When looking for changelings and other "matters of interest," a discerning eye can help a pony determine which matters of interest actually matter. Especially when the fate of Equestria is concerned.
Second Glance is a Crown Investigator: His job is to look into "matters of interest" for the Princesses. While the hunt for changelings continues, three years after their attack, and is very much a matter of interest, it is not the only matter of interest. Or, for Second Glance, not even a very important one.
At least, not compared to the hunt for the elusive and enigmatic Prince of Ponyton, who may well prove more dangerous than even Queen Chrysalis if he remains free.
Late Night Village of Oldenburg, Lipizza Province Twelfth of High Summer, Anno Concordia 2067
In the silence of the empty diner, the chiming of the bell over the front door was almost impossible to miss. And in spite of this fact, the griffon presently making her exit paid it no mind. “Good night, Jack,” she called over her shoulder.
“Good night, Gert.”
As griffons went, Gertrude was unremarkable, save for being the sole griffon in a village of ponies, and perhaps also for having the grey and black feathers of a harpy eagle, when others might perhaps expect white and brown. A small, dark cloth purse slung round her neck was the only accessory that might have made her stand out, but it too was unremarkable. In the grand scheme of things, unremarkable appearance was fine: The unremarkable griffon Gertrude for the unremarkable village Oldenburg.
Stepping out into the night air, however, was decidedly less unremarkable than it typically was.
“I’m too late, aren’t I?” a voice asked of the griffon after the door had closed behind her, and Gertrude’s inspection of the voice’s owner revealed a pony who was not a native of the village. He was still almost unremarkable enough to fit right in.
As remarkable visitors went, a slate-grey, dark-eyed stallion in a waistcoat did not necessarily top the list. What stood out to the griffon — and really what was his only notable feature — was the capotain on his head: As hats went, it was not a style worn by anyone in Oldenburg. This simple gave is what gave Gertrude pause, being just remarkable enough to capture and hold her attention, if only for a moment.
“I’m afraid a bit too late, stranger. We just closed a few minutes ago,” Gertrude said.
The stallion heaved a light sigh. “It was a bit much to hope for, I suppose,” he replied, “But might you have some old coffee left you could part with? It’s been a long ride from the Midland.”
For the second time, the stranger gave Gertrude pause, this time with his words. “The Midland? As in, the middle of Equestria?” A nod confirmed the supposition. “Good grief! What’s a Canterlan doing out here? And why are you still outside? Come in! I’m sure we have something warm to drink.”
Without wasting another moment, the griffon turned and pushed the diner’s door open and stepped inside. The stallion followed, and was greeted by a diner that was empty, save for a single, surprised-looking earth pony sitting at one of the tables and in the middle of counting the day’s earnings, bits, paper and an inkwell with quill spread out before him; butter white coat and brown mane that was reminiscent of maple wood, the Canterlan noted. “One more guest tonight, Jack. He’s a Canterlan. Do we still have coffee left?”
Gertrude was already moving towards the back with routine timing before she was stopped by that earth pony’s voice. “You’ve been here for thirteen hours already, Gert,” the earth pony said, “Go home. I’ll take care of him.”
The griffon’s feathers ruffled in irritation, although it would be difficult for anypony (or anyone, for that matter) to take seriously thanks to the hyper-exaggerated expression of droll boredom she was wearing simultaneously. “Now, Jack, it’s only coffee,” she said, examining her talons for dirt which was not there. “No trouble at all, won’t take but a moment.”
‘Jack,’ perhaps predictably, was not buying it.
“Don’t you have a filly to go to?” he said, before turning his gaze down to the table in thought. “I think it’s a filly, at least. Either a filly, or a very pretty colt.”
In an instant, Gertrude’s expression switched to amused exasperation. “Now, Jack, you know I don’t have anypony out there waiting for me. Even as much as I would like to have a pretty, pretty princess of a colt.”
“Well, it’s never too late to get one. Here’s an advance. Spend it poorly.” The pony, without so much as bothering to count, pushed a small pile of bits to the other side of the table.
“An advance?” Gertrude sounded incredulous. “Oh, I can’t take an advance,” she replied with a wave of her talons.
“Of course you can,” the pony countered, “Just scoop them up and drop them into your purse.”
“Really, I can’t.” Gertrude pushed the bits back across the table.
“I insist.” Jack pushed them back, and made a point of keeping his hoof on the pile.
“Jack, no.”
“Not taking that for an answer.”
For a few brief moments, both diner representatives narrowed their eyes at each other, and then the griffon heaved a melodramatic sign and adopted an easy smile. “Fine,” she said as Jack removed his hoof and she pushed the bits into her purse. “You win.”
“You’re damn right, I win. Now, go, be free, do something irresponsible, but also nonfatal. If you die, I will get very sad and cry.”
Gertrude threw one arm around her partner’s withers and gave him a quick, and quickly returned hug. “Good night, Jack.” Breaking the hug and advancing towards the exit in a silly pirouette, Gertrude balanced on her hind legs and leaned down in an equally silly courtesy, wings splayed far wider than could be considered practical in any social situation. “Sir Canterlot.”
Without missing a beat, the grey stallion doffed his hat with his hoof, revealing the very base of a unicorn’s horn. “Lady Griff.”
With a giggle, Gertrude rose and all but skipped out the door.
Once she’d left, the unicorn lowered his hat back to his head. “Not quite an employee, but not quite a co-owner, either,” he said, turning his attention to the diner’s other occupant.
Jack responded in kind. “I think ‘apprentice’ is the best way to describe her, Mister…”
“Second Glance.”
“Call me Jack,” the earth pony replied, this time with a nod, “Everypony else does.” Without wasting a moment, the earth pony rose from his seat and moved towards the kitchen. “Sit wherever you like. Open seating tonight!”
With a satisfied grunt, Second Glance took a seat at the nearest table. His hat briefly shimmered with a silver-grey aura before levitating into the air and gracefully alighting on the tabletop. After a few moments more, Jack reappeared with a mug balanced on his head and a carafe half-filled with dark coffee gripped in his teeth. Second Glance noted his bright blue eyes. With precision befitting the best of the Royal Guard, he ducked his head, slid the empty mug onto Second Glance’s table, rose and then filled it before setting the carafe down. No hesitations, no spilled liquid, nothing out of place. A perfect delivery.
“I’ll be counting a while yet, so feel free to stay for a bit,” the earth pony remarked before turning and moving back towards the table he was himself occupying. “I cannot promise, however, that I’ll be much for conversation. Still plenty left to do.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Second Glance replied. Magic shimmered around the coffee mug, and like his hat, it floated into the air. “My job’s all about conversation. Sometimes, it’s nice to have some quiet background noise to organize the thoughts with.”
As he sat back down, Jack stole a quick look at the unicorn’s flank to spy his mark: A magnifying glass with a loupe in front of it. Just the thing for taking another look at some in more detail. “Well, with a mark like that, I’m guessing… a consultant? Consulting detective?”
Second Glance gave a nod. “Close,” he said, before taking a sip of his coffee and pausing. “For old coffee, this is pretty good.” Jack offered a shrug in response. “But, as I was saying, close.” Second Glance took another sip before continuing. “I’m actually a Crown Investigator, sent here to the ‘provinces,’ so the Canterlans would say as if the Midland weren’t a province of its own, to look into a ‘matter of interest’ for the Princesses. Really, that’s a fancy way of saying they want me to hunt for changelings. The exact reasons why I’ve been sent out here are not clearly understood by anypony, least of all me.”
Jack stopped his counting to flash Second Glance a look of incomprehension. “It would seem,” he said, “That if you’ve been sent to the provinces, as the Canterlans would say as if the Midland weren’t a province of its own, to hunt for changelings, it would be because there are changelings here.”
“And yet, there are none. There are exactly zero changelings this far north. After their expulsion from Canterlot, they would have either stayed in the Midland, and been caught in short order, or would have returned south to where the came from. They control the Badlands, they can do whatever they want there, and we would be reduced to using harsh language against them. Princess Celestia herself could do naught but write strongly-worded letters in a fruitless attempt to hurt their feelings. But here, in the provinces? A dead end, nowhere to run when they get caught. We’d drive them all into the ocean or the mountains. Only a stupid bug-pony would think to hide here, or anywhere outside the Badlands. There are no more changelings in Equestria because, contrary to what my superiors seem to think, changelings are not stupid bug-ponies.”
“Implying,” Jack began, “That your superiors are stupid bug-ponies.”
Second Glance raised his mug in a mock toast. “No apologies.”
“Implying, also, that the Princesses, all three of them, are stupid bug-ponies.”
Once again, Second Glance raised his mug. “No comment.” Jack could only respond with a bark of barely stifled laughter. “You see, that’s what I like best about you provincials, Flapjack. You take your business very seriously, and nothing else too seriously. A Canterlan like me could learn from a pony like you.”
It was not the sip of coffee Second Glance then took that captured the earth pony’s rapt attention, but the words he’d said immediately before it. “You just arrived from the Midland, and Gert didn’t mention my full name. I didn’t mention my full name. How do you know that about me?” Second Glance gave him a hard, piercing look, directly into his eyes.
“I feel pretty confident that the only thing I don’t know about you is how long ago you replaced him.”
A silence, devoid of words or the counting of bits, passed between the two stallions. That silence stretched for several seconds, slowly approaching half a minute. Second Glance turned his attention back to his coffee, taking another sip as a flash of green briefly illuminated the diner. A moment later, the jangle of bits being counted resumed, albeit at a much faster pace and assisted now by an acid green glow of magic. When the unicorn again turned his gaze towards the other table, Flapjack was gone, his place now occupied by the black chitin of a changeling. The bright blue eyes remained, even if the pupils more now more closely resembled a snake’s rather than a pony’s, but the mane had given way to bright blue silk the same shade as those eyes. To each of their credits, neither reacted adversely to the change in their situation.
The changeling broke the new silence, devoid only of words, that stretched between them with a single, simple question posed in Flapjack’s voice: “What happens now?” To his continued credit, he did not stop counting the bits before him, save to occasionally switch to the quill pen to write some figures on the paper.
“You could run,” the unicorn said, the phrasing making it sound less like a proposition and more like a suggestion.
