A fulsome bellow of laughter erupted from my companion’s lungs, piercing the din of the other taverngoers’ indistinguishable nattering. A few ponies shot us dirty looks before turning back to their own alcohol-fueled revels. Suitably chastened, Silverclaw managed to mostly stifle his amused outburst.

I already felt my mood lightening after the disaster a few hours earlier. Guess I was right after all, I thought. A bit of drunken revelry is just what the doctor ordered.

“So you’re saying,” Silverclaw managed between low chuckles that drew me out of my reverie, “that your country’s national anthem was based on a drinking song?” At my nod, his laughter, while muted compared to his previous full-throated guffaws, resumed once more.

I shot him a knowing smirk in response. “Figured you’d appreciate that bit of my world’s history.”

“Indeed,” he replied.

We fell into a companionable silence, which I took advantage of to fully drink in the tavern’s atmosphere. I had to give it credit for one thing that I’d somehow managed to overlook on previous visits. While it looked run-down and disreputable on the outside, The Whickered Stallion was anything but on the inside.

Aside from some wooden support posts, the dining area was fairly wide open, with booths along one of the walls for those who were more interested in drowning their sorrows in private. Lanterns with enchanted crystals serving the function of light bulbs dotted the walls above the cherrywood wainscoting at regular intervals, while modest chandeliers hung from the ceiling in strategic locations. Across the tavern from the table that Silverclaw and I were occupying, the bar was constructed from a heavy hardwood whose lacquered finish looked like it had been refreshed sometime recently. Towards the front of the establishment, a little stage was tucked into a corner for live music performances.

All in all, it reminded me vaguely of a bar on Sixth Street in Austin, Texas that I’d frequented in my early- to mid-twenties.

“I think I should like to know how it came about,” he stated at long last, an impish twinkle in his avian eyes.

I took a swig of my hard cider and closed my eyes in contemplation. “I don’t know the exact details, but the tune comes from a sort of social club devoted to the pursuit of ‘wine, women, and song,’ as you might put it, that existed around that time.” Putting my glass down, I stared pointedly into my doctor’s eyes. “Frankly, I don’t know why the club chose that particular song as its anthem, since the tune itself is difficult enough to sing right when sober, let alone when you’re smashed.”

Silverclaw absently waved a talon in a dismissive gesture. “Singing accurately’s never important when you’re inebriated. Just singing loud and proud.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” I quipped, aiming a teasing smile at him.

“You could say that,” he replied in a self-deprecating tone punctuated by a wry chortle.

Though I rolled my eyes at him, I couldn’t stop the smile that was growing on my lips. “Anyway, the guy who wrote the poem that became the lyrics to the anthem must’ve either been a member himself, or had a close acquaintance or family member who’d somehow known of the tune, because once it was pointed out that the lyrics fit the melody, well…” I let out a knowing chuckle. “The rest, as they say, is history.”

“Except, perhaps, for the source of the lyrics,” Silverclaw pointed out with a raised talon.

“Ah, yes. That.” I tapped my chin as I tried to recall as much as I could about the history I’d learned in school. “So, all this was happening about two hundred years ago, when we were involved in a war with a country called the United Kingdom. We called it ‘the War of 1812,’ but for them, it was just another front in a larger war they were fighting at the time. It pretty much ended in a bloody stalemate that both sides had gotten tired of fighting.

“By the time of the battle that inspired the lyrics, the other side had largely concluded the main front of their war, and thus had troops to spare for taking us on. They were starting to win major victories, including the capture and sacking of our nation’s capital, Washington, D.C. But there was one area where American defenses had proven to be a thorn in their side for most of the war ‒ Fort McHenry, overlooking Baltimore Harbor.”

I held up a hand to forestall any commentary from my audience. “Yes, I’m aware that Baltimore has a parallel here in Equestria. All too aware, frankly.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Silverclaw replied with a sly smile.

“Anyway, just before the battle for Baltimore, the man who came up with the lyrics for the anthem, Francis Scott Key, had come aboard one of the British warships involved in the battle under a flag of truce to negotiate for the release of a group of prisoners that included a close friend of his. Because these negotiations took place as the plans for the attack on Baltimore were being drawn up, Key himself was held captive until after the battle.

“Despite heavy bombardment from British warships, the fort remained in American hands, and the British were forced to withdraw. It was a major victory, and the beginning of a reversal of the war’s momentum that helped speed along peace negotiations between the two countries that were already underway at the time. But it was that victory that inspired Key to write the lyrics, and ultimately, to set them to the tune of the drinking song I mentioned earlier.”

Silverclaw let out a long breath. “Fascinating,” he simply said. “To make war sound so poetic, and while drinking about it, no less.” He chuckled again. “Perhaps humans and griffons aren’t so different after all.”

A weak, patient smile dawned on my features. “I’m not sure that’s the takeaway I was going for, Doc,” I murmured, “But I appreciate the sentiment, nonetheless.”

