once more.

“Well,” said Syntax, straightening his hat and glasses, “that was certainly an experience.”

“One I’d rather not relive again,” said Cookie, straightening her vest. “Cramped in a cage with critters creeping all over me…”

“But it did teach you a valuable lesson in self-restraint, did it not?” asked Syntax.

“If by that, you mean the only way I survived was because I ignored the basic instinct to stomp them before they got to me.”

“Actually, that was part of this chamber’s design.”

“What do you mean?”

Syntax held up the scroll, showing Cookie a line of text at the bottom.

“Here’s yet another contribution from the Eastern Unicorns,” he said. “That text there is an old proverb from their culture, which, when translated, reads: ‘The fang of the serpent pierces only the hoof that crushes it.’ In essence, if we struck first, those creatures would have risen against us in an instant, and we would have stood no chance against them. Being passive was the only way to proceed.”

Cookie blinked, amazed.

“Well, I’ll be darned. Guess I’ll have to remember that the next time I see a snake on one of our expeditions. I still remember nearly getting bitten when we ran into that cobra nest out in Somnambula.”

“I’m glad to see you’re learning a few lessons along the way,” said Syntax, rolling up the scroll and setting it down on the pedestal. “I’ll be more impressed if they stick for once.”

“Har-dee-har,” said Cookie, sarcastically. “Can we move on already?”

“We can, and we shall. Come along.”

With that, the two put their backs to the chamber, and once more delved deeper into the tomb, moving ever closer to the treasure within.
> Part 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“According to the map,” said Syntax, looking over it as they walked along, “we’re coming up on the last room in the tomb. The Scrolls must be there, as there’s no other place they could be, if the map is to be believed.”

“I hope so,” said Cookie. “And I also hope there’s a way out, too. I don’t wanna have to go back through those other rooms again just to leave.”

“Nor do I.”

The tunnel leveled out once again, bringing them into the aforementioned final room.

They were standing in a low-ceilinged circular chamber this time, bearing seven sealed doors of different sizes, from ceiling height to about the same size as the entrance to the tomb outside. On a platform before them sat three golden keys, glowing faintly in the gloom. Cookie and Syntax looked from the keys to each other.

“Seven locks, three keys,” muttered Syntax. “Interesting. And there’s no indication of which door is the right one on the map. There’s no further path drawn on it from this room.”

“Do you think we should just try all the locks with these?” Cookie asked. “See which one fits what door?”

“That seems to be what they’re meant for, but why only three? There must be a trick to this room…”

He looked around, and suddenly spied writing along one of the walls. It was quite a long block of text, too. He squinted at it, and was only just firing up his horn to translate it, when he heard a cry. He whirled around to see Cookie standing before one of the largest doors. She had thrown it open, only to be met with a solid, blank wall. Moreover, the key, still in the lock, was dissolving into golden mist. The second it did, the door slammed shut again.

“Cookie!” Syntax hissed angrily. “Haven’t you learned anything from your last acts of rashness?! What is the matter with you?!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know the key was gonna disappear after I used it?!” Cookie shouted. “I thought it just wouldn’t work on the lock and you had to try again on a different door!”

“There’s text here, which may lead to a clue about this room!” Syntax snapped, his glasses flashing. “If you would just have the patience to stop and listen for once, instead of rushing ahead and putting us in danger just to handle some petty trinket, we would accomplish things much easier, and with less risk for our lives! Now stand over here beside me, be quiet, and don’t touch anything, before we lose the other two keys to your insufferable impatience!”

Cookie’s cheeks burned with anger and humiliation, and she glared daggers at Syntax, who glared right back, but she didn’t say a word. With a snort, she waddled over to her partner’s side with her eyes cast down, looking like a naughty foal after being scolded. With an exasperated sigh, Syntax lit up his horn. The words on the wall glowed brightly, then rearranged themselves into Ponish, which ran thus:

“The Chamber of Logic

To you who have traversed this far
And seek what lies within
You must endure one final test
To claim the prize herein
Before your eyes stand seven doors
But of keys there are only three
They work but once on the door you pick
After that, they cease to be
One door leads to the treasure room
The reward of your daring feat
One door leads to the outside world
Your only source of retreat
Two lead nowhere, and merely deceive
Blank walls there lie behind
The rest lead to deadly traps
The sure and fatal kind
But we are just, and will give fair chance
To find which way to go
So harken well to these clues we give
They contain all that you must know

First, however slyly danger tries to hide
You will always find it on a dead end’s left side
Second, different are each door that stands at either end
But if you seek the treasure, neither is your friend
Third, as you see clearly, all are of different size
Neither dwarf nor giant leads to death in their insides
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right
Are similar once they’re opened, though different at first sight"

Cookie rubbed her head, completely befuddled.