Without stopping, the changeling shook his head. “No time,” he replied. It was, admittedly, not the answer — one of the answers — that Second Glance was expecting.
“No time?”
Again, the changeling shook his head. “I need to settle the accounts from today,” he began. “The kitchen needs to be cleaned, the floors and tables need to be washed, and I need to take inventory so we know what we need to buy from the market tomorrow.” For a brief moment, he turned his attention fully to the Investigator. “Even if it were true that you didn’t have your underlings watching the exits to prevent me from running, who has time for that with all this other work?” The moment passed, and the changeling once more focused on the money in front of him, counting and tallying.
Second Glance paused just long enough for another draught of his coffee, using the time to think. “I think your disguise is what interests me most,” he said.
The changeling paused, but did not look up, resuming its counting almost immediately. “Yes?” it asked.
“It’s just that it seems to be an unusual disguise. You see, what tipped me off is that I know Flapjack. He works in a diner like this one, although as a waiter rather than the proprietor, a five days’ ride east of here, and is very much at large. It would create a problem, don’t you think, if one day there were two Flapjacks in Oldenburg.”
A shrug prefaced the response. “Flapjack is reliable,” said the changeling. “He was never interested in traveling before, and I don’t expect that to change.”
“You’re familiar with him yourself, I see,” Second Glance remarked.
The changeling shrugged again, briefly switching to the quill. “Familiar enough to know he has no interest in travel. To know that I could borrow his appearance and go elsewhere, and as long as it was far enough away, no one would catch on.” He paused in his counting again. “That’s the way things used to be, at the least. I suppose that with what happened in Canterlot, everything’s changed. Maybe the bounties are gone, but I guess the Crown is still looking for changelings after all.”
“I admit to misleading you about why I’m here, Jack,” Second Glance said. Finally, the changeling did stop counting and looked up at the unicorn. “It’s true that I’m looking for a changeling, but only for one, and he isn’t you. So, while I don’t particularly approve of your deception, I’m also in no position to do anything about it.”
Flapjack stared for a moment more, and then returned to his counting. “I don’t think I believe that,” he said between the jangle of bits.
“In that case, I’m in no position to want to do anything about it,” Second Glance replied. “Without telling you much of anything, there’s been a development, and the Crown is no longer as blind as it used to be where it comes to changelings.” He took another sip of his coffee. “Why breakfast?”
“What do you mean?” Flapjack asked, switching to his quill again.
“I glanced at the menus up front. A couple of sandwiches were there, yes, but otherwise, it’s all breakfast. There’s a chalkboard with the specials written on it, all breakfast. And yet, here you are still counting, meaning you serve breakfast well into the evening. An unusual choice, all things considered. Even the specialized diners in the Midland don’t serve breakfast all day. I’ve only personally encountered one diner that serves breakfast the entire time that it’s opened, in Manehattan, and they still close at half past three in the afternoon. Why breakfast?” Second Glance ended his statement with another sip of coffee.
Flapjack set his quill on the rest beside the ink pot. “There’s a special kind of reward in serving breakfast. There was colt during my first week, I remember. The special that day was ‘Taters and Mash.’ Two eggs, any style, mashed potatoes with white gravy, and two potato pancakes.” He began telekinetically shoveling the bits on the tabletop into bags, probably to be deposited in a safe. “This colt, he had his eggs scrambled, didn’t particularly care for them, but I’ll never forget the look of bliss, of pure, unrestrained joy he wore when he bit into his first potato pancake. He was happier, I think, then he’d been in a long while.
“Changelings need love to live, and there’s a certain kind of love that can only be brought out by good food. When one pony, just one pony feels that love, all the ponies around them feel that love. They all smile a bit more brightly, converse more happily, and for the rest of the day, that love follows them, and they pass it to other ponies they meet.
“Good food brings out the love in ponies. Good food make them smile, and makes them happy, and when I see those smiles, I feel energized. The love they feel keeps me alive, but those smiles make me feel alive, make me feel like I’ve done the right thing. Breakfast is just the tool that I’m best with.”
Whatever it was that Second Glance had hoped to learn from his interview, it seemed that he’d found it. With one final drink of his coffee, he placed the empty mug on the table, and rose from his seat. A pair of bits floated from inside his hat — coming to rest in front of the Flapjack — before it was replaced on his head and he turned toward the door to make his exit. Just before reaching the door, he paused, and then looked back over his shoulder at the changeling that was calmly watching.
“Thanks for the coffee, and for the chat” was the final statement the unicorn made, and then he was gone.
For several seconds, the changeling looked at the door, and then in a flash of green light, once again wore the guise of Flapjack. If he left right then, and no one was watching, he might have been able to slip past the Guard perimeter and buy himself a few more days of freedom before he was caught. If he ignored his hunger and pushed himself beyond what was reasonably safe, he might even make it to the Badlands and elude capture entirely.
He might’ve done either of these things had he not made the mistake of turning around.
The griddle had been pre-cleaned, but not cleaned properly. There were dishes in the sink that needed to be washed and dried. The floors needed to be mopped and the windows washed. There was still so much to be done before the diner was ready to be closed. And then, it would need to be opened in the morning, and as skilled as Gert was, as dedicated to her dream (and his) as she may have been, she wasn’t ready for that yet. Certainly not with absolutely no notice that opening, and cooking, and waiting, and busing, and cashiering, and closing would henceforth be her responsibility solely. If the changeling pretending to be Flapjack left right then, he might escape Second Glance, but then there was the risk that there would be even just a few moments where his diner was not perfect.
With a heavy sigh, he set himself to work upon the griddle, but even that could not demand all of his focus. There was still a question churning in the back of his mind: Second Glance had said that he was looking for a changeling, and Flapjack would spend the rest of the night wondering what to do with the knowledge that it wasn’t him.
In the din of the busy diner, the chiming of the bell over the front door was almost impossible to hear. In spite of this fact, Flapjack’s attention was drawn to the door when he was certain he’d heard someone come in. Sure enough, there stood Second Glance, waiting patiently and smiling happily. The disguised changeling politely excused himself from the conversation he was in and made his way over. “I was expecting you at sunrise,” he said.
Second Glance gave a short chuckle. “Too early. How the Princess manages it everyday I’ll never understand,” he said before bring attention back to the matter at hoof, “I’m a bit surprised, really. You’re taking my presence here in excellent stride. I thought you’d be worried.”
To Flapjack’s credit still again, he managed to somehow not lose his smile. “I am worried. I’m very worried, but I was even more worried when you didn’t show at the crack of dawn. Who can say why?” he said.
Second Glance chuckled again. “Who indeed?” he replied. As had happened several times the night before, a brief silence passed between the two stallions before Second Glance broke it. “I notice that you’re not in your kitchen.”
The smile that Flapjack wore grew even wider on his face. “Gert’s cooking today,” he said, “The full day. She’s ready for it.”
“And how is she doing so far?” the investigator asked.
For a few moments, Flapjack simply glanced towards the kitchen. “Today is going to be perfect,” he said. Earth pony turned back to unicorn and said, in the way that a father might say of his daughter, “I’m so proud of her.”
Second Glance smiled a wide smile of his own. “Give her my regards, if you could. I’d tell her myself, but I’m already late. It’ll be a hard ride to make the next village before nightfall. I haven’t finished my investigation, so onward.”
At that, Flapjack cocked his head to the side. “Sure you can’t stick around for ten minutes? That’s all it’ll take for Gert to make you two of the best potato pancakes you’ll ever eat,” he said, but Second Glance shook his head.
“I have to pass this time,” he said, “But I do imagine I’ll be back this way in a few weeks time. It could be quite late by the time I do.” At that moment, Flapjack’s smile was exactly the kind he liked wearing the most: Genuine.
“I’ll leave the light on for you.”
“I’m not terribly fond of saying goodbye,” Second Glance said, “And so, I would instead like to say to you —” The unicorn paused long enough to tip his hat- “Until next time.” His smile was met with Flapjack’s own.
“Until next time, Sir Canterlot. Travel safely.”
With a final nod, Second Glance turned to the door, but was stopped when Flapjack said, “Investigator.” He turned to be met with a pony who looked uncertain of what he was about to say. After dithering for a moment, Flapjack nodded firmly — perhaps to himself — and said, “Go west.”
Second Glance nodded himself. “West,” he said, and stepped out the door, heaving a sigh as the door closed behind him and his legs mechanically carried him towards the Guard cohort on the outskirts of the village. Despite the personal detachment he felt from the world around him as he walked, he could not help but feel a swell of joy at what he had discovered in that village all the same
It was, ultimately, a short-lived swell. As soon as he entered the Guard encampment, receiving quick salutes from those ponies who weren’t too busy breaking camp to notice him, it was back to business. Immediately, he sought out the unicorn in command, Lieutenant Trench Broom, and made his way over.
The Lieutenant was perched over an unfolded card table, examining a map of the region, and, upon noticing that Second Glance had returned from the village, looked as pleased as she always did. Which is to say, not pleased at all, despite the gleam of her armor.
“Welcome back, Investigator,” was all the greeting that was offered. A curt nod nod was the only response, and Trench Broom went right back to her map, plotting the best routes to push ahead along. After a moment, she broke the relative silence that had fallen over them. “I trust my intelligence was correct.”
“Perfectly correct, as always. A single changeling. Fortunately, this one poses no immediate threat to the populace.” Second Glance though for a moment, and then added to his terse report: "If he is discovered, I suspect he will be rapidly reintegrated into the community, once breakfast time rolls around.”
“Your recommendation?” Trench Broom asked without missing a beat.
“My recommendation is that we leave him be,” Second Glance replied, “His presence will be noted in my next report, but there is no need to tie up resources when they are needed elsewhere.”
Conversation halted for a moment when another guardspony, an earth pony Corporal, came to the table, snapping a crisp salute.
“Ready to depart in five minutes, Lieutenant.”
Trench Broom nodded, and then turned her attention back to Second Glance. “And what about the other matter, Investigator? Any evidence to suggest he was here?”
“We can thank that one changeling in residence for that,” Second Glance replied. “He didn’t say so outright, and nothing in he mannerisms indicated that he spent a great deal of time with him, but he did say that we should ‘go west.’ He was forthright in his other answers, so I don’t doubt the truth of this one. Never mind that it matches with his other behavior so far.”