“Then let us toast to all the things that bring us together as fellow sapients,” Silverclaw said grandly. He raised his glass, which at the moment only contained less than a third of its original volume of purplish brown fluid. At our first outing into the wild realm of Equestrian carousing, he’d referred to the drink as “Neighvari,” an expensive and temperature-sensitive alcoholic beverage that was popular with griffons, for some strange reason that I still didn’t fully understand.

After one taste, I’d described it in less-than-charitable terms, which only caused him to laugh loudly and declare that he was taking me under his wing to teach a neophyte like me the fine art of appreciating alcohol.

Back in the present, I stared into the strange brew for a moment, then blew out an amused huff of air. My smile developed a new warmth to it as I raised my own glass. “Sure, I can drink to that.”

We clinked our glasses together and gulped down the remaining contents. After a few moments of silently staring into our empty drink containers, Silverclaw spoke up once more.

“So, how about a little demonstration, then?”

I blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

He gestured towards the stage. “I’m curious. I was hoping you’d be willing to sing this... song of your people.”

“What, the anthem, or the song it was based on?”

“Yes.”

I shot him a deadpan stare, only partly because of his attempt to be cryptic. “I don’t think I’m quite drunk enough for that just yet.”

He raised a talon in a defensive gesture. “You’re the one who said it was an easier song to sing while sober. I figured I’d offer you the chance to put forth your best effort.” The impish twinkle had returned to his eyes once more.

I mulled over my options, only to silently curse when I realized that he had me there. With a significant amount of reluctance, I threw my hands up in surrender. “Okay, fine. But you’re only getting the anthem version, because I only know the first four words of the original lyrics.”

“Fair enough,” he replied with a slight chortle.

I began my gallows march towards the stage, pausing midway to look back at him. “You’re just lucky it’s open mic night.”

My remark provoked a new round of guffawing from the middle-aged griffon. “Go on,” he eventually managed with a wave of a talon, as if to shoo me towards the stage. “Quit stalling.”

I made a rude noise. “So be it.”

I wasn’t exactly rushin’ the stage, though. With a heavy tread, I slowly moseyed in the general direction of the corner that had been set aside for amateur hour antics. A familiar powder blue unicorn mare wearing a floral print headscarf over her wavy russet mane stood onstage, holding aloft a microphone in a steel gray telekinetic field that matched her eyes. Said eyes danced in the warm light of the bar as I approached.

“I’ll admit that I didn’t expect you to ever grace us with a little performance, Mister Knox,” she said, her wry smile dimpling her cheeks.

“I know,” I quipped in reply, while wearing a crooked grin. “It’s gotta be a sign of the apocalypse, or something.”

“I’ll… take your word for it,” she said, nonplussed.

I shook my head and sighed. “Never mind, Evening Glow. It’s a human thing. To be honest, let’s just say that the good doctor” ‒ I swept my hand in Silverclaw’s direction ‒ “prescribed a dose of patriotism to cure my case of the Saturday night blahs.”

Evening Glow’s face bore an enigmatic smile as she offered me the microphone, only to succumb to a girlish giggle as I plucked it from her telekinetic field. “Whatever works for you, hon,” she said once she had recovered the power of speech. “I’m sure whatever you have to share will be interesting.”

I nearly dropped the microphone when she gently hip-checked me, a coy smile adorning her muzzle. By some great miracle, I managed to avoid completely embarrassing myself. The sensation of many eyes drinking in my flustered reaction threatened to send me running into the streets in a blind, gibbering panic.

This is stupid, I berated myself. Yes, ponies have a different idea of personal space than I do, but that doesn’t make it right to react like they have cooties! When in Rome…

When in Rome… That had been my mantra for maintaining my sanity ever since arriving in Equestria. I could only hope that it would continue to serve me well for as long as I needed it to.

Taking a deep breath to steel myself, I offered my audience a weak smile. I wasn’t about to end up with mom’s spaghetti regurgitated on my clothes. Now was the time to step up and show this brave new world what I was made of.

“So, um, yeah...” I began with no small amount of apprehension. The din slowly died down to a respectful silence. “This song is called The Star-Spangled Banner, and it’s kind of special for me, because it’s my country’s national anthem.”

Without further ado, I put my right hand over my heart, just like I had been conditioned to do since I was a child, and began to sing.

I wouldn’t say that my performance was Grammy-worthy, but it was competent. At the very least, it wasn’t as bad as the one that a certain purported comedienne infamously turned in at Jack Murphy Stadium during the early Nineties.

Then again, that’s kind of a low Barr.

Had I known more than just the first verse, I might have gone on beyond what was traditionally performed at sporting events. Instead, I finished with a hearty, “Play ball!”

Before departing the stage, I placed the microphone back on its stand. A smattering of pony-style applause followed me back to my seat. Meh, I’ll take what I can get, I thought.

Silverclaw greeted me with a wry chuckle and a one-word response: “Fascinating.”

Rolling my eyes, I went back to nursing my drink, which had been conspicuously refilled while I was on stage. For some time, we watched others take to the stage, content to consume our beverages and offer the occasional comment on the performances to one another.

