I Am Not Spartacus
by Dan's Comments
Based in the 'Your Human and You' universe by MadMaxtheBlack
This story is NOT canon with Your Human and You

DISCLAIMER: My Little Pony is the property of Hasbro, Inc.

If I'd sprouted a trio of new heads all breathing fire, I doubt I would have the guards, Pink or the Great White as frightened as they seem to be. We are headed back to the palace, but the two princesses keep looking at me worriedly.

"You will speak to no one about this," the Great White tells the guards, and Pink, "Not to each other, not to Cadence, and not even to me."

The guards have no problem, but Pink is near the point of open revolt. "Your Majesty," she grinds out, "Whether we talk about it or not. It happened."

"All right," the Great White says, the admission painful to her, "The gag order holds. There are creatures who can take the form of somepony you love, and they feed off your love for them. They are called Changelings. They exist, although we haven't seen them in centuries. They were quite a problem in the early days of the kingdom, until we developed a spell to strip off their disguise. Percy could be a failed attempt at improving their technique. Send something loveable into the pony lands to collect their food."

While the guards grab hold of this lifeline after their world has been turned upside down and shaken like an etchasketch, Pink's expression is one of not incredulity but offense at having her intelligence and credulity so blatantly insulted. After a moment, she regains her composure and just nods. We walk in silence for a while.

"I guess we'll have to take him to the Institute, to get him tested for any hidden surprises," Pink says. Her fury covered by very good seeming of her usual cheerfulness.

The Great White shies at the idea, and the hidden tone. "Why?"

I'm past worrying about that. I wonder if that incident with the cello was actually a suicide attempt. After the revelation about the Lord - about Captain Armor, if I can go on. After what he did, I should be angry enough to kill him. But, I actually like him, and Pink. I have no desire to harm either of them. Forgiveness is letting go of a wrong. Both have offered recompense in word and deed. Both seem decent enough to be sorry, if not horrified by what their fellow ponies have had a hand in. I guess I've forgiven them.

They've offered me a new life, and I desperately want it. So this is what being 'born again' means. A new person, but you have to die first.

The Great White seems deeply troubled, but she and her guards head off while Pink leads me in another direction. She keeps glancing over her shoulder. At some point when she is satisfied, she drags me into an alley.

"Percy," Pink says. She takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry for what happened. If I had anything to with it, please accept that I didn't mean it. I didn't know. And I know Shining didn't. Humans have always been, there. It's wrong . . . I sound like a patronizing fool. I apologize. I don't know if there's anything I can do to make things better, but I want to try."

I don't know either. Most of the humans are pretty close to the stereotypes that the ponies have. But 'most' isn't all.

"Okay, after what happened, I have to take you to the Institute. They'll just run a few harmless tests, I think, my definition of what's 'harmless' for humans may change a bit in the future," Pink says, "I wish I could be sure about all of this."

You and me both kid, you and me both.
------------------------------

I feel sorry for poor Captain Armor, I really do. It's late, and being summoned to deal with a hysterical researcher either is very frustrating, or seems like his normal family life. Mirrors all around the office let everybody see everybody from myriad angles. I keep imagining ponies behind all those mirrors taking notes.

Pink has her forelegs and wings wrapped around me. She has her chin on my head and if her reflection is accurate, giving a 'death' glare to the head researcher. From how the `science` mare is haranguing Armor, or because of what she did to me, or both, I don't know. All I do know is it's adorable. I really need to give the lady some lessons in fierce.

"Ma'am," Armor begins.

"Doctor!" the mare insists.

Armor rolls his eyes. "What happened?" then Armor shows his teeth, "And wasting the Guard's time, torturing someone else's human, and lying about it are all serious offenses." He never raised his voice, just a change in style of delivery.

It is late, and he was probably worried about Pink, until they dragged him in here.

The `doctor` wilts slightly. "Well, the lady."

I elbow Pink.

"Princess Mi Amore Cadenza," Pink's voice sounds like a whipcrack. She rubs the top of my head when she feels me nod.

