Sleep did not come easily with Applejack’s body on ice just a room away, and Twilight spent most of her night thinking and rethinking her sigil’s design. She knew that sleep was more important, but it did not come until the first suggestions of dawn broke through her window.

She woke up at seven in the morning, and everyone else was up within the half hour. Octavia appeared shortly after from wandering the city all night. Her eyes were bloodshot and apathetic with charcoal rings beneath, and her mane looked to have not been combed in days. She did not say where she had gone, or what she had done, and no one asked.

Rarity and Fluttershy brought breakfast to the room while Twilight prepared the spell. Rainbow and Pinkie helped her move the beds to the side of the room, leaving her a wide, empty section of carpet. Placing their complimentary coffee maker on its side, she examined the room’s dimensions, then began drawing the first sigil. She had to check her reference book constantly, and frequently erased sections with mounting frustration.

“You said something last night about needing us to continually cast spells,” Rarity said. “What did you mean?”

“I’m going to need two ponies to stay here all day long and keep their magic on a slow, but consistent, level of activity. It’ll keep the main sigil active and, well, visible, I guess, in the spirit world,” Twilight said. “Don’t worry. I’ll put in satellite sigils to help you regulate your magic. It won’t be difficult for you.”

“Who do you need for it?”

“You and Fluttershy will be fine, if that’s okay.”

“Fine with me, darling.”

“Twilight, question!” Whooves said, hopping back onto the displaced bed. “Say this works, and our good friend is able to take possession of that little coffee maker. How are we to know she’s within, and how do we convey her from coffee maker to body?”

“Once this sigil’s complete, I’m going to enchant the coffee maker so it activates if a spirit enters it,” Twilight said.

“Is that to suggest that Applejack’s return is to be heralded by—”

“It’s not going to make coffee, doctor,” Rarity said. “Most likely, its little light will come on, and that’s it.”

“Exactly,” Twilight said. “As for getting her back to her body, well, that’s up to her at the end of the day. Physical distance doesn’t mean much to a spirit, so having her body nearby won’t be any better than having it on the other side of the city, except that we’ll know where it is. I’m still trying to work out a way to communicate with her, once we get her. How’s she doing, by the way?”

“Still… whole,” Whooves said. “I believe Vinyl is taking on the unenviable task of replacing her ice. I might suggest we get her out soon, though. After all, what good is a body to go back into if it’s hypothermic?”

“Um, that’s what I’m for,” Fluttershy said. “At least, I’ve been assuming so. Once she gets back, I can heal any, um, decomposition.”

“Hmm, perhaps the title of ‘unenviable task’ was given a touch hastily. Miss Fluttershy, that is hardly an ideal situation!”

“You wanna shut up?” Rainbow said, looking through one of Twilight’s books. “Like, for once in your freaking life?”

“Pay him no mind,” Octavia said slowly. “Twilight, is there anything for me to do?”

“If you’re not too tired,” Twilight wanted to start, but held it back. “We need an airship, Octavia. I know we’re stuck here for now, but I intend to get out and moving as quickly as possible.”

“Moving where?” Vinyl asked, exiting the bathroom. At Twilight’s cocked ear, she repeated herself.

“I’m not really sure. Part of me wants to go back to Applewood and see if we can fix what we left behind, but part of me wants to forget it and focus on the last three Elements. Uh, incidentally, Fluttershy?”

Fluttershy shook her head.

“We’re running out of places to search,” Rainbow said.

“We’re running out of cities,” Fluttershy said. “They’re probably in the wilderness.”

“If I am not needed, I will go about finding us an airship now,” Octavia said. “Where is the treasury note?”

“On the nightstand,” Twilight said. “Oh, uh, the other room. Sorry.”

“You just left it there?”

Twilight looked at her, and Octavia shrugged before leaving.

It was September, and cold in the southern half of Equestria, and it was not good to be out again. Octavia carried the note and a water bottle in her saddlebags, otherwise empty, through the streets of Roan with no clear destination and a headache that had persisted from the day before. The city was dead and silent for her nighttime wandering, but, as it woke up, more and more ponies recognized her, though she had only performed there twice. In Applewood, it had been easier; the ponies there were accustomed to being impressed, and the sight of a celebrity did not often incite more than an excited falter in one’s hoofsteps.

She turned down a slender path to a park in a small depression in the ground, where there were fewer ponies. Frost still clung to the leaves and vines that twined around a fragrant pergola, and she sat on a cold, concrete bench to rest. Even the exertion of walking from the hotel, after making herself pass out trying to stop the Applewood dam and then keeping herself up the night after, was enough to set her head to throbbing and her muscles to burning. Her head drooped, and though the cold bit, she didn’t shiver.

Hoofsteps squished on dewy grass, and she looked up. A light gray mare, only a shade lighter than herself, smiled calmly.

“No autographs, no photos,” Octavia said. “I am in no mood.”

“I’m not here for that, Octavia.”

Octavia closed her eyes. “You know my name, but are not bothering me for any of the usual reasons.”

“Is it really a bother to meet a fan?” the pony asked innocently.

“Right now it is. So, if you would please—”

“I assume you’re in town with the other Elements of Harmony? With Twilight Sparkle?”

Octavia looked at the mare, putting all of the scorn she could muster into her exhausted, burning eyes. “What do you want?”

“I work for Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, and it’s vital I speak to Twilight Sparkle. There is something of hers here, something important.”

Octavia thought, her mood immediately changed. “Twilight Sparkle is presently staying at… I do not recall the hotel’s name. It does not matter; I know the way. If you give it to me, I can deliver it to her.”