We were just finishing another round of drinks ‒ my fourth, and I had lost count of how many Doc had had. I was starting to feel a bit tipsy, and a glance at my companion showed that he wasn’t faring much better. At that moment, Evening Glow approached our table once more. “Last call, gentlecolts,” she declared, “Do you want one more round for the road?”

Silverclaw and I glanced at one another, and I merely shrugged. He made an encouraging gesture with one of his talons, and I nodded at our waitress. “Sure, why not?”

Evening Glow offered me a warm smile. “Sure thing, hon,” she said before sauntering off in the direction of the bar, her tail swishing slightly as she went. Looking back at the stage, I saw one of the bar’s employees was breaking down the equipment to put into storage for the next open mic night. All around us, the bar was beginning to empty as patrons finished their drinks and paid their tabs.

It wasn’t long before our drinks arrived, carried aloft in the gray glow of Evening’s telekinesis, along with a strip of paper with writing on it that I could only assume was our bill.

Silverclaw’s beak drew up in a frown as he perused the invoice. “Forty-two bits, eh?” His expression morphed into an arch smile, and he barked out a string of amused chortles. “You sure are an expensive date.”

With a playful scowl, I growled, “Gimme that!” I then snatched the bill from his talons with surprising deftness for the amount of booze coursing through my system. I slowly perused the piece of paper, giving my alcohol-fogged brain adequate time to puzzle out the still-foreign characters that comprised pony script.

Eventually, I found what I was looking for, and jabbed triumphantly at a particular line in the bill. “Hmph, says the one who accounted for the lion’s share of the bill with his overpriced mouthwash.”

“Yes, but I’m paying for it, aren’t I?” he retorted, “I’m entitled to a little self-indulgence.”

We both quickly downed our drinks. “I suppose so,” I admitted soberly as we stood up to leave.

Silverclaw dug into his satchel and brought out a bag of bits, counting out a sizable portion that he proceeded to leave on the table. “That should also cover the tip for our lovely waitress,” he explained with a grin.

“Then let’s get outta here,” I replied, unable to contain an air of impatience. In my haste to depart, however, I nearly bowled over Evening Glow, who was coming to collect our payment.

“Oh! Sorry!” I cried out, stepping back to let her pass.

“It’s okay, dearie,” she replied cheerfully. “I’m used to dodging customers on their way out. Come back and see us real soon, okay?” She began humming tunelessly to herself as she set about wiping down our table and taking the money, all at the same time. All without lifting a hoof.

Suddenly, hands looked a lot less advantageous in the light of unicorn telekinesis.

I was gently, but firmly herded towards the exit by the pressure of a griffon talon on my arm. I had my coat halfway on by the time we stepped out into the frigid air that seemed to define Canterlot nights during winter’s icy embrace. The resulting blast of arctic wind hastened my half-drunk efforts to finish gearing up against the hostile environment.

Our slightly wobbly course took us through one of the tougher parts of Lower Canterlot. The houses in the area looked particularly run-down, and the streets were sparsely populated with the usual ne’er-do-wells one finds in such slums.

A unicorn stallion wearing a genuine fake fur-lined mageweave coat and shades hollered out at us from under a street lamp as we approached. “Watches! I’ve got watches here!”

In my peripheral vision, I absently noted that he was indeed levitating a suitcase full of expensive-looking watches that were probably just cheap knockoffs. We ignored him. Undeterred, he continued to cajole us. “Yo! Hey colt, this shit’d cost you three-hundred bits in the store!”

Upon noticing that we were passing by without more than a cursory glance, his attitude immediately soured. “Aw, whatever!” he spat, throwing a contemptuous wave of his hoof at our passing forms.

Thankfully, from the sound of things, it didn’t take him long to find his next potential mark and start up his spiel again. “Watches!”

Further on down the cobblestoned streets, we came across an earth pony mare wearing an especially lacy saddle with a train that obscured her cutie mark like a veil. The train terminated at the high point of her tail, leaving her rump exposed to the elements. Her hind legs bore equally lacy stockings, coupled with a garter belt that connected to the rest of her outfit about halfway between her tail and the saddle. Even to my untrained eye, it seemed like it might be considered provocative dress for a pony.

“Hey baby,” she cooed seductively, “I could show you a good time.”

Before I could even react, she turned around and lifted her tail, revealing all her goods. I was once again reminded of the similarities between the genitals of Equestria’s ponies and their non-sapient cousins back on Earth. Just below her tail lay the protruding anal sphincter that threatened to make me swear off of donuts forever. Further down, the rhythmically flexing, pocketbook-like vaginal lips half-concealed, half-revealed a slightly bulbous shape that I could only assume was the mare’s engorged clitoris, coated in a light pearlescent glaze ‒ a mixture of the juices of her arousal alongside juices of a different sort that suggested she’d already “entertained” one customer tonight.

“What do you say, Mister?” she asked, looking back at me through half-lidded eyes. “Care for a pony ride?”

I quickly threw a hand over my eyes, even though the damage had already been done.