Doctor continues, "Princess Mi Amore Cadenza brought her human in for testing." The mare's self-control breaks, "That thing made a complete mockery of all our scientific testing!"

She makes it sound like I murdered someone.

"What did Ursine Persiflage do?" he asks, his tone all ice and business.

Doctor stares at him in disbelief. "The first test is always the maze. A painted floor, the 'boundaries' painted on the floor give mild electric shocks. The human is tested on how quickly they can get to the carton of fruit at the end of the maze."

"And?" Poor Armor is getting, or at least sounding, extremely bored.

"It just walked across the shock walls without pausing and went straight to the food!" Doctor shrieks, on completely losing it.

"Doctor," Armor says. Using the tone I would use to a kindergartner. "He fought in the pits for five years. Do you really believe a little electric shock is going to slow him down? He's had ponies stick spears in him. I'm only surprised he didn't just hop from safe section to safe section."

Doctor is horrified by the possibility. I'm rather horrified I didn't think of that, but if they'd given me another run through I would have done something like that.

"We had to reset the maze with clear force walls," Doctor says, "With the same set up. And after he tested the walls, and found the opening out into the maze, he curled up in the middle of the starting room and went to sleep!"

"The crate of fruit reward, he ate the entire first one, right?" Armor asks.

"Yes. One of our orderlies went out to take it. He clouted them on the horn with a rotten apple, then a dented orange, and, well, let's not talk about the banana," Doctor had started strong, and seemed to be fading as the story went along. "How did you know?"

Poor Armor keeps a stoic expression, but his occasional glances at me and my Pink coat are making that rather difficult.

"I'm in the Guard, ma - Doctor, I've met recruits just like that," he replies.

Pink nearly crushes me as she tries to stifle her laughter.

"Next," Armor says, all business, on the outside.

Muttonchops arrives. "Captain, the fire's out. No one hurt fighting it. Those injured before are getting medical help."

"Thank you Sergeant Milestone," Armor says, "Sergeant, please stay."

'I desperately need someone to not laugh,' I think he wants to say. Muttonchops takes one look at Pink and me, raises an eyebrow, and stands beside the Captain.

"Well, what happened next after he went to sleep?" Armor asks.

"At the, at Princess Mi Amore Cadenza's urging, we moved him to the general study room, since our results were inconclusive," Doctor says.

" 'Inconclusive'?" Pink says, "They were off the charts, even just using their system."

"The extrapolation is that he would have to have pony-level intelligence, when he's clearly a wild animal," Doctor replies.

"Sounds like my nephew," Muttonchops says, and receives a warning glance from Armor.

"Go on," Armor says.

"Well, rather than displace one of the other subjects from one of the test machines, he proceeded to the unoccupied one," Doctor says.

"He should give seminars to ponies," Armor says, "Why is that a problem?"

"It's our hardest one," Doctor explains, "It's left over from a high-difficulty, high-reward experiment we did. None of the others will play it."

It's computerized tic-tac-toe for Christ's sake!

"Well he beat it," Doctor says.

"Several times," Pink adds.

"Yes."

"In a row," Pink adds, pride in her human shining through.

"Well," Doctor whispers, "Yes."

"These are games, sir," Muttonchops explains, "The task is completed, and a token to 'purchase' food is dispensed. Usually, the winner purchases, but there are females." Muttonchops glances at Pink, then amends his delivery, "Who do not play, but make themselves, ahem, available to those who do. They even have a ranking on how many tokens each female demands."

That does it for Pink. She starts laughing and her hug becomes a desperate grip to remain upright as she realizes what the Muttonchops is trying to say.

Armor looks at Doctor. "Pandering is also a serious offense, do you encourage such behavior?"

"They're only humans," Doctor whimpers.

"Well, sir, some of the lab techs . . . shutting up, sir," Muttonchops says.

Armor's been such a good boy, until now. "Doctor," he says, all steel and thunder, "This must not get out!"