A forest green shimmer surrounded the map as Trench Broom's horn sparked to life, and it promptly furled up and floated into the air.
The Lieutenant had but one word to offer — “Good.” — before she stalked away, barking orders to prepare for the ride ahead. Second Glance turned to leave for his own preparations before a voice stopped him.
“Investigator, may I ask a question?” the Corporal began.
After a moment, Second Glance turned back and focused on him. “You may, Corporal.”
There was no hesitation. “This is not the first time I've heard you and the Lieutenant speak about, 'him.' If I may ask, Investigator, who exactly is he?”
This time, there were several seconds that passed as Second Glance considered the Corporal's question.
“This information is not restricted, but it is to be controlled. Is that understood, Corporal?”
Again, there was no hesitation. “That is understood perfectly, Investigator.”
Late Night The town of Tawlee, Fouta province Twenty Second of Sun's Ascent, Anno Concordia 2067
Night had long descended by the time everything was in place, and everypony in position. More significantly, silence had settled into a comfortable reign by the time everypony was in place. The ponies of Tawlee were asleep, the streets were empty, and windows everywhere were dark. Even if they had not been, not a soul would have suspected that the cloud which drifted across the moon, dimming its light, was anything other than natural. And why would they? They would not have seen moonlight glinting off the metal which would ordinarily have no business being in a cloud.
The house belonging to the mayor of Tawlee was larger than the others in the town, but not gigantic. A simple, two-story affair with eight rooms and a cellar. Like the rest of Tawlee's residences, its windows were dark. Like the rest of Tawlee's residents, the mayor and her family were asleep. Unlike any other structure in Tawlee, the walk immediately in front of it was not empty; thirteen dark shapes waited silently. On a pocket watch, being earnestly observed elsewhere, the arms moved to signal that it was one o'clock.
Across the street from the mayor's house, a pair of window shutters soundlessly opened.
The walk in front of the mayor's house was in that instant illuminated by a dozen unicorn horns, the light revealing to the world a baker's dozen of white-furred ponies wearing brigandines and Cabassets, light armor and helms designed and enchanted to be quiet. Each set bore the insignia of Equestria's Royal Guard. In the instant after the walk was illuminated, eleven unicorns and one earth pony glanced at their commander for direction. In the instant after they looked, Lieutenant Trench Broom broke the silence that had settled over Tawlee with a single, calmly-spoken word:
"Breach."
The earth pony in front of the door leading in, a massive stallion, planted his front hooves and rocked forward, coiling like a spring. His back hooves rocketed against the front door, ruining its lock and forcing it to swing open. Before the sound from the door colliding with the wall had faded, Trench Broom was rounding her way through the doorway, sweeping her horn across the living room and to the left. The instant she moved inside, two more guardsponies were right behind her, sweeping to the right and covering straight ahead in the empty room.
"Clear left!"
"Clear right!"
"All clear!"
So far, so good. "Royal Guard!" sounded Trench Broom's voice, loud enough to be heard by the neighbors: "Everypony on the floor, now!"
The rest of the unicorns filed in, two from the line joining each of the three ponies already inside and the rest forming their own team. Broom led her team left, into the dining room. The second team moved right, into the parlor. The third advanced forward into the kitchen. The fourth team remained to cover the stairs and the second floor landing, with the earth pony remaining outside. The sweep of the first floor was quick and efficient, Broom declaring the dining room, "All clear!" just as shouting issued from the living room.
"Royal Guard! On the floor!"
Not wasting a moment, all three ponies in the dining room turned and advanced back the way they came. The other two teams were returning at the same time, the fourth remained where they had been left, horns ablaze with light, and on the second floor landing was the mayor; an azure pegasus who was frightened and half-asleep, but still had enough sense about her to comply with the command she had been given, dropping to her belly and covering her head with her hooves.
"Upstairs, go!"
At Broom's command, the other two entry teams advanced up to the second floor to finish securing the house. The team on overwatch remained so. And she led her own team back outside. "Hull Breach, with me." The earth pony, a full head taller than the next tallest pony under Broom's command and built like a brick privy, fell into step behind the rest of the team as they circled the house, moving down the embankment on the side towards the cellar door at the back.
The cellar door itself sat flush with the stone foundation, making entry easy. Better still, with no windows and no access into the house, there was no escape for anyone — or anything — that might be inside.
Forming a half-circle around the door, horns ignited again, and Broom nodded sharply. The unicorn to the left of the door cast his spell, making the wood of the door groan and creak as it grew brittle. The unicorn in front of the door, next to Hull Breach, stepped up and plunged his horn into and through the wood before releasing his own spell. The blinding burst of light that filled the cellar was bright enough to be clearly visible through the gaps in the door's planks, despite how tightly they were held together. Wrenching his horn free and moving aside, Hull Breach rocked and bucked the door just as he did before, throwing it opened. Finally, Trench Broom charged in and swept the left, while her companions followed and swept right and center.
"Clear!"
"Clear!"
"Clear!"
But not all clear. Shelves, barrels and support beams obscured some of their vision, and the lack of moon and starlight wasn't helping either.
"Foxfire, give us some light," Broom said lowly. The unicorn that swept right focused his mind and tossed a shimmering orb of magic further in, which burst forth with light as bright as day. Suddenly, everything was visible, and what was visible was almost nothing they had not already seen. Shelves, barrels, and support beams, plus some sacks which were far too small to hide anything other than a foal.
There was little else, save for a red balloon floating near the back wall where a red balloon had no business being.
Steeling herself, Trench Broom cautiously advanced with her subordinates close behind. As she drew closer, nothing untoward happened. Nothing leapt out at her, or fell on her, or popped out from the shadows to throw something on her. As she drew closer still, she noticed that the balloon, floating serenely and stationary thanks to a small weight tied to it with white string, had a note or letter attached to the same string. And when she drew close enough to really afford looking at the balloon itself, she realized that drawn on it with black marker was a pony's face.
"A balloon with a face drawn on it, and a note attached?" the Corporal asked, momentarily forgetting the discipline that a Guardspony was to conduct himself with. Second Glance only responded with a nod and a vague sound of affirmation, giving the Corporal just enough time to straighten himself up again. "May I ask what the note said?"
"According to the Lieutenant, all it said was, 'So close,' and the face was making some rude gesture or another. So the Lieutenant tells me." A silver-grey shimmer surrounded the card table that Trench Broom had earlier been using to read her maps, lifting it into the air and folding it neatly. Levitating it to his side, Second Glance moved from his spot and advanced towards one of the wagons the Guard cohort had with it, the Corporal following as if he were being debriefed by a superior. "Obviously, I wasn't there when this was taking place, since Princess Twilight hadn't yet attached me to the cohort."
"You must have been in Ponyton, then?" the Corporal suggested, "Investigating what you could there?"
For a few moments, Second Glance stopped walking and regarded the Corporal carefully. Just before the silence threatened to become awkward, the Investigator broke it.
"That's very insightful of you, Corporal," he said before resuming his walk to the wagon. Once more, the Corporal followed alongside him. "I naturally assume that you overhead that somewhere, but if you wouldn't mind telling, how did you come to that particular conclusion?"
“Well, it was the conclusion that best fit the evidence, I suppose is what you would say." The Corporal sounded somewhere in-between proud and embarrassed, if such a state could exist. "You weren't attached to the cohort when this happened, but joined a couple days before my squad arrived, so you must have been in the area. There's only a few villages within a short distance from where we met the cohort on the road, including Tawlee and Ponyton, so you must have been in one of them, but since you weren't with the cohort when the raid happened, it couldn't have been Tawlee." Briefly, they stopped again while Second Glance turned the card table over to the quartermaster. "And, if you were in the area, then being a Crown Investigator, the Princess must have sent you to investigate something. Besides Tawlee, the only place worth investigating at the time would have been Ponyton. Therefore, you must have been investigating in Ponyton, probably to gather more information about the Prince."
"Quod erat demonstrandum," Second Glance concluded. "Excellent deduction, Corporal. Given that your mark appears to be a truth table, would I be correct to assume your special talent relates in some way to logic or reasoning?"
"Problem solving, more generally. If a question can be reduced to its components, I just see the connections, I guess. How everything fits together. Sometimes." The Corporal's gaze drifted downward towards the ground and towards melancholy. "Usually I just feel like I'm stumbling through everything and happen to reach the right answer by chance. A talent for logic that relies on faith, how's that for a contradiction?"
Second Glance regarded his companion for a moment, and then determined the best course of action was to find common ground. "To return to our prior discussion, I was investigating the Prince, for all the good it did me. Plenty about the things he did, how he managed to fill the mayorship in Ponyton, everything I could want except for something to determine his motives or where he's going. You're not the only pony that feels like he's stumbling through things right now, Corporal."
The small smile that appeared on the earth pony's face showed successful bonding, but it quickly vanished and was replaced with consideration. "There's still one piece of this puzzle I don't understand, Investigator. The house was being watched from the air and ground. How did the Prince escape?"
"That particular part of the story is a point of some embarrassment for those that were there, but to summarize, the clearing was so organized, and they were so focused on finding the Prince, that nopony noticed when the number of guardsponies on the premises briefly rose to fourteen."
The Corporal lost what smile he had as he considered this. Truthfully, there weren't many explanations. "So then, the Prince is a changeling with a penchant for stage magic?" he ventured. His smile returned when Second Glance responded with a nod and a smile of his own.
"That he's a changeling is likely, although aside from testimony delivered by one Lord Switchgrass, who has admitted to a rivalry and casual hate of the Prince, testimony delivered by Switchgrass' bodyguards, and the event in Tawlee, we don't have much in the way of evidence." Briefly, Second Glance looked across the encampment, now broken and packed back into the wagons used to carry everything. "More evidence, if there is any, shall be forthcoming as we discover it, I would think. I believe your Sergeant is looking for you."
Immediately, the Corporal lost his smile and looked around hurriedly. "Ah, yes, I believe he is," he replied, trying and failing to re-adopt the calm facade of a guardspony. "I very much enjoyed our conversation Investigator, and hope to speak with you again later. Good day." Second Glance tipped his hat, and then the Corporal was gone.