The pony frowned. “Give? I’m, uh, afraid it’s not something that can be delivered, exactly.”

“Okay,” Octavia said slowly. “What is it, then? I assumed you were speaking of the Element of Magic.”

“No, I’m afraid not. Octavia, it really is important that Twilight sees it. She must come with me.”

“Twilight cannot go anywhere today.” Her mood was back to its original state, and she got up to better face her interlocutor, who was half a head taller. “She is in the middle of overseeing some very important magic.”

The pony looked around. “The town has recovered already, so I assume you are referring to something else.”

“Take me to the thing you need her to see. She and I are close; I can relay the information to her.”

The pony considered for a minute, but acquiesced. Octavia followed the stranger out of the park, down wide streets into a section of town unfamiliar to her, eventually down a sloping road to a slanting well in the desert. Large, lit spheres decorated the ceiling as they descended into the earth, showing tiled walls and black macadam.

“Have you been underground before?”

“Not in this city,” Octavia said.

The stranger nodded and smiled, her eyes small and clever in the thin light. She took Octavia to a wide building, its top flush to the cavern’s ceiling like a speleothem that had at last reached the floor and so widened until ponies could carve away its middle, leaving sweeping archways as ingress points to brown emptiness. A shaft of light bisected the building, a soft cone in the vault beneath the desert.

“What is this?” Octavia asked.

The stranger did not answer, but led her to the building, then down a narrow staircase carved into cool, gray stone. Lights blinked on as they descended, and Octavia thought she could hear voices through the walls, but did not say anything.

“I’m told you and your friends have encountered ponies of my kind before,” the mare said. “Manehattan, Cloudsdale, and Trottingham being the most notable examples. Rarity and Fluttershy made friends with an associate of mine in Passage Town, outside Manehattan.”

Octavia did not acknowledge the comment, though a memory surfaced: Rainbow, speaking excitedly about “secret agent ponies.”

They emerged in a stone room, undecorated and lit with both overhead lights and sigils on the walls. Other ponies nodded greetings, and the pair waited outside an unmarked door for several minutes before a pony in an abutting booth decided they could enter, his eyes fixed on Octavia as he spoke to someone unseen. At the end of a short corridor, Octavia could hear straining, abused chains and a metallic sound that reminded her of the dam.

“That’s where I remember you from!” the pony said suddenly. A hulking, dull metal shape emerged in the light. “You were the other pony who found this. It was you and Twilight. Octavia, does this look familiar?”

Octavia sat down and ran her eyes over the airship-sized, dark gray lozenge that struggled against its bindings. Six large, blunt wings tried to beat, held back by knots of chains, one at each wing’s base and one ground in and out of its eyehole by the tips. Blind spotlights hung in a row across its top, counterparts to the frosted windows streaked down its sides.

“You bumped into this in the mountains. Remember?”

“I remember,” Octavia said. The night she and Twilight had walked alone, they had found it and gone aboard, inadvertently waking it. With no other ideas, Twilight had shoved it from its perch, and that had been the last either of them had thought about it.

“They’re called angels, and they’re all but gone nowadays. The Astra family has one, their crow. I know you’re familiar with that one.”

“More than I would like to be.”

“Necromancer relics,” the pony said calmly. “Part of our job is to decommission them when we find them, which is not often. However, this one is special.”

“You said that it belongs to Twilight?”

“In a way. More accurately, I’d say it’s under her command—not that I think she’s aware of that fact.”

Octavia looked at the angel again, her sleeplessness sapping any interest she might have in the mighty machine. “How is it that she commands this?”

“She woke it up,” the pony said, smirking. “Simple as that.”

“That was an accident.”

“Angels aren’t made to recognize if something is or is not an accident. There is a panel inside, which Twilight’s magic touched at some point, and that put the angel in her control.”

Octavia rubbed her eyes and sighed. “This is very interesting, and I am certain that she will want to see it, but today is still not a good day. It might be a while before there are any good days.”

“Why?”

“Our business is our own, stranger. I would appreciate it if you showed me the way out now.”

The pony took another look at the angel before smiling and beckoning Octavia to follow her.

When they were outside the building, an idea struck Octavia, and she turned to her quiet companion. “Can the angel be used for travel in the same way an airship can?”

“That’s how they were often used back in the day.” She looked at Octavia with near sympathy. “It’s illegal now. Here.” She produced a business card. “If Twilight Sparkle does have a good day, have her call this number, and we can arrange for her to reunite with her… property.”

Octavia took the card without a word.

Princess Celestia was out of the country, and the palace was left to Princess Luna alone. She was in one of many Private Chambers, accessible for the princesses and some of their closest acolytes only—a soundproof place for Datura meetings.

Fancy Pants and his wife, Fleur dis Lee, had reported to her on their dealings with the Canterlot Datura, both the reliable, useful members under Fleur’s control, and the rejected members that it was Fancy Pants’ job to keep out of greater trouble.

“Tell me about how Ponyville is coming along,” Luna said, glancing at the clock. “You’ve been in contact with the leader there?”

“I have,” Fleur said. “Most everything is on schedule. The caravan is well underway, but there’s still several vehicles that aren’t ready.”

“Which ones do they still need to complete?”

“The floating battering ram needs work, both articulated sweepers, and the double wheel. Foxglove said the floating battering ram is being especially difficult. I guess their mage down there is having a hard time making the enchantments work properly.”

“Have Foxglove put them in touch with Ink Pearl,” Luna said.

“She’s already overseeing the placement of our talking posts,” Fleur said. “Do you want me to pull her off that, or…”

“No, let her keep doing that. Sorry, I thought she was done already.”

“She can be in around a week.”

“No, don’t bother her. Um, try Misty Dawn.”

“I didn’t know she was back from Cloudsdale.”

“She’s been back for a couple days now. Try her.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Luna nodded, and the pair took their leave with some parting remarks. She had worked with them for close to a century, sometimes together, sometimes separately. As with many high-level Datura, the princess had forgotten the bodies and names they had been born with, and she imagined they had forgotten as well.

Canterlot was preparing to meet Discord head-on, with a group of trained Daturas to appear in pre-selected spots on the battlefield and sow whatever destruction they could, a group of Fancy Pants’ rejects appearing first to draw attention. Luna did not particularly like the plan, but had to admit it was an admirable way to throw off the invading army and remove problem Daturas at the same time. She was happy she was not the one to concoct the plan originally; such disregard for life was not a thought she wanted crossing her mind.

Meanwhile, in Ponyville, the largest concentration of Datura in the north half of the country labored to create a caravan of war machines, magical vehicles to surprise Discord from behind and unseat any of his own siege engines. It was risky, concentrating her ponies in such a number just outside Canterlot, but she did not see a better option. Ponyville would be useless on its own, its meager Datura selection only a fraction better in a battle scenario than the useless Daturas she was preparing to throw to Discord.

Luna waited a minute before exiting her chamber. She had half an hour before having to appear in the throne room for Night Court, and went to her bedroom for a change of regalia—she was in a more somber mood than her light pink robe suggested. She looked in the direction of her office, right off the bedroom, where she could write letters, make calls, and plot the course of the heavens. Inside, her voicemail machine blinked red.

Only a small group of ponies in the country had the number to her personal phone, a device she herself used infrequently. She slid new clothes on and listened to the message, expecting Celestia or the Datura Information Handler. It was neither, and when the message was over, she did not immediately react, but then listened a second time.

Nearly rushing to the throne room, she found one of her custodians and instructed him to hold Night Court as best he could in her absence. Something had come up, she said, and she needed to be in Hoofington as quickly as possible.

Princess Luna teleported directly from that spot to another of her private areas, a small tower that housed her personal airship, the HMS Quasar. She had built it herself for the purposes of speed and quiet, using it mostly for Datura business, but occasionally to tour the country without magic. She considered teleporting herself to Hoofington, something she could do without much trouble, but knew she would not want to attempt a second long-distance teleportation when she had reclaimed Applejack’s spirit. The Astras had no way to know how damaged it was already, and could only tell her that it had somehow invaded their angel.

On the deck, alone, she cast a quick spell to rouse the HMS Quasar, then another to make it invisible. She turned her ship to the northeast, and its two lightweight, magical turbines shot her into the darkness at two hundred-fifty miles per hour.

It was close to eight in the morning the following day when Luna landed far outside the Hoofington city limits. In that time, she had contacted Celestia, who used her remote-viewing spell to ascertain that the Elements were close to five days away in her ship. Leaving it cloaked, Luna flew the remaining distance to the Astras’ fort, outside which their black, metal crow leaned against a singed tree. The Astra patriarch was there to meet her.

“Your highness,” he said, bowing. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

Luna walked past him with a nod and reached her mind out to the crow. Its own consciousness, a construct of pure magic, scattered at her probing to reveal the aberrant soul within. Applejack’s spirit had found its way inside, exactly as the Astras had said. Luna could feel the crow’s false soul, small and predatory, pushed aside.

“How did this happen?” Papa Astra asked.

“I cannot say.” She turned back to him. “This body will serve her for several hours still, but I must return her to the Elements of Harmony as soon as possible.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I know what must be done. Stay here and tend to your angel, and keep the rest of your family away. What I will do, it is not for your eyes.”

Papa Astra smiled back insubstantially, and Luna teleported to her ship first, where she scratched out a hasty letter to Twilight, then flew in the direction of town. Her first stop was at an airship dealership, where she, using the fullness of her royal privilege more than she liked to, secured a new ship in the space of half an hour. For the Elements’ quest, the Canterlot treasury had spent the most on new airships.

When the transaction was complete, and the scraping, bowing salespony had finally left her alone, she tucked the ship into her pocket space, where earlier she had carried an entire library, and went in search of a Datura team leader.

By ten that morning, the entirety of the Hoofington Datura had gathered in an underground meeting vault beneath one of their houses, only a few miles from Lumb’s museum. There, Luna conducted a swift, uncomfortable questionnaire before selecting an old mare, a Datura of forty years, to accompany her back to the Astras.

When they returned, she said nothing of the taciturn mare, only sent Papa Astra inside and told him that she had the situation under control. He gave her a final worried look, but did not question her.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Luna asked the Datura. She didn’t know her name, and didn’t want to.

“I’m ready, your highness. I’ve been brought back three times before.”

Luna nodded. The mare was speaking of returning from death, which was different from what the night princess had planned for her. She momentarily considered telling the mare that she was going to do something much worse, but didn’t. Not knowing was happier, she felt.

She directed the mare to close her eyes, then lit her horn and reached her magic into the Datura’s mind. Like sliding through water, she penetrated layers of thought as gently as she could, crossing countless fathoms of secrets, desires, regrets, and dreams, until finally finding the ice hard core of magic and personality that ponies commonly called the soul.

A topic she had written about extensively and researched prolifically, the soul was neither living nor inert, neither completely magical nor completely metaphysical. It could be made to exist in the real world, she had determined, and could even be touched. She had done it once. She, and Celestia, and no one else in the world.

The Datura’s soul was the anchor by which her entire being was allowed to stay inside her body, inherent to the flesh, but also coherent enough to survive outside, if removed properly. Where death allowed it to escape, as though through the destruction of a prison, removing the soul from a living body required finesse, intelligence, and—if she wanted the soul to be unharmed—a willing participant.

Half an hour passed while Luna let her magic feel along the pony’s soul, learning its shape, its tendencies. No one soul was the same, except at its most basic composition, and removing one was a different process each time. She could feel fear welling up several layers above the soul, in the pony’s subconscious. It was natural; she was wondering why Luna had not simply taken her life.

Luna’s magic was gentle, insubstantial, like a veil of smoke. To caress a soul, it had to be; anything more overt could mar it, ruining its host’s mind beyond repair. That had happened as well, one of thousands of regrets the princess held close to her heart.

She said nothing, thought nothing to steel herself. She needed all her concentration for the procedure, which took less than a second, and, she knew, the pony would remember as a sense of utter, incorporeal desolation, for which she would be unable to find a cause. There was no physical sensation associated with the removal of a soul, and no way for the pony to know it was happening unless told prior. Luna did not know whether the mare would eventually figure out what had actually happened.

Unadulterated, her soul took no form at the end of Luna’s horn, and she released it into the spirit world. In Equestria’s spirit plane, there was too little magical energy to sustain a released soul for long, but in Tartarus, there was. Luna was suddenly thankful for the pinhole gateway in Octavia’s mansion.

The pony fell to the ground, her life perfectly washed away, and Luna stared at her. She had performed thousands of exorcisms in her time, but only removed a few souls from their natural hosts. She forced herself to look into the nameless mare’s dead eyes for a full five minutes before approaching the crow and performing a much simpler spell to coax Applejack out of it and into the waiting body. Applejack’s separation had been more natural, a product of circumstances directed elsewhere, and so did not require the same level of care to free. Her soul, her spirit, released into the dam, had undergone no damage, for it was Applejack’s actions alone that made it so. She needed not have Luna’s expertise to handle her own spirit. It was she.

The pony woke up and looked around, and Luna put on a smile. “Welcome back,” she said.

“Yeah.” The pony that was Applejack rose shakily. “What happened?”

Twilight hardly slept, and Rarity and Fluttershy not at all. They sat, tethered to Twilight’s sigils, their magic at a slow burn that had them both staring at the TV with glazed eyes and drooping mouths into the small hours, while Twilight tossed and turned on one of the beds. Nothing happened, and Rainbow and Vinyl were the only others to keep them company in the room’s bleary, magical light, a vigil of the sleepless and sleeping.

Luna’s letter came in the early morning, starting Twilight awake and thundering to the other room. The message was a terse few lines: “Applejack’s fine, I’ll have her back in five days’ time. Getting you another airship too. Luna.”

At first, they all looked at one another blankly, the sigils smoldering in the cheap hotel carpet. Pinkie laughed, then Rarity, then Rainbow, then everyone. Big Mac cried as he laughed, and his huge, barrel chest heaving up and down with emotion made Twilight cry too. In a singular, joyous moment, Rarity ripped the coffee machine from its spot in the sigil’s center and splattered its pieces against the far wall.

They jumped up and down, bellowed a greater cheer in response to the knocking on the wall, and spilled out into the dining area. Heads turned and newspapers lowered, and Rainbow shot outside, a war cry at the top of her lungs.

Breakfast sobered them. On Rainbow’s return, coated in a fine sweat despite the cool morning air, Twilight had discovered a problem.

“She said five days. That’s five days we need to keep the…” Her eyes moved across the other diners. “Vessel intact, or at least whole enough to be healed when it’s occupied again.”

“Ice won’t cut it,” Vinyl said. “She’s still…”

“Yes, five days will not be enough,” Rarity said. “I suppose I do have an idea, though.”

“Embalming,” Fluttershy said in a low voice. “I can’t see any other way.”

“I have to agree,” Twilight said.

“Question,” Whooves said. “Is it possible to, you know, bring someone back from that?”

“We should continue this discussion elsewhere,” Octavia said. “I would suggest back up in the room.”

They finished their breakfasts and retired to their room, where Twilight’s sigils still stained the carpet, and Luna’s letter sat innocently on the nightstand.

“So, embalming,” Twilight said. “I need to read up on the subject, and so should you, Fluttershy, because the doctor is right. Bringing her back from that will be difficult.”

“My understanding is that the organs need to be removed,” Octavia said.

“I hope not,” Fluttershy said. “Because, um, if so, I wouldn’t be able to heal her. At least, not without help.”

“We’ll have Princess Luna right there,” Big Mac said. “Can’t she do it?”

“I’m not sure how far her power can go for something like that,” Twilight said. “I can write her a letter real quick.”

“Yes, do so,” Rarity said. “Though I’d rather not take any risks, as far as healing goes.”

“Keep this in mind as well,” Whooves said. “If that body is in poor enough shape when Luna returns with her spirit, she might die as soon as she goes back in anyway. Then it’s square one, and one unhappy goddess.”

“I thought you said once that Luna can traverse the spirit plane,” Octavia said to Twilight. “What would stop her from immediately finding Applejack and pulling her back?”

“It’s not that simple,” Twilight said. “At least, I don’t see how it possibly could be.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rainbow said. “It sounds like we can’t do anything until we know more about this embalming process. Fluttershy, you sure you don’t know anything about it? You’ve had animals die on you back home.”

“I never preserved them,” Fluttershy said. “That’s grotesque.”

“Doc? You’re a doctor, after all.”

“Non-medical, my dear,” Whooves said, nodding. “I’m afraid as it comes to the process of preparing the dearly departed for that eternal sleep, I’m as blind as, well, the proposed subjects of such a grisly endeavor.”

“You do get on,” Rarity said absently. “Yes, Twilight, read up on it anyway. Hopefully, Luna can restore her from something like that.”

“I’m just thinking of how to word the letter,” Twilight said, taking out her writing materials.

“In the meantime, I’ll help Vinyl replace her ice.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s for the best,” Twilight said, moving toward the bathroom.

“Might not want to go in there,” Vinyl said. “It’s not pretty.”

Twilight stopped outside the door.

“Seeing her won’t make you feel better.”

“Right.” She went to her bed and pulled out her books, beginning the letter on a cover, and Vinyl and Rarity left together.

Rarity made to turn at an ice machine, but Vinyl flashed her horn and kept walking. “I know Twilight doesn’t care if we arouse suspicion, but I do. If anyone sees what we have in that tub, we’re properly screwed.”

“Fair point,” Rarity said. “Where do we go?”

“First time I’ve gone into this part of town.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure we can find a place that sells ice somewhere.”

They exited into the crisp, September morning. Sunlight exploded softly off smooth stone edges or pooled in puddles from a small shower the night before. Carts leaned to one side or another at the street’s edge, as powerfully tranquil as Applewood’s streets had been crowded, quiet and wide between thick bars of buildings, none shorter than two stories. Flowers stood to attention under slender trees in concrete medians.

Rarity took the lead across a cobblestone roundabout, pausing in the middle to get her bearings. Roan seemed to span in all directions equally from her pivot point, the flinty pieces of stone and dew-speckled flowers the only indicators of her cardinal direction.

“You said you’ve never been here?” she asked Vinyl. “I thought you were supposed to get around a lot.”

“This part of town, I said,” Vinyl said. “I’ve seen downtown.”

Rarity looked at her for a second before recognition dawned on her face, and she resumed scanning the streets for what she wanted.

“There’s a general store.” Vinyl trotted out of the circle, and Rarity followed, finding herself watching Vinyl’s fur in the early sunlight and comparing its tone to her own. Vinyl’s was the merest cream color, buttermilk to Rarity’s snow.

They purchased twenty bags of ice and a wheelbarrow to carry it in a quiet, single-room store. A trio of ponies sat on stools around the counter, their conversation halting as soon as Rarity and Vinyl entered, leaving only the hum of an electric fan and the bristle and crinkle of tinsel tied to flutter before its wind. Rarity hardly noticed the strange looks they received, but Vinyl visibly withered under the naked curiosity, and Rarity held back a giggle until they were outside.

“What?” Vinyl asked.

“I’m sorry. Perhaps this isn’t the best time to ask this, but how are you adjusting to our little group so far?”

“You’re right, it isn’t a good time.” Vinyl’s horn glowed pale red.

“I’m sorry. I have no right to make fun at a time like this. I’ve seen the same things you have.”

“Not more?”

“I’m sorry?”

Vinyl’s voice audibly strained, and Rarity still leaned in. “Not more?”

“Oh, well, sure, plenty more. But nothing like this.”

“Nothing as grisly, I assume.”

“Not even close.” They passed the roundabout again. “The worst would be the night it all started, I think. We were in the thick of things then.”

“I can’t imagine.”

They walked side-by-side, quiet on the drowsing street, their wheelbarrow squeaking behind. A stately, pillared edifice caught Rarity’s eye a few buildings down from their hotel, a copper border decorating its colonnade and snaking down the farthest columns to weave into the single stair up, forming alluvial veins in the marble. Rarity pointed it out and asked about it, and they walked over.

“Just a bank,” Rarity said, looking disappointedly at the sign.

“Not ‘just a bank’,” Vinyl said. She framed the smaller, chiseled letters under the bank’s name: MANSEL. “Recognize the name?”

“I can’t say as I do.”

“The Mansels are one of the oldest bloodlines in Equestria, and they live right here, in Roan. Underground, in the non-tourist part of the city.”

“Underground?”

“I don’t know why it’s like that.”

“And they’re bankers?”

Vinyl turned away from the structure. “Banking got them their fortunes in the old days. It’s different now, so I’m told.”

“What do you mean?”

They entered the hotel lobby and endured more looks of bemusement from the concierge and bellhops. In the elevator, Vinyl continued. “Don’t know any of them myself, and I don’t want to. Powerful ponies, lots and lots of connections. Most ponies think they’re tied to organized crime here and elsewhere.”

“Old-timey gangsters?” Rarity said. “You said you were told this. Do you believe it?”

“I don’t think about it. I’d like to think they’re all wholesome ponies, but that’s a lot of wealth to get naturally.”

Rarity held the door while Vinyl brought in the ice, spared Twilight a nod that she ignored, and entered the bathroom, grabbing a face mask and strapping it to her muzzle. “How do we want to do this?”

Vinyl looked at her.

“I don’t know anything about preserving a body, Vinyl.”

“Think I do?”

Rarity sighed and faced the tub. “I guess let’s start by draining the water. Water makes it decompose faster, I believe, so we should do that.”

“Who wants to dry her off?”

Rarity saw Vinyl’s reflection in the mirror in the corner of her eyes, her face blank, but slightly downturned. “I can do it magically.”

“Okay. I’ll break up the ice.”

“Please.”

Vinyl pulled the first bag off its pile and kicked at it, and Rarity drew back the shower curtain. She had not seen Applejack since the night before, and the mask was not enough to stop the smell from creeping into her nose.

Applejack lay on her side in a pool of slush, half submerged, head peering at Rarity from the waterline like the forgotten, baleful gaze of a sunken figurehead. Her green eyes were dull and rheumy, her fur above the water flat and dry, the fur below fanned out like wreaths of weak flame, blotted by soft-edged ice cubes. She was positioned so that Rarity had no clear look at her backside, but she could see the speckles of filth suspended in the water.

Rarity wordlessly took a towel from its rack, spread it over the bathroom tiles, and levitated Applejack out of the tub. Rank water dripped in threads off her mane and tail to slick the floor, and she settled on the towel with a stiff weight that made her spring back lightly when Rarity removed her magic. Her mouth was faintly open, lips and gums pale, teeth wet, and water sloshed out as Rarity adjusted the towel.

Vinyl kept beating on the ice, loosening it. She did not look up when Rarity went to drain the tub.

“Okay, dear, let’s get you dry,” Rarity whispered, eyes fixed on a blank patch of orange fur. She could see the bones in her hip and spine, articulated behind the skin like construction pieces under a tarp. Where the fur was wet, it clung to pale skin like the shredded remains of a dress, its garish color not lessened from its time in the water. Applejack was noticeably lighter, her entire frame tight and unflinching to Rarity’s ministrations. She started with the limp tail, wringing it out as best she could before running a spell through it to shimmy off the remaining moisture—a spell she used on herself every day after her shower. Applejack’s hair tie was gone.

She moved up to the back legs, rude hunks of flesh that tapered down to waterlogged hooves. Her frogs had swollen and puckered, turned white like oversized larvae drowned in their boreholes, and her hooves dangled and kicked dumbly as Rarity turned and repositioned her.

When Applejack sighed, Rarity squealed and dropped her where she lay, a thick, meaty slap. Applejack’s mouth did not move, but a rotten abattoir smell permeated the room, and Rarity and Vinyl both had to step out.

“How’s it going?” Whooves asked from his spot on the bed, reading over Twilight’s wither.

Vinyl shook her head, and they went back in after a minute.

“I guess this isn’t what you had in mind when you volunteered to join us,” Rarity said. Both towels were soaked, and Rarity temporarily placed Applejack in the tub to replace them.

“Not really,” Vinyl said. “Ice is ready.”

Rarity began Applejack’s mane. She held the position she had in the tub, a twisted apostrophe that made her difficult to turn when Rarity wanted to get her other side. Her muscles had tightened to dry cords, and the entire body bounced and strained like a fruit deflated in the sun.

“Okay,” Rarity said. She pivoted Applejack’s body more toward her, giving her access to the face. Water dripped and ran from her nose and mouth, leaving no trails in the wet fur, while one glistening, glaucomatous eye fixed her with its dead marble stare. Rarity passed the towel over it with tears in her eyes.

Though she used magic, she could feel resistance in the surface of Applejack’s face. She felt the muzzle’s tug, the unblinking eyes shifting in their sockets. One lip curled up slightly and snapped back to its place with a quiet pop. Then, when Rarity removed the towel, Applejack’s face stared out at her as if she had done nothing at all. Her frozen expression returned only drowsy interest.

“Celestia,” Vinyl said softly, looking on. “Thank you for doing… it.”

Rarity bundled the towel with the others under the sink. “Let’s get the ice in there.” She replaced the plug and scooped the remaining ice into the sink.

“Do we put her in first, then cover her with ice, or layer them?” Vinyl asked.

“I don’t like the idea of her touching the porcelain.”

“Ice first, then,” Vinyl said. She upended the first bag over the tub, its contents clattering noisily, then skittering like the contents of an upended vase as Rarity spread the cubes more evenly.

“The worst is done, at least,” Rarity said.

“This is the last time we do it. Twilight’s gonna find a mortician.”

“Good.” They added two more bags. “I won’t be able to look Applejack in the eyes for a month after this.”

Vinyl smiled.

“So, um, we were talking about something else earlier?” More ice crashed, and she kept her eyes resolutely on the tub.

“The Mansels,” Vinyl said. “Don’t know much else about them. Never heard anyone refer to them dismissively. Maybe that says something.”

“So they’re well-known—down south, anyway—and a lot of ponies think they’re dangerous. What kind of crime are they involved with?”

“The popular theory is money laundering. Fits with the banking thing, you know?” She added her magic to Rarity’s, both hues refracting through the ice and giving the tub a momentarily joyful cast of color.

“I’m sort of reminded of the Astra family. They’re from Trottingham, and also quite powerful.”

“I’ve heard the name. Know nothing about ‘em.”

“We helped them out of a predicament once, and they helped us get one of our airships. The one we lost most recently, actually.”

“Interesting.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve got some criminal associations as well, like your Mansels. I suppose the two must know of each other. Do you know?”

“No idea. Again, I don’t know the Mansels. Only rumors.”

“Hmm.”

“I’ve heard of ponies associating with them and coming to bad ends.”

“What kind of bad ends? Like…” She looked back at Applejack. “Let’s get her settled. We’ll need to adjust the ice once she’s in.”

“Want my help?”

“I can lift her. Make a trough in the ice.”

Vinyl scraped a long oval for Applejack, and Rarity gingerly lowered her into it, angling her face away as much as she could without losing sight of her target. The body sunk onto its frozen casket, shifting cubes and groaning lightly again. Her head stuck at an angle, staring leisurely into the shore of ice Vinyl had created.

“Rarity?”

“Yes, yes. Let’s cover her up.”

They poured out most of the remaining ice until Applejack was encased, then Rarity pulled off the shower curtain and draped it over the tub, for added insulation.

She stayed in the main room long enough to tell Twilight that they had finished the task, and then went to her own room for a long, hot shower.

They had lunch at a pasta restaurant, its walls cloaked in withering morning glory, after which they would separate.

“Princess Luna said that as long as we don’t remove any organs, or too much blood, she can heal, uh, the body,” Twilight said. “Fortunately, for embalming, you don’t have to take the organs out, just clean them. As far as the blood goes—”

“What about the blood?” Pinkie asked. She slurped a noodle.

“Well, a lot of it does have to be removed to make room for the embalming fluid. We’ll need to find a way to store it, and then get it back in.”

Whooves nudged Fluttershy. “Bet you’re glad to be off the hook, eh?”

Fluttershy hadn’t ordered anything, and stared at the tablecloth. “I am.”

“So I’m thinking I’ll have the mortician use an IV setup to store the blood. I hope that kind of thing is easy to acquire.”

“Question,” Whooves said. “This mortician’s in for rather a shocking bit of news. What steps will be taken so that she doesn’t run her fool mouth off and give the entire town a panic?”

“I know what I’m going to say.”

“And you are going there directly after this?” Octavia asked.

“Yes.”

“How do we move the… subject of this endeavor?” Whooves asked. “Again, secrecy is important.”

“It’ll look too suspicious to go into the mortuary with the cello case again,” Vinyl said.

Twilight took a bite. It had been a long time since she had eaten anything substantial, and she felt nauseous with the sudden rich food. “They have hearses that we can use. It’ll just be a matter of getting her out of the hotel with no one seeing. Also, I have to say it again, thank you two so much for taking care of the ice today. I can’t imagine how that must have been.”

“It was horrible,” Rarity said. “But it had to be done.”

“Rethinking your noble decision to join us, Miss Vinyl?” Whooves asked.

“Not yet,” Vinyl said. “Nothing like this has happened?”

“Not even close,” Rainbow said. “We’ve never had to deal with something like this. I don’t think any of us even saw it as a possibility.”

“I did,” Octavia said. “Though, I admit, more for myself than anyone else.”

“Same,” Twilight said. “I always knew something like it might happen.”

“For yourself, Octavia?” Vinyl asked.

“I’ll fill you in back at the hotel,” Rarity said.

“While you’re at it, you can fill me in on this Vanilla Cream pony.”

“Our friend,” Big Mac said bitterly.

“He was just doing what he had to,” Pinkie said. “I’m not mad at him. I’d like to be, but I’m not.”

“Neither am I,” Twilight said. “Again: I figured something like this was bound to happen eventually. That sounds terrible to say, I know.”

No one responded, and Twilight bid them all a quiet goodbye after lunch.

Peaceful Meadows followed Twilight Sparkle at a distance. Both were on hoof, and it was easy for her to blend into the afternoon crowd of tourists and shoppers that clogged Roan’s above-ground streets. She was a toned, but physically unimpressive mare whose orange coat had faded with age, her mane and tail cropped short and her cutie mark a simple hourglass. She was from Manehattan originally, but had lived in the south for close to thirty years, during which she had become a close associate of the powerful Mansel family.

Officially, she worked as a consultant for one of the hundreds of banks that the Mansels owned, but the majority of her payroll came from “duties as assigned,” following ponies who had caught the Mansels’ vast eye, silencing some, keeping constant tabs on others. There were at least five others like her in the city, but she knew neither their names nor occupations in the Mansels’ empire.

She had received word that the Elements of Harmony were in Roan that day, the same day that they received news that Pure Waterfall had perished in a spectacular accident at his dam. How the Elements, known to have been in Applewood at the time of death, had managed to travel the thousands of miles in so short a time frame was a topic of great curiosity and worry for the family she served, and it was her job to find answers.

Twilight stopped at a street corner and studied a piece of paper. Directions, Peaceful Meadows assumed. She slowed her pace until Twilight was moving again, and allowed a group of chattering stallions get between them.

Her plan was to casually approach Twilight when she reached her destination and pretend to be one of the thousands of admirers that she would be used to. She didn’t expect Twilight to enter a funeral home.

Twilight noted the look of recognition, immediately stifled, in the funeral director’s face. He uttered a courteous greeting and asked her what she needed, his eyes never once leaving hers. They repaired to his office, where Twilight sat across a huge, heavy table from the slight director.

“I need someone embalmed.”

“Of course, ma’am.” His face quivered. “My condolences. Um, can I get your name?”

“You know my name.”

He smiled obligingly. “What sort of funeral do you need planned?”

“We’re not having a funeral.”

A clock ticked softly on the wall above her head. “I’m confused. Then what exactly are you looking for?”

“I need a body preserved, that’s all. No funerals, no service, and no decorations. Just preservation.”

“Um, Miss Sparkle, I’m afraid that we don’t exactly offer that particular kind of service here. We specialize in the full package for grieving families and friends, be it burial, cremation—”

“There is no burial,” Twilight said.

“What? So… I’m sorry, but I’m still not sure I see what’s going on here.”

“How much to embalm a body? You don’t even have to store it, if that’s going to be a problem. I just need a professional to make it so the body doesn’t decompose.” She took out Celestia’s treasury note. “I have money.”

“We can’t just embalm someone.”

“Why?”

“Wh-why? Fond Farewell Funeral Homes does not provide single services. We simply can’t embalm someone and nothing else, just as we couldn’t only cremate the deceased pony.” His voice took on a harder edge. “We’re not in the business of disposing of bodies. We provide dignity, closure, and compassion to the grieving family.”

Twilight looked at him. “There is no grieving family here. All I ask is that you embalm this pony.”

The director shook his head. “Now, if you’d like, we can hold a small service for the departed, but that really—”

“No.”

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t know what to tell you, Miss Sparkle.”

Twilight scooted back in her seat. She had expected resistance, and blinked slowly, putting all the disdain she could into her expression. “This body will not be dead for very long.”

The funeral director stared back, visibly shocked.

“I am in the final stages of researching a way to bring someone back from the grave, and this pony is my test subject. I need her embalmed, and nothing else. In five days’ time, I plan to return to this place, and the corpse and I will both walk out.”

“Um… um, well, Miss Sparkle—”

“The only other thing I need you to do is store her blood outside her body. I’m putting it back in when the time is right.” She blinked again and deepened her frown.

“Well…”

“This will be the greatest advancement in magic of this age. Do you really want to get in the way of it?”

The funeral director stood up, and, for a second, Twilight was certain he was going to kick her out. “One thousand bits, and not one less.”

She withheld a sigh of relief. “And you will do the embalming process personally? You and no one else?”

“If that’s what you need—”

“It is.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I saw hearses around the back. We can get her now.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“I can… I’ll see if I can find a driver.”

“You. I want you.” Her horn glowed softly, and he flinched.

“Of course, ma’am. My pleasure.”

“Good. If you have a body bag, bring it. I don’t have one of my own.”

Twilight left the frightened funeral director parked behind the hotel. She carried the body bag in her magical space up to their room, where she and Rarity spent ten minutes stuffing Applejack in. With Pinkie and Rainbow watching for observers, she brought the bag downstairs and out to the waiting hearse. She climbed back in once Applejack was stowed safely.

“You don’t have to come back with me,” the director said.

“I’m going to make sure you get this body to where it needs to go. We can work out payment at that time.”

Without another word, but with a nervous, sidelong glance, the director took them back.

Twilight was back at the hotel at six o’ clock, and she was stepping out of the shower just in time for room service to arrive. Everyone was in high spirits for the first time in several days, and Twilight sat down with a slight laugh.

“I have to tell you, Octavia, acting and talking like you really did the trick today.” She spooned a mass of salad onto a paper plate. “I had that funeral director quaking in his horseshoes at the end. I feel kind of bad, actually.”

“Do not,” Octavia said. “You did what you had to do. You are certain that Applejack is secure?”

“As sure as I can be. He said he’d do it.”

“And the IV?”

“It cost us an extra two hundred bits, but it’s taken care of.”

“No more ghastly bathroom,” Whooves said.

“Like you’d know,” Vinyl said, giving him a playful smile.

“Well, perhaps not as intimately as some of our number, but I can fill in the blanks just as well as anyone else. I’ve seen the dearly departed before.”

“Is that on TV, or in real life?” Rainbow asked.

“Five bits it was just TV,” Vinyl said.

“You’re on!” Pinkie cried.

“Now now, let’s not make fun,” Whooves said. “I’ll have you know it was more than just pulp movies. I’ve seen some documentaries in my time as well.”

“So just TV.”

He sighed. “I suppose so, yes.”

“Ha! Pay up, Vinyl!”

Vinyl shook her head. “I bet he would say TV.”

“Wait, so did I.”

“I’m sorry, can we talk about something else?” Rarity asked. “We’ve spoken of death and decay and nothing else all day, and it’s affecting my appetite.”

Big Mac nodded, but said nothing.

“Tell Vinyl about that marvelous Astra machine,” Whooves said. “She’s been bending my ear about it all day, and I’ve not much to divulge, aside from its stunning aspect.”

“Doctor here was the one who stopped us from falling into one of Discord’s traps when we went to go find that dreadful thing,” Rarity said.

“Oh, ‘twas nothing, my fair lady. Just a little—”

“Phone’s ringing,” Rainbow said.

Everyone looked around, and Octavia got up to answer it. “It is for you, Twilight.”

Twilight frowned. “Me?” She approached the phone and held it in her magic, not completely comfortable with the shape so close to her head.

“Maybe someone can explain why Octavia seems able to do magic, too,” Vinyl said behind her.

“It is a long story,” Octavia said.

“Maybe I should get some magic,” Whooves said. “I’ve not given it much thought. Could be a fine jape, I warrant.”

“It comes with a lot of responsibility, I have found.”

“Are you serious?” Twilight asked the phone. She glowered at the far wall, listening to a small voice.

“Who was it?” Rainbow asked.

“I did not recognize the voice,” Octavia said. After a second, she added, “It was not Vanilla. At least, not the voice he has used with us before.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Twilight demanded. Everyone watched her. “That… hey, hang on! What about two thousand bits?”

“Hoh boy, that’s a figure to sweat over,” Whooves whispered.

Twilight bared her teeth as her horn glowed brighter. “Fine. If that’s how it has to be, then fine. No, don’t bother. I’ll get her tomorrow morning.” She snapped the phone into its cradle.

“What’s wrong?” Pinkie asked.

“Who is this Mansel family?”

“Huh?”

“That was the mortician. Apparently, someone from this family called ‘Mansel’ came by and asked about me. They wanted to know what I was doing there, and scared the mortician. He’s refusing to do the procedure now.”

“Whoa, hang on,” Rainbow said. “They’re refusing just like that?”

“Yes, Dash, just like that.”

The room was silent in thought, and then Rarity spoke up. “Are we really leaving her all night long?”

“No. I’m going to wait until they close, then go down there.” She grabbed a book off her stack and folded it into her space. Her voice was hard, her eyes tired. “I’ll embalm Applejack myself.”