Chill breeze blows through the orchard, drying my sweat. I wipe my forehead, staring at all the apple trees in front of me and thinking how long it’ll take me to buck all of them. The sun is shining and I feel like taking a short nap under one of the trees, when I see Big Mac going up the hill.

For a moment, I can’t gather my thoughts, too busy staring at the well-toned muscles under his skin. His lungs must be strong like pipe organ’s bellows to keep all that oxygenated. I’m watching all those bulging veins and I can’t help but wonder how much stamina he has. Like, I’m pretty sure he can last for hours…

“I brought ya water.” I can barely hear Big Mac’s voice, too busy watching… something.

“Thanks,” I say, blinking and looking at the apple trees behind me. “Umm… Would it matter if we had a short break in some, umm… place where your sisters can’t see us?”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac replies, a wide smile on his face. “There’s a cozy barn nearby…”

“Awesome.” I nod. “Don’t waste time. I’m still a few trees behind my daily norm.”

Big Mac smirks and says, “THE GREAT AND POWERFUL TRIXIE DEMANDS YOU TO WAKE UP!”

“What the fuck?” I exclaim, rising from the bed and nearly hitting the low ceiling with my head. I look around and notice Trixie and Vinyl standing by my side. “You’ve interrupted such a nice dream…”

“I see,” Vinyl mutters, chuckling. “You know, you talk in your sleep.”

Hell, no. “I… do?”

“Not much,” Vinyl replies. “Body language, however...” She makes a humping motion.

Trixie sighs. “Anyway, Daring Do told us to wake you up. We’re going to see the pyramid.”

“And penetrate it,” Vinyl added. “She said so.”

Trixie rolls her eyes. “But she didn’t use it in the meaning you use it. While Trixie admits it wasn’t the luckiest choice of words, it’s not a reason to cum buckets over it.”

Vinyl looks at Trixie and lifts her glasses. Trixie shrugs and smirks, before walking away from the plane. I follow her with Vinyl to join Lyra, Daring, and Inkie waiting for us on the pier. Hexie will stay here in case our friends wanted to visit and I’d rather lick Vinyl’s ass than let Ruby go with us.

At least she actually wants to stay, for once. That is, after I told her that she may shoot somepony if they’re hostile. I hope Hexie keeps her away from anything that shoots.

We grab our equipment and walk across the town. It’s early morning; first merchants sit in the shadow of the palm trees, offering us tea, pita bread, and ful medames.

“No, thanks,” Vinyl mutters, staring at the plate. “Are those fava beans? I have favism, you know.”

“You have what?” Inkie asks, munching on the beans. “My granny used to eat those. She was shaking less after them.”

“I’m pretty sure she means glucose-6-phosphate dehydrogenase deficiency,” Lyra says. “If Vinyl ate that, hemolysis and jaundice would occur, although it’s probably not as serious, due to the X-linked pattern of inheritance–”

“Yeah, that’s very helpful,” Vinyl mutters. “If I ate those beans, I’d turn yellow and faint.”

“Then never eat them, unless you want to be dramatic,” Daring Do says. She had already devoured half of a plate. “Also, I’ve heard they can give you bad wind.”

“I’m not walking behind you, then,” I mutter.

We finish the meal and walk out of the town. You know those photos of the pyramids, depicting them standing in the middle of the desert? Bullshit. If you put your camera on the other side of them, you’d have a wonderful view of the nearby town.

“So, I guess we’ll have to go inside,” Daring Do says, trotting towards the biggest pyramid. “After all, those guys brought the plate in there…”

Suddenly, two guys walk out from behind the pyramid. One of them is a camel, while the other is a donkey. They’re both wearing khaki uniforms and have very official looks on their faces.

“What are you doing here?” the camel asks. “Do you have a permission for digging in this place?”

Well, shit. We have shovels, pickaxes, and other archeological equipment and we’re on our way to an ancient grave in a country that is righteously pissed about all those tomb raiders stealing precious stuff from them. And we’re caught red-hoofed even before getting there.

“Excuse me,” Daring Do says. “You may have not noticed, but I’m professor A.K. Yearling, Department of Ancient History, University of Fillydelphia.”

“Do you have a permission to dig here?” the donkey asks. “Also, who are those ponies?”

“Minuette R. Turner, M.Eng, Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, Department of Magical Technology,” I reply, making the same expression as Daring Do. Well, my alma mater probably disowned me a long time ago, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m an engineer and you can totally trust me.

“Lyra Heartstrings, PhD, MA, Ba, BSc,” Lyra says.

“Most of it is BS,” Vinyl mutters. “Vinyl Scratch, Stick and Butt’s school of life. Also, Canterlot Academy of Music.”

“The Great and Powerful Trixie doesn’t need formal education.”

“My name is Inkie and, umm… I know rocks.”

“Do they have the permission to dig here?” the donkey asks, looking at us as if we were a mildly amusing comedic act.

“No, but we’re extremely persistent,” Lyra replies, earning a glare from Daring Do. “What? We’re like methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. We’ll stay here, as Vinyl once put it, ad mortuum defecatum.”

“Donkeys live a long life. None of you has ever seen a dead donkey,” the donkey replies.

“Lyra, do me a favour and don’t engage in diplomacy. Ever.” Daring Do whispers before turning back to the donkey. “We’ll get a permission as soon as possible. Where can we do that?”

“Too bad, there’s already a group from Trottingham working in the pyramid,” the camel says. “And the limit of submissions for this year has already been reached in January. You can apply, but you’ll get accepted in October next year.”

Daring Do sighs. “Ibn himar…”

“Son of a donkey?” the donkey asks. “Correct.”

“Not correct for me,” the camel mutters. “Oh, hello, doctor.”

I turn to see Dr. Caballeron walking past the guards. “Hey, wait!” I exclaim. “What is he doing here? Did he get a permission, or what?”

Dr. Caballeron stops to look at me. “Well, I’m not digging here,” he replies. “Professor Drop A. Stone from the University of Trottingham heard that I was in Haygypt and asked me for a consultation.”

“What?” Daring Do takes off. Why didn’t she do that before is a question only she knows the answer to. “If he knew I was here, he’d definitely consult me too!” She flies towards the pyramid. “Hey, Stone! Are you there?”

Someone walks from behind the pyramid. I try to look closer and even though he’s far from us, I can see that it’s an elderly stallion with a grey mane and pince-nez. Despite the warmth, he’s wearing a plaid jacket and a turtleneck.

“Professor Yearling!” he exclaims. “I see that you and doctor finally got together…”

“Over my dead body,” Daring Do mutters.

“Well, that’s not what you said when the water was flooding that ancient seapony temple in Chineigh and we were about to die…” Dr. Caballeron smiles. “Somehow, this line never made it to the novel.”

Daring Do blushes. “I was an infatuated young mare. Anyway, Professor Stone, could you tell the guards to let my assistants in? They’re experts in various fields and they may help you with your discoveries.”

“Of course, my fair filly,” Professor Stone replies and waves at the camel and donkey. As if on cue, they roll their eyes and move out of the way. We join Daring Do and Dr. Caballeron.

“Just remember,” I whisper to Vinyl. “He doesn’t know about the silver plate and it has to stay that way.”

“Of course,” Vinyl replies. “I’ll shut up.”

“Tell that to Trixie. I’m not worried about Inkie, but Lyra and Trixie may spill the beans. One because of having no social skills and the other because of too many social skills.”

“Okay.” Vinyl turns to Inkie and whispers into her ear. Inkie looks at her, but when Vinyl prods her, she turns to Trixie and whispers. Trixie whispers back and the whole message goes back to me.

“Penis,” Vinyl mutters into my ear.

“What?”

“I was joking. Trixie said that she’ll shut up. Also, Inkie has a lisp, but only when she whispers.”

I shrug and look at Daring Do. She stopped to notice us, busy discussing some old brick with Stone and Caballeron. To my surprise, Inkie trots to them.

“May I?” she asks. Professor Stone gives her a brick. She scratches some dust from its surface and licks her hoof. “Clay from the river.” She winces. “Pretty old. I’d say a few thousand years, but I’m not sure.”

“How can you know?” Professor Stone asks, lifting his pince-nez.

“I don’t know that much.” Inkie blushes. “Maud would know how old it was exactly and where the rock came from, and what exactly happened to it…” Inkie turns the brick around and blushes even more. “Oh.”

“Incredible,” Professor Stone mutters. “That’s the oldest proof of an existence of phallic cults in this region.”

Daring Do and Dr. Caballeron look at each other and give out a groan.

“You mean it’s a dick, right?” Vinyl asks. “You know, I’m kinda like Inkie in that matter. One lick and I’ll know how old it is, where it comes from and where it was before…” She looks at me and Trixie. “Oh… I was supposed to shut up, wasn’t I?”

Meanwhile, Professor Stone is in his own little kingdom of phallic cults. “There’s something written in there… V. S. 979”

“Maybe V is a number?” Dr. Caballeron asks. “Five.”

“Then why the rest of numbers is Saddle Arabian?” Daring Do asks. “Frankly, I have no idea what that could mean.”

Oh fuck. I just realised that I know exactly what it means. I grab Vinyl’s mane and pull her to me.

“You did something to that brick, didn’t you?” I whisper into her ear.

“How?” Vinyl asks. “I didn’t even have it in my hooves.”

“A picture of a dick, your initials and year of birth. Too much for a coincidence,” I reply.

Vinyl blushes. “Okay… But I did it when we were in the past.”

“What?” I exclaim, loudly enough for Lyra to turn to us. “H-how?”

“Normally, I scratched it,” Vinyl replies. “I thought no one would know since it was just a trip we had when we were high out of our minds, right?”

I sigh and slap my forehead with my hoof. “Then why there’s a bunch of archeologists here, discussing the historical significance of your dick?”

Lyra raises her eyebrows, looks between Vinyl’s legs, shrugs, and goes back to listening Daring Do arguing with her colleagues.

“You see phallic cults everywhere, Drop,” Dr. Caballeron says, raising his hoof. “Once you tried to convince me an ancient Minotaurian brothel was a temple.”

“Because it was a temple!” Professor Stone replies, putting his glasses back on his nose. “What else could it be?”

“Let’s say it was a temple of, umm… a more practical religion.” Daring Do rolls her eyes. “No one gives a damn about cults anymore. Professor, didn’t you find something else? Like, dunno, stone or metal plates with inscriptions? I believe in written word more than in speculations.”

“Smooth like a sandpaper dildo,” I mutter.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie can’t help but agree with that observation.”

Professor Stone’s eyes widen behind the lenses. He backpedals, piercing Daring Do with her gaze. “You didn’t…”

“What?” Daring Do asks, innocently.

“Get out!” Professor Stone yells. “Both of you!”

“Gotta go to the toilet,” Vinyl whispers into my ear and runs away.

“Why?” Dr. Caballeron asks, getting out of Professor Stone’s way. “What did I do?”

“Leave the bloody area or I shall call the guards!” Stone shouts, spraying the saliva around. He turns to Inkie. “Especially you! I don’t like the way you look!”

“Did I say something wrong?” Inkie asks.

“Get out or you’ll be able to feel that rock’s texture with your arse!” Professor Stone pushes Inkie away. Big mistake. It’s not easy to piss Inkie off, but once you manage to do that, you’ll have to deal with the consequences. Such as an uppercut that throws your spectacles into the air and causes you to land on your back.

Inkie catches the pince-nez in mid-air and gives them back to the professor. He doesn’t take them, too busy holding his jaw. Some of his assistants, as well as the guards gather around us.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie advises to run,” Trixie mutters… right before throwing a smoke bomb on the ground.

Smooth. I teleport past the ponies running at me. I can see Daring Do flying above me and judging from the terrified screams, Inkie decides to simply charge at the professor’s assistants, making way for Trixie, Lyra, and Caballeron.

We run for some time, but it doesn’t seem that anyone bothers chasing us. Like, they saw a sample of our possibilities and decided to reconsider any further attempts at physical assault. Thus, we stop behind a dune to catch a breath.

“Seems that Stone lost a few marbles,” Caballeron mutters. “Now he only sees fertility cults and phallic symbols everywhere.”

“Happened to him a while ago,” Daring Do replies. “It was especially noticeable when I was working with him. I’m afraid that Inkie didn’t manage to kick some reason into his brain. I didn’t, back then.”

Caballeron chuckles. “Pray tell me, Ms. Yearling… Was there any archeologist you didn’t have any kind of unprofessional relationship with?”

“Yes. You.” Daring Do gives him a nasty look. “On a side note, would you kindly get the hell out of here? You’ve seen what Inkie can do and I can assure you it’s not all of her possibilities.”

“Well, I guess I’ll indeed leave your company,” Dr. Caballeron replies. “You may leave me drowning in a river again, or something.” He looks around. “Well, no rivers in sight, but I’m pretty sure you have that covered.” He turns and walks away.

Suddenly, I realise that my life is far less annoying than it should be. “Wait,” I say. “Where’s–”

“Weeee!” Vinyl rolls of the top of the dune and knocks me off my hooves. “Hello,” she says, standing up. “I thought this moron will never stop talking.”

“Where were you?” Daring Do asks.

“I was in the toilet, taking a…” Vinyl clears her throat. “... closer look at what your friend is hiding from us. It’s our silver plate.”

“Damn,” Lyra mutters. “Do you have it?”

“No.”

“We need to get back and steal it,” Lyra says. “I’m pretty sure Minuette can do that. When we were students, she broke into an off-licence and then we got Moondancer dru–”

“Lyra, please,” I mutter. “We won’t rob the old guy, even though he’s an annoying Bridleish fart-muncher.”

“We won’t have to.” Vinyl shows us a photo of the silver plate. “I have this!”

“How did you get that?” I ask, looking at the photo. Too bad I can’t recognise the letters on it, not to mention any words.

“Blew the photographer.”

Trixie winces, her face turning green. “That’s a bit more than Trixie wanted to know.”

“I meant ‘Blue, the photographer,” Vinyl says, exaggerating every comma and every nonexistent difference in pronunciation. “His name was Blue Sky and he was nice enough to give me a copy.”

“Awesome.” Daring Do grabs a copy of the photo from Vinyl’s hoof. “Hmm… Damn.”

“What’s wrong?” Lyra asked, looking at the photo. “Oh crap.”

“What’s wrong?” I walk to them and take a look at the photo. I’m not sure what they saw there, but for me it’s just a few lines of something that looks like Ponysutra for ants and earthworms, chapter about three- and foursomes.

“It’s ancient Sumareian,” Daring Do replies. “We had only three lectures of it and I just happened to be sick.”

“I never took those classes,” Lyra says. “Everypony knows that ancient Sumareians only wrote some comedies of rather doubtful quality before ancient Haytites attacked their city and skinned all the citizens. Thus, no one ever learns their language. Especially since it’s kinda difficult, with seven grammatical genders and thirty cases.”

“Apparently Berius Puncius did,” Daring Do mutters.

“Excuse me.” Vinyl raises her head. “While the idea of seven genders speaks to me on many levels, what are those cases you’re talking about?”

“Declination in Neightin, remember?” Lyra smirks. “Also, Pferdisch has four cases, Ponish has seven and seaponies in Finland use fifteen.”

Vinyl rubs her temples. “Why did they even need thirty?”

“I guess that’s why they were skinned,” I mutter. “They were pissing off everyone around. But you said someone gives classes of this language, right? It’s not, like, completely dead?”

“No,” Daring Do replies. “There’s quite a handy phrasebook, but it’s very rare. Only a few libraries around the world have it.”

I sigh. “Great. Where’s the nearest one?”

“Istabmule,” Daring Do replies. “Just a few hours from here, I think, but I’d rather not leave Caballeron alone. I’m pretty sure he’ll be here again tomorrow.”

“You can always stay, boss,” Lyra says. “We’ll go there with Minuette and come back as soon as possible.”

“The Great and Powerful Trixie knows Istabmule well,” Trixie says. “She had an… acquaintance there.”

“When?” I ask. “Well, I sometimes have a feeling that I did more things than it should be possible in thirty years, but when exactly did you manage to get to Istabmule, find somepony there, dump them, get back to Equestria, and become a stage magician?”

“Remember that Trixie grew up in a circus,” Trixie replies. “She did that when she was fourteen. It lasted about five seconds. And he was a griffon.”

“What?!” Vinyl exclaims. “No friggin’ way… Trixie scored before me… With a griffon! I get Minuette, because Caramel boned her when she was twenty, but me?”

“Nineteen,” I mutter. “I was still nineteen.”

“Twenty six.” Daring Do shrugs. “We were more strict back then. And I won’t tell you who it was because the last thing I want is ponies talking. The more important thing right now is who else is going to Istabmule.”

“I’ll go,” Inkie replies. “Minuette will need a second pilot. I guess Hexie will go too.”

Lyra raises her hoof. “I’ll look for that book.”

“And, of course, I’ll provide moral support,” Vinyl says. “You’ll need somepony clever, after all.”

“So, basically, you’re gonna leave me here with Ruby?” Daring Do asks in a voice barely above a whisper.

“You wanted her to go with us yourself,” I say. “Deal with her now. Dunno, teach her how to spy on ponies without trying to bite them to death or something.”

Suddenly, it occurs to me that it’s probably not the wisest idea.

“Fine,” Daring Do mutters. “But don’t sit there for too long.”

The trip to Istabmule is indeed rather short – it takes us just a few hours, most of which we spent talking about our destination.

The town is mostly inhabited by griffons, though contrary to a popular belief, only some of them look like turkeys. It’s located on both sides of the Broncorus stray – exactly between Stirrup and Neighsia. A capital of the Trottoman Empire and a residence of its sultan, who apparently reigned large parts of what currently is the southeastern part of the Griffon Empire. Well, Lyra says that now the sultan reigns mostly the Trotkapi Palace, but the whole country still appears powerful. My grandfather definitely would tell me a few things if he heard that I was flying above Gallipony.

Due to its location between two continents, the whole town is a hub for the merchants, tourists, and, most interestingly, spies from half of the world. We learn about it quickly – as soon as we enter the airspace above the town, we’re intercepted by a squadron of griffons. At least I can talk to their leader on the radio.

“Identify yourself,” I hear from the speaker. Hmm, didn’t they hear about ‘hello’?

“We’re tourists and scientists from Equestria,” I reply. “My name’s Minuette and I’m the pilot of this aircraft. Is there some flat place for us to land here? It can also be water. Also, it’d be nice if you identified yourself as well, mate.”

“Mızrak Bey, the squadron leader of the 38th Squadron of Air Janissaries. You can only land in our base, Minuette Hatun. Then we’ll decide if we can set you free.”

Your mother was a hatun, you feather duster. “Why?” I ask.

“Haven’t you heard about the summit?” Mızrak Bey asks. “VIPs from across the world discuss the peace process in Zebrica. You must understand that we don’t take unidentified flying objects lightly.”

“I can imagine,” I reply. “Okay, guide us to your base and then you’ll see that we’re too retarded to try anything funny.”

Lyra clears her throat. “Well, technically, we could pretend that we’re dumb to get closer and–”

“Shut up,” I whisper. “Do you want them to put a probe in your ass to check for bombs?”

“I would,” Vinyl mutters. “How big is that probe? Because I trained with stuff of various sizes and I’m pretty sure I can even take that big rock on Inkie’s parents’ farm.”

“You know what would happen if you tried?” Inkie asks. “Last time somepony touched the Holder’s Boulder, we were a red… umm…”

“Red cunt’s hair away from a religious war?” Hexie shrugs. “You know when I last saw ponies similar to your sister?”

“When?” Inkie asks. “Also, there’s more of them? Oh my…”

“When I stepped on a train to Flankfurt.” Hexie sighs and looks at the window. “Well, I’m not sure whether ending up there was a good idea, but at least nopony realised that I had something to do with that wagon full of–” She closes her mouth and gives us a totally innocent glare.

Oh Hexie. I’m pretty sure you’re happy that I didn’t ask you for a criminal background check. I’m happy too – she’s a good mechanic and I’d rather not think about a few rather strange blank spaces in her CV.

At least griffons here have a nice, concrete runway and I can make use of the retractable landing gear for once. We taxi to the hangar, watching out for the griffons landing around us. Did they even hear about the props? They fly close to us and any change of direction may end in one of them becoming a kebab.

Inkie pushes the brakes and we stop by the hangar. Outside, I can see a dozen griffons standing in line, waiting for us. They’re all wearing rather impractical red uniforms with tall, white headdresses with a piece of fabric covering the back of the head. For some reason, they don’t wear battle saddles, just sabres. I guess it’s just some Gentlegriffons at Arms, or whatever.

“I’ll do the talking,” I say. “They don’t seem all that dangerous, but if we accidentally offend them, we may get kicked out of here.”

We walk out of the plane and bow to the griffon awaiting us at the airstrip. Judging by the golden bracelets on his claws, he’s our friend, Mızrak Bey. He also bows and stands in attention. The griffons behind him look at us as if we were a bearded mare with two heads. Probably because Vinyl is wearing her sombrero. She also has a hijab, but she’s wearing it like a shabrack, so it doesn’t stand out that much.

“Good morning,” I say. “We’re not armed. That is, we have a shotgun, but I left it on the plane.”

“We’ll check what you have with you,” Mızrak Bey replies, walking to Inkie and pointing at the spell launcher she has with her. “What is that?”

Well, shit. While it’s not lethal, griffons definitely won’t like it. Time to think quickly.

“This piece of shit?” I ask. “A souvenir from Maretonia. Probably a lighter, but it never worked.”

“How can we be sure it doesn’t shoot?” Mızrak Bey takes the launcher and looks at it. Good thing it works kinda like a single-action revolver – the hammer with a smaller crystal is not cocked, so there’s no risk that he’d accidentally burn his balls.

“Here, let me show you,” I say, levitating the launcher from his claw. “Look, it should light a fire when those two crystal connect.” I cock the hammer and aim the launcher at Vinyl.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Vinyl asks. “What if I have–”

I pull the trigger. The crystals hit each other, but the spell doesn’t work – mostly because Vinyl doesn’t have balls.

“See?” I ask. “Doesn’t work. But has a great sentimental value for Inkie’s grandmother who lives here.”

“Wha– Oh yeah,” Inkie mutters. “I love my granny, but I was too busy to visit her…”

“Okay then…” The griffon looks at Hexie. “Do I know you?”

“I’ve never seen that stuff hidden in a container of Trottoman sweaters in my life,” Hexie says quickly. “And that wasn’t even me, but my very similar cousin.”

Mızrak Bey furrows his eyebrows. “Oh yeah, I recall now.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “My very similar cousin got quite a lot of money from her for not asking about those sweaters.”

“And it’s better for it to stay that way, right?” Hexie smiles nervously.

I feel that I should intervene, but suddenly, I see another couple of griffons walking to us. Most of them look like the ones here, but one of them is different. His clothes are overloaded with gold, and I’m pretty sure they’re made of the smoothest silk imaginable. Rarity would kill for the right of putting her hooves on some of it.

“Destur!” the leading griffon shouts. “Sehzade Galip hazretleri!”

Our griffons stand in attention and bow. I shrug and bow too, just in case. You know, when among griffons, do what griffons do. At least my friends follow my example – it would probably offend someone if they didn’t.

The most important griffon lands in front of us and takes a closer look at us. He must be some kind of a noble – his eagle-like face, shining feathers, and richly-ornamented clothes are a dead giveaway.

“Beatrix?” the griffon asks. “What are you doing here?”

Trixie raises her head and looks into the griffon’s eyes. “Galip? Trixie always thought Sehzade was a nickname!”

Galip looks at his griffons and says something. One of them replies quickly, but I can’t even guess a word. Well, if a language doesn’t come from Neightin, I’m pretty much screwed.

“What the fuck is going on?” I whisper to Hexie. She seems like the right pony to explain such things, given that she apparently was here before.

“Sehzade means ‘prince’,” Hexie whispers back. “I can also say ‘food’, ‘beer’, and ‘you have nothing on me, fuckers’, but that’s more or less my whole knowledge on this language.”

Meanwhile, Galip turns back to Trixie. “Beatrix Hatun, would you kindly agree to eat dinner with me in the Trotkapi Palace?”

“Me… Umm... “ Trixie blushes and gives us a panicked look. “Well, Trixie would like to know how was your, umm… life. Like, you promised that you’d write and–”

“I had important things to do, my dear,” Galip replies. “I became the governor of Maneisa and I’m on my way to become the next Sultan. But I always thought about you and now nothing would part us, my springtime, my merry-faced love, my moonlight…”

I feel that I’m gonna vomit. I take a look at Vinyl and it seems that she feels exactly the same.

“Of course, Trixie will go,” Trixie replies. “She is glad to finally reunite.” She turns to us. “The Great and Powerful Trixie is sorry, but as you can see, she just found her love. Don’t worry, you’ll meet her again.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Vinyl mutters. Trixie doesn’t care about her opinion. She just walks away with the griffon escort.

“Hmm, don’t you think she was cheap?” Inkie asks in the ensuing silence.

“Kinda,” Vinyl replies. “I usually let them buy me a drink first.”

“I proposed first.” Inkie rolls her eyes. “Though I guess I should’ve gotten married first. Mom keeps saying so.”

“I thought your mom had more problems with Coco being a mare.” Vinyl shrugs. “But she also had a problem with me being a bridesmaid.”

“I wonder why,” I mutter. “Also, you wanted to be the master of ceremony and a bridesmaid at the same time.”

Before Vinyl can reply, Mızrak Bey clears his throat. “Excuse me, but apparently the prince has nothing against you being here. Is there something we can do for you?”

Lyra smiles. “Umm… Can you show us the way to the library?”

“Hey, that’s some interesting book.” Hexie grabs a large tome labelled Die Kunst der Körperteile. “Inkie, this may help you with workout…” She takes a closer look. “Wait, that’s a handbook on preserving bodies.” She puts it back on the shelf.

The library is a tall, old building with wonderful arabesque covering the walls – or at least the parts of the walls that aren’t covered by endless shelves full of old books, scrolls, and tomes of eldritch lore. The air is filled with the smell of old paper and dust, and everything is eerily silent. Centuries of knowledge gathered by the pinnacle of Equine civilisation look down upon us and weep.

“Let’s see… Dictionaries…” Lyra mutters. She’s trotting from one side of the shelf to the other, while we sit on couches placed around a large table. “The Great Ponish-Equine Dictionary... Finally I’ll know what Hexie is saying when she forgets herself.”

“These words are not in dictionaries, at least not the prim and proper ones,” Hexie replies.

Lyra puts the dictionary back on the shelf and looks at other books. “Some Pferdisch dictionary… Elder Things’ Language for Dummies... Hello, Sweetie Belle, what are you doing here?”

“Rarity is with Princess Luna on the summit and I have nothing else to do,” Sweetie Belle replies. “Have you seen Apple Bloom and Scootaloo?”

“I’m guessing that bakery on the other side of the street,” Lyra deadpans. “What the hell just happened?” she asks as soon as Sweetie Belle is outside the earshot.

“Kids these days,” I mutter. “They just don’t want to leave you alone.”

Vinyl nods. “Yeah, they’re just like that little piece of shit stuck to your ass that just doesn’t want to go away…”

“That’s a little bit more than we wanted to know,” Inkie says. “Also, is it that book we’re looking for?” She puts a large tome on the table. Golden letters on a leather cover are almost invisible after many years of standing on the shelf, but the title can still be read.

“The Illustrated Dictionary of Ancient Sumareian complete with a signs chart and a foreword by professor Verbal Noun,” Lyra reads. “That’s it.”

“There’s one more thing,” Inkie says, pointing at the end of the shelf. “Look there.”

Hiding behind the shelf, there’s a totally inconspicuous pony. She’s wearing a black trench coat and a hat covering most of her mane. Half of her face is covered by black, thick-rimmed glasses. She’s reading a newspaper, but it doesn’t cover the fact that she’s looking at us through a pair of binoculars.

Oh, and of course, neither the trench coat nor the hat can hide the white fur and pale blonde mane.

“It’s either Aryanne or her butt buddy,” Vinyl mutters. “Kyrie, right?”

“Dunno, she may have wings under that coat,” I whisper. “But it’d be dumb to send Kyrie, she didn’t seem to know Equine.”

“There’s one way to find out.” Hexie stands up. “Let’s go and ask her.”

She walks to our mysterious stalker, waving at her and smiling. “Entschuldigung,” she says. “Frau Aryanne, ja?”

The pony in the coat lowers her newspaper. She’s sweating heavily; perhaps she also went pale, but I can’t tell exactly due to her eerily white fur.

“Aryanne?” she asks, backpedalling. “Ich habe… nicht gehören…”

Hexie smirks and walks closer to the mare, who is trapped between the library wall and about two hundred kilograms of muscles and no sense of personal space that happens to be my mechanic. “Ah ja, Fräulein Kyrie.” She takes a step towards Kyrie. “Ich kann diese grüne Augen nicht vergessen…”

“Scheisse.”

I must say that I underestimated Kyrie. Not only she managed to sum up her situation in one word, but she also turns in one swift motion and throws her coat at Hexie. She then takes off and before I can reach her, she slams into the window at the full speed.

I may have underestimated Kyrie. But she definitely underestimated those windows. Her head left only a small dent in the glass while she dropped on the floor like a white bag of potatoes with wings. Hexie and I run to her, but apparently her skull is harder than it seems – she takes off again and flies staggeringly down the corridor.

We chase her, jumping over carts full of books and ignoring the librarian yelling curses at us. Kyrie dives down the staircase. Hexie chooses a less conventional approach and slides down the railing, which screeches under her weight.

Meanwhile, I have no plan. Think, Minuette! I faintly remember a row of tables downstairs. Kyrie will have to fly over them if she wants to reach the entrance…

I focus on them and teleport there – much to the annoyance of some students occupying the table I landed on. I barely pay attention – spilling their coffee on the notes, I stand to tackle Kyrie, who’s flying at me…

Ugh! Kyrie rams into me like a sledgehammer, knocking me off of the table. I hit the floor with my back, but recover quickly in a cloud of feathers, lost quills, notes, and coffee. Hexie runs past me, so I follow her.

To think about it, Kyrie is insane. I kinda expected her to fly above me—the room is tall enough to allow that—but she just knocked me down unceremoniously. Something tells me that the glasses she lost while running away are in fact prescription lenses rather than a part of her disguise. Why isn’t she wearing them? She’s afraid of getting kicked out of Luftwaffe or what?

My theory seems to be confirmed when I see Kyrie reaching the door. Instead of stopping to open it, she just rams it open with no respect to the contents of her skull. Why is she in such a hurry? It’s not like we can catch up with her, even with my teleportation.

Outside, it turns out that we don’t have to. Instead of giving us a chance for an epic chase across the whole town, she simply flies to the nearest phone booth. She closes the door and holds it, calling someone frantically. Hexie walks to the booth and opens the door without much effort. She then headbutts Kyrie for no apparent reason, though I guess running pissed her off.

I walk inside and pick up the receiver hanging from the wire.

“Kyrie? Was ist los?” I hear a mare’s voice.

“Aryanne?” I ask. “Minuette here. Could you please explain to me why your winged clone with a tendency to hurt herself and a smug wanker in a pimped-out uniform are following us from Haygypt to Trottoman Empire? Not that I mind, but it’s hard to focus when someone’s sitting in your fridge.”

“Umm… It’s a long story,” Aryanne mutters. “Zat is–”

I’m pretty sure the story is interesting. Too bad I can’t hear the end of it. Suddenly, I feel a wave of pain spreading from my between my hind legs. I scream and look down… only to see Kyrie’s hoof approaching me rapidly.

“Boss, you okay?” Hexie asks, looking at me. I slowly realise that I’m lying on the ground and, judging from the pain, Kyrie managed to kick me in the cunt. So. Not. Fair.

“Where’s she?” I get up on my hooves. “Where is she, I need to kill her.”

“Somewhere over there,” Hexie replies, pointing at the silhouette of a pegasus, getting smaller and smaller above the crowd. “Do we still chase her?”

“Of course!” I run, limping slightly.

“That’s just petty,” Hexie mutters, trying to keep up with me.

“Said the pony who headbutted her.” I push myself through the crowd. “Couldn’t you just hold her?”

“I didn’t think this through…”

“Oh, fuck it!” I shout, seeing Kyrie disappearing in some nook. Well, I could technically reach her by teleporting blindly into the nearby building, then teleporting out of it…

Hmm, why not?

Unfortunately for me, the building happens to be a hammam or, more precisely, a public bath. I discover that when I appear in a small swimming pool. I splash into the water inelegantly, scaring away a couple of griffons chilling there. I grab the rant of the pool and climb out of it, spitting water. Damn, where now…

I teleport again, this time landing on some stall in the middle of a bazaar. I look around, but Kyrie is nowhere to be seen. I turn to look at stuff I landed on – mostly junk such as knives, compasses, and magnifying glasses. But there’s one thing there that caught my attention – an old repeating rifle with a scope. It looks like it was made in Hooviet Union, though the wooden parts has been probably sculpted by some local artist, given the distinctive pattern on them.

I levitate it to me and take a look at the bolt. It moves smoothly, but I don’t have time to test it – I just aim it into the sky, watching the surrounding through the scope.

“Hey, you!”

I turn away from the scope to see the fat griffon standing next to me. “That costs three thousand akche,” he says with an exotic accent.

Three thousand? I have some local currency on me, but that’s just a robbery. Three thousand akche means about seven hundred bits.

“I can give you five hundred,” I reply, going back to looking at the sky and searching for a smallest sight of Kyrie.

“A thousand,” the griffon mutters. I guess the initial price was meant to scare away all the dumb schmucks. Or maybe rip one off.

“Six hundred,” I say, without even looking at him.

“Eight. My uncle stole it from an enemy magazine during the war. We only fired it to check if it worked.”

“Seven.”

“Eight hundred and I’m gonna give you a box of ammo.”

“Fine.” The griffon reaches under the table and gives me a metal box. I turn away from the rifle and open it. The ammo seems old, but otherwise fine.

“Green ones are tracers and red ones are… how do you call it? Something with fire,” the griffon says.

“Incendiary,” I reply, taking the box and giving him the money. “Have a nice day.”

“Inshallah.” The griffon bows.

I walk down the street, watching the sky. The street, previously crowded, is now almost empty. I levitate the rifle and put it on my back. The nook is getting kinda narrow, and given the mess of ropes above me, with clothes and pieces of fabric hanging from them, it’d be hard for a pegasus to fly away. This means the only way out is the gate of a nearby building…

I rush there. Indeed, there’s something white in the dirty backyard on the other side of the gate. I levitate the gun out of my back and gallop forward, scaring some chickens away.

“Kyrie?” I yell, waving the rifle around. “Where are you? I just want to talk! Umm… Ich möchte sprechen… unterhalten.”

I run across the backyard and dive behind the corner, aiming the rifle at anything that is there.

Suddenly, I’m deafened by a loud roar of thousands of voices. In front of me, there’s some kind of parade. Lots of soldiers, Duke and Duchess of Maretonia, Princess Luna, the First Secretary of the Earth Ponies’ Party of Hooviet Union, Sultan of the Trottoman Empire…

Oh yeah, the summit. I completely forgot. Seems that they’re going to the Trotkapi Palace to talk about peace process in Zebrica.

I see two griffons in black uniforms, flying above the crowds. One of them pokes the other one and points at me. The other griffon says something quickly and they approach me slowly.

Fuck.

Suddenly, I realise that I’m standing in the open, levitating a sniper rifle, right next to, like, most of the world’s leaders. That doesn’t exactly improve my public relations. I turn back and run back across the backyard. In the middle of it, I see Hexie running to me.

“How did you find me?” I ask.

“Following the path of destruction,” Hexie replies, stopping. She looks at me, at my rifle, and then at the two griffons chasing me. It’s all she needs to understand the gravity of the situation.

“A niech mnie chuj strzeli,” she whispers, her eyes narrowing. She then runs away. Too bad, instead of galloping towards the gate, she chooses the entrance to the building. I run in her wake, up a flight of stairs.

“Hexie, wait!” I shout as we stop on the second floor. “They can fly and there’s no other way out of here!”

“Gonna think of something…” Hexie mutters, looking around. “You can always shoot them.”

“And get ourselves arrested?” I ask. “Have you ever been in a Trottoman prison?”

“Almost,” Hexie replies. “Our friend Mızrak Bey used to be a customs officer and me and my sister had some kind of an oddjob…”

“You’ll tell me about it when we’re in a cozy cell,” I mutter. “You know what can save us now?”

The door of the flat on our left opens. “Come in, you two!”

“Deus ex machina,” I say, rushing to the flat.

As soon as the door closes and my eyes adjust to the dim light in the hall I realise that what jumped out of the machine definitely wasn’t a god or anything like that. In fact, I think that we’re in an even deeper shit than before.

“Hello, sweetie.” Flitter smiles at me. “Can’t spend a day here without causing an international scandal?”

“It’s not what you think it is,” I say, hiding the rifle behind my back.

“I don’t mean you.” Flitter leads us to the living room, where Cloudchaser is sitting behind a large contraption with a screen and a lot of colourful buttons. “Cloudy, show them the last hour.”

I look at the screen and realise that those two top secret cunts apparently put cameras in the whole Trotkapi Palace. The movie I’m looking at was made in a spacious rooms with long couches standing by all the ornamented walls. Trixie is sitting on one of them with Prince Galip. I can’t hear what they’re talking about, but they seem rather close. Holy shit, they are not showing me the porn of them, are they?

“Destur! Feray Sultan hazretleri!” someone outside the room shouts. Trixie and Galip immediately part; the griffon stands up.

A fat, old griffoness storms the room. She’s wearing a red dress, big like a circus tent, as well as the crown on her head.

“Feray, Prince Galip’s mother,” Cloudchaser explains.

“Valida,” Galip says, bowing. His mom ignores him. She points at Trixie and yells something I can’t understand. Galip looks like he’s trying to explain something to her, but all his efforts are for nothing.

“What are you saying to the Great and Powerful Trixie?” Trixie yells. “Listen to Trixie closely, because she’s not gonna repeat herself: Trixie and Galip are in love and they’re gonna get married whether you want it or not, you old feather duster!”

Feray shouts only one word. I don’t know what it means, but the tone like that is only used when someone yells “guards!” or something like that.

A couple more griffons rush into the room. Trixie grabs a smoke bomb and throws it at the floor. In the ensuing chaos, she punches Feray and disappears. Or rather, I can still more or less see her – it’s just hard for me to focus my gaze on her.

“Von Unsichtbar’s spell,” I mutter. “Where’s she now?”

“As I said to my sister, ‘fuck me if I know’,” Cloudchaser replies. “Well, she did anyway even though I still have no idea, but that’s not the point. Such a scandal during the summit… We managed to cover up the most of it, but it’ll be hard if you keep parading around the town with this.” She points at the rifle. “Where did you even get that?”

“On a bazaar, for roughly a hundred and ninety bits,” I say. “I just needed a scope, but the guy offered me a box of ammo.”

Someone knocks on the door.

“Hide in the bathroom,” Flitter mutters to me and Hexie. “It’s probably your friends.”

We run to the bathroom and lock the door. It’s right next to the flat entrance, so I can hear Flitter and the griffons quite well.

“Agent Hawk and Agent Yavuz.”

“Arrrr you police?” Flitter asks in a fake Prench accent. “Some barbarians terrorised moi wiff a gun! Zey charged into ze house and boom! Zey teleported avay.”

“Do you know where they could teleport?” Agent Hawk (or maybe Yavuz?) asks.

“I ‘ave no idea, officer. Zey said somesing about ze parade…”

“Boktan durum…” the griffon mutters. “Thank you for help.”

I hear the sound of the door closing and sigh with relief. Hexie wipes sweat from her forehead.

“Prekrasna vintovka,” someone behind me says.

Trying not to scream or have a heart attack, I spin quickly. Under the shower, there are two pegasus mares smiling at us. One of them is white, while the other has darker spots just like that Bridleish colt Ruby once fell in love with. Both are wearing greenish uniforms and have so many medals that they’d probably stop a bullet.

“Kurwa, Ruskie,” Hexie mutters, utterly dumbfounded.

Before we can interact more, Flitter knocks at the door. “You can leave!”

I unlock the door and open it.

“Shit,” Flitter mutters, seeing us with two pegasi. “Cloudchaser! I told you to hide those two in the closet!”

“I thought you said ‘bathroom’!” Cloudchaser yells. “That was the plan! Hide our friends in the bathroom and those two retards in the closet!”

Flitter groans and rolls her eyes. “Nevermind. I can still fix this…”

“Fix what?” I ask. “Two Hooviet spies in the shower? What were you doing there? Selling Equestria’s secrets? Or just kinky sex over the Iron Curtain?”

“Hey, why so angry?” the spotted mare asks with a heavy accent. “My name’s Strelka and my droog here is Belka. We’re secret agents.” She winks. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Seks? Mozhet byt’.” Belka shrugs and pats Hexie’s ass. “Ty shlyukha?”

“Tell her I’m not a whore, or I’m gonna smear her on the wall,” Hexie mutters. “Also, can someone explain me what’s going on?”

Flitter sighs. “Okay, so this is totally top secret and if you tell anyone, I’ll have to murder you and make it look like an accident, which takes a fuckton of paperwork, so don’t say a word. You know about the summit, right? It’s all bullshit. Words, words, words. They’re gonna talk and do shit.”

“Well, it’s not that top secret,” I say. “That’s how things always go.”

“We are currently unofficially negotiating with the Hooviet intelligence,” Flitter says. “We no longer support Northern Zebrican government, they stop arming the South and support gorilla warfare…”

“Guerilla warfare,” I say automatically.

“Unfortunately not,” Flitter replies. “Anyway, we came to a conclusion that both sides of the conflict are retarded…”

“It took you six years to realise that?” I ask. “Oh my, the intelligence is getting smarter every day.”

“Take that sarcasm and shove it up your arse,” Flitter mutters.

“V zhopu?” Belka asks, showing that her knowledge of Equine is rather selective. “Ya lyublyu v zhopu!”

Flitter sighs. “Anyway, we already have a zebra candidate who, with our joint support, will defeat both North and South and unite Zebrica. And then, we’ll share the mining contracts. How does it sound?”

“Shady,” Hexie mutters. “And it will never work.”

Strelka chuckles. “Same was said about our great leader. Well, there are difficulties – we’ve seen another spy in Istabmule, one who already screwed up some of our enterprises. She has a pale white coat and blonde mane and her cutie mark is–”

“–a cross with hearts,” I say. “We were chasing her when you found us. Her name is Kyrie and she works for a similar earth mare called Aryanne. There’s also some uniformed wanker called Kloppenfuhrer or something.”

Strelka looks at Belka and Flitter. “Interesting… You seem to know much about them…”

“They’re getting in my way,” I reply. “So… May I go away and mind my own business?”

“We’re not done,” Flitter mutters through gritted teeth. “Do you think I like making shady deals like that? After you blew up that air base, we’re getting all the crappiest jobs. No, I don’t mean sex, dammit!” The last words are directed at Belka, who opened her mouth to say something.

Cloudchaser walks to us. “I think I’ve heard your sweet voice, sister,” she says. “Well, Minuette, you’re free to go for now. It’s not like the firm didn’t find a better agent to follow you…”

“Cloudchaser!” Flitter groans. “There are no agents following you,” she says to us.

“What if they’re so good we don’t see them?” Hexie asks. I swear, if I ever get paranoid, it’ll be because of her.

“Get the fuck out,” Flitter whispers.

“I can’t get the fuck out like that,” I reply, pointing at the rifle on my back.

Strelka raises her hoof. “I’ll give you my balalaika case,” she says. “You’ll give it to me when we meet next time.”

“It’s a normal case, right?” I ask. “It doesn’t have hidden spy stuff?”

“Well, the balalaika has a laser, a hidden blade and–” Strelka looks at Flitter and Cloudchaser and shuts up. “The case is normal.”

“Thanks, then,” I reply. “And of course, this meeting never happened.”

“Where have you been?” Vinyl asks when we finally get back to the library. “Holy shit, is that a balalaika?”

“Yes, but it only plays one melody,” I reply. “A funeral march.”

“So, when you two were sightseeing, we spend a fascinating afternoon deciphering the text on that silver plate,” Lyra says, rolling her eyes. “It was a truly educational event.”

“And it’s some damn riddle again.” Inkie immediately covers her mouth.

“Yeah, ‘oh fuck, I said ‘damn’’,” Vinyl mutters. “We know that joke.”

“But we still don’t know the answer to the riddle.” Lyra levitates her notes to me. Among scribbled hearts, various doodles, and single words, there’s a short poem:

“Okay,” I say. “For starters, it was written by some ancient moron in an even more ancient language. How the hell the translation still rhymes?”

“It took me a while to make it rhyme,” Lyra replies. “Riddles that don’t rhyme don’t count.”

“Okay then. How are we supposed to find an old fork in the desert, why do we have to dig through shit, and who is ‘she’?” I ask.

“It’s a riddle.” Lyra shrugs. “We’ll figure something out when we get back to Haygypt. And probably we’ll have a chance to talk to ‘her;.”

Inkie sighs and lowers her head. “Exactly what I was afraid of…”

Author's Notes:

Notes on the chapter:

Drop A. Stone is a pun on its own, but it's also an allusion to some ancient manhole covers aliens dumped on us.

I wondered what to do with Turkish-like griffon names but it turns out, Turkish names are like pony names by default: most of them mean something. Also, canon griffon names are usually human anyway (Gilda, Gustave, etc). Thus names such as Mızrak (spear; actually a play on a Polish phrase "blunt spear", meaning someone dumb), Galip (victor), and Feray (moon shine. Not sure about the Turkish connotations – do they even have moonshine there?). Some names also have Ottoman-era honorifics added where appropriate (Bey - sir, Hatun - lady).

Destur! Shehzade Galip hazretleri! – "Open up! Prince Galip is coming!". Borrowed from a certain series which is my guilty pleasure (the occurence of this phrase is a good material for a drinking game).

Die Kunst der Körperteile – "The Art of Body Parts". Definitely a very educational book.

Hexie and Kyrie conversation:
"Excuse me. Mrs. Aryanne, right?"
"Aryanne? I've never heard..."
"Oh yeah, Miss Kyrie. I can't forget those green eyes..."
"Bloody hell."

Inshallah – "hopefully", or more literally, "if Allah wills". Given that there's hardly any religion in this universe, make of that what you will.

Ich möchte sprechen… unterhalten. – "I want to speak... talk". At first I confused the German words and corrected myself, but then I also had Minuette correct herself in-universe. She's not any good in foreign languages.

A niech mnie chuj strzeli – a somewhat popular Polish phrase meaning "may a dick shoot me". Yes, we're that creative. And yes, there's at least one (NSFW) picture depicting a literal version.

Hawk and Yavuz were named after those two guys from the aforementioned series.

Boktan durum – "woe is me, the suspect ran away" (not really)

Prekrasna vintovka – nice rifle.

Kurwa, Ruskie – the only proper reaction to being surprised by two Russians hiding in the shower.

Of course, Belka and Strelka are named after first two dogs who went into space and returned to umm... bark a tale?

Seks? Mozhet byt’. Ty shlyukha? – Sex? Might be. Are you a whore?

V zhopu? Ya lyublyu v zhopu! – In the ass? I love in the ass! (her Equine comprehension is very selective, but her enthusiasm breaks all the barriers).