Sucking in a deep breath, the unicorn cast his gaze about the assembling cohort and, on identifying Trench Broom, made his way over. "Hail, Lieutenant," he began, "I was hoping to have a word with you before we moved."
Broom, for her part, eyed Second Glance with a calm displeasure before speaking. "If you must, although it looked as though you just finished having several words and even sentences with my Corporal." When the other unicorn failed to stumble over his words or explain himself, it did catch her somewhat off-guard.
"Ah, yes, about the Corporal." Unexpectedly, at least for Broom, the Investigator doffed his hat, holding it close to his barrel as if doing otherwise might somehow offend her. "Lieutenant, I'm wondering if I might borrow the Corporal for a time, at least until we've finished up in the next village. I have a, shall we say, a premonition that I may require his direct assistance."
For several seconds, Broom regarded Second Glance silently and sternly, and then finally spoke. "He told you about his talent, and how he feels like he has no direction no matter what orders he has, didn't he?" she asked. "The Corporal is a sub-par guardspony. He performs every task assigned to him, but is not terribly good at anything that doesn't require him to think. He barely passes as a soldier and doesn't have the qualifications to be anything else. He's in the Guard because it seems to be the only thing he's not terrible at. He's miserable no matter how much he tries to hide it, and he's wasting everypony's time and resources, his own most of all. You found something he'll be good at? Are you sure?"
The Investigator nodded, if a bit hesitantly. "Sure enough that I'm willing to risk my reputation for noticing things others miss."
As soon as he spoke, Trench Broom did something he had never known her to do in the time he'd known her: She looked pleased.
"I'll get his reassessment papers ready. He's yours for as long as you think is necessary."
To his credit, it did not take Second Glance more than a single blink of his eyes to overcome his surprise. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he replied, replacing his hat on his head. He didn't wait for anything before he continued speaking. "I also have a premonition that you're wondering about my apparent shock, and I suppose I was expecting more resistance regarding an issue that might well, er..." What was the phrasing? "Detrimentally affect the cohort's integrity."
Once again, Trench Broom's expression slipped away from pleased, although it was not cross either. "The Royal Guard is an extension of the Princesses' will, Investigator. I am an extension of their will. And it is their will that their little ponies be both safe and happy. The Corporal is as safe as he can be, given his current occupation. If I have the opportunity to also make him happy, then as an extension of the Princesses' will, it is my duty to affect such an outcome. The cohort will survive being one pony short. It won’t survive a pony that's incapable of putting everything he has into it."
After another moment, Second Glance offered a half-shrug to preface his response. "I shall, here, defer to your judgement, and then ask how long we might be on the road."
Finally, Broom's expression slipped back to the calm, stoney face that most ponies expected to see on the guard's visage. "Until nightfall, if we're lucky. Far more likely that we should arrive tomorrow, and that is all. We have a schedule to keep. If you have more words you wish to have with me, they'll have to wait."
Between the two unicorns, there were silent nods of acknowledgement before they parted company. Trench Broom moved to the head of the column and gave the order to march, while Second Glance moved down it to deliver the good news to the Corporal.
Afternoon Village of Aveligna, Lipizza Province Fourteenth of High Summer, Anno Concordia 2067
If he were to look back on this moment in the future — and it was almost certain that he would — Second Glance would have concluded that he should have expected it to be nearly impossible to conduct an investigation the day before the Summer Sun Celebration, and would similarly express disbelief that this obvious fact had not occurred to either himself or the Corporal until after that day. But then, there may have been a reason his name was Second Glance and not Foresight.
The Corporal was doing well enough to keep up with the Investigator, despite the organized chaos he was surrounded by. In plainclothes, there was not so much as a speck of white to his coat, which was instead a rich chocolate brown. His mane and tail were themselves brown, albeit several shades darker. From a distance, if the Corporal had not been wearing his amber vest and took care to stand stock still, a pony with failing eyesight might well have mistaken him for an especially large and peculiarly-shaped brownie. Though amusing, this observation did not improve Second Glance's mood.
"Do you think it's wise to try and investigate today?" the Corporal asked, briefly whirling out of the path on a unicorn who was trying — and largely failing — to navigate a too-full box of folded paper lanterns through the crowd. It was not the first near-collision either of them had had, and would not be the last. "It seems unlikely that anypony will have the time to answer any — excuse me — answer anything."
"There is that risk — pardon — but we have to try today. Excuse me. Tomorrow's the Summer Sun Celebration. I can guarantee that nopony will answer anything tomorrow. Either we investigate today —“
"Coming through!"
Second Glance was interrupted as their path was blocked by the sudden appearance of a blue-grey, white-maned pegasus with a raincloud for his mark, one end of a long ladder looped over one wing. After he passed, their path became blocked by the ladder itself.
"Either we investigate today," resumed Second Glance, "Or we stall the investigation by two days, and give the Prince that much more time to get ahead. And while that will certainly displease the Princess, it will displease the Lieutenant even more."
The Corporal, for his part, looked around at the crowd for a moment to collect his thoughts. "Surely they'd both understand," he suggested after a moment, "I mean, look around." And so he did, this time accompanied with a sweeping gesture of his hoof. "It's clear that the Celebration is one of the biggest events of the year for these ponies. They probably wouldn't appreciate even a small distraction from us. They're all extremely busy."
"Tell me about it!" The end of the ladder finally came into view, looped over the wing of a blue-grey, white-maned pegasus with a raincloud for his mark. "I'm working double shifts!"
For several long moments, the Corporal was silent, watching the pegasi and ladder vanish into the rest of the crowd. He finally opened his mouth to voice a question, but stopped and turned to look at Second Glance when he felt a hoof on his shoulder. The Investigator slowly shook his head, and then resumed his walk towards their destination. After watching him for a moment, the Corporal trotted after to catch up, pushing the strange occurrence from his mind.
After another few minutes of navigating the abnormally busy streets, town hall finally came into view, prompting both ponies to put in the extra effort to reach it. Partially, this was because the pony they sought, the mayor, would likely be inside. Partially, this was because the crowd surrounding — and going into and out of — the hall was much thinner than it was elsewhere. At the very least, the crowd immediately surrounding the hall was carrying much less in the way of supplies, food, and favors ferried this way and that, but for them, it was close enough to mean the same thing. With a final, and by that point small effort, they passed through the threshold separating Aveligna's seat of government from the outside world.
Inside town hall, it was the very picture of calm. Clearly, everyone but essential staff were out assisting with preparations for the Summer Sun Celebration. Which meant, apparently, that the only essential staff immediately visible was the secretary, a caramel-colored earth pony who watched the two visitors approach his desk with a mixture of boredom and irritation. "Do you require assistance?" he asked derisively.
"Good afternoon, friend," Second Glance said with a tip of his hat. "I am Second Glance, a Crown Investigator from Caterlot. My associate is..."
The pause that followed was, for all three ponies, unexpected, but lasted only a moment before Second Glance turned towards the Corporal. "I somehow never had the foresight or courtesy to ask, but what is your name?"
"Modus, sir. Modus Tollens."
"Modus Tollens," Second Glance said, repeating what he'd heard. "I know your uncle, I think. Also an Investigator, but for the Guard. Modus Operandi, correct?"
"Yessir."
"Fine fellow." And like that, it was back to the secretary. "My associate is Modus Tollens, a Corporal in the Royal Guard and Investigator in training. We are, as you may have guessed, investigating a matter of interest for the Princess—“ And he had no time to explain further before he was abruptly cut off.
"Which Princess?" the secretary asked sharply. In the wake of this outburst, it was Tollens who found his voice quickest.
"Does that really matter?" he asked, and given the look of disdain from the secretary and the look of admonishment from Second Glance, he knew immediately that this was not the correct way to answer. Fortunately, the Investigator was immediately ready with a response.
"What Corporal Modus means to say is that we, under the orders of Princess Twilight Sparkle, are investigating a matter of interest to the Crown, as I stated previously, and believe that your mayor may be able to provide us with some information that will assist in that investigation. We need only a few minutes of his or her time to ask a few questions, and then we're gone from here, on our way out of town and, if the stars are right, you will never see either of us again."
The earth pony behind the desk, for his part, scrutinized Second Glance intensely for a few moments. Finally, he rose from his seat, saying, "I'll see if the mayor is available," before turning and disappearing down the hallway behind his desk. Tollens did not wait for more than a second after the stallion was out of sight before immediately springing his question on Second Glance.
"Why does it matter which Princess tasked us?"
"It's my fault," the Investigator said, opening his reply. "You've been in the Midland for all your life, it was stupid of me to assume you knew, so here's the short version. Princess Twilight is a Canterlan through and through. Young, energetic, unsure of herself at times, not afraid to admit when she doesn't know the answer to something, and always, always stays in contact until she can deliver a suitable answer. The new Princess is very popular in the Midland. Out here, in the Provinces? They have two Princesses, one for the day, one for the night, and that's it, because that's the way it's always been. The don't need a new Princess, and so any new Princesses that come along are very unpopular, and their servants aren't held in very high regard either. Did you get all that?"
Tollens considered the information for a moment, and then nodded after all the connections were made in his mental map. "If I have to throw authority around at some point, be vague, like you were when we came in. I've been tasked by the Princess, and then don't say which Princess unless specifically asked which Princess put her signature on the Writ of Investigation." A brief moment of silence passed before the Corporal added to his conclusion. "If I had my own Writ of Investigation, I mean. I don't, obviously, so you're the only official Investigator, and I'm just an observer. In training. Which means I should probably let you do the talking and just observe as quietly as possible from here forward."
"There's a good boy."
The conversation concluded not a moment too soon as the secretary reappeared from the hallway. "The mayor will, amazingly, see you. Down the hallway, second door to the left."
Each nodding their thanks, Tollens and Second Glance followed the directions given to them, and in short order found themselves at the door indicated. Second Glance knocked three times, and then opened the door and stepped in after the voice inside bade him entry. Tollens followed and closed the door behind them.
Standing up from his desk was a pegasus, ostensibly the mayor of Aveligna. Bronze-coated and copper-maned, he turned sideways to step around the desk just long enough to show his mark: A claw hammer and two nails. "Gentlecolts," he said, offering his hoof to each of the other stallions in turn. Both shook, and the gesture was as unadorned and spartan as the mayor's office was: There was only enough furniture, books, and documents to facilitate a functioning government, and the hoofshakes had only enough substance and duration to facilitate a greeting. "I'm Woodhouse, the mayor of this fine village."