“Nopenopenopenopenopenopenope! Sooooo much nope! Not drunk enough for that shit!” I cried out, groping blindly for a few seconds before catching hold of a feathery wing and tugging desperately in any direction that might lead away from the shameless hooker. An outraged squawk and a sharp jab in the ribs helped to both bring me to my senses and direct me away from the source of my distress.

“Sorry about that,” I said lamely, ignoring the disgruntled huff of the mare behind us. I could’ve sworn I heard her mutter something that sounded like coltcuddlers under her breath. Ignoring the likely slur as we moved away from the mare, I inspected the spot where Silverclaw had struck me. Thankfully, he’d managed to avoid drawing blood, but the ribs would probably still be tender for a few hours.

“Just don’t do it again, if you value your health,” he warned, fixing me with a cold stare. His expression quickly softened, however. “I take it you’ve never been propositioned before?” he asked with an amused chuckle.

“Not by a pony prostitute, no.”

Unbidden, we continued our walk in silence for some time. In my partially inebriated haze, I found my gaze directed downwards more often than not, as the emotions and events of the past week swirled around in my head.

After about a hundred yards, and a cascade of images in my head that assaulted my psyche, I was feeling rather overwhelmed, and stumbled over to the side of the road before unglamorously plopping my butt down on a pile of dirty snow. My hands flew up to brace my head, and I let out a silent scream in an effort to drown out the disturbing visions I was seeing.

Silverclaw looked as if he’d been about to make some glib remark, only to reconsider on seeing my mental state. Instead, with a voice filled with genuine concern, he asked, “Are you alright?”

I sighed. “You tell me. Between these ridiculous hallucinations I keep having about things that seem to be from the hole in my memory, particularly under the influence of the Music of Harmony, and all the added stress of suddenly finding myself in an alien world, I sometimes think I might be about to crack. I mean, I blew up at Twinkleshine over an innocent question asked in jest, and then there’s the whole situation with Moondancer.”

Silverclaw frowned, saying nothing for a long time. Finally, he spoke, with all the gravitas of a doctor telling a patient that their cancer is terminal. “I’m afraid you’re not going to like what I have to say, then. If the tests we ran on Wednesday were any indication, there is powerful magic at work involving the missing part of your memory. It’s certainly beyond my expertise, and I’m not sure if the unicorns on the Princesses’ medical staff would be any better equipped to help you.”

He raised a placating talon before I could even open my mouth to object. “I’m sure they’ll do everything in their power to help you, so long as it’s ethical to do so.” His beak curled up in an impish grin. “It’s why we take the Ponycratic Oath, after all.”

His face fell once more. “That said, I’m not sure if there’s anything Faran or I can do for you other than care for your mental well-being. I’m terribly sorry, Derren, but it is what it is.”

My expression soured. He was right, I didn’t like his answer. And as if that weren’t enough of a kick in the pants, I was enough of an adult to know that getting upset about it wouldn’t help matters.

Life just wasn’t fair sometimes.

I spent some time embroiled in my inner turmoil before deciding to figure out what I could do about my situation. Ultimately, that meant confronting the very thing that had sent me on my mission to get plowed under the watchful auspices of a medical professional. “So, what do you make of what happened this afternoon, Doc?”

He cocked his head, scratching at his temple with a claw as he contemplated his reply. “Any particular aspect of the drama you wish for me to opine on? Keep in mind, I’m going off of what you told me, so anything I say may be of…” ‒ the grin he was wearing was half apologetic, half teasing ‒ “limited applicability.”

I wasn’t in the mood for his japes at the moment, though. “Do you think Moondancer is right, Doc?” My voice was barely audible, yet he heard me just fine, if the sudden crestfallen expression he was wearing was any indication. “Does Twilight really see me as just a problem to solve, and not as a friend?”

A thoughtful furrow beset the griffon’s eyebrows. “I’m not acquainted with Miss Sparkle well enough to make that judgement for sure.” Seeing that his response did nothing to reassure me, he added, “But from what I’ve seen, she doesn’t seem like the type.”

I let out a noncommital huff of air as I considered his words.

Before the silence could become oppressive, Silverclaw walked over and sat down on his haunches next to me, draping a wing over my shoulder. “Perhaps you should talk to Faran. She’s got the training for this sort of thing, even if she tends to rub people the wrong way.”

I snorted derisively. “I would if I could. Faran hasn’t spoken to me since Wednesday. Whatever happened at the end of that exam really threw her for a loop, and for some reason, it’s gotten her to be even more… frigid than usual. I wish to hell I knew why she’s chosen to take it out on me.”

For some reason, this produced a knowing smile in Silverclaw. “Ponies, and mares especially, can be very strange, almost like alien creatures.”

“Doc, from this world’s perspective, I’m the alien creature,” I retorted.

He chortled. “Alright. Poor choice of words.” He adopted a thoughtful expression. “What I’m saying is that mares can sometimes act funny when they’re still sorting out their feelings about a stallion.”

Silverclaw closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His next words were accompanied by an intense stare. “I’ve known Faran for as long as I’ve been with the medical exchange program, and I’ve never known her to be anything other than professional to a fault, even though she can be a bit blunt at times.

