Chapter One: EARLY MORNING

Winter in Ponyville. Frigid by anypony’s standards. Needless to say, James would not have been willing to make the journey if something extremely important had not been at stake. Important to the plan. He had been walking since yesterday afternoon, following the main roads as best as he could manage, but travel was difficult this time of year. Every mile seemed two in winter. His hands shook visibly, completely numb, yet still they managed to grasp the black violin case at his side. Besides this, James carried no other belongings.

A burning, icy wind blew from the north, and he wrapped the cloak tighter around his slender frame, covering his face so that not even his chestnut hair suffered too much. It was small though. The ill-fitting cloth better suited a quadruped than his lanky figure, and bits of him stuck out in odd angles, unprotected. His ankles, left barren, turned blue in an instant, yet James’ only reaction to the pain was a slight tightening round the corners of his mouth.

‘Ponyville,’ he said to none in particular, his voice soft and clipped.

The village remained quiet and still as James approached it, his hand-made boots crunching into the snow. It was still dark, but not for long. Silently, the early morning’s thinnest sliver of light appeared, and the town was cast in winter sunshine.

James stepped lively, the thatched rooftop buildings parting like schools of fish as he strode into the main square. Nopony was awake yet. Good, he thought. No witnesses. He didn’t like making a spectacle. Humans were very rare to come across nowadays—unheard of in most places. Whenever he entered a town there was almost always a scene: ponies staring, the muttering, the fearful gaze mingled with a pinch of curiosity.

What is that? Who is he? What does it want? I’ve never seen anything like it.

He didn’t want to deal with it. At the moment, James needed to set himself up without drawing too much attention. His plans, more often than not, required the delicate touch of anonymity—a thing that was, unsurprisingly, difficult for a non-pony to acquire for himself.

James walked on, passing the impressive composition of timber and stone that was Town Hall with barely a glance. His eyes darted for a particular building, searching for the tell-tale sign hanging on a doorframe. Usually, he reasoned, a town like this would be a hub for trade: traveling merchants and vendors passing through on their way to the more civilized conurbations like Manehattan or Fillydelphia.

Which means…

His eyes scanned the rows of houses. There. Hanging on the door of a rather odd-looking establishment was exactly what he was hoping for: Vacancy—Room for rent. Whenever a salespony would set up temporary shop in the market, some ponies would have the foresight to see an opportunity. These wandering gentlecolts needed a home, right? So in an order to raise an easy coin they would put up boarding, allowing these merchants a warm bed to sleep in for a small fee. It was simple, quick, and very much to James’ liking.

He made a beeline to the structure. His violin case jostled at his side, a suspicious metallic clink emerging from it. As James neared, he took in the sight of his target. It was certainly a strange building. Like a four-year old’s fantasy come to life, a candy house stood before him. Gingerbread roof tiles, candycane columns, frosting-laced gutters, and liquorice window-boxes sprung out with gusto against the snow-sodden village. The sight alone left James feeling ill.

From aside, a little sign was posted into the dirt. Sugarcube Corner, Confectionery, it said.

James glanced at it and groaned inwardly. The irony of a candy-coated confectionery was not lost on him, but perhaps this was taking things a little too far. If there had been any other house, James would not even consider a place as this. Any house at all. James did another sweep of the area. There were none.

As another cold chill swept into him, James turned resolutely toward the door and walked. He knocked three times, trying to ignore the fact that he was knocking on pink wood, and composed his thoughts. He put on his best face. James had performed this act many times and he found that sincerity was crucial in getting through the front door.

Be cordial, he told himself, cordial but not overly friendly. Humble, yes, but with a warm smile. Head up, shoulders a little slouched. Needy, but not pitiful. You are a kind soul in need of help. Good. Deep breaths now.

He heard steps approaching the door: and then a voice

‘Is somepony there?’ spoke somepony from behind the door, definitely female. ‘I’m sorry, but we’re still closed for a few more hours.’

Showtime.

‘Actually,’ said James, sounding every bit the kind soul in need, albeit a cordial and humble one. ‘I am here about the vacancy. The room for rent? That is still on offer, I presume?’

‘Oh!’ There was an audible note of recognition hanging on the word. ‘Oh, of course! Nearly forgot about that sign out there. We hardly ever get tenants, don’t you know. Hold on...’ There was a click as the sliding lock was pushed to the side. A blue mare with a shockingly wavy-pink mane stood in the frame as the door opened. ‘Well Pinkie Pie and the twins are sharing the loft, but there is a guest room on the second floor that I suppose you could … could...’

Mrs. Cake’s voice petered out. She had finally realized that she had been talking to something very un-ponylike: something that she had never seen before in all her years. Her eyes widened in mystified silence as the human entered her home, white snow falling off his shoulders. James was wearing a kindly expression on his face, as though he had already known what her first reaction would be.

‘Good morning, Miss.’

Mrs. Cake appeared quite flabbergasted. ‘Is it?’ she replied, dazed. The creature was two or three inches taller than herself, and it gave the impression that something very big was taking place in the little store.

‘I hope you will excuse me for my appearance. I’m a human, you see,’ he explained. ‘I only say this because I take it you’ve never seen a human before?’

Mrs. Cake shook her head, mouth still slightly agape.

‘I understand. There aren’t many of us left, unfortunately,’ he replied, and for a moment James looked momentarily disheartened. The way his shoulders slouched made Mrs. Cake feel a bit sorry for the boy, which came as a great shock as she had only just met him. It was just...there was a sort of silent desperation emanating from the human. It made her feel for him—not in the way that one feels for a pitiful creature, but rather as one feels for another in need.

‘Normally I would not ask,’ began James, ‘since I seem to be rather an oddity in these parts—’

Mrs. Cake silently agreed. There could be no doubt that this was perhaps the strangest thing that has ever walked through the door. The human continued.

‘But it is very cold outside. And...I have no place to call my own, as it were. Forgive me if I sound rude, but did you mention that you did in fact have a room for rent?’

‘Well, I…’ Mrs. Cake hesitated.

In truth, she had reservations. There was definitely something wrong about this scenario. A very odd and sentient creature—human, she never would have guessed—had arrived on her doorstep in the early hours of the morning and asked for a room. Normally, she would say no. A thousand times no. But...something about the way he was looking at her…the way he held himself…she couldn’t just kick him out, could she?

‘I can pay,’ he offered suddenly.

Mrs. Cake’s expression brightened. Not by much, but enough. They had entered some familiar territory: business.

‘Usually I charge three bits a night,’ she began, still wary, ‘but you seem to be…’ She had noticed his too-small cloak and rather hand-me-down clothing.

‘I’ll give you five.’

Mrs. Cake nearly choked. ‘Five? Dearie, I think you’ve gone and went the wrong way on this. I only asked for three.’

‘I insist. You’ve never had a lodger like me.’ And Mrs. Cake could have sworn he gave a wink. ‘I guarantee it.’

He then knelt down and began fumbling with his violin case. Within moments, he drew out a small bag of coins from its recesses and produced the five bits. James held them out and Mrs. Cake took them feeling a little overwhelmed.

‘My name is James, by the way,’ he said.

‘Mrs….Mrs. Cake.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Cake.’ James looked around expectantly. ‘Err, where did you say the guest room was again?’

‘Second floor. First on…on the left…up the stairs.’

James nodded. He threw the bag of coin back into his case and proceeded up to the next landing. Before he was halfway up, however, he looked back, a smile on his face.

‘Thank you, Mrs. Cake. You don’t know how much this means to me. I’ll try not to be too much of a bother. Again, thank you.’

James disappeared then, leaving a rather mollified Mrs. Cake alone to sort out her thoughts. ‘I must be losing my mind,’ she said aloud. In truth, she never did explicitly say that she had agreed to the deal, but that hardly seemed to matter now. The noisy creak of the guest room door somehow told her that decision had already been made.

‘Oh dear…Pinkie’s going to get a nice surprise in the morning.’