"A pleasure, Mayor Woodhouse," the lone unicorn in the room replied. "I'm Second Glance, a Crown Investigator under assignment from Princess Twilight, as your secretary has doubtlessly informed you. My associate is Modus Tollens, a Corporal in the Royal Guard and Investigator-in-training. I'm not certain how much else you were told, but we're looking into a matter of interest for the Princesses, and are wondering if you might be able to provide us with some assistive information."
For the few moments it took to return to his desk, Woodhouse considered that. Finally, he gestured to the two cushions sitting opposite to him. "Please, have a seat, gentlecolts, and tell me what sort of information you think I might have that you need."
Even as they were sitting down, Second Glance wasted no time with what he needed to know. "What can you tell me about the Prince of Ponyton?"
If Woodhouse was surprised by the question, he made no show of it. "Very well. Why, exactly, are you asking about the Prince, if I may ask? He's an upstanding stallion, and I consider him a friend of mine, so I'm sure you understand that I may have certain, reasonable and well-founded reservations about your exact intentions for him."
"Of course, of course. It's certainly understandable that you might have such concerns and reservations, but then, so do we." Pausing for just a moment, Second Glance adjusted his hat, and Tollens, in keeping with his previous instructions, remained silent. "The Prince is a pony of interest to the Crown, obviously, and is also something of an enigma to us. This… mystery, I suppose, was not at all cleared up or resolved after I asked about him in his hometown. He is by no means wealthy, and according to every record in Equestria doesn't hold an actual title, but nearly everypony in Ponyton that I spoke to happily regarded him as bonafide royalty, held in higher esteem than the Princesses, in some cases. Naturally, we're very curious as to how this situation developed."
"With the end goal of incarcerating him for impersonating a pony of title, I know how this game works," the mayor spat, immediately hostile. "Even if I were inclined to help you find him, I don't know where he's gone, so you may as well pack up and get going."
While Tollens was briefly at a loss, still managing to hide it, Second Glance clearly had anticipated a development like this. "Of course, of course. But before we do, I'm wondering if you might be able to assist us, at least, by supplying a description of the Prince." Woodhouse was nonplussed, and Second Glance was all smiles. Gradually, however, Woodhouse's expression changed to one of confusion, and then frustration before he began answering, less to be of any help and more to try and work out a perplexing development for himself.
"He's, about this tall —“ A hoof indicated a pony standing a full head above most others. "This, this wide —“ Two hooves indicated shoulders broad enough to compete with the hardiest of ponies. "And, he..."
"Is completely beyond your ability to recall any but the most general of details, and not much even then. His mark, his coloring, even his tribe completely elude you, don't they?" Whether Second Glance intended to sound smug as he finished the mayor's answer for him was a question that would ultimately never be answered. "Almost as if your memories of him were in some way inhibited. Or edited."
To say that Second Glance now had the mayor's undivided attention would not be quite a strong enough term to use. The fact was that the Investigator had Woodhouse's full, undivided, and urgent attention, even if the expression he wore still carried a measure of disdain.
"He seemed entirely normal when we first met him," the mayor began. "Although I suspect many of us thought he was royalty or at least an important lord at first glance. He carried himself like, like a rain storm. He was very gentle and even calming to be near when he walked into the tavern, but everypony knew he could be very powerful if he wanted to be."
As Woodhouse spoke, Tollens silently reflected that, similar to his encounter with the ladder-carrying ponies outside, he could not rightly explain the exact location that Second Glance had produced the notepad and fountain pen he had started taking notes with. "And when was the moment that you came to believe this newcomer was not bringing trouble with him?" the Investigator asked.
Woodhouse began his response with a smile. "The very first thing he did after walking to the bar and introducing himself as the Prince of Ponyton, was say that he'd heard a rumor that the barkeep, an earth pony, mind you, had mastered a heretofore unknown branch of magic and could transform a pile of bits into a pint of bitter. We all took to him quickly after that."
"A charismatic gent, you'd say?"
"Ha!" Whatever plan Second Glance had must have been working, in some fashion. Woodhouse relaxed more and more and he talked, and it seemed he was less reluctant to surrender information. "Charismatic doesn't do him justice. I suspect that if he'd told us that the end of the world was nigh, and the only way to stop it was to allow him to fornicate with all of our sons and daughters at once… well, after a couple of pints, we just might have let him. Maybe.
"He had a story for everything, it felt like, and some of them were even convincing. He drank with us, told his stories, even sang one of his silly traveling songs for us. And I, not wanting to be shown up, did what I could to keep up until both of us were too crocked to be of use to anypony. Somehow, we managed to stumble back to my house, he got me into my bed, laid himself out on the sofa. He even had the courtesy not to steal anything. He had some appointment to keep further down the road, so after a spartan breakfast, I helped him pack a lunch, he said his goodbyes to whoever managed to find him, and then set out on the road west at a quarter past eleven. Roughly then, at least."
As his pen danced across paper, Second Glance would occasionally turn his attention away from his notes and to Woodhouse, and would sometimes make a sound to indicate that he was listening. "And did you notice anything about the Prince that you would consider unusual?" he asked once the mayor had finished his recounting.
At first, Woodhouse shook his head in the negative, but almost immediately turned his gaze upward. "Well, I didn't notice anything unusual about the Prince himself, but the next morning before breakfast..." He trailed off for just a moment, "Well, I wouldn't call it unusual, since I have nothing to compare it against, but our conversation did take a strange turn..."
’Sharp, knife-like pain' would have been an apt description of exactly what Mayor Woodhouse felt when somepony opened the bedroom curtains and let the sunlight in without regard for the ravages it would visit upon him. He tried covering his eyes, but instead elected to glare at his tormentor. He was, of course, standing right beside the bed, looking somewhere between pleased and amused.
"I can't imagine you're too happy with yourself at this particular moment," the Prince said with his old Canterlan accent. He turned to the bedside table and retrieved a glass full of cloudy liquid in his hooves, which was passed promptly to the mayor once he had worked himself out from the covers and into a more comfortable position for sitting. "Here. This will make your head feel much, much smaller."
All too happily, Woodhouse accepted the glass. "Hair of the dog?"
He was answered with a quick shake of the Prince's head. "It's a tonic I learned to make from a zebra some years back," he replied. "A mixture of water, sugar, and boiled willow bark. It will do wonders for aches and pains, but the taste is more bitter than anything you will ever experience otherwise, so I would advise you to drink it very quickly." With a nod, Woodhouse drew in a deep breath and held it as he tipped the glass to his lips to do just that.
The moment the tonic hit his tongue, the pegasus suppressed a gag and remembered very vividly the time he'd tried to eat a bar of soap in his youth.
Immediately after swallowing it down, he quickly drew the glass away from his face and occupied himself with scraping his tongue against his teeth. "I don't think you adequately described just how bitter this would be!" With a chuckle, the Prince retrieved the glass and placed it back on the table while Woodhouse rose from his bed and briefly stretched before moving for the door to the rest of his house. "But, as long as it works. I'll need a clear head to get started with preparing for the Summer Sun Celebration. Particularly the extra measures."
"What extra measures would these be?" The Prince was right on Woodhouse's heels, following him through the short hallway and into the living room, angled towards the fireplace and the dining space that enclosed it.
"Just the usual, additional preparations we've had in the last couple years." Woodhouse eased himself into one of the chairs surrounding the dining table there. "My usual concern at keeping changelings away during the Celebration."
His statement sparked an inquisitive expression from his companion. "Why the concern?" the Prince asked, taking a seat across from the pegasus.
"It's largely concern for my ponies, really. Certainly you can agree that no mayor, or indeed no prince, would want changelings slipping in and crippling everypony just to get a meal." Woodhouse, of course, had no issues sharing this particular concern. That changelings ought to be kept out, lest they inflict grievous harm to somepony, was a sentiment shared by virtually all the inhabitants of Aveligna, and in turn, much of Equestria.
The Prince, however, did not appear to be of the same mind. "Why would they do such a thing?" he asked. "It makes no sense to do that."
"Of course it does!"
The Prince shook his head in disagreement. "You might be tempted to gorge yourself at times, but you don't because you are rational, and understand that the only sure way to have a secure supply of food in the future is conservation and cultivation. Anyone with even a small garden understands this. It's the very foundation upon which all civilization is built."
"You're assuming that a changeling is capable of reasoning. Not just reasoning, but abstraction!" The mayor took a breath to calm himself, realizing immediately that his counterargument was made much more forcefully than he intended. "There are no changeling cities. No art, or writing. Outside of the mess in Canterlot, they've made no attempts at meaningful communication with us. They lack all the hallmarks of a rational race."
For all the mayor's effort, the Prince was no pushover when it came to arguing. "But they pretend to be all those things you say they show no signs of having. Painters, musicians, philosophers, politicians, and so on. Imitation isn't enough there. A changeling pretending to be a painter can't simply copy older works of that painter and get by. It would be immediately obvious that something was wrong. The same is true of a musician. A philosopher must be capable of incorporating new information into the framework of their philosophy. Indeed, the only occupation that would allow the exact same behavior to be repeated again and again without change is, perhaps, the politician, and even that isn't a sure thing. For a changeling to integrate into pony society, to adapt and alter their behaviors to avoid arousing suspicion, to, as their name implies, change as the situation demands it, they must be rational. Do you not agree?"
And in that moment, Woodhouse did not immediately have a counterpoint. It seemed sensible. It seemed rational. But it was not, for him, convincing. "It still seems like too much of a stretch, rational or not," he said. "I mean, a changeling feeds on love, and love is very different from wheat or barley. Surely, it can't be stored, since it has no physical form. And if it permeated the air in all directions as light does, changelings would be plants or fungi, rather than animals. Since they clearly must seek it out at every opportunity, would it not make sense to get as much at once as possible when they find it? Naturally, that would be all that a pony has to offer. And if all the love is drained from a pony, would that not leave them a pathetic shell of what they would otherwise be?"