“I can count on one talon the number of times she’s been as driven to emotional turmoil as she is around you, Meeester Knox ‒ especially like what happened during the exam. It seems that you have struck a chord with something inside her that she keeps buried under lock and key. Something she zealously guards like a mother bear does her cubs.”

I blinked. “Are you saying that she’s interested in me? Like, in a manner that might be considered unprofessional? Even though we’re two very different species?”

Silverclaw shrugged. “I can’t say for sure. All I know is what I’ve seen. And from the way she’s talked to me about you ‒ at great length, I might add ‒ you probably confuse and frustrate her just as much as she does you.” A knowing smile lit his features. “Come to think of it, mares like her aren’t all that different from a griffon hen in regards to a tiercel who’s caught her fancy.”

A wry smile wormed its way onto my lips. “Or some human women. It’s probably why the tsundere archetype is so common in Japanese romantic comedies back on Earth.”

“Must be a constant of the multiverse, then,” Silverclaw replied before devolving into raucous laughter that echoed in the narrow street we were on. For some reason, his mirth was infectious, and before long, I was adding my own bellowing guffaws to the cacophony we were creating.

Eventually, our laughter died down to a more manageable level. “Come on,” Silverclaw said at last, rising to a standing position and offering me an outstretched talon, “We should get going. As your primary physician while you’re in Canterlot, I wouldn’t want you to catch cold.”

Taking hold of the proffered appendage, I allowed myself to be hauled to my feet, still wearing a genuine smile. “Thanks, Doc.”

He smiled warmly. “Anything for a friend.”

As his words sank in, an unexpected warmth filled my being, banishing the chilly atmosphere like a blast of tropic air. I regarded Silverclaw with a newfound admiration. He may have only been my doctor when we met, and we may have been mere acquaintances for most of the last few weeks, but I finally felt that I had truly made my first friend in Equestria.

When the moment passed, I decided to take stock of our situation. We were much closer to the alleyway that led into the caves that served as part of the support structure for the city, and would ultimately lead us back to the castle. As we walked, I noticed a large, garishly decorated building that had a whole city block all to itself. Though we’d passed by it many times on previous outings, this was the first time I’d truly paid any attention to it. So much so, in fact, that I stopped walking to take in the sight.

The place was ablaze with neon lights, and raucous music thrummed lowly from the open front doors, where a tough-looking earth pony bouncer stood watch. It seemed to exude an energy all its own, one that invited patrons to shed their inhibitions and embrace their baser impulses.

After several long moments of careful study, I managed to puzzle out the establishment’s name. “Technically Legal’s Pleasure Palace? Weird.”

“It’s also not a place for upstanding citizens to frequent,” Silverclaw replied. A predatory grin stretched across his beak. “And while I wouldn’t call myself an ‘upstanding citizen’ by any stretch, you are.”

I gave him a look. “I’m not as innocent as you seem to think.” I waved my hand at the wretched hive that we were discussing. “That’s the sort of name I might expect to see on a strip club back on Earth. Though I’m kind of at a loss for how such a club would work in a society with no nudity taboo. We may have to check it out sometime.” At his skeptical eyebrow, I added, “For science, of course.”

A devilish grin arose on Silverclaw’s features. “Of course. But that time is not tonight, unless you wish to find us a hotel at this late hour.”

With some reluctance, I nodded. My curiosity would have to be sated later. We moved on, as the alley we were looking for was on the far end of the pony-style titty bar.

Silverclaw and I looked at each other with a little bit of trepidation as we approached, and for good reason. It was a blind alley that dead-ended at the sheer mountainside that Canterlot clung to like a security blanket. Only a clever person would be able to defeat the camouflage that hid the support tunnel from prying eyes.

“I don’t suppose we could find another tunnel?” I asked.

Silverclaw shook his head. “It would take too long. As it is, we’re already risking drawing unwanted attention.”

“Especially this late at night, in this part of Canterlot,” I added in a low tone.

We had barely reached the halfway point of the alley when we heard the clopping of hooves behind us. I didn’t think much of it, at first. In fact, we didn’t slow down at all. Once it had a chance to register in my brain, though, I thought it might be a good idea to pick up the pace a bit. Being followed into a blind alley rarely ended well, to put it mildly.

“Hey,” a gruff voice behind us called out. “Hey, you!”

Fuck.

“Keep walking,” Silverclaw murmured, his voice thick with urgency. “We’re almost there.”

“Hey! We’re talking to you!”

One-hundred feet. The clopping grew steadily louder and faster. Still, we pressed on for the safety of the caves.

Fifty feet. The ponies behind us were hot on our heels now. Silverclaw and I had picked up our pace considerably, now just below the point of running.

Twenty feet. I could hear the ethereal wind chimes that accompanied unicorn magic. At that point, I threw caution to the wind and broke into a run, willfully ignoring the protests of my burning lungs as they struggled to take in enough of the thinner mountain air to keep me going. At the same time, the ruffling sound of wings being unfurled told me that Silverclaw was getting ready to take to the air. Whether it was to aid me or to abandon me to the wolves was an open question.