“That’s a mouthful and a half,” she muttered to herself.

“I see,” said Syntax. “So, only two doors are of importance to us. One leads to the Scrolls, another leads to the outside. Two are dead ends, three are traps. Thanks to your process of elimination, Cookie, we know that the second door there leads to a dead end, and that means the sixth one is the other dead end. That rules two of them out, leaving three traps, the path to the scrolls, and the true way out. Now, let me see…”

Cookie said nothing. She was still feeling both awkward and frustrated over wasting one of the keys, and she didn’t want to make Syntax angry again by offering her own input now, not when she had already messed up. Her former bravado had evaporated once again.

Syntax looked from door to door, his brow furrowed. He glanced back at the clues from time to time, muttering under his breath as he compared them with the scene before him. Cookie remained silent, not wanting to break his concentration. During that time, the resigned anger ebbed away from her expression as well, leaving her looking rather humbled.

At last, Syntax nodded with a firm smile.

“I’ve got it!”

Cookie looked up, and he pointed to the third door from the left, the smallest of them all.

“That door from the left will lead to the Scrolls, and the one on the very right will lead us out of here.”

Cookie looked at both doors and winced. There were both roughly the same size as the way they had come in, and she remembered how bothersome it had been to squeeze through that way.

“You’re sure, Tax?” she asked.

“Positive. The clues lead me to believe so, and I’ve run them through my head several times.”

“And can you already see the problem with that?”

Syntax looked at Cookie and raised an eyebrow. Cookie sighed in exasperation.

“Do you really want me to say it? Sheesh, for someone who knows all about languages, you sure do love having the obvious spelled out for you.”

She sat down on her curvy haunches and put her hooves to her prominent middle, moving her hooves around herself to indicate her considerable circumference.

“All of this,” she said, “is not gonna fit through either of those doors. You can go in and get the Scrolls fine by yourself, but getting out of here is literally gonna be fitting a round peg through a square hole. We’d be here for ages waiting to budge me through.”

“When has that ever stopped you before?” Syntax asked, calmly.

Cookie blinked.

“You’ve never let the size of an aperture deter you in the past,” Syntax continued. “You still attempted it with mule-headed stubbornness, against all logic and reason, and regardless of whether or not you fit, you didn’t stop trying until you had forced that bulk of yours through by sheer determination. What makes it different now?”

Cookie didn’t answer at first. She simply gazed down at the floor, unable to look Syntax in the eye. Syntax regarded her with a mild look of concern at this.

“...Nothing, I guess,” Cookie mumbled. “I guess I’m just kinda shook up about that whole key thing.”

Syntax’s expression softened slightly at this.

“Oh, now, Cookie,” he said, gently. “If this is about me losing my temper with you–”

“It’s not,” said Cookie. “I mean, it kinda is, but you were right to, because it made me realize what we’ve gotten into. This isn’t anything like what we’ve been used to, Tax. All we’ve done in the past is scope out a treasure’s resting place, maybe solve a few puzzles to get to it, prove how clever we are, and there we go. Treasure found, badda-bing, badda-boom. Nothing fancy about that. There’s never been death traps and certain doom tied to them before now. I know you mentioned them when we first talked about the scrolls, but I kinda just blew that off like they were nothing. Nothing we couldn’t handle, anyway. It made me think about reading about the kind of stuff guarding the treasures in Daring Do books. It always sounds intense and exciting, but experiencing that kind of thing first-hoof…”

She looked up at Syntax, and there was a quavering light in her eyes he had never seen before. It caught him off guard for a moment.

“I could’ve gotten us trapped here forever, or worse, if there weren’t three keys. I could’ve gotten us killed in that first room, all because I really wanted that statue. And who knows what could’ve happened in that second room, when I just grabbed that hourglass? It would’ve been my fault, cuz I just kept plunging ahead without thinking, without waiting for you to scope things out. You’ve always been the one finding all the answers and getting us through, while I’ve just been making things worse and slowing us down. I’m sorry, Tax…”

Syntax simply stood there, astonished. It wasn’t like Cookie to be this way. Certainly, she wasn’t stone-hearted or unfeeling, but he had never seen her look or heard her sound so...vulnerable. He was so used to her confident bravado that this contrition staggered him.

Finally, with a tender smile, he walked over to her and put a hoof under her chin.

“Come now,” he said. “It’s not like you to speak this way. This isn’t the Tough Cookie I know and admire. You’re always so brim full of confidence and swagger. Not even something as daunting as a door made for a thinner pony has ever stopped you. I realize this is different from what our usual pursuits have been, and that the stakes have never been this high for our lives, but we’ve still managed to pull through together, as we’ve always done.”

Cookie said nothing, so Syntax went on.

“As for me finding all the answers, that isn’t entirely true. You helped clue me in to what the answers were.”

Cookie looked at him, puzzled.

“I’m serious,” said Syntax. “You gave me the hint I needed to figure out the password to get inside. You helped steer me into thinking outside the box in the Chamber of ‘Death Tiles’, as you call it. You have been a source of great support for me on this expedition, and all of our others. I wouldn’t have the confidence or boldness to search for these hidden treasures without you by my side. Your spirit of adventure inspires me to be adventurous, Cookie.”

Cookie’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink than her coat at these words, and she finally smiled a little.

“Really?”

“Of course. What use is there in having a great intellect without having a reason to use it? I would still be surrounded by my books day in and day out without your yearning for excitement and discovery. So while there have been some slip-ups and near accidents in the past, ones that could have been avoided had you been a little more attentive and patient–”

“I was waiting for that,” muttered Cookie, with a small chuckle.

“–I have never once regretted being your friend and partner all these years.”

Cookie’s lip trembled, and though she was not a mare who was easily moved to tears, the quivering gleam in her eyes was proof enough that she was immensely touched. She gripped Syntax’s hoof in her own, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Thanks, Tax. That means a lot. I like having you around too. I wouldn’t get half as far on these adventures without your brains, and your snarky comebacks make things a lot less boring.”

Syntax grinned.

“I’ll take that as a compliment of high regard, my friend,” he said, doffing his hat. “Now, do you feel better? Ready to claim our prize?”

The hardy glint of determination had returned to Cookie’s eyes, and she got to her hooves, brushing a lock of her mane out of her face.

“I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

“Excellent.”

Turning back to the remaining keys, he gripped one in his magic, and held it out to Cookie.

“You should have the honors,” he said.

Grinning broadly, Cookie accepted the key and marched over to the left side of the chamber, facing the smallest door on that side.

“Third from the left, you said?”

“That’s the one.”

Cookie stuck the key in the lock and turned it. With a click, the door swung open, and Cookie held it in place against the wall with her hoof, in case it decided to slam shut by itself. Bending down, she peered inside, and Syntax joined her to look inside as well.

The door opened onto a rather cramped chamber. It was completely bare, except for a small platform in the very center. Sitting on the platform was a red earthenware jar, sealed with a lid of the same material, and inscribed with various symbols. Cookie and Syntax looked at each other, puzzled.

“Are the scrolls supposed to be in the jar?” Cookie asked.

“I would assume so,” said Syntax. “Let’s see. Keep the door open even after I bring it out, Cookie.”

He flared up his horn, gripping the jar in his magic. Taking care not to bump it and crack it, he lifted it off its platform and brought it out into the main chamber. As Cookie kept the door held in place, Syntax took off the lid and looked inside.

“So?” Cookie asked, eagerly. “Is it the Scrolls?”

There was a pause.

“No,” said Syntax, simply.

Cookie blinked.

“No? What do you mean ‘no’?”

“There aren’t scrolls in this jar, Cookie,” said Syntax, his expression neutral. “There is simply a scroll.”

“Huh?”

From out of the jar, Syntax lifted out a single tightly-bound scroll of faded parchment, sealed with a trailing scarlet ribbon inscribed with golden symbols. Cookie stared at it.

“So, it’s not the Scrolls of Equus, but just the Scroll of Equus?” she asked, blankly.

“It would appear so,” said Syntax, looking at it with interest. “Perhaps it’s enchanted to tell more of its story than can be written on it at once. We shall have to see, but for now, I would say this counts as a mission accomplished. Well done.”

Cookie grinned broadly and held out her free hoof, which Syntax hoof-bumped with his own.

“Now that we’ve claimed our prize,” said Syntax, “shall we return to the surface world?”

“You bet,” said Cookie. “We’ve been underground for so long, walking those huge tunnels, I was starting to forget what the sun felt like.”

“Well, according to my watch,” said Syntax, gazing at it, “it’s actually just about sundown.”

“Really? Sheesh, no wonder I’m so hungry.”

She put her hoof to her stomach, which growled at that moment.

“Well, let’s not keep your stomach waiting any longer,” said Syntax, with a chuckle. “I’ll go unlock the door to the outside. You don’t need to hold this one open any longer. We may as well take the jar with us as well. It may be an antique in its own right.”

“All righty.”

Cookie was just about to close the door as Syntax walked away, when she spied something sitting where the jar had been. Curious, she grabbed it with her magic and took it out. It was a folded piece of paper, about the size of an average sticky note. Cookie unfolded and looked at it, but the paper only bore an odd symbol, nothing like anything she’d seen before. It looked, as close as she could approximate it, to a stylized eyeball. 

“Is this some kind of hieroglyph?”

Her horn flared up again, as she tried to determine how old the paper was, and if it belonged in the same category as the scroll they found. 

She got her answer, and it made her eyes widen.

"No," she muttered to herself. "That's impossible! It can't be..."

Thoroughly puzzled, and resolving to ask Syntax about it the next chance she got, she tucked the paper away in her vest pocket and let the door close with a snap, just as Syntax was unlocking the exit door with the last key.

She waddled over as quickly as she could as the door opened, then stopped, amazed. The door, rather than leading to another tedious tunnel, opened out onto a sandy landscape, with a blue-black sky tinged with the pink and gold glow of sunset. Barely visible in the distance was the airship they had used to come to the tomb. Syntax had a pleased grin on his face.

“Ingenious,” he said. “The exit door was enchanted to act as a one-way escape out the same way we came in. That saves a great deal on tired hooves, make no mistake.”

“Thank Celestia,” Cookie said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I don’t think I could take much more walking today.”

Syntax crouched low and slipped through the door, levitating the jar after him, until both were out in the open air. Cookie approached the door herself, crouching as low as she could, until her belly pressed down against the dusty floor. Already prepared for what was to come, she took a deep breath, sucking her gut in as much as possible, and started squeezing her way through. As she expected, even with her stomach sucked in, it was still a tight fit for a mare of her weight. As she reached her barrel, she found herself brought to a sudden halt. Her belly was still too big to fit through so easily, and had crammed itself snugly into the little door. Finding she could hold her breath no longer, she let it out, and her belly bulged out around the door even more, inside and out. Syntax merely shook his head, but said nothing.

“Well,” Cookie grunted, trying to shift herself, “I did -mmph- try to suck it in -rrph- before trying this time. Oof. Didn’t work.”

“So I can see,” said Syntax. “Need a little help?”

“Nah,” said Cookie, waving her hoof dismissively. “You can go load up the jar into the airship. I’ll catch up.”

So saying, she braced her hooves on the outside wall and gave a hard, straining push. Her face turned brick-red from the effort, and she wiggled and twisted, trying to inch her bulk through. If she managed it last time, and had even widened the hole a little from it, she figured that it might just work again. However, what might have worked on more malleable stone was not likely to have the same effect on a solid door frame, which Cookie’s bottom half, still inside the tomb, was firmly wedged in, her back legs kicking as she tried to edge forward.

It felt like an eternity, and much more draining than was usual in these squeezes, but at long last, Cookie slid forward, her full belly bulging out like a great overstuffed pillow, as her rear now wedged itself in place. Exhausted, she stopped to take a breath, panting. She hated to admit it, but this adventure, with the long trekking and the perilous trials they had faced, combined with hunger, had drained her usual store of energy. She started to wonder if she could actually get herself free this time. She didn’t want them to be out there all night, with her literally stuck in two places at once.

Then, before her tired eyes, a powder-blue hoof reached out. She looked up, and there was Syntax, smiling mildly. He hadn’t moved a single step towards the airship, as evidenced by the jar still sitting beside him.

“My offer still stands,” he said, simply.

Cookie stared at him, still panting. Then, wordlessly, and with a grateful smile on her face, she held out her hooves to him. He gripped them firmly in his own, took a deep breath, then gave a hard pull. 

At first, Cookie remained firmly wedged in place, her backside refusing to budge, and the doorway even gave an ominous creak, as though protesting that much bulk trying to squeeze through. Then, after taking a short breather, Syntax gave another pull, which, at first, yielded no better result than before. But then, with a lurch, Cookie shifted forward a little, and the doorway bent outward at the edges. Cookie’s attempt to pass through actually appeared to be putting the door out of its usual shape.

Another pause, another pull. With another sudden jerk, Cookie popped free, landing face and belly first onto the sand, while Syntax landed on his back. The door, now definitely bent out of shape from Cookie’s rump being forced through, slammed shut and disappeared, as if it wanted nothing more to do with her, lest it be damaged further. With a groan, Cookie sat up and dusted the sand from off of her, then waddled over to help Syntax up.

“Thanks, Tax. You all right?”

“I’m fine. Glad I could help. Now that we’re rid of that bothersome tomb, shall we return to the airship and grab a bite to eat from our provisions?”

Cookie would have responded, but her stomach growled in place of a verbal answer. Needing no further answer, and with the two friends laughing about it, they gathered up the jar and started off back towards the airship.


***


The moon had now fully risen, and the sky was dotted with stars, as the airship made its slow and graceful way north towards Canterlot, putting the Badlands behind it. Syntax was at the helm, giving the wheel an occasional nudge here or there to keep it on course, while Cookie lounged in a deck chair nearby, looking full and content, her hoof resting on her belly.

“I can’t wait to crash in bed when we get home,” she said, longingly. “This has been such a long day.”

“I quite agree. I’m looking forward to a nice long rest myself. I know I’ll sleep even more soundly knowing we found the Scroll of Equus.”

“I can already imagine what a storm it’ll make for the papers: the fact that there weren’t multiple scrolls, but just one.”

“A discovery that will turn the archeological community on its head, for sure,” said Syntax, with a hint of pride.

There was silence for a minute or two, and Cookie had actually contemplated drifting off for a nap, when she suddenly remembered what she’d found in the treasure chamber, and now took it out of her vest pocket.

“By the way, Tax, I found this piece of paper with a weird symbol in the chamber where we found the scroll. I thought maybe you could make sense of it.”

Syntax turned quickly around, giving Cookie a start. 

“What? There was something else in that chamber?”

“Yeah,” said Cookie, slightly perturbed by his sudden agitation. “It’s weird, though. This paper definitely isn’t as old as that scroll. I scanned it with my spell, and it can’t be more than ten years old.”

“Ten years?” Syntax asked, sharply. “Impossible! Let me see that!”

Cookie handed him the slip. He opened it up and stared at the symbol written upon it. His eyes widened, and then his brow furrowed. He took the scroll out of the jar and looked at the ribbon that sealed it. His brow furrowed even further.

“Of course…” he muttered. “Now it makes sense...I wondered...but if that’s the case…”

“Mind clueing me in on what’s going on?” Cookie asked, a little annoyed at this lack of explanation.

“My dear Cookie,” said Syntax, slowly and deliberately, “it appears that we were not the first explorers to uncover the secrets of that tomb. Another was before us.”

“Well, I kinda guessed that, from how old that paper is, but does it mean something specific?”

“It does. This symbol is the calling card of a notorious treasure hunter, a tomb raider of great skill and even greater mystery. No one knows what his or her real name is. They’re only known by this symbol, so they have been dubbed ‘The Mark’.”

“‘The Mark’?” Cookie repeated, nonplussed. “Kind of a bland name, if you ask me.”

“It’s the best anypony could come up with, with such vague evidence. In any case, The Mark’s symbol has appeared in print before, figuring into news of a grand heist or unexpected plundering, always carried out without anypony knowing they were ever there, if not for their calling card and a message left behind at the scene. It’s been a long time since the world received news of a heist from The Mark, but from their past capers, we can deduce that they are skilled in circumventing nearly every sort of security measure, ancient or modern, and they possess admirable knowledge in both geography and languages, as the messages they leave behind are always in the native tongue of wherever they have been.”

Cookie stared, dumbfounded. She’d never heard of such a treasure hunter. The way Syntax described them, they sounded like some kind of master ninja, or even a professional criminal.

But then, an even more foreboding thought settled on her mind, and she began to dread the answer of what she was about to ask.

“So, does that mean this ‘Mark’ already found the Scrolls of Equus?” she asked. “We didn’t find the real deal?”

“It would appear so,” said Syntax, heavily. “The Mark came before us, took what was really there, and left their calling card behind, and a message to say they had gotten there first. That’s essentially what the writing on this ribbon translates to.” 

He showed Cookie the ribbon that tied the scroll up, and a flare of his horn translated the symbols into words: ‘I WIN AGAIN’. Cookie stared at it, blankly, mouth open.

“I’m sorry, Cookie,” said Syntax. “We were, to put it bluntly, ‘beaten to the punch’.”

Cookie slumped in her seat, her mind reeling. The Scrolls of Equus really had existed, and weren’t just one scroll after all, but somepony else had already beaten them to it. It seemed unreal.

“But then,” she said finally, heaving herself up straighter, “if we didn’t get the Scroll of Equus, or Scrolls of Equus, or whatever was really there, what did we find?”

“Good question,” said Syntax. “We may as well see.”

With his magic, he undid the ribbon that tied the scroll up and set it aside. He then unfurled the scroll, and Cookie stood up to see it for herself. The scroll contained, not a list of text detailing any sort of historical record, but what seemed to be a letter, written in the text of the Eastern Unicorns. Syntax’s horn glowed, and the text translated itself into Ponish.

“You who have found this scroll:
It seems our goals were alike, so to you, I must offer my sincerest condolences for the time wasted in getting this far. The treasure you sought is now mine, but I will not leave you empty-hoofed. The vessel in which this scroll has been placed is a priceless artifact dating to the days of the Eastern Unicorns, whose assistance greatly aided the defenses of the tomb guarding the true treasure. Consider it a consolation prize, and my way of saying ‘Congratulations’ for reaching it, and not being fooled by the gaudy trinkets that lay before it.” 

Here, Cookie blushed. The dragon statue and hourglass were still on her mind.

“It will take more than a cunning wit and determination to outdo me, however. I have promised never to rest until the unclaimed wonders of Equestria are in my possession. Savor this victory, for it shall not be repeated.
Catch me if you can…”

In place of a signature was the same symbol as before.

Cookie and Syntax stared at the message, then at each other.

“Well, there you have it,” said Syntax, rolling the scroll up again. “We’ve uncovered the aftermath of a heist from The Mark.”

“Wow,” Cookie breathed, running a hoof through her bangs. “That’s insane. I feel like we oughta tell somepony, but...what do you think?”

Syntax thought for a moment.

“Let’s keep this between ourselves for now,” he said. “A chance find like this is a rare thing, but if we go spreading word about it, it will turn into a media nightmare.”

“Right,” said Cookie, nodding. “I don’t wanna have to bother with talking to the papers anyway. Not this time. But in the meantime…”

Here she drew in the jar close to her pudgy side with her magic, grinning broadly.

“This baby’s coming with me to Curios,” she said, proudly. “What a find: an authentic Eastern Unicorn jar, and from Mistmane’s time, as far as my magic can judge. This’ll be worth a fortune, way more than Beryl’s recycled tiara pendants or whatever she’s turning that old goblet into.”

“I’m sure she’d never agree,” said Syntax, dryly.

“Ah, who cares what she thinks?” said Cookie, dismissively. “She can keep all her baubles and bangles, but I know where the real valuable stuff is: with me at my shop!” 

She actually hugged the vase in her glee, kicking her hind legs with a giddy squeal. Syntax rolled his eyes, though not without a smile.

“Of course,” Cookie went on, “I’m probably gonna keep the shop closed for another day, and rest off this adventure, cuz I am beat!”

As proof, she flopped back into her chair with a sigh, the vase plunked down beside her. Syntax chuckled.

“Well, at least one of us got something out of this excursion,” he said. “I’m just happy to see you back to your usual self, after what you went through in that tomb.”

“Thanks, Tax,” said Cookie, smiling. “I feel like I’ve learned a lot from this experience.”

“Such as?” Syntax prompted.

“Such as,” Cookie said, her ears drooping meekly, “I shouldn’t be so impatient to charge headlong into something when there might be good reason to wait.”

“A valuable lesson,” said Syntax, nodding. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” said Cookie, putting a hoof to her belly. “The ones who made that tomb really had a grudge against bigger ponies, if that’s how they built their doors. Like that was gonna stop ‘Tough Cookie’, though. There’s never been a door I couldn’t bust my way through, no matter how small they make it. Just try and keep me back!”

“Tough and stubborn, that’s what you are,” said Syntax, with a shake of the head, that wasn’t without a slight smile nonetheless. “No argument there, but I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Cookie grinned, then settled back in her seat, one hoof clasped protectively around her new precious vase, as Syntax turned back to the helm, keeping their ship on course for Canterlot.



The End