The Prince raised a hoof to his chin as he considered a new approach, and it may well have been a testament to his intelligence that he was able to quickly formulate that approach. "Consider an analogy, rather than an explanation that, frankly, I'm not convinced I can clearly deliver. A pony is an apple tree, and love, if indeed, that is what a changeling consumes, is an apple. Draining all the love from a pony and leaving naught but an uncaring shell behind is no different from felling the tree to harvest the apple. It works, certainly, but even if it should prove more efficient, the tree will not bear more fruit, is unlikely to recover with any haste if at all, and there is no guarantee that any seeds from the apple will go on to become a new tree. In the same way, if the pony is drained of all love, they will no longer have any love to be harvested, may very well never have the capacity to feel love again, and there is no guarantee that they have made another pony to replace them.
“That is why that particular fear is wholly unfounded. If there were truth to it, then there would be no changelings left in the world. Or, at the very least, there would be no ponies."
It struck the mayor as odd, or at least a bit ironic, that of all the explanations for what became of ponies that changelings fed on, the one that now seemed to make the most sense was ultimately the most benign. What would it matter if there were changelings at the Celebration? They would arrive in disguise, be unlikely to bother anypony, and after eating their fill — and on so important a day, there would likely be plenty of love to go around — would quietly depart to avoid drawing attention to themselves. Aveligna would be left no poorer in the end.
After a moment, however, a question occurred to Woodhouse that seemed rather crucial to ask. "How do you know so much about changelings?"
The Prince simply gave him a look that one might give to a foal, when summarizing a concept that would normally take too long to explain properly, and answered plainly. "It plays strongly into provincial, even national security. You have to know these things when you're a prince.”
"A peculiar way to explain just why he does know so much about changelings," Second Glance concluded at the end of Woodhouse's story.
He was answered with a lopsided nod. "I thought so as well, but I'm no prince. I find it very plausible that the extra responsibility of being one requires a fair bit more expertise than being a mayor does. In any case, that's all I'm able to tell you about him."
With a small flourish, Second Glance finished his note-taking. "We do sincerely thank you for your time, Mister Mayor. Particularly because of the Celebration tomorrow."
"Speaking of the Celebration, there is a fair bit of work left to do before then. I'm afraid I must take my leave."
With a quick bow and tip of his hat — the former of which Tollens mimicked — Second Glance turned to leave. "We'll show ourselves out. Thank you again, Mister Mayor."
Leaving the mayor's office behind them, and then too the secretary and finally all of the town hall, both Investigator and guardspony stepped back through the front door and outside again. Tollens managed to keep his thoughts to himself until then. And then longer still, until they were perhaps halfway back to his cohort.
"What game is he playing at, Investigator?"
Second Glance bobbed his head to one side in a pseudo-shrug. "The mayor of this fair town has just informed us that the Prince of Ponyton has, in turn, informed him that the supposition that a changeling will callously drain a pony of all love is insensible — excuse me." Naturally, the few minutes they'd spent inside had done nothing to thin out the crowds preparing for the following day. "What do you make of that, Tollens?"
"What I make of it is that you're giving me a test to evaluate my skill at investigating, and are withholding information you gathered independently."
"Let's assume that's not the case, for the time being," Second Glance replied. "Instead, I would like you to tell me, in your own words, what you think the Prince is attempting to communicate to us through what he told the mayor."
Tollens spent a few brief moments considering his response, using the time to both organize his thoughts and weave through the crowd which was, finally, thinning to a more easily navigable volume.
"It seems that he's trying to show us that changelings aren't vampires," he began. "That their need to consume love, or whatever eldritch energy it is they eat, doesn't harm ponies the way that taking their blood would." Second Glance nodded, which only prompted Tollens to interrupt whatever response he had prepared and continue with his analysis. "But that seems to contradict our existing evidence. It's a known fact that — what is he now — Prince Consort Shining Armor? It's a known fact that he suffered physical ailments while the Changeling Queen fed on him."
"It does not, in fact, contradict our existing evidence, Tollens. Bear in mind that while Queen Chrysallis was enjoying the Prince Consort's — whatever it was — she was also casting a variety of other spells to both bend him to her will and maintain her cover, so it is, in hindsight, far more likely that it was that combination of spells that led to those physical ailments. Particularly since we have no idea what they actually were.”
The earth pony was looking, to Second Glance's delight, nothing less than skeptical. "And this, I assume, is where the information you've been withholding finally comes into play," he proposed, to which the Investigator once more nodded.
"I met a changeling back in Oldenburg, who lives as his alias, Flapjack. Proprietates a diner, hardworking, very agreeable fellow. He has an apprentice of sorts, Gertrude, and I feel it fair to describe the relationship between them as that of a father and daughter. Despite this, she exhibits none of the ailments that Shining Armor displayed, even though it's plainly obvious that Flapjack is revitalizing himself with Gertrude's love. And so, I ask you again Tollens, what do you make of that?" At last, the pair was again approaching the outskirts of the village, and they were free to walk with the pace and direction they pleased.
"What I make of it, is that the Prince of Ponyton could have very easily slipped away, never to be seen again if he wanted to. Instead, he's leading on this merry case, leaving clues for us to find like he's Carmen Sanfratello, and in the course of piecing together whatever his master plan is, we get to learn exciting and interesting facts about changelings. It’s… an exchange, I think? There's something he wants, but he needs our help to get it, and since he doesn't trust us to not arrest or kill him on sight, he's giving us information that we might find useful or even essential by proxy, perhaps to curry favor?”
"If nothing else, that at least fits the evidence that changelings never do anything in a forthright manner," Second Glance afforded. Their encampment came into sight again, itself reflecting some of the havoc of Aveligna as the guard cohort performed their own preparations for the Summer Sun Celebration.
"A letter to Princess Twilight, then? Detailing the investigation so far?"
Second Glance spent a few moments considering the suggestion. "A short but comprehensive one, I think," he concluded. "Give her too much incomplete information, and she'll run herself ragged trying to figure the rest out. Give her too little, and she'll run herself ragged trying to figure out what we're afraid to tell her, or worry herself sick that something's gone wrong. Either way, she won't enjoy tomorrow, and is likely to create an entirely new set of problems. For all her intellect, she's still very much like a filly in some ways."
"Well, maybe it would be best to tell her nothing then, until you have a bit more?" Tollens' suggestion was surprising enough that it brought Second Glance to a complete halt.
"Now that's really an insensible supposition, Corporal. Whatever put that idea into your head?"
Tollens, again, considered his words for a moment. "What if your letter, filled with incomplete information regardless of how short but comprehensive it is, puts it in her mind that the best way to resolve this issue with the Prince is to come up here and meet him herself, putting her into direct contact with a population that she, being very much like a filly in some ways, wouldn't realize she was unpopular with and only further alienate, creating new problems without ever intending to?"
For several long, exceedingly uncomfortable moments, Second Glance simply stared at Modus Tollens.
"Tollens," the Investigator began in carefully measured tone, "I've known Princess Twilight since she entered the Crown's concern as Princess Celestia's pupil. She won't do that, and I frankly can't decide which opinion is the greater insult. The provincial opinion that she's a pretender who's only a princess because her mentor felt obligated to make her one, or the Canterlan opinion that she's some sort of obsessive-compulsive buffoon who will unwittingly alienate everypony around her because she can't see past the book she's got her nose glued into." Drawing in a deep breath, Second Glance straightened his posture. "There's a bit of preparation for the Celebration tomorrow, Corporal. I would suggest strongly that we get back to camp so we can assist."
Without waiting, or even with another word, Second Glance turned and continued on his way towards the Guard encampment, leaving Tollens to watch him go while feeling an unexpected mixture of both guilt and disappointment. After a few moments, it struck him how it felt much less like performing poorly for his commanding officer, and much more like failing to live up to the expectations of a teacher. It was also, perhaps, for that reason that rather than simply resolving to do better, he instead felt an overpowering urge to be better.
Likewise drawing a deep breath and straightening his posture, Tollens trotted after the departing Investigator.
Early Evening Village of Fishermare's Landing, Lipizza Province Seventeenth of High Summer, Anno Concordia 2067
The chime of a bell signalled the arrival of Second Glance and Modus Tollens, and a subsequent look around confirmed for them the presence of various odds and ends for sale, but especially fishing tackle and equipment.
From behind the counter opposite the door, a unicorn's head popped into view, ruby-colored coat and orange mane streaked with black standing out brightly against the dark wood making up the walls, shelves, and most everything else in the shop. Immediately, her face lit up, and there was nothing to contain her excited whisper of, "Customers!" At once, she bounded onto her hooves, gave a toss of her mane, and leaned on the counter. "Welcome to the Tide's Bounty, gentlecolts! Anything in particular you need? Bait? Oh! A deep sea rod, perhaps?"
With a chuckle, Second Glance trotted up to the counter, Tollens close on his heels. "No, no, I'm afraid we're not here to buy- Candy beans!" How the jars of brightly-colored sweets on the counter had escaped his notice at first was a question the Investigator would never consider, primarily because there were jars of candy beans sitting right there on the counter. Without another thought, his hat floated off his head and expelled three bits, which clattered onto the counter even as one of the jars lit up and levitated into the hat the money had come from. The hat itself settled back on his head exactly as if it did not have a large jar of candy hidden inside of it. "Yes, please!"
It was another moment before Second Glance realized that something — his hat, perhaps? — seemed to have startled both Tollens and the unicorn managing the shop. "What are you both looking at?" he asked.
"Nothing!" Tollens blurted out before anything could be said, and then before anything else could be said, he cleared his throat. "Please excuse the, er, display, ma'am, but are you Rip Tide, the owner of this shop?"
Quite suddenly, the unicorn looked very nervous. "Yes?" she said, somewhere between a reply and a question. Rather than continuing, the earth pony looked to the unicorn he'd come in with.
"Oh yes, of course. I am Second Glance, a Crown Investigator from Canterlot. My associate is Modus Tollens, an investigator in training. We are investigating, of course, a matter of interest for the Princess, and it's come to our attention that you might be able to provide some assistance to us."
Tide, for her part, appeared in some way resigned. "Okay," she said. "Just, can I close the shop, first? I promise I'll be quiet."
In hindsight, the confusion shared by the two Investigators made complete sense. "Beg pardon?" Second Glance replied.
"Really, I won't be any trouble. Just, let me close the shop. Please?"