Doctor nods worriedly.

"If the humans learn that they could be paid for their sexual encounters, it would deplete the currency reserves of the entire nation." He glares at Doctor. "Celestia must be told."

"I doubt it, sir," Muttonchops says, "After all they'd have to be trained here first, to understand it." I see his reflection wink at Doctor. "I think it best to gather the data and sweep it under the rug. That fire, it might have damaged any records on studying that phenomenon. We should complete our business here with the good doctor, and be on our way." He salutes. "Sah."

Armor returns it.

"Well, it," Doctor says.

"Percy," Muttonchops says.

"Yes, Percy," Doctor says, "He would beat the machine, and rather than get food, would throw the tokens over his shoulder and keep playing."

"Still sounds like my nephew," Muttonchops says.

I think I want to meet his nephew.

"Then he started losing, over and over," Doctor says, "After his early success, it makes no sense."

I just wanted to see how the machine handled having two ways to win.

Armor covers his eyes with a forehoof. "Why is that a problem?" Armor asks.

And I did it too.

"He detonated the machine!" Doctor screeches.

The only winning move is not to play.

"Sound exactly like my nephew," Muttonchops says.

"Technically, it was a deflagration, not a detonation," Armor says.

I never want to meet his brainy, kid sister, if he knows that bit of trivia by heart.

Armor smiles. "I don't think there's any reason to write a citation against the lab for unsafe practices. I'm sure you had all this equipment tested before it went into use."

I bet they didn't. But there'll be an inspector popping by more often.

"I also think that we can say that Percy's problem solving makes his intelligence 'unique'," Armor says, "So, we'll be taking him home."

"But he destroyed thousands, millions of bits of equipment, and the building, disrupted I don't know how many terribly important experiments," Doctor says.

"I think the substandard safety features on your equipment did that," Armor says, "Should my report to her Highness record that, I think Percy would get a medal for seeing no one was hurt. As I understand it, he was the one who dragged the injured to safety, while someone else was panicking."

Doctor has the decency to look ashamed.

"Thank you for your time, doctor. I'm certain you'll be contacted in tomorrow or the next day at the latest," Armor says.

Pink uncurls from me, and we stand. Poor Armor looks mad enough to chew his way to the center of the, whatever this planet is called. Muttonchops is the very model of a British Army Sergeant Major: keeping the squadron/regiment/army nice and sharp and shiny, all ready for use.

"Whatever possessed you to take him in there?" Armor asks.

"I think a better question is where can you get a cello on short notice?" Muttonchops asks.

Pink freezes, and I'm not far behind.

"Whatever would I need a cello for?" Armor asks, "I'm sure I can beat myself unconscious with a frying pan just as easily."

"Little bird told me," Muttonchops says.

"Little bird with big, white wings?" Pink asks, both Muttonchops and Armor turn towards her at her nervous tone.

"Red wings, burned through the sports section of the paper. Why not the classifieds? I never read those." Muttonchops says, and snorts in disgust.

That red bird who visited me? What's that critter doing? And it can write?

"I'll buy you a new paper, if I can have the old one," Armor says, "Although I doubt anyplace is open at this time of night."

Burned in the back of the paper is approximately 'Percy cello quick.' Armor folds that over so it's hidden, and pages through the classifieds. "Here's why," Armor says, then looks at me, "I don't know why Philomena has taken an interest in you, but for what it's worth, someone not four blocks from the palace is selling a genuine Saddlevarius." He looks at Pink giving him puppy eyes. Weaponizing adorableness.

"Don't look at me, lad," Muttonchops says, "My wife's three times her age and she can still do that to me."

"Percy, you're still on my side aren't you?" Armor asks.

On tone alone, I pat him on the head.

"Okay, once more unto the breach," Armor says and the group trots toward our goal.
------------------------------

OH COME ON!

The Great White is sitting there. Wearing a walrus moustache, a derby, and a velvet smoking jacket. And Pink, Armor and Muttonchops are buying it!

"Been in the family for absolutely ages," the Great White said, in a deep but phony baritone, "But we have to part with it."

You have got to be kidding me! I try my level best not to stare. But watching three otherwise intelligent ponies fall for this utterly ridiculous and completely ineffectual deception. I feel like John Adams in 1776, 'Good God!', 'Does anybody see what I see?'

But, there's a time to complain, and there's a time to simply accept that the entire universe except you has gone utterly mad. It was that revelation that made me hate Catch 22. If the universe is mad, but internally consistent, then not adapting to those rules is not noble, or pitiful, it's just stupid.

"You must be wondering why the price is so low," the Great White says, and seems nervous that I seem to know it's her.

Maybe I'm supposed to scream in frustration, just to prove I can talk.

"Well, it's cursed," the Great White says. Although it comes out 'coursed'.

Of course no pony can play it without dying, whereupon Armor and Pink will smile knowingly at each other.

"No pony can play it, without going mad," the Great White says, almost as well as Vincent Price or Christopher Lee would have.

Even I feel my hackles rise at that pronouncement. The ponies all react.

Armor recovers first. "I assure you, none of us will play it."

"Then why d'you want to buy it?" the Great White asks and moves her derby forward on her head.

Why are you trying to queer the deal? Or is this for verisimilitude?

"It'll be part of a clockwork orchestra," Muttonchops says, while Pink and Armor are struggling. "Like those things you see in the opera house linked up with the big organs."

Someone else around here can shovel like a pro.

"Be a shame to let a fine instrument like that just be a museum piece," Muttonchops adds.

The Great White seems to consider deeply. Pink and Armor are all smiles, extremely nervous smiles. Only Muttonchops is calm, or he's a better actor than the Great White. Me, I want to lock myself in a room with a case of wine, a corkscrew, and do the honorable thing.

"Well, when you put it like that," the Great White says, and offers a hoof to shake on the deal.

A bank draft, and a masterful explanation of what a bank draft is from Pink to the one who probably wrote the law authorizing them in the first place. And we walk away with a cello.

"We were so lucky," Pink says, her enthusiasm making her pronk around like a springbuck.

Imagine, a pink pony bouncing up and down like a filly after a double espresso. That much enthusiasm should be annoying, but Pink manages to make it cute. I doubt any other pony could carry that off. Armor and Muttonchops certainly can't.

"Can you tell me what's all this in aid of?" Muttonchops asks. "Why would Celestia's pet even know a cello was for sale, and why would she stampede us into buying one?"

Pink stops and looks to the two stallions. She glances around the street that still has a fair amount of ponies in it, despite the late hour. "I can't tell you."

That tears it for the stallions.

"Cadence," Armor warns.

"Shining, Milestone, I can't tell you. Please, accept that," Pink pleads.

They are about to escalate when I give a sharp whistle. When all three look at me, I point nervously at the sky, and mime some great flying thing swooping down and carrying one of us off.

"Probably thinks there's a griffon with his name on it out there," Muttonchops says, "If he gets agitated, there could be trouble."

"All right," Armor says, "But I want, I deserve an explanation."

You'll get one, I promise. Malevolent laughter is definitely not an option.

"I can't tell you," Pink says. The rest of the walk takes place in silence.

Mentally I'm offering up bets whether the 'old family heirloom' has been tuned and has all the accessories. The other disturbing thought is why the Princess of The Realm is taking such an interest. And why the Captain of the Royal Guard isn't dragging me off at the very least to a secure cell, let alone to a friendly, neighborhood vivisector. It's got to be political, but why?
------------------------------

I was glad Muttonchops continued with us, he deserves an explanation as much as Armor.

Once the door closes, I relieve Armor of the cello case, and he confronts Pink. "Okay, it's just us. What is going on, Cadence?"

Poor Pink is nearly in tears. "I can't tell you. Please, Shining, don't keep asking."

"I can go," Muttonchops offers.

"No, please stay," Pink says, "If you were here or gone I couldn't say."

The damn red bird is on the ledge outside the patio, so be it.

"Can you at least give a hint?" Muttonchops, more experienced in the marital give and take offers.

"I think," Pink says quietly, but grinning.

The strains of My Country, 'Tis of Thee fill the room, although in Equestria, it should be God Save the Queen. It's only a couple of bars, but it silences both stallions.

"And now you can't tell anypony," Pink says.

Armor is just gawping at the impossibility.

"You remember Octavia, the gray, earth pony?" Pink offers.

"The one who'd write a piece of sheet music nopony could ever play, and then have a tantrum when she couldn't play it," Armor says, breaking out of his stupor, "I still have the bruises from the last time I met her."

"Well," Pink says, smiling at the memory, "I can't talk about the rest, but I think you can guess."

Armor is staring at Pink in amazement. "Melody should have been complete crazed that anyone could deal with her daughter." Then he laughs. "He probably taught her how to actually play, didn't he." Armor keeps laughing for a moment, until he realizes he's laughing alone. "You can't talk about it."

Pink nods.

Armor stares at me. "What the heck are you?"

Muttonchops snaps his hoof. How he does that I have no idea. "Kinestic, Ken-aesthetic, Kinansetic."

Pink face hoofs. "Kinesthetic memory!" she says, "Celestia's mercy. One of the handlers in the fighting pits probably wanted a quiet place to practice. And we've all seen how calm and quiet he could be. With the rest of the humans making noise to cover the cellist, Percy must have had hours to watch and learn."

Ah, flimsy justifications and grasping at straws, where would humanity be without you? Same place as the ponies. I don't know if I should laugh or cry. This is as bad as Baghdad Bob, 'We are sweeping the invader from our soil', American tank rolls by in the background.

Pink nearly collapses with relief. "At least we can well, mention this to Princess Celestia. She must be worried about this."

I don't think she's as worried as you think. I note that the red bird, Philomena I'm guessing, is gone. If she's returned to her mistress, then she knows what's happened. I wonder, if Pink is a 'Princess', is the Great White arranging for her to have a 'pet' that is a lot more intelligent, and sneaky that it/he/she seems? I certainly passed my initiation by fighting her as fearlessly as I did. Is the cello the reward, the 'here's a carrot for being such a good stick'? Or is it because a Princess needs something more? Okay, politics. I was a Theatre major, and minored in Physical Education. But I do know a lot of politics is just theatre. So who are you setting me up to play? Falstaff, or Horatio, all the while playing Guildenstern? Or am I to be Machiavelli from the Prince, or Machiavelli as he truly was?
------------------------------

The next few weeks are roughly the same. Morning practice with Pink, and the Great White. And a growing collection of guards who watch the entire procedure. Most of the guards who mention they could take me are invited down into the pit to face the creature who fought to hold off Celestia so Pink and Armor could escape. The Great White usually adds that 'if he doesn't know you're harmless, he'll jump out of a tower window, just so he can land on you.'

A few of the guards do enter the pit to demonstrate their skill with the technique, and endure the tickle torture if they fail. Alarmingly, the mares only outnumber the stallions two-to-one, and most of the ponies don't 'surrender' until well past the point where they'd know they should be beaten. I think if the revolution comes, the Lysistrata technique will work best.

Why this works, I have absolutely no idea, and it is incredibly creepy, that a species as different as ponies are to humans would be so fascinated by physical contact with one. Note: Physical Contact, none of the guards have gotten grabby in an inappropriate fashion. But the idea that roughhousing or a tickle fight with an alien would be such a desirable event is very strange.

After practice are lessons on massage and basic first aid with Parasol, usually working on Pink and one of the four guards who seem to be part of her more or less permanent detail, Left-Front, Right-Front, Left-Rear and Right-Rear. The discussions over tea and cakes is arguably the most salacious thing I have ever heard. Marines after six weeks in-country would have listened to the discussion and either fallen in love, or hightailed it back to the jungle.

Left-Front is the worst. Not because she has the filthiest mouth that's Left-Rear, but because I swear she knows I can understand Equestrian. Even though her advice is aimed at Cadence and Parasol, and it frequently sends both into embarrassed blushes, along with Right-Front. I think Right-Front has never been with a stallion or a human, or a mare for that matter. She's the one who gets the dreamiest expression when the other girls are talking, and she's the one who blushes the most when it's her turn for a massage. Even if Parasol is working the kinks out of her shoulders. At the same time, I think Left-Front is training me for something. While trying to seem like she's training Pink. But if she were just training Pink, why all the info on erogenous zones of pegasi? Sure Pink needs to know that, but she could find out herself on herself?

After being throughly embarrassed, there's lunch, then an hour with Octavia. The cellist had improved, once she'd admitted to herself that no person alive could actually play the music she wrote. At least as written. A piece meant to be played Vivace could only be really played Adagio, which turned a spritely dance into a stately dirge.

The kid was incredibly talented, but she only wrote the music she 'felt', which would have required a decent MIDI system to play it. Magic could have provided an answer, but there was no way to communicate the method of basically 'chipmunking' a performance to the right speed. It at least gave me a thought experiment to occupy most of my otherwise unoccupied time.

Night would come, and then the odd thing. The Great White personally cleaning out a large suite that nobody seemed to be using. Furniture moving in, decorators and painters were eschewed for her doing the job herself. At first I thought it was occupational therapy or a busman's holiday, then I began worrying it was an obsession. And no pony talked about it.
------------------------------

Armor was coming with us to the 'pit' as everyone called it. Pink and he are chatting excitedly. The Great White, seems haunted somehow.

"Your Highness, what are you going as for Nightmare Night?" Armor asks.

The Great White jerks as if she'd stepped on one of Doctor's electric floors. "Oh, I think I won't wear a costume. If it's all the same to you."

"Ah, are you going to be working with Twilight on her 'special project'?" Armor asks.

It's like she suddenly wakes and for an instant can't remember where she is. "Uh, no."

Neither Pink nor Armor says anything. Which is really worrying. Do they fear her reaction if they offer her some help, or is their culture such that 'juniors' can't offer their 'senior' unsolicited help? This is like the story of the Chinese courtiers who stood by while the Imperial heir drown, because it was forbidden to touch him. I feel like the Marines in the class I told that story to. They piped up and said the courtiers must have hated the emperor or the kid, they, the Marines, would have already worked out whose job it was to go in and save the kid, and then they'd take that Marine to the Emperor for punishment. If the emperor had any brains or balls, he'd have done something creative. Say 200 lashes were a death sentence, so the guy's fellow Marines were to lay on 400, as they thought best.

I feel that way now. The Great White clearly wanted me to have that cello. She's kept quiet about what she obviously suspects, and the one time she seems to need help. There's no one there for her. It's like me approaching the assassin a couple months ago. Once you accept you aren't going to live through something, you are willing to fly.

Maybe all those years in the pit-fighting circuit made me suicidal. Or maybe they just made me crazy.

When we arrive at the pit, I pair Armor up with Pink, and waggle my eyebrows at her. Her giggles are positively malevolent as she grins at the Captain of the Royal Guard. Armor looks at me as if I'd betrayed his life, his trust and his family.

The Great White watches the pair wistfully, ignoring me as I approach. Her first reaction is when I put my arms around her neck. Her little gasp is hidden among the gasps of the guards.

I tap her leg, and then my stomach, then put both arms around her neck again. I hear her little chuckle, then her leg touches my stomach. If she'd been wearing her usual hoof covers, she'd have gutted me, but without them, it's soft fur gently rubbed against my skin. She performs the 'exercise' until she feels a need to break the hug.

"Thank you," she says so quietly even I barely hear.

It hits me, that I suddenly recognize the Great White. She's like a kindergarten teacher I was dating, and affianced to, before I came here. Surrounded every day by smaller people who adored her for her beauty, intelligence, and sense of justice and fair play. But was also desperate for someone, anyone, who was an adult and was willing to share her interest in damn near everything, and who was willing to hold/be held and cuddle her as she wanted to with her charges.

I wonder if all these ponies, most if not all would gladly lay down their lives for the Great White would they play with her? Can I trick them into it?

I take pity on Armor, as Pink has beaten him in sparring using the new art. Not fair, but I'll let those two work it out. There's a block of chalk for marking. I walk over and rub it on my hand. Then I point to Muttonchops, Left-Front, Right-Rear, Left-Rear and Right-Front.

"Come on lasses, you've all had some training," Muttonchops says as he leaves his armor behind.

Bless you sir, you've seen it. The Great White and Armor are getting more and more nervous as I poke Muttonchops with a chalk-covered hand. He grimaces a bit, and lets out a chuckle. When I try again, he uses the side 'kick' to fend me off.

"Okay, a free-for-all," Muttonchops announces, "Inchworm, keep a running tally of how many touches land. A touch is scored against the receiver," he says, "Now lassies, I know you'll be tempted to test your protectee, but everyone is fair game. And everyone should be tested."

It takes the Great White about two seconds to realized what the sergeant has so innocently suggested. She gets a determined look on her face, a 'war face' but she had a grin for about a half-second.

"For the Princess!" Left-Front shouts. Armor launches at Pink, but everyone else charges the Great White. For a good ten-minutes, it's a free-for-all tickle fight. The Great White 'cheats' by using her mane, tail, wings as well as her legs. After the chasing around, she picks me up for a hug and another quiet, but heartfelt thank you. The fact that she's got all seven other ponies immobilized doesn't hurt to disguise that this is training, bizarre, but training.
------------------------------

Walking back to Pink's suite has all of the ponies laughing, giggling even. And I get a friendly nuzzle from all of them.

Even Muttonchops. "Well-played lad," he says, his voice thick with emotion.

It's clear that while they all know and respect her Highness, they also see her loneliness. They just didn't see a way to encompass both. I doubt I can play that card again, but I should be able to think of something.

The Great White had excused herself after the training, and we had let her go.

In the suite, Armor breaks the ice. "Did we just do what I think we did?"

"We were completely and utterly defeated in a training exercise against her Highness," Muttonchops says, "Proof she's a fast learner."

Armor stares at the old sergeant, as if trying to understand if he's being mocked of not. He finally realizes everybody knows exactly what just happened, including the human, but they have a simple explanation. He drops the subject and pulls out a chess set and waves me over. It's one of those for kids, with the allowable moves printed on the pieces, which are wooden disks roughly the size of a stack of four Kennedy half-dollars. I check the back, and see that they are bare wood, blonde wood for white, a deep mahogany for black.

It seems that his near-legendary sister is not the only member of the family who is obsessive about details. The 'castles' are our pawns and move exactly the same way. The rooks are called Earth Ponies, the knights Pegasi, bishops Unicorns, and the king and queen are called Princesses, and there's no difference between the pair. He shows me how the pieces move, in the exact same order: castle, Earth Pony, Pegasus, Unicorn, Princess, three times. The 'misinterpretation' is staggeringly easy to make, and I intend to.

The first move is to flip over all the pieces so I can't see what they are. He stares at me for a moment, before turning them right-side up. I turn over all mine and start on his, as fast as I can. At this point Pink and the others are drifting over.

Armor turns all of them over and when I reach for them, he says, "Percy, no."

I put my hands in my lap and wait. He moves one of his 'rook's pawns' and I just stare at the board.

He sighs. "You can move now Percy." And gestures at the board.

I move my own rook's pawn and flip it over at the end of my turn. There are giggles from the others.

"Just let him go," Pink tells him, "With real pieces, it won't matter."

He moves the 'rook', and so do I, turning the pawn face up as my last move. Armor rolls his eyes at that, he moves his knight. I move mine. He castles, using the bishop and the princess. It's a subtle difference, but I can handle that. I move my 'pawn' like a bishop to take his 'knight'.

He squawks immediately and resets the board. He shows me the allowed moves again, in the exact same order, twice. He makes his move, the queen's pawn. Mine is again the rook's pawn. He moves his 'queen' straight out, a rook like maneuver. I move my other rook's pawn. He moves out a knight. I jump my 'queen' out of position like a knight.

His squawk is more pronounced, and not helped by the laughter of the others.

He resets the board.

"Why don't you play it like he wants to, see how it works?" Pink says, giggling into her hoof.

Grumbling, Armor does that, and doesn't do too well, until I turn over all of his pieces. His are lighter colored than mine, so we can tell whose is whose. Without the cues to how the piece is supposed to move, he's soon trouncing me. With absolutely no help from me. Chess is another thing I don't have to fake being terrible at. But the chatter from the other ponies shows my invention is proving popular.

"I'm sorry, but Percy has to attempt to a few other lessons," Pink says, stifling giggles, "Besides pointing out you're your sister's brother."

"What?" Armor asks Pink.

"You showed him the exact same pattern over and over. And you wonder why he picked up that the order of the moves was the important thing?" Pink asks.

Armor frowns at that, but resets the board, he and Muttonchops set down to play a game of 'Percy Chess', as Muttonchops has started calling it.

The mares take me into the room where Parasol usually works. Parasol is the nervous recipient of all I've been taught these last few weeks. I soon have an absolute puddle in a mare's skin. And I notice the pegasi guards' wings are at full extension, and that all of them are looking at me like week-starved dogs at an all-you-can-eat steak buffet.

Left-Front speaks first, her voice catching slightly, "So, you think it'll work?"

Pink sighs. "It better. I can't think of what else to do."

The light, but vaguely worried banter is more worrisome than if all that were directed at me, instead of me being the package to whatever hopes they have collected.
------------------------------

The day of Nightmare Night, the Great White doesn't attend practice. Considering she was up all night puttering around in the suite, I have no doubts she's either still there, or sleeping through the day. The others are all discussing parties and costumes, what candy they'll give out, and who is going to look after whose foals as they go out.

Reminds me of trick or treat, I wonder if it's a ritual to scare off the ghosts, like Samhein, or to propitiate them, like Day of the Dead.

When I gesture about the Great White-sized hole in the practice patterns, I'm instantly surrounded by smiles, but no answers or inter-pony discussions. All of them seem anxious about the Great White's behavior, but none care to act on it.

Or they've been training Percy to act on it, I realize. So be it. But unless they fit me up with a costume, then getting close to the Great White is going to be extremely difficult. And what they've been teaching me is not exactly the kind of thing a human could get away with in the middle of a crowded room full of upperclass snobs.

Although the idea of 'Percy' being some magic-user's costume and freaking out those same snobs as a talking human has considerable appeal. I even know who I could claim to be. The light that often burns on into the night in another tower across the palace complex indicates someone else is likely eschewing the holiday.

I discard the thought, because I have precisely zero illusions about how that particular ruse would work out when it was discovered. And I don't want to hurt the people I've grown to care about. Now if I had some other person I could claim to be, that might work. That piecework statue they have out in the gardens would be a good choice.

The occasional flicker of light from the suite that seems to have become the kernel of the Great White's neurosis is what draws my attention. And I realize that the other mares have been prepping me for one simple reason. I am the only entity in this whole fricken country who isn't one of the Great White's subjects, or intimidated into subservience by her. I'm roughly equally subservient to all ponies: I don't treat Octavia any different from I treat the Great White. Second, I have a history of laying hands on her if I think she will benefit. Propriety and status might adjust when I do what I do, but I can do in private what needs to be done, and I think all of Pink's circle understand the Great White desperately needs a hug, or several.

I quickly took a bath, there being no one who could spy on me doing it properly. Made myself presentable, and headed out to beard the Great White in her substitute lair. I think I would rather be swimming with a real great white.