Whatever he had been planning to do was rendered moot by our arrival at the mountain wall at the end of the alleyway. Before we’d even come to a halt, I had already started frantically looking around for the secret outcropping that would grant access when pressed, my breath coming in heaving gasps as I struggled to get my lungs working properly again.

This mountain air was going to kill me someday.

Chancing a glance over at Silverclaw, I saw that he still had his wings extended to an impressive length. Given what I’d seen of Rainbow Dash’s flying abilities, it wasn’t too hard to surmise that griffons could also take off from a standstill, and he was keeping his options open in case we couldn’t puzzle out the means of ingress in time.

As it turned out, we couldn’t. A pulsing, sickly green light filled my vision, and I felt a wave of heat washing across my cheek as an energy bolt slammed into the wall in front of us, making us jump back in surprise. The illusion before us shimmered like a mirage for a moment. A ghastly glow washed across its surface in waves as if someone had dropped a stone in a pond, before settling back into mute solidity.

With no other choice, we turned around to confront our pursuers. In the dim light of the alleyway, I could see that both were wearing heavy black cloaks that obscured their coats and cutie marks. Their heads were garbed in what I could only describe as the pony version of a balaclava. Clearly, these distinguished gentlecolts didn’t want to be identified.

“Oh, hell,” I murmured, having just gotten my breath back.

“End of the line, colts,” came the gruff voice from before, from the stallion on the left.

“Gentlecolts,” Silverclaw cajoled ingratiatingly, stepping towards them with a talon outstretched. “There’s no need to resort to violence. We were just passing through. Surely, you won’t harass innocent travellers?” An acid tone creeped into his voice. “After all, you ponies are so enlightened, to hear your newspapers tell it.”

“We would never dream of it,” came the sibilant voice of the stallion on the right. He was lankier than his companion, but was still solidly built. “However, we do have business to discuss with you.”

“What sort of business requires firing a warning shot?” I demanded, subtly shifting my stance in case I needed to fight.

If I were honest with myself, what I was preparing to do was extremely reckless. I may have had several years of martial arts training, but I mostly did it for the exercise. Sparring was never my strong suit, and that was against another human. Facing off against a sapient quadruped was completely beyond my realm of experience. The fact that our potential opponents had access to magic made it feel like I would be going up against a tank while armed with nothing more than a red herring. I certainly wouldn’t have done it if I thought we had a chance of escape. It was obvious that the warning shot had been meant to deter us from attempting to enter the support tunnels, and the two mountains of equine muscle were blocking the way back out of the alley.

If push came to shove, I’d likely be on the receiving end of a no-holds-barred beatdown. I had to hope against hope that it wouldn’t come to that.

“The special kind of business,” the stallion on the right replied with a harsh hiss. His eyes took on a malevolent glint. “We’re… tax collectors, of a sort. You see, it’s dangerous to be roaming about this part of Canterlot at night. We’re providing a civic service for folks like you by keeping you safe from folks like us. We only ask that you… donate whatever valuables you’re carrying right now.”

“I’m sorry, I already gave at the office,” I admitted with a tinge of regret.

“As did I,” Silverclaw added, though his voice had more of a note of defiance to it.

The two stallions shared a glance. “Perhaps we should be more direct, then,” the smaller stallion with the sibilant voice retorted. He looked at Silverclaw with a steely demeanor that I felt rather than saw. “You have something that belongs to us, and we aim to get it back.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Silverclaw insisted.

“The Celestial Sigil,” the sibilant stallion said in a tone that brooked no discussion. “We know you have it. Hand it over, and everything will be fine.”

Doc tapped a claw against his beak as if in thought. “Nope, still not ringing any bells.”

The stallion with the gruff voice stepped closer. From the way he loomed large before me, he could almost look the Princesses in the eyes. His breath wafted by me, smelling strongly of hay and alcohol. A heavy weight settled in my gut, and I got the distinct impression that we were about to have a very bad time.

“Round amulet bearing the likeness of a three-eyed, multi-tentacled skull,” he snarled at Silverclaw. “Has gems set ninety degrees apart from one another ‒ an emerald above the head, a yellow topaz below the tentacles, a sapphire by the left eye socket, and an amethyst by the right eye socket.” His voice lowered menacingly. “Does that ring any bells?”

After some hesitation, Silverclaw met the gruff stallion’s baleful gaze with a steely glare of his own. “Even if I had the slightest idea of what you were talking about, much less had such an ominous-sounding trinket in my posession, if you think that you can intimidate me into giving it up, then you’re fishing in the ocean with a truffle-infested worm.”

I blinked at him in confusion. That’s a strange expression. Is that a griffon saying?

Whether or not it was, our assailants seemed to recognize it, as they visibly tensed up. A deathly silence descended upon the alley. Even the normal background noise seemed to be in abeyance, as if watching the outcome of this encounter. But at long last, the silence was broken by the gruff-voiced stallion’s harsh laughter.

“And here I thought my night was going to be boring,” he said, a menacing glee dripping from every word. His horn lit up, a nauseatingly green color illuminating the area. His companion’s horn did the same.

The bottom dropped out from my stomach, and I was sweating bullets. This will definitely not end well for us.

Before I could even blink, a bolt of energy smacked me solidly in the chest, sending me staggering back. My flailing stumble was mostly arrested by the illusory wall behind me. Unfortunately, the remaining momentum was transferred laterally, and I stumbled out over my own feet. By some miracle, I managed to remain upright.

My sideways shuffle had the added benefit of getting me mostly out of the way of my assailant’s followup charge. He ended up embedding his horn in the holographic barrier, but not before grazing my arm with the thick pigsticker. A lance of pain radiated up from the point where I had been struck, and I reflexively grabbed the injured limb. My clothes now sported a not insubstantial rip where the horn had passed by, and the skin underneath felt quite raw. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like any blood had been drawn.

I finally found my footing, just in time to see that he had freed himself from the wall and had turned his backside to me, limbs already bending in preparation for a classic equine buck to the face.

I found just enough wherewithal to leap back out of the way of his thrusting hind legs. It just so happened that his landing was off balance enough to buy me the time for one counterattack. Going for the obvious target, I pushed off with my right leg and, using my left for balance, swung my foot powerfully forward.

The front kick is one of the most basic attacks a martial arts student learns. In the right circumstances, however, it can be devastatingly effective. In this case, the ball of my foot made solid contact with my assailant’s groin. The pendulous orbs dangling from his backside depressed inward with a meaty thwack from the force of my kick.

A savage grin warped my features as the stallion lept painfully into the air. The fact that his anguished wail sounded at least an octave higher than his normal voice told me that I had hit him particularly hard. Amazingly, he managed to land solidly on his hind legs. Comically holding his wounded crotch with his forelegs, he hopped around like a child doing the pee-pee dance for several seconds before collapsing in a twitching heap on the ground.

With cautious steps, I approached my downed opponent, hands raised defensively in case of any surprises. I was hoping against hope that my counterattack had taken him out of the fight, because I was gasping for breath already and sweating profusely under my coat.

My hesitation nearly turned out to be my downfall. The only warning I had of the stallion’s impending attack was the glow from his horn. I juked sideways just in time to avoid the incoming beam of energy by the narrowest of margins ‒ so narrow, in fact, that I could feel the the ray’s heat against my coat as it passed by.

Given my assailant’s unfair range advantage that evolution had graced him with, it felt like I was bringing a red herring to a gunfight. My only option was to try and rush him before he could get back to his hooves, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t be able to reload his magic pigsticker in time.

I was still gasping like a fish out of water as I poured everything I had into a desperate charge and lept onto his back like a rodeo clown trying to stop a rampaging bronco. He’d been struggling to stand, and my sudden added weight unbalanced him enough to send us crashing back to earth, knocking the air from his lungs and sending a hard jolt through my spine from the force of the landing.

At least we’re equally disadvantaged now, I thought. The coughs racking his body as he struggled to get his breath back matched my own desperate gasping from the thin mountain air.

I squirmed around on his back, seeking a position that would allow me to pin him down. All the while, he was doing his best to buck me off of him. In my desperate flailing about, I reached out with a hand and roughly seized his horn, which had begun to glow again.

It was at that moment that I learned just how sensitive unicorn horns can be when channeling magic. His horn abruptly cut out, and judging from the way he flinched and the very equine anguished squeal he let out, one would’ve thought I’d kicked him in the balls again.

Knowing that I had to end the fight quickly before he recovered and tore me to pieces, my grip on his horn tightened, and I delivered a solid punch to the side of his head, just behind the eye. Not knowing anything about equine anatomy, I wasn’t sure if this would merely be an incapacitating blow or a killing one, or if it would even affect him at all. All I knew was that I had to try something before I got my ass handed to me.

A grunt erupted from the stallion’s lips as his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed to the ground in a heap. He didn’t move any more, but the shallow, slowly deepening rise and fall of his chest told me that he’d merely been rendered unconscious.

I offered a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deities might’ve been watching that I hadn’t shed blood in my ignorance. Several long moments passed as I paused to catch my breath before rising to my feet.

With my opponent disabled for the time being, I turned to see how Silverclaw was faring against our other attacker. The thug’s gaze was directed skyward, suggesting that Doc had taken to the air. Following his gaze, I tried to pierce the gloom overhead and find my drinking buddy.

Unfortunately, my Mark One Human Eyeballs weren’t evolved enough to make out anything other than the infinite void above. Some of the stars had been blocked out by a dark silhouette that was too far away for me to distinguish whether the object was pony or griffon. Worse, the shape obstructing my view of the night sky seemed to be receding, as if flying up and away.

Before the notion that Silverclaw might have truly abandoned me could even fully form in my mind, however, the increasingly familiar hum of active magic drew my attention back to ground level. The mugger’s horn glowed the same sickly green as his partner in crime, and his focus was still fixed on the heavens above.

Realizing who was the likely target of the mugger’s impending attack, I decided to intervene. Violently.

I rushed forward, despite not having a plan fully formulated. If Silverclaw was up there plotting a counterattack, any distraction would be invaluable. As I closed the distance, my mind ‒ perhaps fueled by five glasses of hard cider and too many hours spent watching professional wrestling as a kid ‒ settled on a flying tackle worthy of the Ultimate Warrior.

One of the stallion’s ears twitched, and swiveled in my direction. The moment I was in range, I leapt into the air with a blood-curdling war cry…

Only to remain airborne, helplessly flailing my limbs as the air around me glowed that damned puke green color. In absolute horror, I watched as my assailant’s head slowly turned in my direction, a malevolent gleam in his pale blue eyes.

“You just had to take a flying leap at me, didn’t you?” he sneered, clearly enjoying my fruitless struggles against his telekinetic hold. An intangible force flung me against the nearest wall. The impact forced the air from my lungs and set the pain receptors in both my upper back and my skull afire.

The pain had a secondary effect of providing me with a moment of clarity. Remember, I thought, the enemy’s gate is “down!”

Despite the cheesiness of recalling a line from one of the more disappointing sci-fi series of my youth, I was better prepared for the next attack. In a way, being held in mid-air telekinetically was a lot like having someone suddenly turn off the gravity.

“Tell me,” the stallion before me hissed in a sibilant purr, “does your kind really enjoy leaping into action so much?”

My muscles jerked involuntarily as I was yanked away from the wall, only to be slammed into the wall on the other side of the alley. Thankfully, this time I had the presence of mind to attempt to shift my body for a breakfall. While pain still accompanied the impact, it was much reduced, and I managed to avoid slamming my head against the wall.

I was then raised high into the air by the stallion’s telekinesis, only to be thrown hard against the ground. Again, my martial arts training saved me from extensive damage, but I could tell that I was going to lose this war of attrition if things didn’t change soon.

And then things changed.

I wasn’t sure how, but the stallion must have seen me brace myself for impact on the third slam, as he pulled me up short, jerking me around like a ragdoll. Before I could even react to the sudden development, I was thrown savagely into the wall to my left.

Pain radiated out from all points along the left side of my body as it collided with the wall. Then the world exploded into starbursts as my head followed suit less than a second later. Between the alcohol I’d ingested earlier and the white hot lance of agony searing my brain, I was on the verge of passing out. When I dared to open my eyes, my nerves were assaulted with another sharp blast of fire, and the featureless blob that was my assailant seemed to have multiplied, as if I were severely hungover.

I closed my eyes quickly, fighting to remain conscious. But while my vision may have been swimming, my hearing must have been even more screwed up, because I could’ve sworn I heard the angry screech of a bird of prey.

A heavy thud reached my ears, and all of a sudden, gravity reasserted its dominance over me once more. Thankfully, I didn’t have far to fall. The sounds of the struggle around me continued as I rose woozily to my feet and tried to shake off the cobwebs.

Ever so slowly, I opened my eyes. My head throbbed and my stomach churned, but I could tolerate the dim light of the alley a bit better now. Unfortunately, my vision hadn’t improved in the slightest. A quick touch to my brow confirmed that my glasses had somehow fallen off while I was getting slung around the alley like a ragdoll, and I was still suffering from double vision.

A multitude of black blurs, each moving as one entity that occasionally came into singular focus, was still wrestling around with a similar cohort of silver-and-brown blurs. Neither side seemed able to seize the advantage over the other for a long time. At long last, however, the silver blurs managed to fling the black blurs almost contemptuously away to collapse in a heap in a corner of the alley. Belatedly, my addled mind began to piece together who the opposing sides were ‒ Silverclaw and the remaining thug that had mugged us.

The blurs that represented the middle-aged griffon shifted as if to face me, briefly converging on the central blur as they did so. “Are you alri‒”

“LOOK OUT!”

My vision cleared in time to see a brilliant gold-colored beam reach out across the darkness of the dingy alleyway to slam home against the body of our assailant, who had been in the process of rising to his hooves, horn alight for another attack. He collapsed once more to the ground, and lay still.

A mint colored blur soon emerged from behind Silverclaw. “Are you okay?” a somewhat familiar, angelic feminine voice inquired.

What is she doing here? I thought she’d decided to stay behind in Ponyville? The incongruity of the mare's presence proved to be the proverbial straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. My brain decided to shut down at that point to reboot in safe mode.

With what was no doubt a goofy grin on my face, I made a gun with my right hand, pointed it into the air, and pretended to shoot, eking out a gravelly “Bang” before surrendering to oblivion.

Author's Notes:

Guess who showed up to save the day at the end?

And yes, Derren's tale of how The Star-Spangled Banner came about is a true story.

As far as the fight scene goes, I tried to skirt the line between Derren being a pussy and Derren being an OP Gary Stu. I hope this solution works to your satisfaction.

Speaking of the fight scene... TFW you realize the muggers are demanding this: https://terraria.gamepedia.com/Celestial_Sigil

TFW you also realize what Silverclaw's response refers to.

And finally, if you enjoyed Evening Glow's little cameo here, and want to read about her getting lewd, why not try my newest fic, The Barmare?