For a change, it was Tollens who made the connections first, giving a chuckle. "No, no, Ms. Tide. We're not here to make an arrest. The Princess isn't interested in you." The sudden look of horror the covered his face was just as unexpected as Tide's bizarre and misplaced compliance. "Which is not to say she doesn't find you interesting. I mean, what I mean is, if she knew you, she would surely find you interesting! I mean, I find you interesting! I mean- That is-" He suddenly wheeled on Second Glance. "Start talking before I say something else!"
The senior Investigator was well in control of his amusement. Which is to say, he was not laughing outloud. "What Mr. Modus means," he began after calming himself more fully, "Is that it's come to our attention that you might be able to answer a few questions to assist with our investigation, if you have some time. Your neighbors were not, I admit, particuarly discrete about this shop's proprietor being a changeling-" Tide froze at the clear implication- "But simply being one has not been made a crime, so we've presently no quarrel with you."
"Oh." At once, Tide relaxed, and was visibly relieved. "Okay. What sort of questions did you have?"
"Do you know the Prince of Ponyton?"
The moments that followed were not filled wholly with silence. After the first few moments of Tide clearly trying to decide if she should say anything, both Second Glance and Tollens busied themselves drawing out notepads, and a fountain pen and pencil, respectively.
"Well, I do know him, a bit. I met him two days ago, at the Summer Sun Celebration. You're, erm, not planning to arrest him, are you?" The concern in the changeling-unicorn's voice did not go unnoticed.
"So far, the only solid crime we can charge him with is impersonating a pony of title. And if we're being honest, I'm not convinced the Princess Twilight will press for that, when all is said and done."
At that, Tide relaxed even further. While provincial ponies held little love for Equestria's newest princess, the same was clearly not true of changelings. "Tell us about what happened on the day you met the Prince, if you wouldn't mind," Second Glance continued, to which Tide was all to happy to comply.
"I had gone to the Celebration," she said. "I don't usually go to things like that, because my disguises aren't very good, but everypony was having a grand time, and I thought it would be good for me to go. Especially I hadn't, ah, eaten for a long while." Both Investigators looked at Tide briefly when the topic of eating came up, but neither comment on it and the matter was dropped as they returned to their notes.
"Any case, I was at the Celebration. It wasn't really a good idea, because my disguises aren't very good. I forget details if I don't keep them simple, and even then they aren't very stable. I, I lost my disguise when I was in the crowd, and they reacted accordingly, so I panicked and ran back to my house and locked the door and hid. I guess I thought I could sneak away again when they forgot about me. Like they would just go back to what they were doing if I hid for long enough.
"It sort of worked, because it was a long time before anyone thought to check my house for me. The Prince had arrived while everypony was running around, and somehow convinced them that he was an authority on changelings, because when they finally did show up, they were following him."
"Mmhm." With a quick flourish, Second Glance finished a note and looked back to Tide. "And what happened then?"
Rip Tide winced and recoiled in her hiding place as the sound of the front door being bucked open reached her ears. All things considered, she was probably lucky that no one had decided the best way to deal with her was to burn down her house and be done with it. This fact did nothing to calm her nerves, and if she hadn't been held rigid with fear, she was sure her wings would have buzzing anxiously.
"Sir, for the last time, stand back. You have no idea what a cornered changeling might do." That voice, she recognized as belonging to Spearhead, retired from the Equestrian Army, now serving as captain of the Fishermare's Landing watch. Although a far cry from overzealous, he was nevertheless uncompromising. If she could not slip away, he would find her, and then she'd be in trouble. Why didn't she leave when she had the chance?
"On the contrary, Captain, I know precisely what a cornered changeling might do, and rest assured that my total sum of knowledge on the subject far outstrips anything you read in the brief primer Canterlot sent you. Assuming you bothered to read it at all." This second voice Tide did not know, and her fear briefly gave way to curiosity.
"Are you calling me incompetent?"
"No, Captain, I'm calling you obstinate. But regardless of what you are, you will obey my orders and stay out of my way. That is a prince's command."
All at once, Tide's chest tightened. She had never met a prince before, but she knew they all came from Canterlot (at least, she was certain they did). If there was a prince in Fisherman’s Landing, then it meant that the Crown must have been aware she was a changeling. And if the Crown was aware, there would worse for her than no escape; there would be no mercy.
If there was further argument, it was not forthcoming, and Tide was certain she could hear the glare that this Prince was leveling at Spearhead. She herself was doubtlessly doomed.
"Rip Tide?" the Prince called out. The changeling tried to make herself even smaller in response. "It's safe to come out from hiding, Ms. Tide. I'm not here to incarcerate you, and woe unto anyone who tries to do so without my expressed permission."
Another few tense moments passed, and then finally, Tide felt brave enough to push open the cabinet she'd been hiding in and step out, peering around the door at the ponies occupying her living room. Spearhead was there, she knew, and now she recognized a second watch pony as well, Kingfisher; a frequent customer of hers, she recalled at that moment for reasons which escaped her. And lastly, the one pony she didn't recognize, and the only one absolutely pleased to see a changeling's face peeking into the room. And also the only one not wearing an armored vest and skull cap, or carrying a spear.
"There we are, now. You see? No nasty surprises." The Prince casually trotted towards Tide, and though frightened she managed nonetheless to stand firm. "It is Rip Tide, is it not?"
The question, though not sudden, threw Tide off-balance, its phrasing surprisingly gentle. "Yes, sir."
"And you are the original?"
Again, Tide was thrown off-guard, this time because the question was startlingly insightful. "Y-yes, sir. There is no other Rip Tide." And she stuttered, briefly. "That is, I haven't replaced anypony. I made up the pony, so I could blend in. But my name really is Rip Tide!"
The Prince simply nickered. "I know, and it's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Tide. I'm the Prince of Ponyton, and from what I've heard, it's been some night. You've caused quite the stir."
"And are accordingly under arrest!" Spearhead suddenly barked. Tide wilted away and before she realized what she was doing, hid herself behind the Prince. He, however, was plainly displeased with the turn that eventshad taken.
"On what grounds, Captain? Giving her neighbors a fright?"
"On the grounds of being a changeling!"
"Yes, she is a changeling. And you are a pegasus, and a lout besides." The Prince stalked toward Spearhead aggressively, steps measured and head lowered, seeming less a pony in that moment and more an angry tiger. Spearhead stood his ground, but Kingfisher shrunk away slightly, withering under the Prince's glare. "Perhaps you should be arrested on those grounds."
"Those are not crimes!"
"Neither is it a crime to exist!"
Tide's ears rang from the Prince's outburst despite her distance from him, while Spearhead and Kingfisher stared wide-eyed, their caps blasted off of their heads, the Prince having been not one yard distant from them when he spoke. They all knew they had witnessed something they had only ever heard about, and had never dreamed of experiencing for themselves: The Royal Canterlot Voice.
"This changeling has, through her actions, brought harm to no one, and is guilty of no crime other than the crime of existence, in which all of us are complicit. Thou shalt cease at once thy delusional accusations of wrongdoing-
Or thou shalt suffer the full volume of volume which our mighty lungs can produce!"
A moment of tense silence passed, broken when the Prince cleared his throat to ask, "Have I made myself clear?"
Spearhead and Kingfisher were unable to do more than numbly nod their affirmation.
"Excellent. Now then, let's all sit down at the table, and allow Ms. Tide to explain to us exactly what she was doing in the middle of the crowd at the Summer Sun Celebration." Although the Prince was in no hurry to sit down, the other three present all but galloped into the kitchen and sat down firmly at the dining table. Once the Prince had joined them, a few more seconds of nervous quiet passed before Tide finally spoke.
"I was hungry." Deciding this was an inadequate explanation, she drew in a deep breath and then continued. "I'm not much of a changeling. I'm a terrible actress, and my disguises are no good. I always forget details, so I'm always afraid of getting caught, so I usually avoid ponies unless I need something from them. I haven't felt like I've really belonged anywhere, ever. But I saw everypony out there and they were all so happy... I just wanted to be a part of that. I didn't mean to cause everypony to panic. I just wanted to be with them. I just, I wanted to belong somewhere...."
Tide had not expected, in any way, to be suddenly swept into the embrace of the Prince. Even if she had, she would have expected it to be the result of him attempting to smother her, and not the warm comfort that it was. "Poor thing," he said. "You poor, lost little girl. You don't have to run, not anymore. Everything's going to be just fine."
For a fleeting moment, everything was just fine. She wasn't dead, wasn't being arrested, and she wasn't hungry. It was that last thought that gave her pause as she realized that it was true. This stallion, who she had never met before, indeed who was not from (town) and had never even heard of heard of her in passing was not only protecting her from the armed watchponies that came in with him (and who were likely very, very puzzled by this turn of events), but was feeding her, the space around him all but saturated with a rich, almost fatherly love that she knew came unbidden.
And the instant Tide realized that, she buried her face into his chest and cried harder than she could remember having ever cried, and for more than a fleeting moment, felt that everything would be just fine.
After a minute, she'd managed to calm down enough to add to her explanation. "Everypony here is just so wonderful. They're kind and warm and caring, and they love the friends they have. And I was always so afraid because of that. What happened if I slipped, or I couldn't hold my shape? What if changeling hunters came from Canterlot and found me? I was always so afraid what would happen, I couldn't make any friends. Not real friends. If they weren't close, they wouldn't find out, you know? So, I just pretended to like my solitude. I pretended to like being alone, and I was pretty good at it for a change, so everypony thought I was happy. Even though I wasn't. I'm never happy"
"A changeling is most alone in the company of others," the Prince summarized. Tide only offered a weak nod in response, sniffling and leaning back into the pony who had become her one source of safety. At the very least, both Spearhead and Kingfisher felt markedly less angry than they had been, and were even a bit sympathetic to her, although the latter seemed to be having some trouble with his hearing. So it seemed, until he posed a question at an entirely normal volume.
"How is it, your highness, that you know so much about changelings?"
"As it happens," said the Prince with a smile, "A neighbor of mine once turned out to be a changeling. Once the fuss died down, he stayed around and continued to be a good neighbor, albeit with peculiar predilections and a penchant for phycology. I don't doubt that Ms. Tide's neighbors will, after this, think much the same of her."
"What happened next?" Second Glance asked.
Tide drew in a deep breath, just as she had in her story. "The Prince led me outside, and got everypony to calm down, even if he had to use the Voice to do it. I've never heard anything so loud before. Then, he explained who I was, what I was doing there, and what happened that day. Reactions were, mixed."
Rather than Second Glance, it was Tollens who asked the next question, rolling his pencil to one side of his mouth. "Mixed in what way?"
"Well, some ponies were still really angry, and some of them felt really bad for me. I know because they came to me later and asked me a bunch of questions, especially about my family. I just got real quiet then and they stopped asking, so I think they put some pieces together. That I didn't like talking about it. Most ponies just sort of, shrugged, I guess. I guess they figured that since I wasn't causing problems before, there was no reason things couldn't go back to how they were before. Almost how they were before, at least.
"It was nice, though, having ponies ask about me, and not having to worry about my disguise slipping." Tide looked down at the counter with a wan smile. "It’s… nice, feeling like I belong somewhere, even if only a little bit."
Second Glance finished a note and posed a final question. "And after this discussion with the village, what happened then?"
"There's not much more to tell, I'm afraid. The Prince stayed for the Celebration and made merry, booked a stay at the inn, and the next morning left on the north road." Tide was answered with nods and some more scribbling.
"A final question, if I may?" When Second Glance received his own nod, he asked plainly, "Could you provide a description of the Prince for us?"
Like the Mayor Woodhouse before her, and dozens of other ponies before him, Rip Tide's expression moved from even, to confused, to frustrated. "He's, this tall... and, this wide...."
"I thought as much. Wherever he acquired that charm, it's preventing you from remembering his features. Didn't want to risk you giving that information out by accident, I suppose."
The look of hurt that passed over Tide's features was not missed by Second Glance, but if he meant to say anything else, it was lost as Tollens immediately responded, "It's nothing to do with you, Ms. Tide.
"What I mean is that it's not an issue of trust, as you seem to think. In the bits and pieces of information he's left us, the Prince has made it clear he wants our help with something. The bit with his identity is just a test to see if we can track him down without an easy solution like a sketch or photograph. He wants to be sure we're the right ponies for the job."
It was a hasty fabrication, but the look of relief that then spread across Tide's face indicated that it did its job in appeasing her. "I wish you the best of luck, and I'm sure he chose well. But your few minutes are up. I really do need to open shop again. Or, close up, I guess. It's so late, already."
"Of course, Ms. Tide." Second Glance's pad and pen vanished back to wherever it was they came from (on earlier questioning by Tollens, the Investigator's answer of, "What do you mean?" had been less than helpful), while Tollens stowed his own utensils into his vest pocket.
Whereas Second Glance turned and made directly for the door, however, Tollens paused when another question occurred to him. "Ms. Tide?" he began, turning back towards the changeling — or unicorn? — behind the counter. "It's not really related to our investigation, but I'm curious. Everypony knows that you're a changeling. Why keep up the disguise?"
"Well, why do you wear a vest?"
Tide's answer did not catch Tollens off-guard. Rather, he considered her words for a moment, and then smiled brightly and nodded. "Thanks," he said, and then gave a second nod. "Be well, Ms. Tide."
"You also," she replied with a smile of her own. Tollens again turned and followed Second Glance out the door, and Tide closed it behind them. After a moment, her horn flashed with magic and she pressed her ear against the door, straining her now-augmented hearing.
"That may have been a proper lie." It was Second Glance who spoke first. "There is, I'm sure you're aware, no evidence that the Prince is concealing his identity as some sort test for us."
"There's no evidence that he isn't doing that, either." Tollens, somehow, managed to sound as if his partner were attempting to dispute a known fact, even though he'd done nothing of the sort. "And even if I knew for a fact he wasn't doing that, it wouldn't have changed what I said. You saw her face, Investigator. She could have been the Changeling Queen and I still would've said it. I couldn't stand to see her looking like that. I had to do something."
"Honesty might be a lost cause, but if Kindness is your inspiration, there may yet be hope. You're a good pony, Modus Tollens."
Breathing as quietly as she could, Rip Tide continued to listen to the clip-clopping of retreating hooves, until she was absolutely certain that what she had just learned, that someone had told a white lie for her just because he couldn't stand to see her feelings hurt, was not imagined.
"Modus Tollens," she whispered to no one, "You're the best pony."
Afternoon Roadside, Lipizza-Teague Provincial Border Twenty Second of High Summer, Anno Concordia 2067
Trench Broom stood in the road, flanked to one side by Second Glance, and the other by Modus Tollens, facing down the truest enemy there ever was to an expedition without a destination: A fork in the road. The trio looked down the left fork, and saw miles of provincial moorland that eventually gave way to farmland, as reported by pegasus scouts. They then looked down the right fork, and saw miles of provincial moorland that eventually gave way to farmland, as reported by pegasus scouts.
Needless to say, when they looked back to the left, and then right, and then left again, their path did not become any clearer.
"Well," Broom began. "Which way did he go?"
"That, Lieutenant, is an excellent question." Without missing a beat, Second Glance's notes appeared in the air around him, and while Broom was left at a loss for exactly where they had come from, Tollens had by that point learned not to question this sort of occurrence. With his notes accessible, the Investigator’s research began in an attempt to divine the Prince's location.
"He went down the right fork," said Tollens, not bothering to even think on the last notes he'd written about the Prince.
There we're several moments of uncomfortable silence that passed before Broom finally turned to face Tollens and asked him, plainly, "Are you sure?"
The response was prefaced with a brisk nod. “Absolutely."
Second Glance maneuvered around Broom to voice his own question. "How did you reach this conclusion?"
"Well, the Prince is going west. Every town, village, or whatever he passes through, he always leaves to the west, or along whichever road eventually will take him west. Wherever it is he's leading us, it's to the west. Unless I misremembered our maps, the left fork turns south after several miles, while the right will take us northwest for a few hours and then continue due west, eventually to the Marches.
"The Prince is going west, he has unerringly gone west so far, and the right fork goes west, therefore he took the right fork."
After a moment of consideration, Broom decided that wasn't an adequate justification. "How can you be absolutely sure? Suppose he wants to lose us, and took the left fork?"
"He didn't."
"How do you know?"
"Because we've been following him since Tawlee, and Second Glance has since Ponyton, and he knows this.” Tollens immediately raised his hoof, silencing Trench Broom before she could voice her disagreement. "The Prince is not a fool. Even if we accept that his 'uncanny' insights into changelings are the result of being a changeling himself, he's nevertheless extremely intelligent, and clever too. He slipped away from the cohort by walking right through the ranks, and he knows enough about reading others to earn their trust, calm their fears, and even convince them that he knows what's best for them. For the Princesses' sakes, he convinced an entire village, in the throes of mob hysteria, that a changeling was a model neighbor, when they had every reason to think otherwise.
"If he didn't want us following him, he would have lost us a long time ago, and he certainly wouldn't be making all these stops while traveling, leaving ponies with fond memories of a stallion whose face they can't remember. He wants us to follow him, maybe to eventually catch him. He's been going west, he will continue to go west until he gets to wherever he's going, and he won't do anything to make us lose his trail until he finds whatever it is he's looking for."
Again, Trench Broom observed Tollens quietly for several moments, considered his response, and then finally turned her attention to Second Glance. "Investigator?"
Second Glance himself was silent for a moment. "His argument is sound," he said at last. "His hypothesis is well-grounded in evidence, and his evidence is as complete as possible, for the most part. I don't know why, exactly, he's fixated on this idea that the Prince is looking for something, but in light of everything we've learned and observed, I see know reason not to follow my colleague's advice."
In the next moment, the only thing to widen more than Tollens' eyes was the smile on his face. Broom looked back to him, then to Second Glance again, and finally back to Tollens before giving a firm nod. "The right fork, then," she said before moving back towards the cohort, calling for her sergeants and a map. As she left, Second Glance approached Tollens, although he did not share the latter's enthusiasm.
"You're sure about this?" he asked. "Absolutely, unshakably sure?"
The earth pony's smile faltered instantly. "No." The response was scarcely more than a whisper. "The evidence fits everything, but I know I have to be prepared to be mistaken, even when I'm staking everything on being right. Especially when I'm staking everything on being right. If I am wrong, I won't ever be an Investigator, and I'll probably be out of the Guard too." That prospect was unnerving, to say the least, and enough to drive his gaze down to the ground.
At least until he felt a hoof on his shoulder, and looked back up to see Second Glance, although not smiling, not unhappy either. "Sometimes, it isn't enough for our deductions to be correct," said the senior Investigator. "Sometimes, they must be bold as well. Maybe you aren't sure, but are you confident?"
Once again, Tollens smiled. "Yes. Confident enough to stake what reputation I have on it. And, thank you, for your support. I don't think I can explain how much it means to me."
"I have an idea how much, Tollens. The right fork is your recommendation, but I'm the one who approved it. If we hang, we hang together."
"And now I'm just brimming with hope that even though I may hang high, I won't hang alone. Even though I'll still hang. Thanks for that, Second Glance."
With a smirk, Second Glance departed and joined Trench Broom over the map, and within minutes, the cohort was underway again. As Tollens had stated, the road they rode took them northwest, and then curved sharply west, seeming to stretch that way forever, moorland as far as the eye could see even as Lipizza gave way to Teague.
Hours later, as the sun was about to set, they came upon a run-down, deserted roadhouse, likely an inn or a militia post at one point. Trench Broom detached several unicorns and led them to investigate the ruin, returning after a minute or so with no excitement. At least, not until she returned to Second Glance and Tollens, when her face lit up with an uncharacteristically bright smile. "Corporal," she said, "I believe you have finally found what you were meant to do in this world. Go and have a look."
With a questioning look to Second Glance, who replied with a shrug, he and his partner separated from the other ponies and walked to the house. With some trepidation, Tollens pushed open the front door. As soon as he did, both he and Second Glance grew smilies to match Trench Broom's. In the dimming sunlight against the back wall floated a single balloon with a vaguely changeling-looking face drawn on it, giving them a happy wink. What truly captured their attention and made them smile, however, was the note attached to the string, bearing two words that told them everything they needed to know about their current path: