Around the World in 81 Days (And Other Problems Caused by Leap Years)

by GaPJaxie

First published 7th of August, 2016

When Twilight and Celestia have an argument about the existence of leap years, there’s only one possible way to settle their differences: a race around the world!

When Twilight and Celestia have an argument about the existence of leap years, there’s only one possible way to settle their differences: a race around the world!

With the full benefit of hindsight, there may have been other ways.

An 80 Days crossover, written as part of Horizon's writing challenge. Edited by Ether Echoes, Soge, Giant Hat, and Tormented Dragon, who are all amazing.

The Wager

There is a story that sailors and drivers and railway ponies tell about Princess Twilight Sparkle and her legendary race around the world. No two versions of it are the same, but in every telling it is invariably filled with larger than life heroics, ranging from battling dragon pirates to the Royal Princess herself having to jump train cars with the circus ponies. It is also usually a funny story, full of lighthearted whim and whimsy. But this detail is no more accurate than the rest, for the truth behind the story is actually quite sad.

It is the story, you see, of how leap years destroyed the world.

A truthful retelling of these events would have to begin with Twilight Sparkle, who lived in Equestria and who was indeed a princess. Ennobled not at birth but as a young mare, she sometimes found it difficult to adjust to her new station, and often felt that her duties were not equal to her title. Determined to rise to the occasion, she asked for and was granted permission to lead Equestria’s next diplomatic goodwill tour, in which she would stop at the great capitals of the world (except for the Changeling Hive) and affirm Equestria’s peaceful relations with all its neighbors (except for Changelings, who notably were all jerks).

It was while planning this tour that she encountered a vexing error in her scheduling, for while Equestria marked leap years starting at zero so that the year zero, four, eight, etc should each carry an extra day, Zebraria marked leap years starting at one, so that the years one, five, etc should be notable. This created an incongruity in her schedule, which transformed her tour from an eighty-day jaunt—which was an entirely reasonable, round, aesthetically pleasing number—into an eighty-one day excursion, which as numbers went was suspect and liable to encourage moral deviancy in the youth.

In attempting to fix this scheduling error, Twilight was given cause to complain, and while visiting Canterlot Palace took the occasion to object to the existence of leap years. “Why,” she asked Celestia, “is the solar year three-hundred-and-sixty-five days, five hours, forty-eight minutes, and forty-six seconds long? It seems to me that the average Equestrian would be just as well served by a year that is three-hundred-and-sixty-five days long exactly. Or, stars forbid, three-hundred-and-sixty days, so that the months could all be the same length.”

Eternally patient, Princess Celestia managed a smile where other mentors would have been long since worn thin. “But, Twilight, that is precisely why the year is such an odd length. If the year arranged itself into orderly boxes, ponies might get the notion that life itself is fundamentally orderly, and that leads to trouble. Like thinking you can circumnavigate the globe in only eighty-one days.”

“You can.” Twilight took a firm grip of her schedules and plans. “I have charted it all out, start to finish.”

“If the world worked the way it does in your papers, perhaps it could be done,” Celestia agreed. “But you have left no room for error. A single delay, a missed train, a ship becalmed, and your entire schedule will fall apart. The world is full of unanticipated variables.”

“I anticipate the unanticipated,” Twilight said, holding her back firm. It was only a moment later that she recalled with whom she spoke, and added a belated, “Princess.”

“So sure of yourself, are you?” Princess Celestia asked, a twinkle in her eye. “Well then, how about we make a wager? I will bet that it cannot be done—that you will, despite your best efforts, fail to complete your tour in eighty-one days. And should you prove me wrong, I will reorder the solar year to contain exactly three-hundred-and-sixty-five days, and do away with leap years.”

Twilight was dumbfounded. Here was a chance to bring order to the chaos that was the calendar system! A golden opportunity sat before her. And yet, some part of her brain urged caution. “And what happens if I lose?” she asked.

With a slow and graceful elegance, Celestia sipped her tea, and it was only when she was quite finished that she replied. “I declare ‘folding down the corners of the page’ to be the official and preferred method of bookmarking Equestrian library books.”

Twilight gasped. “You’re a monster!” At first she had assumed Celestia was joking, but now she saw the truth. This was no small wager. Win or lose, the future of order and sanity in Equestria hung in the balance.

“So then, you admit defeat?” A smile played at her features.

“Never!” Twilight leapt to her hooves. “I will take your bet! And as sure as base-twelve would be a far superior system for our mathematics than base-ten, I swear that precisely eighty-one days from right now, I will be standing in this very room accepting your congratulations on my victory!”

Declaration thus made, she swept from the palace, returning home in the greatest huff she had ever known since the last one. Throwing open the doors to the crystal palace, she cried: “Spike! Pack my bags!”

“What?” He looked up from his sweeping. “Where are we going?”

“Canterlot!” she answered. “By an extremely inefficient route.”

Day 1: The West Equestrian Railway

The train didn’t seem to roll so much as glide, drifting over the shadowy Equestrian landscape without bump or obstruction. Were it not for the steady click-clack of the rails, Spike would hardly know they were moving. During the day, he’d at least been able to watch the landscape go by, but once darkness fell there was nothing to do but wait.

They’d paid for an entire suite in the sleeper car, and so Spike was unsurprised that Twilight had instead fallen asleep in her seat in the general compartment. She had a book held tight against her barrel, her face sandwiched in between the window and her seat. A thin line of drool ran down from the corner of her mouth, and her wings were wrapped about herself for warmth. But no matter how uncomfortable her posture looked, she slept soundly, the dim compartment lit only by firefly lamps.

“Hey.” Sitting on the aisle-side of their row, Spike lifted a claw as one of the train staff made his way up the car. “You mind shuttering those?”

“If your friend is tired,” the stallion said, with a bit of sternness in his tone, “she can sleep in the sleeper car.”

“Yeah, or maybe her Highness, the Princess Twilight Sparkle can sleep here.” Spike said, crossing his arms and glowering at the stallion. His voice remained soft all the while so as not to wake Twilight, but his expression was forceful, and the stallion hesitated. “Look, just turn down the ones around her, okay?”

The stallion nodded, and soon the two firefly lamps around Twilight were shuttered, casting a pool of darkness about her seat. Spike watched her for a moment longer, then hopped down and moved along the quiet aisle. It was not far to the sleeper car, and when he returned, he had a pillow grasped in one claw, and a blanket in the other. The pillow he gently tucked in under Twilight’s head, while the blanket went up over her shoulder.

“Go to bed Spike, it’s late,” she mumbled, eyes still closed. “Little dragons need their sleep.”

He didn’t say anything, and after a few moments, she drifted away, her hooves pulling the blanket in tighter around her. Spike returned to his aisle seat and his vigil therein, his little feet kicking back and forth as he looked around the quiet car.

“Excuse me,” whispered a voice behind him, feminine but with a distinctly rough timbre. Turning, he saw one of the other passengers two rows down signaling him. The compartment was very nearly empty, and most of the ponies there were either asleep or reading, but the creature that signaled him was not a pony at all. It was a griffon, two rows back, one of her claws raised into the air. “Hey.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Spike hopped down from his seat. Drawing closer, he was able to get a better look at her. Gilda was the only griffon he’d seen before, and this creature was far different from the temperamental avian Spike remembered. She was quieter, not to mention noticeably older, the tips of her her graying feathers brushed with purple makeup as though to breathe life back into them. She wore a green scarf of the finest silk, tied with a lavish stone, and like Spike before her sat in the aisle seat. Like him as well, she seemed to be tending a pony, a sleeping pegasus colt in the window seat next to her.

“Excuse me,” she repeated, lowering her voice and her head as well. “Did I hear you say that that’s Princess Sparkle up there?”

“Oh, uh…” Spike scratched the back of his head. “Yeah. That’s her! I’m Spike. I’m her Number One Assistant.”

“Oh. Like, a valet?” she asked, and Spike nodded. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you then, Spike. I’m Lidar.” She extended her claws, and he his, and they shook. “Do you think, later, she might be open to meeting a new pony? Poor Power Dive here wanted so badly to see the Princesses during our visit to Equestria, but the timing never quite worked out.”

“Tomorrow, maybe,” Spike said. “She doesn’t do autographs though, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“No, no. Nothing like that. He’d just like to meet her.” A shake of Lidar’s head helped dismiss the notion, her voice still at a whisper. She reached back to the colt behind her, and Spike involuntarily flinched as talons that could slice the toughest meat descended upon the little pony’s head. But she only scratched him between the ears, and took a moment to adjust one of his primary feathers.

“Well, uh…” It took Spike a moment to recover from his surprise, during which time Lidar’s eyes fell back upon him. She frowned, and he blushed, coughing into one of his claws. “Yeah! Uh. So, are you two friends?” He took the empty seat opposite her. “If I can ask.”

She gave him a narrow look. “He’s my son.”

“Oh.” Spike’s blush deepened. “Um… adopted?”

Her narrow look grew narrower. “Sometimes the eggs just hatch that way.”

If Spike’s face had been any hotter, he would surely have breathed fire, and his gaze went right to the floor. Behind Lidar, Power Dive stirred, the little colt’s legs trying to run in his sleep. Lidar shushed him and tucked him back into his nook in the seat, his wings instinctively wrapping around himself for warmth. Spike leaned around to examine the pose, and recalled Twilight’s wings doing just the same thing not five minutes past. “Would you like a blanket?” he asked.

Before Lidar could answer, he hopped from his seat, and darted back down to the sleeper compartment. He returned as before, with a pillow and a fleece cover, offering them up to Lidar. Her feathers tucked in tight, but she took them, and it was only after a moment’s delay that she shoved twenty bits into Spike’s hands in return.

“Woah.” He held the jingling pile, whose financial value considerably exceeded that of the blanket, even if it had been Spike’s to sell and not the property of the railway. “I can’t—”

“You can,” Lidar insisted, her voice still low and soft so as not to wake her child. “I know ponies do things differently, but for a griffon giving something for free is…” She hesitated, and ruffled her feathers. “It implies the person you’re giving it to has been ingracious. Which I have been.”

“No, no… you, uh…” Spike stared at the money and bit his lip, then put it down on the seat behind him. “So, what were you visiting Canterlot for?”

“So Power Dive could see his people.” She let out a little breath, and her head turned to stare out the window. Spike followed her gaze to see what she saw, but there was only the darkness, and vague impressions of a landscape he would not see again for nearly three months.

She returned her gaze to Spike. “Back when I adopted him, Equestria was so very far away, you understand. It would have taken half a year to go see Canterlot, back before the Artificers.”

“Artificers?”

“What’s the full name?” she frowned. “The International Guild of Artificers, Tinkers, Mechanists, and Engineers? The ones with the little medallions.”

“Oh, yeah!” Spike nodded. “In Equestria we just call them the train conductors’ guild, because that’s what they do.”

“It is.” She nodded. “But Griffonstone isn’t exactly the capital of the world, so for a long time, they never bothered us. But then one came, and built a telegraph, and then more came to lay rails. But I didn’t think it was… I didn’t think it changed anything. Even just last year, it still took two weeks to reach Equestria. You had to fly across the mountains and the great divide to reach the train station at the base.”

She gestured around them at the train car. “But then they built the bridge and ran the rails up the mountainside. And now, when it rains in Canterlot, it’s Griffonstone that gets damp.”

“But, isn’t that a good thing?” Spike asked, leaning forward to examine her more closely.

“That’s what everygriffon says.” There was a quiet frown on her face as she spoke, and her wings drooped. “I just hope that he’ll get it out of his system now. The musical numbers and the magic and everything being pink. I wanted him to grow up in Griffonstone, the way little chicks should. But now it feels like Equestria is just next door and… well. Children that are locked up when they’re young run away when they’re old.”

“Well, uh. I don’t know if you noticed, but, I am a dragon.” Spike buffed his claws on his scales, and Lidar lifted a talon to hide her smirk. “I kind of went through the same thing. Raised by ponies, but I had to go ‘see my people.’ And yeah, I’m really glad I did, and I even got to meet another dragon named Ember who’s pretty cool, but then I came back to Equestria because that’s my home. The ponies who raised me are there, you know?” He jerked a thumb up the compartment. “Besides, I can’t leave Twilight on her own.”

“The Princess is lucky to have such a faithful servant,” Lidar said, a bit of a smile still on her face when she lowered her talon. “So, where are you two going?”

“Griffonstone first, but then we’re going around the world!” Spike kicked his feet off the side of his chair, his claws grasping the edge as he sat forward. “Twilight made a bet with Princess Celestia about if she could finish her around-the-world diplomatic tour in eighty-one days or less. If she pulls it off, Princess Celestia will finally fix leap years.”

“What do you mean ‘fix’?” Lidar’s brow furrowed.

“You know.” Spike waved a claw. “Like, we won’t have leap years anymore.”

Lidar looked up the compartment to Twilight, then back down to Spike. “So…” Her jaw worked without sound. “The entire solar calendar is going to be rewritten based on the outcome of a race?”

“Well… yeah. I mean…” Spike looked up at Twilight as well, then back to Lidar. “You know royalty. Princesses just do things like that sometimes.”

“They didn’t used to.” Lidar paused a moment. “But, I guess the world is changing.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Spike looked up Twilight’s way again. “It’s okay though. I’m sure Twilight has her reasons. She’s really smart.”

A silence hung between them, which Spike eventually broke by dropping back down to the aisle and landing on his feet. “If you’d like, I think Twilight would love to meet Power Dive tomorrow. We’re getting breakfast in the dining car at eight. You want to join us?”

“I would love that, thank you.” She nodded, and seeing the direction Spike was taking, added: “Sleep well, Spike.”

Spike took her bits with him, dumping them into his little traveling bag. He tossed the bag with the other luggage, and then crawled back up into his aisle seat, resuming his vigil over the sleeping pony beside him.

It took awhile, but eventually Spike managed to get some sleep too.

Day 3: Griffonstone

“Griffons of Griffonstone!” Twilight proclaimed, wings spread and horn held high as she stepped out onto the platform. “I am Princess Twilight Sparkle of Equestria, and I have come to visit your kingdom with gifts of goodwill, books, and non-economically-disruptive foreign aid grants!”

Behind her, the train’s engine let out a loud hiss and vented steam. The wind around her blew, still carrying a mountain chill even so late into the spring. The fresh-cut wood of the platform creaked, and nearby thatched roofs rustled. And as for the griffons of Griffonstone, they went about their business as they always did, without so much as a glance in Twilight’s direction.

Twilight’s face fell. She looked at Spike. Spike looked at Lidar. Lidar whispered in Spike’s ear. Spike whispered in Twilight’s ear. Twilight's brow furrowed, and she lifted her head. “And!” she proclaimed, in a booming Royal Canterlot Voice that carried far, “we have Equestrian designer sunglasses!”

Heads turned. Griffons stopped. Then they began to congregate around Twilight, the crowd peppering her with questions.

“Okay, okay, yes. Ha ha.” Twilight let out a stiff chuckle. “I… did not know griffons liked sunglasses so much. Okay. Spike!” She raised her voice to be heard as the crowd around her grew thick. “I think I’m going with these griffons! Go check our bags at the hotel, would you?”

“Sure thing, Twilight!” Spike gave Lidar and Power Dive a wave goodbye, then hurried off to his royal duties. It took considerable elbowing and shoving for him to make his way through the crowd, but he eventually got to the luggage, and with five of the bits Lidar had given him last night, managed to hire a porter to carry it. “The Grand Griffonia Hotel, please.”

It was a fine spring day, when the sun shone bright but the air was cool, and the smells of sawdust, pine oil, and fresh mountain air swirled in equal measure. The streets were dirt, but they were wide and clean, and trod flat by many centuries of feet and claws. Following his porter into town, Spike could see there were two clear varieties of buildings. The old buildings were made of thatch, adobe, and elegantly fitted wooden slats, all built upon a modest base of stone. They resembled nothing so much as well constructed bird’s nests, and though many had fallen into disrepair, just as many weathered their centuries with pride.

The new buildings, by contrast, were made of wrought iron, glass, and uniformly cut planks of the cheapest green wood, all built atop a thorough foundation of concrete. The railway station was the largest of these structures, but far from the only one. The movie theater, many of the warehouses, the clocktower and more all showed this style, and in the distance, Spike could see a lumber mill of the same variety, churning out more fresh-cut beams. A large symbol adorned the side of the mill: a stylized turning gear overlayed by a lightning bolt. He vaguely recalled seeing it on the train as well.

“We’re here.” Spike nearly rammed headfirst into his porter, so abruptly did the young griffon stop. Without ceremony, he dropped Spike’s luggage, departing as soon as it became clear he would not be getting paid again for the last ten feet of the journey. Ahead of Spike was a curious structure, certainly in the new style, but of a design he did not recognize. The center consisted of a pair of massive iron archways, open to the air on both ends and supporting a high ceiling perhaps two stories tall. Inside was an entrance hall of some variety, flanked by long rows of doors that lead to boxy side wings.

“Huh…” It took him a few trips to haul all the baggage inside, and the fresh cut wood was harsh against his feet. But at the same time, the open design gave a commanding view of the mountainside, and allowed for the free transmission of the breeze from one side of the building to the other. A number of chairs were tossed around the space, occupied by griffons and the occasional pegasus, while a long wooden table at the far end seemed to serve as both the front counter and a bar.

“Excuse me.” Spike signaled with a claw, getting the attention of the elderly griffon behind the table. “Room for two? It’s for Princess Twilight Sparkle’s visit. We should have reservations?”

“Ah, the princess! Yes, of course.” He reached under the table and produced a room key. “Your visit is pre-paid for the first night, but after that it will cost you fifty bits a night. How long will the princess be staying with us?”

“Just the night. And we’ll need to check out super early tomorrow.” Spike took the key, which was adorned with a number to match one of the side rooms. “We’re catching the five-AM express to Vineigha.”

“No, you aren’t!” called a voice from across the room. Turning, Spike saw that the sound came from one of the pegasi in the chairs—an older blue stallion with a broken chain on his flank, a cigarette in his teeth, and a glass in his hooves that very likely did not contain water. He nudged his muzzle towards the train station. “The line to Vineigha is closed. No trains are running that way.”

“What? No!” Spike hurried over to him, the bags momentarily forgotten. “The schedule in the train station said it would be on time!”

“Well that’s gosh-golly-gumdrops for the train company, ain’t it?” The stallion sneered and shook his head, pausing to take a drink from his glass. “Black Hooves tore up all the tracks from Carpania to the Iron-Shoe pass last night. Company’s probably holding off on announcing it until they know the full extent of the damage, but I saw it myself. That line will be down for at least two days. Maybe a week.” A few of the other pegasi and griffons around the hotel nodded in agreement.

“Oh no no no.” Spike wrung his hands, pacing two steps towards the bags, then two steps towards the door, then two right back towards the blue stallion. “We can’t be stuck here for two more days!”

“I can send you the bill if accommodations are a problem,” the proprietor said, twirling his little moustache with two talons. “I’ll even charge only a thirty-percent additional collections fee.”

“Staying isn’t the problem. Leaving is!” Spike continued to pace, like his little feet might eat through the cheap floor. “Twilight made a bet with Princess Celestia that she could get around the world in eighty-one days, and there’s no room for error! We can’t miss a single day.”

“Then you’ve already lost that bet.” The stallion in blue shrugged. “This isn’t Equestria. Trains out here miss more stops than they make, and that won’t get better when you pass into Aero-Lipizzia. Smart merchants check the tracks the instant they show up in a new town, and smarter merchants allow for three days delay for every station their cargo has to pass through.”

“No no no. Okay. Okay.” Spike clasped his hands to his head as he paced. “Think Spike. Uh…” He whirled to the blue stallion. “What do you do for really important cargo? Something that has to be there right on time no matter what.”

“You hire the Pegasus Express.” He gestured at himself, then to the other pegasi lounging around the main hall. “It’s why we're here. There’re little cloud stations every twenty miles on the periphery. One pegasus sprints the cargo to one, who sprints it to the next one, and so on. On a good day, we can even beat the train.”

“Perfect!” Spike heaved a sigh. “How do we get passage for one pony, a dragon, and some luggage?”

“You give my boss…” He eyed the amount of luggage. “About three-thousand bits and he tells us to carry you.”

Spike nearly choked to death on his own spit, a little rush of fire and smoke coming up as he coughed. “Three thousand!?” His claw clutched to his chest, and he managed to get his breathing under control. “But, he’s a griffon, right? Griffon greed. You’re a pony. What if I just paid you directly?”

“Well, if you paid me directly, then it would be four-thousand bits.” He blew a cloud of smoke of his own. “Three thousand to pay off all the station managers, and a thousand to be worth the risk of screwing my boss.”

“But Twilight’s a princess!” Spike’s tone rose. “On a diplomatic mission!”

“In that case, six thousand, because it’s important and she can afford it.” He snorted. “I didn’t move to Griffonstone because I dislike griffon culture. You want me to do a job? Pay me.”

“F-fine! Bite me! I’ll find another pegasus and he’ll carry us!” Spike turned and stalked off through the hotel. But the pegasi quietly turned their heads away from him without a word, while the griffons were all too quick to discuss their “far more reasonable” payment terms. The stress grew on Spike’s face, and though it was barely past noon, he began to look nervously to the clock.

“Hey, kid,” called the blue stallion, and Spike looked up from his pacing. “Calm down. You don’t need to freak out. I’m not trying to mess up your trip. The Pegasus Express is a high-cost courier service, yeah, but you work for a princess—she can afford it.”

“Twilight doesn’t carry around three thousand bits in cash!” Spike threw up his hands and glowered at the other pony. “What, did you think she just stuffed her life savings into a suitcase before she left?”

“I didn’t say you had to have it on you.” The blue pony gestured at the hotel. “Look around you, kid. You’re in Griffonstone and it’s got plenty of ponies and at least one dragon. The world’s smaller than it used to be. Go down to the bank, have your princess write a check from the Crown’s accounts, and stamp it with the Equestrian seal. They’ll telegraph it in and you’ll have your money before close of business.”

“I…” Spike slowly lowered his hands, his hard expression softening to something more complicated. “I don’t think we can do that.”

“Why not?”

“We never got…” Spike swallowed, and shook his head more firmly. “Princess Celestia pre-paid our planned route, but she didn’t give us permission to just start writing checks for Equestria.”

“Well, yeah. Kid, not needing permission is what money is for.” He put down his glass, and gestured Spike over. “It’s why I came here. I’m a pony, sure, but you know what? I like smoking. And I like drinking. And I like gambling. And I like a bunch of other things that ponies aren’t supposed to like. And in Equestria, that’s a problem, because ponies are supposed to do what ponies are supposed to do. But out here? If you can pay, nogriffon cares.”

Spike crossed his arms. “‘I really like money’ isn’t the best argument for committing fraud I’ve ever heard.”

“Woah. I didn’t tell you to commit fraud.” He quickly raised a hoof. “If Twilight actually can’t write checks for Equestria, then she can’t. But is it legally does not have that power or Princess Celestia will give her a sour look if she does? Because they ain’t the same thing.”

Spike paused a moment, arms still crossed. “She doesn’t have Princess Celestia’s permission,” he repeated.

“Well,” the stallion in blue asked, “does she have Princess Celestia’s permission to lose the bet?”

Spike said nothing for several long seconds, and the stallion raised his hoof. “Kid? I get it, okay? I’m sorry. I know the world out here seems really unfriendly when you’ve just come from Equestria. I’m not trying to be a jerk. But out here, there’re a lot of griffons and ponies and horses who just don’t like you and they never will. And you know? That’s their problem. You do what makes you happy. But if you keep needing everypony’s approval, they’ll just all drag you down until you’re hating life. Sometimes you just need to look around and realize the only thing trapping you where you are is you. And then you toss fifty bits on the counter and buy a ticket to Griffonstone and never look back.”

He smirked a little. “Well, in my case, anyway. I think in your case, you go ‘No, I am working for a real princess’ and then win a bet with tall white and motherly back there. Which I admit I’d kind of like to see.”

“I’ll… think about it. I need to talk to Twilight.” Spike turned to leave, but then stopped, and turning back, he tossed the blue stallion a bit. “For your advice.”

“A bit?” He looked down at the single shiny coin in front of him.

“It wasn’t very good advice.”

The stallion grinned, as did several others around him. “Tell you what, kid. You decide to go that way? I’ll see if I can’t talk my boss into a discount. Not every day the pegasus express gets to carry a princess. Oh.” He nudged his head. “And you might want to lock up your bags in your room before you go, or they might not be here when you get back.”

Spike did indeed lock up the bags, and then went down to see Twilight. He found her in front of the movie theater, surrounded by a large crowd of griffons. They were elders, mystics, business leaders and statesgriffons, all appropriate company for a royal diplomatic visit. Very nearly half of them were wearing dark aviator sunglasses, tinged with silver frames. Spike furrowed his brow, until he noticed that the front of the theater was dominated by a yellowing and well-weathered poster depicting Spitfire in a set of aviator glasses, the silvery Top Feather writing running along the poster beneath her. It seemed to be the only movie poster around.

“Ha ha! Yes. I’ve… met Spitfire. In the course of my royal duties. As a princess! A title which outranks Wonderbolt by a considerable margin.” Twilight’s voice carried over the crowd. “Yes, she’s… what? No. I don’t know. I guess she’s a bit taller in real life.”

“Hey, Twilight!” Spike called, pushing his way through the crowd. “Twilight!” A little puff of dragon flame suddenly cleared his path, and he made it up to her side.

“Oh, Spike! Good.” Twilight pulled away from a griffon in the middle of asking her why everything in Equestria explodes when it crashes. “Did we get checked into the hotel okay?”

“Yes, fine.” Spike nodded. “But—”

“Wonderful! And the bags are all stored?”

“Yes, that’s fine too,” Spike spoke faster. “But, Twilight, there’s a problem with our train tomorrow. It might not run on time and—”

“What?” Twilight focused in on him suddenly, and lifted her ears high. “But the board on the train station said it would be right on time! They didn’t just update it now did they?”

“No, the board still says it’s on time, but there were some ponies talking in the hotel and they’re pretty sure—”

“Oh. Phew.” Twilight gave a little nervous chuckle and shook her head. “You scared me for a second there! Don’t worry, Spike. I think the ponies who run the train company know a little more about scheduling than some random ponies you met in the lobby. Just check the official schedule before we leave and we’ll be fine.”

“But the schedule could be wrong!”

“If the schedule was wrong, they wouldn’t post it. The West Equestrian Railway is a professional organization.” She paused a moment to fend off another question, then turned back to Spike. “We’ll be fine, Spike. Okay? Go have fun.”

“But—”

“Go have fun! See Griffonstone. Visit the library. I’ll be here… signing Top Feather posters.” She sighed and turned back to the crowd, and after watching her deal with a few more curious griffons, Spike left.

A quick trot back to the hotel secured Twilight’s royal effects. She didn’t have a ring or a stamp with her, but the golden loop that held the front of one of her dresses together did have the Equestrian seal on it, and held without the fabric, did closely resemble a formal ring. Spike looked down at it, then outside, and then walked back out into town.

The bank was one of the new structures of course, barely more than two rooms, a teller station, and the vault door in the back. There was a bored looking female griffon behind the counter, tending her talons with a nail file. Spike trotted right up to her, and held up the golden seal.

“Hi,” he said, “I’m Spike. Princess Twilight Sparkle’s assistant. Her uh…” He swallowed. “Her royal highness would like to do some shopping while she’s in Griffonstone and will need to open a line of credit back to Equestria.”

After a moment, he added. “And she’ll need some checks printed.”

Day 4: The Pegasus Express

“It’s… it’s unbelieveable! Unbelieveable!” Twilight’s tail lashed back and forth in the little sky-chariot, whipping into packets of mail and small boxes. “What kind of rail company posts week-long delays without any warning? This would never stand in Equestria!”

“We’re not in Equestria, Twilight,” Spike reminded her, pulling his blanket tight around himself. The sun was as yet just a dull glow on the horizon, and while Twilight and their pegasus courier were untroubled by the early morning or the high altitude, Spike was less than pleased to realize that frost was forming on every surface. In the dim pre-dawn glow, he could barely make out the rickety old chariot around them, as well as the tight-wrapped bundles that filled it.

“No, no, we certainly are not!” Her hoof stomped. “I don’t even know why we visited Griffonstone! Griffonia is barely a country. It’s Equestria’s hat. Only my hat doesn’t require two billion bits a year of foreign aid to stop its economy from imploding!”

“She doesn’t mean that,” Spike quickly said to the courier out front, an off-yellow pegasus mare who only snorted in response.

“Oh, yes. Of course. Sorry.” Twilight’s high-strung tone became more subdued, and she shook her head. “No, I don’t mean that. I’m just frustrated. Thank you again, ma’am. It’s very nice of you to carry us all this way. I don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t been at the train station in just the nick of time.”

“She’s not doing us a favor, Twilight.” Spike shook his head. “She’s getting paid. Favors are how griffons insult each other.”

“She’s not a griffon, Spike, she’s a pony. Don’t be rude.” Twilight turned to Spike, her eyes flicking down to him and his blanket. “And… here,” she said. Her horn started to glow, casting a pale purple light over the chariot that mixed with the pre-dawn orange. His blanket glowed as well, and pulled tight and snug around him. Then the air around him started to heat, and the frost retreated, cracking and falling away behind them in the high mountain winds.

Spike opened his mouth to protest, and Twilight soon held up a hoof. “I know! I know. You’re old enough to take care of yourself.”

“Well, yeah, but…” He tugged at the blanket with a claw, warm air slowly worming its way in. “Thanks, Twilight.”

“You want to get some sleep?” she asked, voice soft and a little smile on her face.

“We switch couriers every half-hour. I don’t think either of us will get much sleep on this part of the trip.” He glanced over to his left, out of the back of the chariot. “But hey, look. There’s the train tracks.”

Below them, the train tracks were clearly visible, a twisting ribbon the color of sand with stripes of black down each of its sides. For several minutes they watched it trace its elegant course, but as it leveled out into the hills, its path was broken. One of the sections of ribbon of was missing its dark bands, the rails pulled off their bases.

“Twilight?” Spike asked, “What’s a ‘Black Hoof’?”

“I don’t know,” Twilight said. “Why?”

“Eh… nothing. Just something I heard in the hotel.” He sniffed at the air. “Do you smell smoke?”

Twilight sniffed at the air, looked around behind the chariot, and when she saw nothing, lifted her head over the windbreak to see forward. “Oh my gosh!” she shouted, and Spike rushed to scramble on her back and see what she saw. “The forest is on fire!”

Spike could see the smoke. See the vast wall of fire that spread out beyond the foothills, where the mountain rocks were replaced by open plains and knots of forest. It looked like half the countryside was ablaze, and in the predawn light, the flickering orange of the fire was so bright its glow seemed to compete with the sun’s own. “Hey!” he called to the courier out front, bellowing over the sound of the wind. “Where’s the weather crew!? Or firefighters or whatever griffons do.”

“They’re not coming!” she yelled back, straining to be heard. “It’s spring! That’s a slash-and-burn. They’ve got it under control. See? The wind is blowing it away from us.”

They soon realized their courier was right, and that they were only brushing the upwind edge of the massive smoke cloud. Over the next twenty minutes, they watched the landscape slowly roll by, more details becoming clear. They could see a line of griffons and ponies half a mile long slowly walking through the ash cloud behind the flames. The griffons and earth ponies looked like dark knights, clad head to hoof in protective gear. The unicorns wore much less, with jets of fire twenty feet long shooting from their horns to grow the blaze. There were no pegasi, and behind the line, only ashes and glowing cinders.

“Oh my gosh…” Twilight repeated, softer this time. She lifted her head, and turned to the mare pulling them. “Why are they doing this!?”

“Because they’re going to plow the fields soon! Duh!” she snapped back, the roll of her eyes audible in her tone even if her head remained forward. “These grasslands are full of razorgrain. It’s worthless! Even those crazy ponies who believe grazing is ‘more natural’ won’t eat it. So they’re burning it down to make room for cotton.”

“What?” Twilight leaned forward over the windbreak. “Why cotton!?”

“Money! Bits!” She lashed her tail, which like her feathers, was tinted purple at the ends. “You sell it!”

Twilight scrunched up her muzzle, glowering down at the creatures below them. Her tail lashed, and after a few more moments she asked: “Why are those ponies helping them!?”

“Because this is the west frontier!” The courier’s tone grew increasingly frustrated. “We’re about to cross the border back into pony territory.”

“No, I don’t mean why are they here, I mean…” Twilight growled, lifting a hoof to her face. “Ponies don’t set whole forests on fire just to make a few bits!”

“Equestrians don’t!” Her voice was becoming ragged from shouting. “I’m Griffon Aero-Lipizzian.”

“Griffon Aero…” Twilight scrunched up her muzzle. “What the heck does that mean?”

The courier let out an angry nicker, and blew off the question, putting on a turn of speed that made the wind whistle loud enough it was hard to talk. Eventually, Twilight gave up trying to speak with her, and sunk back down into the sky chariot. “Oh, we’ll see about this,” she swore. “When I meet Emperor Iron Cross, he and I are going to have words about his environmentally unsustainable agricultural policy.”

Spike wisely chose to say nothing, and after another few minutes the cloud station came into sight ahead of them. It was a mid-sized cloud house, with plenty of room for chariots out front, and what looked like bedrooms on the higher levels. The second chariot in their relay for the morning was already waiting, and Spike recognized the blue stallion he’d run into in the hotel.

“Hey, Wanderlust!” Spike waved, and the stallion waved back, Twilight giving them an odd look. They pulled up alongside him, and all the cargo—including Spike and Twilight—was quickly transferred. Without so much as a word of goodbye, the mare who had brought them for the first leg vanished inside the house and shut the door behind her, and Wanderlust carried them off into the next leg.

Twilight didn’t attempt to make conversation, and Spike at first joined her, saying only a few words of greeting before also falling silent. But as they progressed beyond the burning grass, the fields below them became orderly. There were neat rows of crops, and lumber mills to cut down what forest survived, and little houses in the traditional griffon style. Through it all ran the railway, teams of griffons and the occasional pony already at work repairing the track. In time, Spike raised his voice to shout over the wind.

“Hey!” he called to Wanderlust. “The last courier said she was ‘Griffon Aero-Lipizzian.’ What does that mean?”

“Lipizzian just means ponies from the lands west of Griffonia but east of Orlovia!” he shouted back. Twilight twitched an ear to listen, but stayed out of the conversation. “And aero means she’s a pegasus, but that’s not always the same as the Aero-Lipizzian Empire, which specifically refers to the territory Emperor Iron Cross controls. And if she works for the Express, she spends most of her time in Griffonia. So, Griffon Aero-Lipizzian.”

“That sounds really complicated!” Spike’s voice grew hoarse. Wanderlust only shrugged. “Does all that stuff even matter?”

“It matters to some ponies!” He managed to twist back in his harness a moment to make eye contact with Spike. “If I gave a care about titles, I’d be Griffon-Equestrian. Am I the same as a griffon or an Equestrian?”

“No you sure aren’t!” Spike yelled, coughing up a bit of smoke. Wanderlust laughed, turning back ahead to his route. “So, are you for all this then? Burning down the forests?”

“I guess,” he answered, though his tone was unenthused, and with more than a trace of doubt. “It’s money, and money is good, but I kind of liked it back when I was one of the only pegasi who lived in griffon lands. Now it’s getting awful crowded. The world’s changing, kid, you know?”

“Yeah,” Spike said, “I know.” He sunk back behind the windbreak, and after a moment, snuggled up against Twilight. She snuggled him back, and the two got what rest they could before the next relay.

Day 7: Vineigha

There was one pegasus to wash her coat, and another one to brush it. There was one to polish her hooves, one to polish her horseshoes, one to attach the horseshoes, and one to clean the whole affair up when the others were done. There was one to style her mane, and one to style her tail, plus a dyemaster to aid the other two with any color touch ups. There was a pegasus tailor to adjust her dress, a pegasus jeweler to find the right ring for her horn, and an artist to apply her makeup. There were five small covered coal braziers to keep her warm during the fitting, a hundred candles to bathe the room in a perfectly even glow, and a dozen mirrors so she could see herself from every possible angle.

Twilight looked like she’d swallowed a stone. “I can’t dance,” she wheezed, as one of the attendants gently floated around her, adding just a little more purple makeup to really bring out her colors.

“Of course you can,” Prince Chain Link said, reaching up to take her hoof. “You’re an alicorn princess from the homeland. You could literally show up naked and do the pony polka, and the court would declare it a new fashion trend.”

He was a pegasus as well, not much older than Twilight, and as snow-white as the palace stones around them. He could be albino, if not for his pleasant brown eyes, the pale shades of his natural coat and mane contrasting sharply with his dark clothing. He wore a uniform, black along the base, but with gold trim and silver buttons, its epaulets and rank pins blood red. He made quite the pair with Twilight, all done up in her voluminous and elaborate court dress. And when she turned to look at him, he kissed her hoof.

“Um…” Twilight looked down at him, and it took her a moment to decide what to do with her hoof. In the end, she pulled it away, though not as quickly as she might have. He blushed, and looked down, his ears tilting back a few degrees.

“I mean, I know,” Twilight said, her own cheeks turning a little red, “but… I’d like to make a good impression. Particularly if I need to ask your father to stop burning half his forests down.”

Prince Chain Link smiled. “Well…” He managed to lift his eyes to hers, though the red remained in his face. “I warn you, I’m not sure there’s any dance that will make that request go over well, but I am at your service.”

“You don’t have to go out of your way.” Her tone picked up, gaining a nervous edge. “I mean, I know I’m kind of a foreign dignitary making sudden demands. But living in harmony with nature is just really important and…”

Soon, they were both smiling, and both blushing, and both looking at each other's hooves. “I promised I’d help you with whatever you needed at court,” he said, finally managing to lift his head. “And what good is a prince if he can’t keep his word to a beautiful princess?”

After a moment more, he cleared his throat. “But ah… yes. Dancing. A simple waltz is actually quite easy to learn, and nopony will care if we bow out of the more complex steps. I can show you the basics right now.” He pondered for a moment, tapping his hoof to his chin. “Do you think you could match your hooves with mine? If you can, we could do a dance where the stallion leads.”

Spike rolled his eyes, and hopped down off his little chair in the corner of the room. “I’m going to go for a walk, Twilight.”

“Okay! Don’t get lost,” she called to him. She turned to look as he left, but one of the attendants gently nudged her face forward to finish applying her eye-shadow.

Spike stepped out into the palace corridor, which was also made of white stone and filled with gilded mirrors, and where the pegasi guards also wore uniforms of black with gold trim and silver buttons. He walked past large statues of pegasi warriors, murals of Cloudsdale a dozen feet tall, and vast painted domes that showed the sky above. The ceiling was high enough that small cloudhouses could be floated indoors, and he walked under groups of pegasi lounging on their clouds or flying past.

He ignored it all. Still moving, his feet took him past elegantly dressed nobility, busy bureaucrats, and stern-faced functionaries, until finally the stairs started to slope down. Then he came to the section where the guards wore plain blue. Then where they wore plain green. Then there was earthen stone instead of white marble. And then he was on the street.

It was raining that night—a light drizzle that pattered on the cobblestone. The streets were nearly empty. The houses were made of bricks. The street lights were made of iron, and were lit by oil lamps.

Turning left, Spike made his way down Vineigha’s twisting streets, navigating by a mix of instinct and a folding cloth map in his little travel bag. He passed down long cobblestone roads, and past earth pony work-gangs repairing the streets. He moved through the long brick tunnels that ran under the tallest structures, and read the graffiti that covered the inside. He purchased tea from a vendor, who had a long line for their stand despite the rain. A constable chased away two youths who’d been writing a rude word on the bricks, both of them unicorns. It took him nearly an hour to find the railroad tracks again, and another twenty minutes of following them before the station came into view.

Even so late at night, the train station was a hub of activity. The platforms were full of passengers, the whistle of steam constant on the air. Spike made his way directly to the main platform, but having reached it, hesitated and bit his lip. Then he moved on, away from the passenger areas, and into the depot yard nearby. Here, he walked among a twisting maze of tracks that seemed to go on forever, until he spotted something. It was a warehouse of some kind, with a stylized cog-and-lightning-bolt spraypainted across the front, its door left ajar so light spilled out onto the tracks.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, and Spike squinted into the glare. The inside of the workshop was brightly lit, not by oil or fireflies or candles, but by electrical lamps, nearly a dozen spotlights covering the work area in the center. That area was currently occupied by a train engine, half disassembled, its boiler cover pulled away to reveal the convoluted maze of pipes and valves beneath. Tools, benches, mills and more surrounded it on all sides, along with more than a few smears of oil. The space at first appeared abandoned, but then Spike spotted a purple tail sticking out from behind a large piston.

“Hello?” a male voice called, a unicorn’s head poking out from behind the valve. “Oh, sorry, no passengers allowed. This is a Guild workshop. Platform’s back that way.”

“I’m not a passenger,” Spike said, holding up the little golden seal he’d borrowed from Twilight’s dress. Prince Chain Link had been more than happy to provide her with a substitute when she noticed it was missing. “I’m Spike, Princess Twilight Sparkle’s Number One Assistant. She’s here on her diplomatic visit from Equestria.”

The unicorn behind the piston didn’t seem quite sure what to think of that, a crease appearing in his brow. But after a moment, he shrugged, and stepped back out from behind his work. “Alright. Can I help you with something?”

His coat and mane were much the same color as Twilight’s, at least where he wasn’t stained with oil, but it would have been very hard to mistake the two. Built like a draft pony, he stood at least half a head higher than most, and with a bit of luck he might just have been able to wrestle Big Mac. The symbolism of his cutie mark was obscure—a red, a blue, and a white triangle all together—but the symbol around his neck was much clearer. He wore a medallion there, pressed of simple steel, the cog-and-bolt from the door rendered in relief.

“Uh… I think so.” Spike wrung his hands, looking up at the giant of a unicorn in front of him. His eyes flicked to the train. “I need to know if anything is going to delay the 6 PM Orlovian Express tomorrow. The train board says it’s fine, but sometimes the train company doesn’t put things on the board until the last moment.”

“I’m an Artificer,” the unicorn said, not quite impatient, but a little dry. “I don’t run the train schedules.”

“No,” Spike said. “But I don’t know the ponies who do. This place is really different from Equestria, and I don’t know the rules. But we have engineer ponies in Equestria. And the Guild is the Guild anywhere, right?”

The purple unicorn thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose,” he agreed. “As far as I know, there’s nothing that would stop a westbound train. I’ve seen a lot of repair crews headed out east, but that’s it. If you want to be really sure though, talk to the Rail Labor Dispatch Office two platforms over. They know pretty much everything.”

“Thanks.” Spike nodded, his eyes going back to the half-finished iron engine. “So uh… what are you working on?”

A smile tugged at the unicorns lips, and his eyes lit up just a hair more than the had before. “A mechanical cloud condenser.” He stepped over to the exposed boiler components, taking a moment to admire the pipe work.

“You know how a steam engine works, right?” he asked, going on before Spike could answer. “Water efficiency is a big deal. An engine that loses half its steam every cycle is going to eat about twice as much coal and water as one that reclaims it. But no engine is totally efficient. Some steam is always lost. And right now, that steam just gets vented out of whatever valve lost it. Goes to waste. But thanks to this little creature”—he tapped the boiler—“we can do something useful with it.”

“You can make clouds?” Spike asked, squinting as he examined the little mechanisms.

“We can make clouds,” the unicorn agreed.

“But… wait. Would that be useful?” Spike’s brow furrowed, and his gaze went down to the ground. “Cloudsdale eats an entire reservoir every day to pump out its clouds. The water car on one train can’t be significant compared to that.”

“It’s never just one train.” The unicorn chuckled, though Spike did not get the joke. “Clouds can be sold to the weather administration, you see, so adding this makes running the train just a little bit cheaper. So soon, all new trains will have cloud condensers. As will the power plants, and the paddleboats.”

“And the mine pumps, and the steam cars, and, yeah, okay. Now I get it.” Spike tapped his chin, staring not at the engine, but off into the vague distance. “And how much water do all of those use? Collectively.”

“Right now, about a thousandth as much as the weather administration.” The unicorn shook his head. “But it will not always be thus. Steam engines are getting bigger, and coal is getting cheaper. Soon ponies will want electric lights everywhere, and we’ll need more power plants. And clouds just keep selling.”

“Is it about the money, then?” Spike’s eyes went back to the unicorn.

“Mmm?” He glanced back, taking a moment to register the question. “Oh. No. Money is why the train company is paying for the research, but all my designs are open for anypony to use. I never needed a reason to build new things.”

He extended a hoof. “I’m Next Wave, by the way.”

“Good to meet you.” They shook, claw to hoof. “Can I ask you something else? I’m sorry, it’s kind of a tangent.”

“Yeah, sure. Go nuts.”

“What’s a Black Hoof?”

Next Wave froze, his body and face each momentarily going still. Spike frowned, watching as he recovered. He stepped back to his workbench, but they were quick steps, and his face turned away from Spike. “Isn’t that something you should ask the locals?”

“Yeah, I’ve tried.” Spike let out a little sigh, and looked away from Next Wave. “And all that’s happened is I’m more confused than ever. I’ve only been away from Equestria a week, and already I’ve heard griffon, Griffonian, Griffonstonian, Orlov, Orlovian, Konik, Tori, Torian, Velt, Aradian, Vineighan, Aero, Lipizzian, and Aero-Lipizzian, which you’d think would just be the last two put together, but apparently it’s an entirely different thing, because that makes sense. And I don’t understand any of them, but everypony here seems to think they’re super important.”

“That really seems like the sort of research you’d want to do before you left on a diplomatic tour,” Next Wave said, straightening his tools into nice neat rows. He didn’t look back at Spike.

“Twilight did her research before we left. A lot of it. But she gets really focused sometimes, and can’t see the forest for the trees. And…” He drummed his claws a moment. “You ever get that creeping feeling? When you realize you don’t know what you don’t know? That things are happening you need to be caring about right now and you don’t even know they exist? That’s how I feel when I listen to ponies out here talk.”

Next Wave didn’t answer, and so Spike went on. “Twilight made a bet with Celestia that this trip would go well, and it’s really important to her she win. But now I’m thinking that maybe Celestia knew something we didn’t when she made that bet.”

“She’s thousands of years old.” Next Wave shrugged. “I think she knows a lot you don’t.”

“Yeah. Probably.” Spike snorted a little line of smoke. “But Twilight… she’s important, you know? And this is important to her.”

He paused. “And I want her to be happy.”

Next Wave let out a long breath, straightening tools that were already quite straight. A few seconds of silence hung in the air, until finally, he gestured Spike over. “Shut the door, would you? You’re letting a draft in.”

Spike did, and soon he was over by Next Wave’s side, the two of them sitting around the tool table. “It’s not that complicated, once you realize that each word has three meanings. Like, take the orlov. There’s orlov, which is a breed of pony characterized by wide hooves and a short stature. There’s orlovian, which is a pony culture that emphasizes rune magic, unicorns and earth ponies working together in the fields, and mixed families. And there’s Orlovia, which is a country with Tersk as its capital. And if every orlov orlovian lived in Orlovia, everything would be nice and simple.”

“But they don’t.”

“No. They don’t.” He shook his head. “Because we’re in Aero-Lipizzia. A country that is less than half lipiz lipizzian, and less than a tenth ‘aero,’ and most of the rest is either lipiz orlovians who aren’t big on the ‘aero’ part, or orlov orlovians who aren’t big on pegasi, lipizzians, or Aero-Lipizzia. Rather against it, actually.”

“And Black Hooves?”

“Where dwells an orlov, there is Orlovia,” Next Wave said, with a deep and dramatic cadence, as though booming out to a crowd. After a moment, he went on more normally. “They’re, ah... orlov orlovian Aero-Lipizzians who think they should be orlov orlovian Orlovians, and who feel so strongly about that they’re willing to register their complaints with explosives instead of sternly worded letters.”

“Why tear up train tracks to Equestria then?”

“Because lipizzians say that Equestria is ‘the homeland.’ It’s where they’re from, even if they did leave a thousand years ago. Orlovians strenuously disagree.”

“Right. Because getting angry over something that happened literally a thousand years ago is an entirely reasonable and level-headed thing to do.” Spike rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “So Twilight’s visit could be taken in a bad way, then.”

“Could be.” He shrugged. “I’m not a politician or a Black Hoof.”

“Right.” Spike looked up. “Twilight’s supposed to join Prince Chain Link and the royal staff on their tour of the countryside tomorrow. Do you think we’re likely to run into any trouble?”

Next Wave hesitated. “I’m really not the pony to ask about this.”

“Yeah, but you’re the only pony I’ve got,” Spike said, lifting a claw as though in apology. “Twilight’s future is at stake. Please?”

His muzzle scrunched up, and Next Wave answered with a slow, deliberate speech. “I really, really don’t know anything specific. And this is really, really outside my job description,” he finally said. “But with the way the atmosphere is right now, I’d be a little nervous if I got into a carriage with anypony whose title is ‘Your Highness.’”

Spike drummed his claw tips over his scales. “What if Twilight left before the tour? Are there any trains leaving right now?”

“No. The next set of west trains won’t run until noon. And even if there were, the police would be sure to stop anypony trying to jump a midnight express over the border.”

“If…” Spike spoke slowly, “it was important. And I really needed to get one royal pony on their way to Orlovia before the morning tour. What would I do?”

“You’re serious about this?” Next Wave asked, still speaking slowly. “You understand you’re about to reschedule a major diplomatic tour because a mechanic had a bad gut feeling?”

“No.” Spike tapped his chest. “I’m about to reschedule a major diplomatic tour because I’ve got a bad gut feeling. I’m her assistant. It’s my job.”

Next Wave bit his lip, and then gradually shrugged. His horn glowed, and he removed his Artificer’s medallion, handing it over to Spike. “The Guild keeps a motor-pool for long distance deliveries, up by Einwanderung and the municipal building. Show them that and say it’s royal business. You’ll probably still have to bribe them a few hundred bits to run this late, but they’ll do it and they don’t ask a lot of dumb questions.”

Next Wave hesitated, and didn’t quite let go of the medallion. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“No,” Spike said. Then he took the medallion out of the air, and the glow around it vanished. “Thanks, Next Wave. Good luck with your cloud condenser.”

Outside, the rain had picked up, heavy drops falling as Spike made his way to the motor pool. That building was made of brick, and its doors also bore the cog-and-bolt. Spike showed the medallion, and filled out one of the blank checks that already had Twilight’s signature next to the royal seal. A mare offered to be their driver, firing up her car and bringing them both towards the palace.

The ball was in full-swing when they arrived, and the servants refused to allow Spike to interrupt. And so, he left a message for Twilight, to be delivered to her the very moment she was free. He tipped the driver, who set her car to idle, and then took a place in the back seat. He nudged his head into the cushions, shut his eyes, and as the rain beat against the glass, he managed to get some sleep.

Day 8: The Podhajsky Highway

“Hey, Spike!”

Spike shot awake in his seat, coming to attention with a garbled shout of greeting. His vision was dark and full of creatures more shadow than reality, but when he blinked hard to clear it, details resolved themselves out of the gloom. Will-o-the-wisps became street lamps, distant white clouds a marble building face, and the shifting mass of purple and pink in front of him, Twilight Sparkle. She was smiling, and her eyes were so bright, and without thinking, Spike smiled as well.

“Hey, Twilight,” he mumbled, scooting aside to make room as she piled into the back of the steam car. Her elaborate, voluminous court dress was singularly ill-suited for the back of a cab, taking up considerably more than half of the available space all on its own. Despite his small stature, Spike was forced to scoot off to the left, ceding the center and half his space to great puffy rolls of silk and the occasional sewn-in diamond. “What…?” he glanced up at the driver, who was still asleep, the engine silent. “What time is it?”

“About four AM. Sorry! I just got your message now.” Her tone was sing-song and her words came quick and bright. A few brushes with her legs managed to pull the rest of her long dress into the car, and her horn glowed as she removed her elaborate earrings.

Spike rubbed at his eyes with the back of a claw, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. “You were at the ball until four in the morning?”

“Yes!” she giggled, using her reflection in the mirror to pick off some of the less comfortable bits of finery, including the silver ring that bound her horn. “It was ridiculous. Apparently it’s a rule here that the party isn’t over until the prince and princess leave. And of course Chain Link doesn’t tell me that, so I think we just keep going. And all the poor older noble ponies are trying not to fall asleep on their hooves, and the Emperor is all,” she lifted a hoof, and spoke in a booming, dramatic cadence, “‘It will take more than an alicorn’s stamina to shame my court!’ Fetch the band coffee and keep playing!”

Her eyes were still on her reflection in the window, and she missed it as Spike woke the driver with a swift kick to the back of her seat. Their vehicle had been the only luxury car Spike could find, but it served its purpose well. Perhaps fifteen feet in length, it was split into two clear sections, with the bulk of the car occupied by its spacious passenger compartment, with glass windows, two doors, and a retracting overhead canopy. The driver jerked awake in the other, forward section, with only a low windscreen and her driver’s goggles protecting her from the elements.

“Of course, by midnight or so we’re out of waltzes where the stallion leads,” Twilight went on, oblivious that anything had occurred, “and I’m getting worried that everypony will realize I’m faking it. So Chain Link takes an actual rose in his teeth and you can tell he’s trying not to crack up because he knows how absolutely ridiculous he looks and asks me if I know how to tango. And I ask him precisely how many romance novels he reads that he thinks that’s—”

Behind them, a loud hiss of steam emerged from the car’s rear-mounted engine. The driver was a tiny red-and-grey unicorn mare, so slight it seemed like her driver’s goggles and flat-cap probably doubled her weight. Her horn was bright though, its yellow aura flickering like the fire that now roared to life somewhere beneath the car’s boiler.

Twilight blinked like her own eyes were hazy, a little sigh escaping her as they refocused. “Oh, right. Sorry.” She glanced down at Spike. “Let’s head down to the train station?”

“We’re not going to the train station.”

Twilight frowned. “But your note said there might be trouble with our train tomorrow. Aren’t we going to go sort it out?”

“This isn’t the kind of problem new tickets will fix, Twilight. I spoke to some of the train ponies and Artificers and…” He paused, glancing up at her wide, expressive eyes, and down at her elaborate court dress. “They think there might be some problems. Like Griffonstone. If we want to get to Orlovia on time, it might be better to leave now. The bags are already packed and in the trunk.”

“I can’t run off in the middle of the night, Spike!” Twilight’s frown deepend. “I’m a visiting dignitary! Besides, I was supposed to get to hang out with the Prince tomorrow. It’s a goodwill tour. Making friends is the whole point.”

Spike’s shoulders tensed, and he held his claws tight together. It took him a moment to find the words. “You’re the Princess, Twilight. It’s your call. And we don’t know for certain that anything bad will happen. But I really think, if you want to stay on schedule, we should leave tonight.”

Twilight’s mouth drew into a line. She looked from the car, to the palace, then back to the car. Finally, she let out a rough cry of, “Uuugh!” and buried her face in her hooves. “Why does this always happen to me? Is it so much to ask for a train company to actually stick to the posted schedules?”

Spike said nothing, watching Twilight with his claws folded. The driver watched him. Twilight sighed again. “Fine, let’s go. But hold on a moment first.”

Pulling open the far door and rising up on her hind legs, Twilight stretched over the seats to wave at one of the nearby servants. “Hey! Excuse me, sirs?” she waved, until one of the palace staff approached, a light-grey coated pegasus in a sharp blue jacket. “I have a message for Prince Chain Link that needs to be delivered to him right away, and -- oop. Spike! Where’d you pack the parchment?”

It took a moment to find the parchment, and a while more than that for Twilight to scribble out nearly two pages of tightly written script. But soon enough, she passed the bound-up parchment over to the servant, who bowed and left. Spike shut the door, and gestured to the driver, who in turn gently pulled the throttle lever back. The engine let out a loud bang as it started, shifting to a more steady rhythm as the car pulled out of the palace gates.

“Ugh.” Twilight let her head fall back against the cushions. “Okay. Give me some help here, would you, Spike? I don’t think this dress was really made for travel.”

It took some time to extricate Twilight from the many-layered court dress, during which time the steam car gradually made its way through the dark and largely empty streets. Streetlights drifted and swirled around them, spots of light playing off the cabin seats and dancing on the window like flickering stars. Gradually, they grew fewer, fading away one by one as the car moved away from the city center, and there were no more lights to replace those left behind. The humm of the engine was steady and constant, and soon faded into the background.

“Huff!” Twilight let out a nicker, as she took a deep breath for the first time so far that evening. “That’s better. If I never wear another corset again it’ll be too soon.”

“Girls’ clothes are weird,” Spike agreed, tugging the fabric away as Twilight shrugged out of it, helping her shake the straps off her legs. “But, it sounds like the goodwill visit went very well?”

“Yes, Spike. I had a lot of fun.” Twilight smiled at him, giving him a little pat on the head with her hoof. “And… I don’t know.” She turned to look out the window, watching as the last buildings of the city rolled past and countryside became visible. “It gave me a lot to think about, too.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

Twilight glanced back at Spike. Her ears pulled back halfway, then forward again, and she returned her gaze to the window. “There was some courtly politics, and Emperor Iron Cross was not subtle about the fact that he thought Chain Link and I would be an advantageous political marriage, hint hint. And I tried to tell him that political marriage isn’t a thing for me because Equestrians marry for love, but I don’t think he quite got it.”

“Ouch.” Spike put on a sympathetic flinch. “That had to be embarrassing. How did Chain Link deal with it?”

“Mmm,” she went on with a slower tone, thoughtful and distant. “Well, when his dad put him in the spot, he gave a rather graceful improvised speech about how love is one of the great magical forces of our world. Then he smiled at me and added that alicorns are both mysterious and patient, and will do whatever they very well wish to do regardless of what kings or armies have to say about it. Which was clever, and sweet.”

After a moment, she added, “But which was not, technically, disagreeing with his father.”

“Woah.” Spike sat up straighter. “You think he was like… intentionally trying to be all romantic and stuff?”

“I am almost certain he was under orders from his father to make sure I had a nice evening, yes.” Twilight nodded once.

“So why did you go dance a tango with him!?” Spike’s voice raised, and his arms went up above his head, his eyes narrowing sharply. But when Twilight turned back to stare at him, he slowly lowered his arms, and his gazed tilted down a few degrees. “Um, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She went back to gazing into the distance. The streetlights were now few and far between, and it was not far to the point where they stopped entirely, and the road became darkness. “And because he was nice. If I thought it was all an act, I would probably have left early, but I do think he actually likes me. And besides,” she smiled again, “I said he was under orders to be charming. I didn’t say he failed.”

Spike stuck out his tongue and crossed his arms. It wasn’t until Twilight laughed that he realized she could see his reflection in the glass. The interior of the car was almost totally dark now, only the backwash from the car’s headlamps providing any consistent illumination. “Oh, hush, Spike. You’re being worse than Shining Armor. I can take care of myself just fine, and I promise, the tango is not an ancient mind control ritual that makes mares dot their i’s with hearts and start planning what their wedding dress will look like. Though I did enjoy it.”

Spike still grumbled, but less noticeably than before, and he uncrossed his arms as well to rest them on the seat. “Will you be visiting him again then?”

“I think he earned a second date.” There was nothing to see outside her window by that point, and so she turned her head forward to watch the road. The driver was only an outline by that point, the two bright flares of the headlamps leaving her edges fiery red and her back a pool of shadow. “And even if it turns out that we’re not compatible in the long run and I decide I’ve no intention of things going that way… you know? I like him. He introduced me to some new things. Even some things I wasn’t totally comfortable with. But he did it in a way that was really respectful. Now I know what it’s like to dance, and a lot about Aero-Lipizzian culture and…”

She sat forward, rubbing a chin with a hoof. “And even if political marriage isn’t a thing in Equestria, it is here. I could end up ruling this country one day. Or not. And it… I don’t know.”

“The world feels bigger than it used to?” Spike prompted gently.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s a really good way to think of it.” She smiled and twitched an ear. “But it’s more than that, because I don’t feel like the world is so huge my actions don’t matter. It’s big, yeah, but I have a place in it. And that place is actually kind of important. I can make a difference. It’s a good feeling.”

She twitched her ear again. “The Emperor was super unreasonable about the whole slash-and-burn thing though.”

“I kinda figured he would be.” Spike drummed his claws over his scales. “So. Prince Charming. Did you kiss him?”

“That is so not your business.”

“I know!” He raised a claw as though to ward off the terrible accusation. “I wasn’t snooping. Just asking.”

“Well then,” Twilight said, matter-of-factly, “my answer is that it isn’t your business!”

“Sure. Sure.” Spike swallowed. “You kissed him didn’t you?”

Twilight looked back at him, and grinned ear to ear. The cabin filled with purple light as her horn glowed. She picked up the great mass of fabric that was her voluminous court dress and, with the most dainty, lady-like precision, attempted to smother Spike with it.

“Mmmph!” he called from under the crushing layers of pink. “Mmmmmmmph!”

“What was that, Spike?” Twilight asked, sing-song. “Was it, ‘I promise to respect Twilight’s independence and emotional maturity and right to pick her own romantic relationships?’”

“Mmmph! Mmmmmmuh!” The sound came rough through the dress's eight individually sewn layers.

“Good! I thought you’d see things my way.” She removed the dress, and Spike gasped for breath. “Fold this silly thing up and put it with the rest of the luggage, would you?”

As Spike managed as best he could with the dress and their series of suitcases, Twilight took the time to examine their vehicle, looking around and listening to the purr of the engine behind them. “Where’d you get this anyway?”

“The International Guild of Artificers, Tinkers, Mechanists, and Engineers. It’s part of something called a ‘motor pool.’”

“It’s a neat toy. I don’t understand why so many ponies outside Equestria feel the need to put steam engines on everything, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t interesting.” She tilted her head a moment, squinting at nothing in particular. “Ah, forget it, I’m not getting to sleep. Where’d you put my copy of Pegasus Migrations: A History?”

And so, Spike put away her dress, and found her books, and let her read, and resumed his vigil at her side. But in time, another sound could be heard. There was a beat, a rising and falling mechanical drone, much like their engine, but not from the engine. At first both Spike and Twilight reacted with alarm, thinking their car had suffered some malfunction. But after a few moments it became clearer that the sound was coming from their right, not from within the vehicle.

“Is that… a train?” Twilight squinted. Then, she knocked on the window connecting them and the driver. The driver reached back and yanked a lever, and the window abruptly dropped down and away. A sudden blast of chill, damp air blew into the passenger compartment, a few stray drops of rain carried with it.

“Hey!” Twilight slid her forelegs over the lip of the barrier, standing up on her hind legs to stick her head out the window. The driver grunted in response. “Do you see that?”

Peering off into the darkness, they could see something now. There was a shape beside the road, off in the fields beyond. Something large enough that it could not be seen by staring directly at it, for its core was only darkness. It was only at the edges that it became visible, where the curve of a roof and the gap between cars flashed with starlight. A cloud of smoke, invisible on its own, could be seen where it occluded the sky, and the wind carried the faint click and clack of wheels on a track. But though it had the outline of a train, there was not a light to be seen on it anywhere. It had no head lamps, no carriage lights, and not so much as a firefly lantern inside what might have been the outline of passenger cars.

“What is that?” Twilight asked of their driver. With her head sticking out the window, the backwash from the headlamps illuminated her face more properly. Spike could see that she still had her makeup on. There was color in her cheeks, and shadow around her eyes, all of it running in streaks where stray raindrops struck her. She took no mind.

“Night Train,” the driver answered. “You see them out here on the tracks sometimes in the early morning.”

“Why are all its lights off?”

The driver glanced back at her for a moment. “No passengers going that way,” she said. “It’s empty. They’re just moving it back to another depot for a morning pickup.”

Twilight scrunched up her muzzle. “With the headlamps off? That’s really dangerous. What if somepony wandered onto the tracks and didn’t see the train coming?”

The driver flicked her tail, her tone flat. “Ponies around here know not to go near the tracks at night.”

Spike clambered up to the window beside her and squinted into the darkness as well. “Yeah, well, let’s follow their example.” He nudged his head towards the driver. “Get us ahead of it?”

“You’re the boss, boss.” The mare shrugged. Then she grabbed the throttle lever and pulled it back.

Steam hissed, the engine roared, rubber screamed, and the car shot off down the highway like an arrow from its bow. The night train faded behind them in the distance, and soon was lost to the shadows.

Day 12: Tersk

It was the first and the last day of summer. The sun was rising in the south. The little ones were bleeding. The Wood wept. And Twilight wept with it.

Spike could see her off in the distance, with her head buried into Princess Silver Dove’s shoulder. He was too far away to hear anything, but he could see her wings move as her barrel shook, and how tightly she grasped the foreign heiress. Her tail was nearly flat, her ears tight against her head.

Spike’s stomach clenched, and he belched, a burst of green fire emerging from his mouth, soon to solidify into a scroll. He took it, read it, and again stared at Twilight in the distance. Then he put it away, tucking the scroll into his little traveling bag, next to the newspaper from that morning. It was folded, but he could still read the headline.

“Pardon me,” said a soft voice behind him. Spike turned on the small boulder he was using as a seat and saw an old mare standing there. “I do not mean to pry, but if the news from Equestria is urgent, I can have them discreetly interrupted.”

Spike didn’t answer right away. The mare was somewhere in her late fifties, an earth pony with a skinny build and pale red shades in her coat and mane, her once rich colors starting to fade away. Her face was soft and expressive, and while she wore a heavy coat like many of the locals, it did not quite obscure her cutie mark: a shield, a heart, and a crown.

“No,” he said. “Nothing that can’t wait.” He extended a claw. “I’m Spike.”

“I am Long Haul.” She took his claw with her hoof, and shook gently. “Majordomo to her Imperial Majesty, Princess Silver Dove the Third.”

“What’s a majordomo?”

“The highest-ranked domestic servant. I manage her schedule, handle her day-to-day correspondence, and make sure her arrangements are as she wishes them to be.”

“Oh.” Spike looked back at the two Princesses in the distance. “I’m Twilight’s Number One Assistant.”

“Yes, I know.” Long Haul nodded again, more gently this time. “Princess Silver Dove is a gentle and kind young mare. There are far worse places for Princess Twilight to be in her time of grief.”

“Twilight’s tough. She’s fought monsters and saved the world,” Spike said, still looking her way. “She’ll be fine.”

“Yes, she will be. But I can see you hovering around her like a fretting mother bird with her egg, even if you know well enough to keep out of her sight when you do it.” That got Spike’s attention, and he turned his head up towards the old mare.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” she asked. “Princess Twilight was supposed to tour the Weeping Wood this afternoon, but I do not think she would wish to be interrupted for that. The grounds are at their finest. Everything is set up. It seems a shame to waste.”

A cold and dry wind picked up around them, rustling the forest. Water fell from every branch in a sudden torrent, striking hard against the earth. And then the wind was gone, and there was only the pitter-patter of the Wood’s tears on the ground. Spike watched Twilight, who had pulled out of Silver Dove’s shoulder and was talking with her quietly. Then he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “Alright.” He hopped down from his rock.

All around them was the Wood. Spike couldn't tell where the palace ended or began, where was city and where was countryside. There were buildings, certainly, some large and some small, all immaculately shaped out of hoof-carved beams. There were roads paved with little broken stones, and there were groups of ponies going about their business. But the Wood ran through all of them, and its trees could be found growing between even the closest-packed buildings and along the largest paths. Every leaf dripped with condensation, and their trunks were scarred with runes.

Long Haul picked a small path to the left, which seemed little used and curved a long way away. Spike followed her, and the two walked in silence until they were out of sight of the Imperial Garden and the two Princesses. It did not take long. The Wood blocked sight, muffled sound, and distorted ponies’ and dragons’ senses of direction equally well. In barely a hundred steps, Spike was hopelessly lost amid the shifting trees and maze-like paths. And so he stopped looking back, and followed by Long Haul’s side.

“The ferns told me that you attempted to gain access to the airfield earlier. To make sure Twilight’s airship would be on time, I assume?” She took Spike’s small glance her way as agreement. “You don’t have to worry. The Emperor himself has ordered that every courtesy be provided to the visiting Princess. I believe your airship will be on time, but if for some reason it is not, another will be promptly redirected for your use.”

Spike looked up at her as they walked, and a small frown appeared on his face. “Thank you,” he said. “Do the ferns around here usually talk?”

“Oh yes,” she said, with a bit of lightness in her words, “ferns are terrible gossips. For instance, they also tell me you struck up a chat with the Artificers outside the base, and had one of their medallions. I’m curious. Are you a mechanic?”

“No.” Spike shook his head. “But they’re useful ponies to know.”

“‘Useful’ is a good word for the International Guild, yes.” She inspected the treetops for a moment, affecting a neutral air. Then, with a touch of brightness in her tone, she added: “My granddaughter is apprenticing with them now, and is about to complete her project to become a journeyman. Would you like to see, and meet her?”

“Yeah,” Spike said. Then he added, “Yeah, sure,” a little more life returning to his formerly dull tone, and some animation to his posture. “What’s her project?”

“Helping her master fine-tune his steam-powered crossbow.” Long Haul rolled her eyes. They came to a junction in the path, and she turned down it, her pace picking up to a steady walk. “I personally don’t see what was wrong with crossbows before, but she’s fallen in love with the metal. As have many of her friends. Foals these days think putting ‘steam powered’ in front of something makes it better.”

“It is kind of enchanting,” Spike said, eliciting a small but bright eyed smile from Long Haul. “Seeing things change that way.”

“She certainly thinks so.” A degree of warmth entered Long Haul’s voice. “Careful you don’t fall in love with the metal too. Those medallions consume ponies’ souls as well as any rune.”

Spike let out a noncommittal grunt and shrugged, then fell quiet as they passed a small group of noble ponies going the other way. Both he and Long Haul moved to the side to let them pass, and it wasn’t until they were out of hearing that he said: “I’m sorry I tried to get into the airfield. Please don’t get Twilight in trouble for that. It was all my idea.”

“If you were older, I’d have taken offense, yes. It was an unsubtle attempt.” Long Haul let out a very equine snort. “In your future travels, do remember that you have the power to press upon the locals. There are servants and there are servants, and that lets you keep greater distance between your master and scandal. But you’re young. And I was a young servant once too, and made the same mistakes. Your training is clearly incomplete, but you have the instinct for the job.”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“Oh? Then why didn’t you go to Princess Twilight when she was upset?” Long Haul turned a skeptical eye to the little dragon by her side. “I saw you hugging her earlier, so do not tell me she prefers the comforts of a foreign monarch to your own.”

Spike didn’t answer right away, and while he waited, they passed into a clearing. Barely a dozen yards from the trees, the soft soil had turned to permafrost, and the sun could be seen rising in the south. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and though he shivered without the benefit of a jacket, Spike kept his pace steady. “It’s a goodwill tour. She’s here to make friends with the other world leaders. And she likes Silver Dove. If she wants a hug from me, she can get it any time.”

“If you were a pony, you’d be a young stallion now. And not many young stallions would see things that way.” Long Haul led them out of the clearing, and warmth returned to the world. As they came to its edge, Spike took advantage of the light to inspect a cluster of trees more closely, the light illuminating the runes on their bark. On the oldest of trees, the runes had grown in and seemed to multiply of their own accord, spreading across the surface in elegant and twisted lines.

The younger trees were not so weathered, and had bleeding left to do. The runes there wept sap, and the wounds would not heal.

“We can never play politics. Not even in our thoughts. It’s their world, we only live in it,” Long Haul said, giving Spike his time to inspect the trees. “But we need to understand it. And it takes a particular kind of pony—or dragon, I suppose—to learn the rules of a game down to the smallest detail knowing they can never touch the pieces.”

Spike resumed the walk, and Long Haul kept pace. “Is it that obvious I was upset?”

“No. You kept it off your face.” She shook her head. “But your charge had a brush with death. I don’t have to see your face to know that you’re blaming yourself at the moment.”

“Twilight’s an alicorn.” Spike growled, his eyes narrowing at Long Haul. “If she’d stayed another day—”

“She could have what? Wrapped a foreign monarch in a little magical bubble to keep him safe from his own people? Thrown herself on top of the bomb?” Long Haul’s tone gave little mercy, and her gaze was stern. “Getting her out of there was precisely the correct move.”

Spike wrung his claws, and looked down at the dirt. “But the only reason she was in that situation was that she didn’t know what she was walking into. I’d done my research beforehand; I could have warned her.”

“A mistake, yes.” She shrugged. “But Twilight survived. And while the loss of Prince Chain Link is tragic, he was not your ward, and it is not your job to fight off Black Hoof bomb-throwers. You will do better next time, I am sure.”

“Mmph.” The two of them passed a pony kneeling by the side of the road, a unicorn with an elaborate ritual blade floating by her side, slowly scarring a tree trunk with it’s curved steel tip. “So what’s she walking into this time, then?”

“Something good, I think.” Long Haul’s tone turned positive, and she looked up at the shafts of sky visible through the leaves. “The world is changing quickly, yes, but we aren’t Aero-Lipizzia, and Orlovia isn’t about to tear itself apart. It’s a time of coming-together for us. Our great union.”

“What does that mean?” Spike asked, watching Long Haul’s face. “Exactly.”

“Cheeky.” Long Haul fixed him with a short, narrow stare, but her chastising expression relented as quickly as it had come. “How much do you know about our history?”

“Just the basics.” Spike thought back to Twilight’s enthusiastic diatribes, now half-remembered. “That you were cast out of the Three Tribes sometime before Equestria because you were suspected of practicing necromancy. That you’re one of only three cultures to practice magic that can be used equally well by earth ponies and unicorns. And that you’re the only pony culture to actually have no pegasi.”

Long Haul nodded. “A good starting point. And true enough. Rune magic is a form of necromancy, since runes drain the life force of their hosts to power their effects. In the tribal era, when our magic was known as blood magic, our ancestors did bleed forest creatures to work their spells.”

“And ponies?”

“It was illegal, but yes, on occasion.” Long Haul spoke matter-of-factly. “And so, we were cast out. Left to die in a tundra, so far north that the ground never thaws, and the sun never sets in summer and never rises in winter. A land where there are no clouds, and it never rains. It was only with magic that we survived at all, and that came at a terrible cost. Some had to die, that others might live. More than a thousand years, and we’ve never quite forgiven the three tribes for that.”

She gestured at the Wood as they walked, and all its shifting trees. “But then our first ruler, Midnight Sun, found a single tree clinging to existence in the frost. A pony, you see, has only seventy-odd years to take, while a tree may give up two hundred and still have hundreds more to spare. And he made a pact with the tree then, that he should take two hundred of its years, and with them power a spell to pull water out of the air and warmth out of the ground, that the tree would be nourished and its acorns should all become its children. And now the Weeping Wood covers the whole tundra.”

“That still feels like necromancy,” Spike said, a wary note in his voice. “Trees are better than ponies, but it’s not the cute and fluffy kind of magic.”

“We’re not an exceptionally cute or fluffy breed,” Long Haul said, her tone dry. “But will you accept my promise that we aren’t monsters?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Spike nodded. He lapsed into silence after that, turning off to look at the woods. He could have been miles away from Twilight by now, for all he knew. The trees flowed and shifted around each other in a way that didn’t seem quite natural, and that played tricks on his eyes. He could see a small cabin in the distance, a few noble ponies outside it chatting, tall and thin creatures wrapped in animal fur and jewels. But then he blinked and they were gone, replaced by a twisting rocky trail, which was in turn lost to sight behind the weeping trees.

A shiver passed through him, and he turned back to Long Haul. “What does this have to do with coming together, then?”

“Orlovia is not like other countries, where a strong monarch has always ruled,” she said, returning to her natural patient tone. “The tundra is six thousand miles from end to end. A pony who lives on our eastern border will, for the whole of her life, never see the pony who lives on our western border. And so for most of our history, there was no ‘Orlovia.’ Just a place where orlovs happened to live. And we had our runes, and our stories, and our Weeping Wood, but we were not a nation like Equestria or the other great kingdoms.”

Spike nodded and listened intently as she went on. “Silver Dove’s great-grandfather changed that, Emperor Axial Tilt the First. He declared that our ‘blood magic’ would henceforth be known as rune magic, and that anypony who drew blood in their castings, from animal or pony, would without exception be put to death. And when the ponies at the northern pole rose up in revolution and demanded the right to keep sacrificing their fellow equines, the whole of the orlov nation rose against them.”

She smiled, and with a wistful touch, added: “Princess Silver Dove was raised on those stories. They’ve been romanticized up a bit over the years. An army so large it stretched from one horizon to the other. A thousand regiments of a thousand ponies, to smite the necromancers in their lair.”

“That sounds like a good thing,” Spike said cautiously. “All the ponies coming together to stand against dark magic, I mean.”

“It was a very good thing.” She nodded. “And our people came together again, during the Minotaur Invasion, and again during the great famines when I was a child. But always we’ve been against something. We lived in our villages and kept to ourselves, and only came together in opposition. We were against the Three Tribes. We were against the northern necromancers. We were against the minotaurs, and the changelings, and even against the tundra itself. Victims lashing out against our oppressors.”

“And now you have the railroad.”

“And the realm is at peace.” Long Haul nodded, her tone one of agreement. “So ponies from our west border can meet ponies from our east border, and have tea and a chat together if they should wish it. Once we were orlov, but now we’re Orlovia, and we get to decide what that means. We get to be for something, instead of just against our neighbors.”

Spike thought that over for a moment. “You sound really hopeful,” he said, his cautious tone gaining a bit of life. “Everywhere else I’ve gone on this trip, I’ve heard ponies say, ‘the world is changing,’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“Well they can go soak their heads.” Long Haul’s tone turned sassy, a bright smile appearing on her face. And despite himself, Spike smiled too. “Young ponies these days are so gifted. Like my granddaughter. When she first joined the International Guild, I admit I was worried. I thought they were shifty foreigners who’d turn her away from her people. But I should have had more faith in her. She’s a pony who can stand with two legs in the past and two in the future. She doesn’t have to turn away from the Wood to love her crafts.”

Ahead of them the path widened, and Spike could see their destination. The practice range was a large open area, bordered by little trees, with a massive stone slab set up as a backstop. Archery targets and bow-stands were set up along the firing end, along with a large workbench and an overhang. There was a young mare there, a bright teal unicorn, fiddling with some gadget or other.

“It does worry me sometimes,” Spike said slowly, watching the young mare ahead as they crossed the last few dozen steps. “It just seems like everything is so big and out of control.”

“Yes. But we’re servants, Spike. We do our jobs, and keep our heads down, and have faith in the ponies around us. And I think most ponies are worth putting your faith in.” They shared a smile, and Spike stood up a little straighter. “It’s a new era. And the new ponies just want to build something great for their people.”

After a moment, she added: “And they will. They won’t be anypony’s victims again.”

In the distance as the young unicorn raised her gadget to her shoulder. It was a complex metal construction that bore no resemblance to a crossbow, with a large steel canister underneath a wide barrel and a complex assemblage of pipes. Though she levitated it with her unicorn magic, it had a large shoulder stock, and she braced it against herself.

Abruptly, a thunderclap carried through the Wood, and steam shot from the end of the barrel. Spike didn’t even see the projectile. There was just a blur of motion, and when he turned his eyes, a metal spike nearly a foot long was jutting out of the backstop. It had gone right through the target, impacting with enough force to crack the stone.

“Woah!” Spike called. “That—”

The weapon fired again, and another spike shot out, smashing through the target and into the backstop. Then another, and another, each after the other. Each shot ripped huge gouts of cloth and hay out of the archery target and tore chunks of stone out of the wall. The report was deafening, and so Spike covered his ears, and waited for the weapon to stop.

But it didn’t. The young mare simply held down the trigger and let the steel do its work. Shot after shot embedded itself in the stone, spiderweb cracks radiating out from each one. Soon, the cracks met in a single long fracture, and the great stone that had stood for so many centuries was split from its base to the ground.

Day 20: The Wind-Swept Lover

A bribe of twenty bits to one of the officers for access to his private stock of fresh oranges. Thirty bits for access to the quartermaster’s hidden stash of blueberries. Ten for the cook and his extra care, two hundred for the radio operator to pull an extra shift, and two for a bag of fresh coffee. All were paid in neatly printed checks, save the coffee, which was purchased with two of Lidar’s gifted bits. That was, after all, a personal expense.

“Knock knock!” Spike called, in lieu of actually knocking on the door to Twilight’s quarters. His hands were full, carrying the wide steel tray that held her breakfast. Hearing no answer, he pushed the door open with his shoulder. “Twilight, you awake?”

“Don’t come in. I’m naked,” Twilight answered, already up and seated at the room’s little work desk. She had one of her books open in front of her—The Complete and Unabridged History of Zebraria—a three inch thick tome she was already nearly halfway through.

“Ha ha. Very funny.” Spike’s tone was dry, and he set the tray down on the desk next to Twilight. In addition to its bottle of orange juice and covered plate of pancakes, it held two gently rolled scrolls, some telegrams, and a considerable pile of loose leaf paper, the sheer quantity of it threatening to spill over onto the food. “I was able to get the radio operator to help like you wanted. He had the Zebrarian relay station do a complete transcription of this morning’s Cape Harness Inquirer.”

“Well done, Spike.” Twilight’s tone was encouraging, her ears upright and alert. With her usual efficient manner, she removed the papers from the tray and straightened them into a neat pile, lifting the cover from the plate a moment later. Air rushed in to fill the gap, and a little cloud of steam wafted from the plate, barely visible in the morning sunlight. It smelled like blueberries, and butter, and syrup from the Weeping Wood. “Wow. I didn’t know the Orlovian navy ate this well.”

“Oh, well, I think the cook just likes you.” Spike scratched the back of his head. “Do you want me to read your letters for today?”

“Please,” Twilight replied cheerfully, cutting up her pancakes and continuing to read as she ate. Spike pulled the first scroll from the pile, clearing his throat as he read aloud.

“Princess Luna,” he began, “says that she has arrived in Vineigha for Prince Chain Link’s funeral. She reports that the situation is tense, but that Princess Silver Dove is there as well, and both sides seem committed to a healthy long-term resolution to the Black Hoof problem. She gives your love and your sympathy to Emperor Iron Cross. He invites you to the capital again whenever you should wish it, and hopes that his son’s tragic passing will not sour relations between you and his people.”

“That’s good,” Twilight said slowly, chewing over a mouthful of pancakes as she thought. “Thank her for keeping me updated. Tell her I’m at her disposal if there’s any way I can help, and that I accept Emperor Iron Cross’s invitation. Oh, and remind me to send Silver Dove a letter today. It’s on my checklist for the day but I want to get to it before it gets too late.” Spike’s quill scribbled quickly, and he nodded. “Next.”

Spike lifted one of the telegrams. “Princess Silver Dove sends her love and sympathies, and hopes that once your trip and the current Aero-Lipizzian situation is resolved, she might be able to visit you in Ponyville. She says she was quite taken with your stories of your heroic friends and would welcome the opportunity to meet them.”

“Speak of the mare. I’ll get to it this afternoon. Next?”

He lifted a letter, enveloped but unsealed. “The captain asks if you might join him and the other senior officers for dinner this evening.”

“No.” Her tone took a small downturn. “I really need to study before we arrive in Zebraria.”

Spike paused, looking over the letter towards Twilight. She was still reading, and occasionally chewing on a mouthful of pancakes without looking at or noticing her food. “You have kind of blown him off the last eight nights in a row, Twilight.”

She paused, the motion of her eyes freezing. “Tell him I’m airsick or something,” she finally said, the motion resuming. “Next.”

“Uh, right.” Spike cleared his throat. He picked up the second scroll. “Celestia writes to ask if you’re doing okay.”

“Tell her we’re on course to Zebraria and approximately one day ahead of schedule. No other problems to report. Next.”

“Uh…” Spike lowered the scroll from his sight to look at Twilight. “She asked if you’re well, Twilight. I don’t think that’s what she meant.”

“Oh.” Twilight shrugged, her tone casual to the point of indifference. “Tell her I’m fine. Is there anything else?”

“Uh…” He put the scroll away. “That’s about it. The rest is just telegrams from well-wishers, and letters from your friends in Ponyville.”

“Send my thanks to the ponies I don’t know. Be polite. I’ll read the letters from the girls later.” Her fork stabbed blindly at the plate, missing the pancakes several times as she focused exclusively on the words in front of her. “Thanks, Spike.”

“Sure. Sure,” Spike said. Then he took the seat on the edge of the bed, and waited.

The captain had given up his quarters to Twilight for the duration of the voyage. They were cramped, as was everything aboard the Wind-Swept Lover, but they made good use of the space. Charts covered the fine wood-paneled walls, and elegant woodcuts filled in the gaps. The bed was filled with down feathers, and the large writing desk swung in and out of the wall to save space. But the room’s dominant feature was the window, a single massive pane of glass that covered the entire west wall and half the floor. The morning was bright, the waves below them were white-flecked, and though the clouds moved quickly, their airship’s course was smooth, only a gentle vibration and the occasional sway marking their progression through the sky.

It took a good five minutes before Twilight twitched her ears and lifted her head to look back at Spike. Her fork had been stabbing at an empty plate for nearly two of them. “Oh, uh. Hey, Spike,” she said. “Was there something else?”

“No. Just, uh…” He gestured vaguely in her direction. “How’s the research on Zebraria going?”

“Good!” Her voice was upbeat, and she turned back to her book. “It’s a young country, but reasonably stable all things considered. It has a lot of internal tribal groups, but it’s structured to support that, so it’s not a square-peg-round-hole situation like Aero-Lipizzia. This book is a few years old so I’ll want to read the papers too, but King Kuishia seems to have the support of most of the zebras.”

“Sounds uh… safe.” Spike drummed his clawtips on the mattress, still watching Twilight’s back.

“Should be.” She turned a page. “As long as we restrict our tour to the capital and don’t visit the veldt. Or the bad part of town. Or the docks. The Dockworkers Union went on strike five years ago and he broke it up. But that’s fine! I hear they have a new quinine factory that has some really impressive architecture. And the Palace of Shadows is supposed to be a work of art.”

“Yeah.” Spike nodded, his tone dry and mechanical. “Hey, Twilight?” He perked up a bit. “You want to go on a tour of the airship? I met the engineer this morning and made him some coffee and I’m sure he’d love to give you a tour.”

“I’ve seen an airship before, Spike,” she said, polite but disinterested. “Cabins, mess, bridge, navigation, engineering, cargo hold. Airships in Equestria are pretty much the same as airships everywhere else.”

“Yeah, but…” It took him a moment to find his words, and when he did, he added a kick of energy behind them, lifting a claw for her attention, “this one has an auto-condensing air-cooled engine.”

Twilight’s ears twitched once, and her eyes stopped scanning. A moment passed, and she lifted her head to look back at him.

“It uh…” He coughed. “It has big vents on the side that suck in air to keep the steam condensers cool, but, they’re set up with these external condensation plates, so when the airship skims a cloud it sucks water up and refills the reserve. So the ship can have a much smaller water reserve which makes it faster and lighter.”

He kicked his foot into the air, sitting with his hands folded on the edge of the bed. “It’s really cool,” he said, adding, “and I really think you should get out of your cabin.”

Twilight blinked, looked down at her book, and then carefully placed a bookmark in its pages and shut it. She stepped over to the bedside, and slid onto the mattress next to Spike. Soon, they were seated next to each other, looking out the window and into the sky and the sea below. She tucked a leg around his shoulders and held him close: “So, how are you holding up?” she asked.

“I’m a little worried about you, Twilight.” His tone began to show stain, reflecting the tension in his posture. “And I think Celestia is too. You haven’t left your cabin for over a week.” He sharply held up a claw. “And don’t say you leave every day because trips to the bathroom don’t count and you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” she agreed, softly. “But I’m fine, Spike. A pony I cared about died. So yes, I’m sad. And a little angry. And I know I’ve kind of locked myself in my quarters for most of the voyage. But I’m not going to turn into Nightmare Twilight.”

“Nopony is saying you are. But…” Spike kicked his legs. “Of all the research you could be doing on Zebraria, is dangerous dissident groups really the first thing you think of for a goodwill tour? That doesn’t sound like a decision you would have made two weeks ago.”

“No, probably not.” She let out a little breath. “But I’m just taking precautions. And I… guess I might be a little nervous. But that’s not the end of the world.”

“No, it isn’t. But you get really obsessed with things sometimes, Twilight. And even if you’re super smart, it makes you get carried away and do things that aren’t rational. And I don’t understand why…”

He let out a little breath, then squared his shoulders, and looked her in the eye. “Twilight, why haven’t we canceled the trip? The prince of one of the countries you were visiting got… you know. Nopony would have thought it was odd if you turned around to go to his funeral. And it would have given you all the time you wanted to study these countries more before you tried again.”

Twilight didn’t answer, and after a moment, Spike pressed on. “And I’m really worried that you’re going to run to King Kuishia or the Saddle-Arabian princes or whoever and wrap them all up in a forcefield bubble so nothing can hurt them and then it’ll all spiral and spiral because you want to fix everypony’s problems but you can’t fix the whole world at once. And…”

He looked down at the floor. “You know it wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Heh.” Twilight let out a little half-laugh, then reached a leg around Spike to hug him close against her chest. “I know. And you know it wasn’t your fault either, right?”

They embraced for a long moment, Spike’s head resting against her shoulder. “I am so lucky to have you,” Twilight said, squeezing him just a little tighter.

“Don’t change the subject,” he said into her shoulder, and they both smiled a little. He hugged her as well, and after a moment, they broke apart. “Just promise me you’re not going full Want-It-Need-It on me.”

“Oh my gosh, that was one time.” Twilight’s smile was weak, but she managed a little laugh. “I promise, I’m not going crazy. If Luna had thought she needed me in Vineigha, I would have turned around. And I did consider canceling the trip anyway.”

Spike nodded, his hands resting on the bedside. “So why didn’t you?”

“Mmph.” Twilight turned to the window, looking out at the sea below. Though they were too high up to make out details, ships were clearly visible by the wakes they left, a half dozen streaks of white in the blue below ending with little black points that bled coal smoke. “That’s complicated.”

Spike shrugged. “I got time.”

A nervous smile flashed over Twilight’s face, but she nodded a little, her eyes still on the window. She swallowed. “I really want to win the bet with Celestia.”

Spike’s head perked up. “Does winning the bet really mean that much to you?”

“It’s not about the bet.” Twilight shook her head, quickly adding, “I mean, not that the bet isn’t important, because the solar calendar is a mess and folding down the corners of pages is the first step down the slippery slope to moral deviancy, but it’s not about winning the bet because I want the prize. It’s about…”

She licked her lips. “It’s about Griffonstone.”

Spike blinked once, then tilted his head to the side. “You lost me.”

“That place was a dump, Spike. I mean, sure, the railroad helped, and the Guild is doing what they can, but it takes more than some pine scent and sawdust to cover up the smell of centuries of decay and failure. They’re our closest neighbors, and we just sat there and watched as their civilization fell apart. Or…”

She let out a slow breath. “Or let’s be honest, Celestia sat there and watched. And I’m not okay with that. Don’t get me wrong!” she added quickly, “Celestia is an amazing pony and if I’m a tenth the Princess she is, I’ll be lucky. She’s made Equestria into a wonderful place. But she thinks in terms of centuries. It’s enough for her to say that she’ll fix Griffonstone eventually, and doing it right now would be difficult and risky, so she’ll wait. But a lot of good that does the griffons who have to watch their cities turn to dust before she ‘gets around to it.’ I don’t want to be that kind of Princess, Spike.”

She looked down and poked the mattress with the tip of a hoof. “Because, you’re right. What happened to Prince Chain Link wasn’t my fault, and would almost certainly have happened even if we never visited. But that doesn’t make it okay. It’s not enough to just give the world a little nudge now and then. I want to go out and make it better now. I want to stop what happened to Chain Link from happening to anypony else. And…”

Her jaw worked, and her eyes stayed focused on the window. “And I don’t like it when Celestia implies that wanting to help ponies alive today instead of their great-grandkids is a youthful impatience I’ll grow out of. I know she doesn’t mean it that way but that’s how it feels.”

The tension in Twilight’s voice grew the more she spoke, her barrel tightening as it strained to force the words out. “She’s wonderful and she’s kind and she’s patient, but she’s not perfect, and I can make the world better on my own instead of living in her shadow. I can go out, I can spread friendship, I can help the countries we visit, and I can get around the world in eighty-one days exactly, thank-you-very-much!”

“So you want to win a bet with Celestia to prove that Celestia isn’t all-knowing?”

“Heh. I know it sounds pretty bad.” Twilight’s wings ruffled, and she rubbed at her eyes. “Actually, that did kind of sound Nightmare Twilight-y didn’t it?”

“No, it didn’t. I don’t think it sounds bad at all, Twilight.” Spike prodded her hoof with a claw, just enough to get her to look back his way. “You’re the Princess, remember? And whatever you do to help these ponies, or um, zebra in this case, you’re here, and Celestia isn’t. It’s your call. And I’ll be there to support you, whatever you want.”

Twilight’s breath came out hot, but no words emerged. She reached up to rub at her eyes with one hoof, leaving the other where Spike’s claw covered it. She struggled to speak, and failed, and so Spike spoke instead: “I’m sorry your friend died. I wish I knew how to make it better.”

Then they hugged again, and Twilight leaked fluid from her eyes in a phenomenon that looked a great deal like crying but which she explained was actually caused by extended exposure to high altitudes. It passed after a little while, and they sat together, looking out the window at the passing ships below.

“It’s nice up here.” Twilight’s voice was still rough. “Are those ships following us?”

“No. We’re just in a trade lane.” Spike pointed down to the water below with a single extended claw. “Those two are Aero-Lipizzian freighters. That one is a Saddle-Arabian free trader. That blue sparkly one with no smoke trail is a courier from the Water Palace. And that one is a Tawantinsuyu passenger ship on its way to Equestria. Greetings from all their captains are in the telegram pile.”

“Spike!” Twilight’s eyes brightened, even as she rubbed at them. “Have you been studying?”

He shrugged. “It was in the morning shift report. The captain gave me a copy.”

“Well I’m still proud of you.” She nudged him with a hoof. He smiled, looking off and away. “What about you? It’s been a long trip for you too. How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay. Seeing all the other countries has been interesting.” He gave a little kick of his legs. “Sometimes I get worried though.”

“Worried?” Twilight leaned in a little closer. “About what happened to Chain Link? Or the trip?”

“No. It’s just… it’s hard to put into words.” He scratched at the back of his arm. “It’s like… auto-condensing air-cooled engines.”

Twilight tilted an ear. “What about them?”

It took him a moment to find the words: “They’re really pretty.”

“Auto-condensing air-cooled engines are…” She scrunched up her muzzle. “Pretty. And this makes you worried.”

“Yeah.”

“Spike.” She smiled and shook her head. “There are times I don’t quite get you.”

“It’s okay.” He smiled back. “You want to go to the mess? It’ll get you out of your cabin for a bit. And you can see the ship.”

Twilight looked down, moving a hoof over her sides. “The officers will stare at my wings.”

“They think you’re special, Twilight.” Spike hopped down from the bed, landing on the glass floor. “Please?”

“Oh…” She let out a begrudging sigh, but her forehooves slipped from the bedside, her rear legs soon to follow. “Fine. But just because you were nice to me.”

Spike nodded, and the two of them left, and along with the rest of the crew in the mess, they watched the sun rise.

Day 22: Cape Harness

Zebraria bloomed in a thousand colors. Bright tribal runes and signs of good fortune had been painted on every wall and over every door. The streets were paved with pastel stones, each one hoof-fitted into place and worn by the centuries. Banners hung from every archway, depicting the veldt, or Equestria, or whimsical images of magical creatures at play. Even the jacaranda trees that lined the streets had come into bloom just in time for Twilight’s arrival, and clouds of pink petals filled the air, curling and dancing on every breath of wind.

They could see it all from the Palace of Shadows. The throne room sat atop its highest floor, roofed only in open stone archways with nothing between them. It watched the whole of the capital, and it bathed in the sunlight, its edges lined with sparkling gold and its throne anointed with gems that caught the beams and shone. A carpet of petals swirled under Twilight’s hooves as she approached the dais and bowed her head low before the old zebra there.

“I greet you, Kuishia of the Open Sea,” she began in a deep, solemn tone, “Ruler of All Zebra, King of the Pwani Tribes, Master of Rivers, Protector of the Veldt, He who conquered the Jungle, and the Far Lands, and the Sky Tribes. I come in the name of She Who Is the Tyrant Star, and bring you her goodwill, and her gifts, and her friendship, and my own.”

“Rise, Twilight Sparkle,” replied the old zebra. He was as bedazzled as his palace, clad in a silk robe of emerald blue, with a fiery red half-cape tossed over one shoulder. His mohawk mane was colored with bright paints, and an expansive collection of jeweled anklets rested over all four of his hooves. So naturally did he fit into the space that it almost seemed he was a part of the room, and atop his head rested a heavy crown of gold.

Twilight rose, and he spoke again, his voice softer and less formal. “Please. Be welcome in my lands. I accept your friendship, and offer my own in return. Long has Celestia been a friend to the zebra; may your reign be as bountiful and as just.”

Spike kept his expression carefully neutral, but he couldn't help but flick his eyes to see the smile playing across Twilight’s face. She blushed, just a little, and the old zebra smiled back at her. “It’s been a long time since a diplomat looked that happy to see me. I’d forgotten how relentlessly friendly you Equestrians are.”

“I’m…” Twilight blushed hotter, and her ears folded back. “Just excited to see Zebraria. Your country has a fascinating history, and I know a zebra named Zecora who’s taught me so much about your magical traditions. And it’s…” Her hoof brushed the floor. “You know. My first major role as a princess.”

He chuckled, though a coughing fit interrupted his laughter. A servant quickly appeared beside the throne, but the king waved him away, forcing the fit to subside on its own. “I know,” he said, voice still rough. “Don’t worry. I had considerably less grace a year after I put on the crown. You’re taking to the role quite well, if the opinion of an old zebra counts for anything.”

It seemed that it did, for Twilight’s expression perked up a bit. Before she could reply, though, the king continued, “Have you met my daughter, Kifo?”

He gestured, and another zebra appeared beside his throne. She was young—younger than Twilight even—and her short frame hardly made one think of royalty. She wore no crown, no golden attire, no decoration of any kind save a set of practical steel horseshoes. Her cutie mark was a stylized spinning wheel, and she looked more like a young craftszebra than a ruler, but there was something about how she walked. She moved with quick, decisive steps. She looked Twilight in the eye, her own straight back and raised head in sharp contrast to Twilight’s nervous smile.

“Oh, uh… hi!” Twilight pulled back a few degrees, staring at Kifo with uncertain eyes. But the young zebra offered her hoof in the Equestrian style, and the two shook gently. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you as well,” Kifo replied. Her tone was light, friendly, with much less of an accent than her father. “I’ve always wanted to meet an Equestrian princess. I once attended Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns for half a term, studying Equestrian magic as part of my journeyman’s education, but I don’t think we ever met.”

“Oh. Really?” Twilight’s ears perked up. “I didn’t know that zebra studied unicorn magic. I’d always assume that hoof-based magic was a variant on Equestrian earth… uh…” She cleared her throat and looked at the king.

“No no,” King Kuishia said lightly, pausing a moment to cough into his sleeve. “Please, go. The time I could keep up with young intellectuals is long past.” His tone was warm, and he waved them off, leaving his leg on the rest instead of returning it to the chair. “I’m afraid that there are several vital affairs of state that will keep me busy this evening, so if you don’t mind, I’ve asked Kifo to keep you company. She shares your love of magic, and knows our kingdom like the underside of her own hooves. I’m sure you two will get along quite well.”

“Oh, uh… yes. Thank you, your Highness.” Twilight bowed once more for good measure. “May we…?”

“Of course. Go. Enjoy my kingdom.” King Kuishia waved them away. Twilight and Kifo turned to go, walking out through the glorious rain of color into the palace below. They struck up a conversation almost at once, with Twilight making inquiries as to what Kifo had studied. Spike followed them, a respectful distance behind Twilight, but he paused when he came to the stairs down. There in the doorway, he hesitated, and he looked back at King Kuishia.

“Something else you needed, young dragon?” Kuishia called, and Spike froze to the spot, one hand graced on the doorframe. He held that pose for several long moments more as Twilight and Kifo’s voices gradually grew more distant down the steps. Then he removed his hand and stepped away, moving back into the throne room and all its colors. King Kuishia still sat there, bathed in light, staring out through the open archways at the capital below.

“Uh… your Highness.” Spike bowed low, but his pose was stiff. “Please, forgive me. I’m not much of a diplomat. I’m not a diplomat at all, actually. I’m just Twilight’s assistant. But…” He cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

The king eyed Spike for a long moment, then let out a snort of breath. “No.” He said plainly. “I’m dying.”

Spike didn’t know what to say to that. So he stood there, and said nothing at all. The king gestured, and a servant came to remove his robe. When he lifted his leg from the rest, Spike could see that the spot where he’d coughed into it was splattered with blood, the folds of the robe having only just concealed it. “I’d appreciate it,” he said, “if you would not tell Twilight. This is her and Kifo’s only chance to bond as friends, before dreary affairs of state force them to sit on opposite sides of the table. I don’t want their time together ruined by useless fussing.”

Spike still didn’t say anything, staring down at his feet. And so the old zebra patted the edge of his throne. “Come here, young dragon.”

Spike did as he was told, and sat by the old zebra’s side. Spike hadn’t quite appreciated how old he was from the court floor. His elaborate clothing mostly concealed his appearance. The robe had hidden the wrinkles in his skin, and the dye in his mane concealed how much of it had fallen out. His face was lined by more creases than stripes, and what stripes he had were closer to grey than black. He did have a cutie mark, but it had faded so far, Spike couldn't make it out. A spear, perhaps. Or maybe a rod.

“Do you know your omens?” he asked Spike, quiet and calm. So close, Spike could hear that his breathing was labored. “Divination magic? Augury?” Spike shook his head. “No, of course not. Forgive me, I know it is something of a rarity in Equestria. But here it is something we all must know. Magic is everywhere, and the slightest of creatures can warn of the greatest of circumstances.”

He picked up a hooffull of the swirling petals on the floor, and offered them to Spike. “Jacaranda trees signify many things: birth, growth, the coming of spring. It is a good thing when they bloom, and they have a particular affinity for royalty. The trees in the palace bloomed the day I was born, and again on the day Kifo was born. And now every tree in the nation is blooming at once. It’s an omen on a spectacular scale.”

He smiled gently, and let Spike take the pedals from his hoof. “But observe. They’ve only bloomed a day ago, and already their petals are falling off in droves. The trees are sick. Soon they will be bare.” Spike looked down at what he’d been given, the petals pink and curled, rustling in his fingers as the wind stirred around them. “Do you know what that is an omen for, young dragon? When petals fall from a flower.”

“Death,” Spike answered, his voice as quiet as the king’s. He didn’t look up, but sat stiffly, and stared down at the petals, like if he stared hard enough he might be transported away from where he sat.

“Endings,” the king corrected him. “Which can certainly include death. But I don’t need the trees to tell me that night fevers and coughing up blood is a bad sign.” He let out a weak chuckle. “And in any case, I’m not that important. The trees in the palace have always cared for me, but the ones in the city never liked me enough to pay me much mind.”

Spike continued to stare at the petals in his hand, and it was only after a long moment he worked up the nerve to lift his head and meet the old king’s eyes. “What does it mean, then?” he asked, a little of the strength coming back to his voice.

“End of an era,” he said, struggling for a moment to breathe. A brief cough wracked him, and when he spoke again, he sounded tired. “My rule has been very long, little dragon. My friends are gone. I am the last piece of the world I grew up in. And when I go, it all goes with me.”

Spike’s jaw opened and shut, and he struggled for words. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.

“Why?” King Kuishia asked, glancing over at Spike. Then he rolled his eyes. “No, nevermind. I forgot you’re Equestrian. Your immortal princesses spoil you.” He let out a little sigh. “Out here, rulers die. It’s why we have heirs.”

“It’s still sad,” Spike said, brushing two of the petals together between his fingers. They were smooth, and soft, with that gentle waxiness of a healthy leaf.

“It’s life.” He actually laughed. “Come now. I was a fine ruler in my day, no mistake. But even if I could, do you really think my zebras want me to cling to life for another forty years? Doddering about on the throne and telling stories about their great-grandparents?”

Spike didn’t answer, and after a moment, the king lifted his crown from his head. “Here,” he said, handing it to Spike. “What do you think of it?”

“The crown?” Spike stared at it, only gradually taking it where it was offered. It was deceptively heavy, gold all the way through, its ornate edges depicting ships and waves and great zebra warriors at sea. “I don’t know.” His voice strained and his tone rose, the tension in his body showing itself. “I mean it’s… it’s pretty, I guess. Why?”

The king smiled and took it back, giving a small shake of his head. “She’s not going to wear it.”

“You mean, Kifo?” Spike blinked, uncertain. “Why not?”

“Because it’s a relic of the past,” he said, gesturing out to the city all around them. “The crown belongs to the Pwani Tribes. Once, that was all our family was. Rulers of a little strip of land on the coast. Until my grandmother raised an army, marched inland, and became the Master of Rivers, the Protector of the Veldt, she who conquered the Jungle, and the Far Lands, and the Sky Tribes. All titles I inherited from her, through my mother.”

He let out a distant mutter, and his eyes went out to the horizon. “But when I took the crown, there were still zebra alive who remembered my grandmother’s hooves on their necks.” His words remained friendly, even conversational. “I’ve spent fifty years trying to heal the wounds she inflicted. And now, the inland tribes don’t think of themselves as conquered. They’re our neighbors. They look Pwani in the eye and treat them as equals and aren’t afraid of being whipped for it. And so, Kifo doesn’t think it’s right that their ruler should play favorites.”

He glanced at Spike, and indicated his red half-cloak. “She’s going to keep the shoulder cape. That’s the one that signifies Ruler of all Zebra. But even that’s going to change. Empress of Zebraria. Like her Orlovian friends.”

“Isn’t…” Spike hesitated. “I mean, isn’t that a good thing, though? You tried to bring all the zebra together, and you did. She’s building on what you started.”

“It is!” he said, and for a moment, his tone was almost mischievous. “But how would you feel if Celestia abdicated the title of ‘pony princess’ and insisted that she was ‘Queen of Equestria?’ If she started calling you ‘my subjects’ instead of ‘my little ponies.’ There are creatures that live in Equestria that aren’t ponies, after all: diamond dogs and minotaurs and more changelings than you’ll admit.”

“That would…” Spike bit his lip, his tone strained. “I mean, that would be fine.”

“I’m sure it would be fine,” he agreed, words still light. “But that’s not what I asked. I asked how you’d feel.”

Spike wrapped his arms around himself and looked away into the throne room, with all its colors and swirling petals. “I’d feel weird. Bad, I guess. But what does that matter? Feelings don’t set national policy.”

“Forgive me, little dragon, but that is simply untrue.” His tone was solemn, and he shook his head, but it was with a lighter air he added, “Don’t worry though. Celestia has a leveler head than most. And I don’t think she’s going anywhere just yet.”

The two passed some time in silence, staring out at the city through the open arches. Cape Harness was a fine settlement. Neat rows of adobe buildings stretched as far as the eye could see, and the streets were wide and clean. The sea glittered past the harbor, and Spike could see vast fleets of merchant ships tied up there. Nearly all of them flew the Orlovian flag.

“Can I ask you something?” Spike asked. The king shrugged. “How are you so calm?”

“You have to think about these things, when you’re a king. From the day you take the crown, zebra are urging you to have children for the day they’ll take your place. It gives you a long time to consider what sort of legacy you’ll leave when the day finally comes.” He drew in a deep breath, and though his chest rattled, he seemed a bit better when he let it out. “It’s a shame Kifo never met her mother.”

Then he grew quiet again, and his head grew heavy, and he stared at the shadows on the floor.

“And of course,” he abruptly broke the silence, seeming to spring back to life out of his haze, “every zebra has the day they realize they’ve gotten old. That was about four years ago for me.” He chuckled, gesturing at himself as though to highlight some foolishness. “She was fourteen then. And she came to me and insisted we needed a division in the army trained for mountain combat. And I asked her why, since our domain has no mountains, and our only real enemy is Saddle Arabia, which is mostly desert. And she said we needed them to attack the griffons.”

He made a broad, sweeping gesture with a hoof, still smiling at some internal joke. “Which was a little odd, since we’ve always gotten along well with the griffons, they’re completely inoffensive, we have no territorial claims against them, and in any case, they’re half the world away. I assumed it was an excuse, to spend more time abroad with her friends from school. And I granted her request, because when you’re fourteen and the child of a king, training entire military units as an excuse to go skiing is a thing you do sometimes. And then there were zebras, with mountain picks and sleds and little military wool hats.”

He rubbed at his jaw, and his smile gradually faded. “Then, the ambassadors from the Water Palace and Tawantinsuyu came to me and offered their personal thanks for my reassurances of support. And there were gifts, and titles, and beautiful mares, and Orlovia offered to build us ten thousand miles of new railway in the veldt, and gave us three new steamships. That’s when I realized I didn’t understand how the world worked anymore.”

He tried to go on, but started hacking and coughing into his hoof. Spike reached over to help, but was sharply pushed away, and he could only watch as King Kuishia continued to wheeze. Blood splattered the floor and the base of his throne, and dots of it touched his white coat. At once, servants appeared as if out of nowhere to wipe it away, and just as fast, they were gone. Kuishia managed to stop the fit, drawing a weak, wheezing breath. He gestured, and another servant appeared with a cup of water, and he drank gently.

Spike waited until he was done, and then spoke with a clear voice: “Do you want to attack the griffons?”

“Hardly.” He snorted. “They’ve never done me any wrong. And even if they had, they’re barely worth conquering.”

“Then why don’t you put a stop to it?” Spike demanded, his voice growing louder. “Why don’t you give the ships back and tell them it was a skiing trip for your daughter and not some political message?”

“What good would it do?” He gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t like it, but I don’t like the railroads either. I don’t like the smoke, or the noise, or how there are zebras with funny accents in my court yelling at me about broken plumbing on the other side of the continent. But what can I do? Rip up the rails? Cut the telegraph cables? Chain the villagers in their huts and command them to appreciate the veldt the way we did?”

“That’s not even close to the same thing!” Spike snapped, not fully aware of just how loud he was getting.

King Kuishia considered Spike for a time, tilting his head. “Isn’t it?” he finally asked.

“Of course not!” His eyes narrowed, his tone firm. “A country doesn’t need to go to war.”

“A country doesn’t need rails.” Kuishia said, only the faintest note of reproach entering his words. “A country doesn’t need electricity. We got along just fine without them when I was young. But the zebra want to travel. They want to stay up late. They want imported coffee, and chocolate and all the other things that used to be exclusively for the royal court. That means we need coal, and coal means smog in the air, and grease in the water, and grime in the rain. Just like having an aggressive standing army means distrust, and intrigue, and spilled blood. But who am I to tell them no?”

“You’re their king!” Spike’s voice climbed to its peak, until he was shouting.

King Kuishia considered that for a moment, and then said simply: “Not for much longer.”

Spike looked down at the floor, and his little claws clenched, forming fists so tight it hurt. He had to force himself to relax them, opening and closing his fingers. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice unsteady.

“It’s alright. You’re hardly the first emissary to abuse his diplomatic immunity so he could yell at me.” King Kuishia waved it away, with his hoof and with his tone. It was like nothing had happened. “She does love it though. Kifo. She loves a country where her zebra can travel freely. She loves seeing the markets thrive. Every day she’s badgering me with numbers about literacy rates or public health. When we built the Tajiri Canal, she opened it by swimming in the locks. So she could be the first zebra to swim in the eastern and western oceans at once.”

He tapped his chest twice. “I raised my children, all of them, to know the difference between right and wrong. And I know Kifo loves her fellow zebra more than she loves whatever it is that lives in those numbers. But she wants this. And they want this. They all want…” He gestured out at the harbor. “They all want this world. Of railways and wires and steamships and little wool hats. The railway didn’t change Zebraria when we laid the tracks. It changed Zebraria by existing. And now we have to live with it.”

The king swirled his hoof, and a simple wood cup appeared in it. Though there was no glow, or other sign of magic, it filled itself before Spike’s eyes, the hot tea inside bubbling and letting off a pleasant scent.

After a moment, Spike took it, and sniffed the tea. The king’s eyes widened a little, and he pulled his head back, but then he chuckled and nodded. “Spent six years learning how to do that,” he said ruefully. “Because a king of shamans should be a shaman. These days, zebra just jam a shard of imperial crystal into the underside of the cup. Makes it so easy a foal could do it.”

One of the pink petals landed in the cup of tea, and both Spike and the king’s eyes darted down to it. Spike swirled it for a moment with the tip of a claw. “I think I get what you meant now,” he said slowly. “About omens.”

“It’s too bad we don’t have more time,” the king said, his mouth drawn out into a line. “It’s been so long since I had the chance to teach omen-reading to anyzebra. Or, any dragon. There’s an art to it, you know. It’s always guided me throughout my reign. It’s how I knew Kifo was going to be my heir.” He swallowed. “Though my friends were always better at it than me.”

Spike sipped the tea that the petal had fallen into, and with a soft inflection, said: “Even Celestia?”

The king looked back, and Spike looked him in the eye. “Because, I know pony magic never put much emphasis on divination. And I think if she could see the future, she’d get beaten up by changelings less.”

“Heh. That may be so,” he agreed, starting to turn away back to the city.

“Would you like to write her a letter?” Spike asked before King Kuishia could finish the motion, and he looked back. “I can send it to her right away with dragon magic. She’d get it instantly. I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”

“Oh…” King Kuishia paused a moment, then waved the idea away. “I don’t know.” He spoke slowly. “I don’t know what I’d have to tell her.”

“You’re not the only one who doesn’t have many friends left, your Highness,” Spike said, adding, “I think she’d be happy to hear whatever you have to say.”

After a moment, the king nodded, and Spike pulled out his little quill and started to take dictation. It was just past noon, when he sent off the first letter, and he received a reply not half an hour later. He continued to write, to send, to receive and to read, as the sun worked its way across the sky. He listened to and wrote stories of politics, and intrigue, of shamans and spirits, and even some tales of the mares of the royal harem that were not quite suitable for his age. Eventually, it grew dark, and the king had to go join his council and his daughter, but with his last letter, he promised he’d write to her at the next morning.

Spike showed up at the very crack of dawn, quill and parchment in hand, but the Palace of Shadows was empty, and the petals had blown away.

Day 30: The Great Western

Back in Equestria, when she was planning her trip, Twilight had been quite excited to find that she’d be traveling aboard the Great Western. It was the largest ship ever constructed, and passengers often wrote of it as feeling less like a ship and more like a floating town. It was nearly a thousand feet long and a hundred to each side, driven by four propellers and two massive paddlewheels. It carried four thousand passengers, plus a crew of four hundred, and transported over sixteen thousand tons of cargo. It had five smokestacks and twenty boilers, each of the most modern design. It could sail around the world without having to stop to recoal, and despite it all, was light enough on the draft to cruise through shallow harbors. It was the perfect conveyance for a modern princess, and a wonderful curiosity for a young academic.

Spike could see it all, though the library window. The ship’s “Book Storage” room, as it was so labeled, was located near the bow, atop the same elevated tower that held the bridge. Wide glass windows let the sunlight in and let them see out, leaving them free to watch the rolling sea around them or the long deck behind. Many of the passengers were up top enjoying the sun and the calm seas, and the black and white figures running together until Spike could hardly distinguish individuals from the vast herd. He looked back to Twilight, but her nose was in her books, and she didn’t seem to notice the others around them.

So, he cleared his throat. “Knock knock.”

“Huh?” Her head jerked up out of her book and turned towards Spike. She saw him, and the little silver tray he was holding, and the teapot and cups therein. Fully occupied as her mind had been, it took her a second to put it together. “Oh, yes! Tea. Because it’s afternoon. Thank you, Spike. Over there is fine.”

She went back to her reading, and Spike set the tray out on the little library’s little oak table. It was a nice day, and a nice environment for reading. The library was quiet and warm, the sea winds blew, the engines purred, and the ship rocked beneath them. Spike filled one cup to the three-fourth’s mark, judging how far the liquid rocked with each sway of the deck. Then he added half a spoon of honey, and one of the little orange flowers he’d arranged on a small plate, gently pushing the finished cup and saucer next to Twilight’s book.

“Thanks,” she said, quiet and a bit distracted, magically fumbling for the cup until she managed to levitate it. She took a sip and held it there, her tongue running over her lips. “Wow,” she said, lifting her head from her book again. “That’s actually really good.” Experimentally, she tested the flavor a second time. “Is that from the Crystal Empire? It tastes like something Cadence had once when I visited.”

“It’s from the Water Palace, so, kind of?” He shrugged. “Zebra tea is a little iffy so I had a talk with some of the free traders onboard.” His claws wrung for a moment, before he forced them down to his side.

“That’s very thoughtful. Thank you.” Twilight smiled and nodded, and Spike turned to go. But before he could make it to the door, she raised a hoof. “You want to join me? I’m reading about Saddle Arabian history, but I can take a break.”

“Uh… sure.” He stepped back, dragging a small stool over to the table so he could at least almost sit properly. He reached up, and poured another cup, a little burst of his fire breath heating the liquid until it hissed and boiled. “Anything interesting?”

Twilight smiled brightly, looking down into her cup. “You could say that. Actually, it might be faster to list what isn’t interesting.” The pace of her words picked up, and she gestured quickly as her cup floated beside her. “I’m trying to stick to contemporary history, since that’s what I’ll need for the tour, but it’s hard not to get distracted by the older books. Saddle Arabia is ancient, Spike. They were building palaces, fighting windigoes, and telling stories about djinn while the Three Tribes were still trying to figure out thatch huts.”

She sighed happily, and glanced down at her books. Flipping through the pages, she turned to a gorgeous illustration of a city that glowed in the light of the setting sun. Metal and gems were inlaid into the page in tiny slivers, and they sparkled in the light. “It’s too bad we’re only going to get to see the capital,” she continued. “There’s so much lore and tradition and magic bound up in the country. If we weren’t on a schedule I think I’d want to stay another few weeks.”

“We can always visit again,” Spike proposed, his tone noncommittal. “So uh… in the contemporary stuff. Did you read anything about how they get along with the zebra?”

“Uh… fine?” Twilight said, her tone turning puzzled. “Civil, I guess. Something up?”

“Just curious.” Spike shrugged. “So, they get along okay?”

“I mean, sure. They’re not the best of friends but, fine.” Twilight glanced at her books. “They’ve been in a bit of a trade spat ever since King Kuishia put a heavy tariff on Saddle Arabian coal imports, but nothing to get worked up over. No serious disagreements since the Brushfire War, and that was thirty years ago, and literally only four zebra died. The two armies just showed up and yelled at each other until Orlovia helped them negotiate a treaty.”

“That’s good.” Spike sipped his tea. “I mean, for the visit. With you going from one to the other.”

“Um… sure. I suppose,” Twilight agreed, a little bit of a frown on her face. “What about you, Spike? What have you been up too? I’ve hardly seen you around since we got on board.”

“I’ve been hanging out below decks. Some of the free traders onboard are neat. And I’ve been talking with the engineering crew.” He swirled his cup, taking a moment to think. “One of the Artificers in the crew is named Drive Level, and she’s been really friendly. She gave me a copy of The Principles of Mechanical Engineering, and she said this afternoon she’d show me the ship's degaussing coils.”

“You really like all that mechanical stuff?” Twilight asked, her tone bright and friendly. Spike shrugged again. “Well, what’s a degaussing coil?”

“It’s a loop of wire that generates a magnetic field just strong enough to cancel out the field caused by the hull dragging across the sea.” Spike swirled a finger to illustrate. “The ship has a lot of them in a long beam along the inner lining, so it perfectly balances out and the hull isn’t magnetic.”

“That’s interesting.” She said, reaching out to grab a biscuit from the tray. “Is it for navigation? So the hull doesn’t mess up our compasses?”

“No, there’s a separate system for that.” Spike hesitated a moment, then forged on. “The degaussing coils are for sea mines.”

Twilight paused halfway through her biscuit, swallowing what she had before she asked. “Like… a mine. On the ocean floor?”

“No. Like, land mines. You know. The things you bury in the ground and when something steps on them they explode?” He gestured as best he could, mimicking a blast with his claws. “That. Only at sea. So, sea mines.” She stared, and Spike spoke more quickly. “The older ones floated on the surface, and the ship had to bump into them. But that had all sorts of problems, so the newer ones actually rest on the ocean floor. They have magnetic sensors, and float up towards ships when they pick up the magnetic field. So we have degaussing coils.”

Twilight snorted, finishing her biscuit. “Spike, I think you’ve been a victim of the fine naval tradition of sea stories. Drive Level is just bored and embellishing her job a bit. Probably thinking back to the good old days of zebra pirates and black-and-white sails.”

“She’s not a zebra, Twilight. She’s a crystal pony.” He tapped his claw on the table, and lowered his head. “But, you’re probably right. Sorry I brought it up.”

“Don’t be sorry, Spike. I’m just curious how you’re doing. Don’t worry though. I don’t think we’ll be running any blockades just yet.” She smiled and caught his eyes with hers. After a moment, he smiled back, though his expression was stiffer than hers. “Are you enjoying The Principles of Mechanical Engineering?”

“Some of it.” He shrugged, his tone friendlier, but still making no commitment to the topic. “It has a lot of pictures, so that helps. And the graphs are really easy to understand. But they keep talking about something called ‘moles.’ And I get that it’s a unit of measurement and not, like, moles. But I don’t understand what it’s measuring, because it’s a measure of stuff but it’s not weight or mass or volume.”

“It’s measuring the number of atoms inside a sample. A mole is the number of atoms inside exactly twelve grams of carbon-12,” Twilight explained. Spike nodded, and after a few seconds of silence, Twilight frowned. “Have you been reading anything else?”

“Uh… a few things.” He sat up a little straighter. “I was reading Omens and Oracles this morning. But I was kind of struggling with it. Omen reading is an art and the book doesn’t really capture that. Like…”

He bit his lip, gesturing as he went on. “It says that when a sandpiper hits your house, that’s a sign that you’re going to experience minor but oddly persistent ill fortune today. But it also says that if a whole flock of sandpipers moves around you without getting spooked, you’re going to make a friend. And when we were in harbor, I saw a sandpiper hit the ship, but when I went over to help it, all its friends came and didn’t seem to mind that I was there. So, is that an omen of ill fortune? Or making a friend? Or both? Because I did kind of have a bad day getting all the bags ready, but I also made some friends in the crew. And I’m not sure how I tell when it’s an omen and when it’s just a bird.”

“It’s always just a bird. Omens aren’t real.” Twilight sat back in her chair, giving a small shake of her head. “There is such a thing as divination magic, but omens are just seeing something minor and using it to justify what you already know. This trip has been hard, but you’re really friendly, so any day could have minor ill fortune and making a friend if you look hard enough.”

“I dunno. King Kuishia said he ruled by omens.” Spike gestured out at the zebra on the deck behind them. “Omens are how he knew Kifo would be his heir.”

“Mmmhmm.” Twilight raised an eyebrow, her tone turning skeptical. “And I’m sure the fact that she was the only child of his favored concubine and an intelligent young mare with a love of politics had nothing to do with it.”

“Yeah.” Spike shrugged, his tone again turning disinterested. He looked down at this teacup, empty save for a few steaming drops. “You’re probably right.”

Twilight hesitated. She bit her lip. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Everything’s fine.” His eyes stayed on his cup.

“Spike…” Twilight frowned, and her expression softened as her ears pulled back. “I can tell something’s bothering you. You know you can always come to me when you’re upset. What’s up?”

Spike sat there for several more moments, staring silently into the cup. Then, with deliberate action, he put the cup back on the table and lifted his head to Twilight. He looked her in the eye. “Twilight, you do understand that this is a warship, right?”

A little breath escaped Twilight. She sat back up, and lifted her head. The worry faded from her eyes. “Spike,” she smiled and shook her head. “I really think you’ve been listening to some stories. This is a cargo ship. A really big cargo ship, sure. But I don’t think the cargo is going to come to life and attack anypony.”

“It will if the cargo is four regiments of angry zebra.” His voice turned insistent, and he gestured at the deck behind them, more sharply than he had before. “Twilight, think about it. Why is this ship so big? It must have been cheaper to build four or five smaller ships.”

“It’s for coal, Spike,” Twilight said, her tone at once maternal and patient. “It’s over four thousand miles from Zebraria to Orlovia and—”

“And what?” His voice rose, and he spread his arms wide. “Merchants hate making stops along the way? There’s no business in any port between here and the opposite side of the world? No passengers to pick up? No way to recoal? They just had to go straight there without stopping? Twilight, we’re taking this ship to Saddle Arabia. The coal capital of the world. Not the frozen north.”

“So maybe they’re doing something different this time! Or maybe somezebra just wanted a really big ship.” Twilight rolled her eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not.” He reached up with a claw, pushing back his spines, his body language growing tense and uncomfortable. “Twilight, it’s designed to sail up shallow waters. The bridge is mounted high above the deck so you can see other ships before they see you. It’s built to sail through a minefield without stopping. I know they’re using it as a cargo ship, but does it sound like that’s what the designer had in mind?”

Twilight let out a long, exasperated groan, sitting back and spreading her hooves. “Okay.” She managed, with a little flick of her hoof. “Sure, maybe at some point, some designer had ideas for a warship, and they ended up getting reused or recycled and now we’re here. Or maybe you’re completely right and it was built to be a warship originally. But we’re carrying iron and fancy tea. Not,” her tone turned deep and dramatic, “four regiments of angry zebra. So I think we’ll be okay.”

Spike looked down into his lap. He took a deep breath.

“Hey…” Twilight softened her tone and reached a hoof across the table, but Spike didn’t reach up to take it. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make fun of you. I know you’re worried and trying to help. I just don’t want you getting worked up about—”

“In Vineigha, there wasn’t anything wrong with our scheduled train.” Spike gazed down at the floor, wrapping his arms around himself. “I was talking with some of the ponies in the city, and I started getting a really bad vibe. And one of the mechanics talked about the Black Hooves and said he’d be afraid to get into a carriage with anypony whose title was ‘Your Highness.’ And I got spooked, and made something up so we could leave before the tour.”

Twilight’s expression fell, dropping from her careful compassion into a blank mask. Her hoof slowly retracted across the table, lying flat on her near side. Spike kept staring down at his knees, and kept talking. “I didn’t tell you because I thought it was stupid. I just talked with some street ponies and hung out in the rain. You’d have told me to stop worrying and go to bed. But I had to do something.”

Twilight looked at the table, her eyes wide. Her hoof reached up to rub at her jaw, her cheek, at nothing in particular. “You lied to me,” she finally managed, her voice quiet. Then her head snapped up, her eyes narrowed, and her voice sharply rose. “You lied to me and withheld information that ponies were in danger!” Her breath came fast and hot, and her hoof hit the table hard. “Several of the ponies you didn’t warn are now dead, Spike!”

“I know! I’m sorry. I was trying to help—”

“Trying to help?” Twilight’s wings flared out, and she leaned hard across the table. “Maybe I could have helped the prince! Did you think of that? Maybe if I hadn’t skipped town early, three ponies would still be alive right now!”

Spike clenched his little claws into fists, squeezing them tighter around himself. “There’s nothing you could have done, Twilight,” he said, his voice so strained it seemed it might crack.

“Nothing I could have-?” Twilight let out a shaking breath, her tone turning sharp and hostile. “You do know I’m a wizard, right? Remember fighting Nightmare Moon? Remember fighting Tirek? You think I can’t heal somepony’s burns and fight off one troublemaker?”

“Of course you can. I know you can!” Spike’s voice abruptly rose, and his fists and arms uncurled, his claws hitting the table. Both of them were glaring. Both of them were shouting. “And the assassin probably knew that too which is why if you were there he’d have killed you first!”

Silence fell over the table, except for the quick sounds of their breathing. Spike’s claws dragged over the wood, dragging furrows in the surface, and he lifted one to his forehead as he struggled for words. “I didn’t know anything! I didn’t even know anypony was in danger. All I had was a vague bad feeling. And yes, I should have said something. I should have said something, and I didn’t and I’m sorry.” His voice was pleading, and the edges of his words were ragged. “I’m sorry, Twilight. But I’m trying to say something now. Because I’m getting a really bad feeling now too. Because I know I don’t understand politics or magic or any of that stuff, but…”

He squeezed his claws open and shut spastically, struggling for the words. “I don’t think Zebraria and Saddle Arabia really do get along all that well, since Zebraria would apparently rather do business with the frozen north than with their next door neighbors. And I don’t think the Orlovians built this ship, sailed it all the way around the world, and then gave it to the zebra without thinking all this stuff through very carefully. And I know you don’t believe in omens or vibes or anything like that, but—”

“No. I don’t.” Twilight’s voice was sharp as a cracking whip, and Spike flinched like he’d been struck, his jaw snapping shut at once. Twilight reached up and rubbed her jawline, her entire face tense. Her expression flickered rapidly, through anger, uncertainty and strain, finally settling on a cold, hard look. “Spike, I appreciate you trying to help me, but…”

It took her a moment to say it. “I’m going to have to think about this.”

“Think about…?” Spike said, only to fall silent as Twilight lifted a hoof. She lowered it firmly, once his jaw was again shut.

“In the future, if you come across any information like that, I want you to tell me immediately. Is that understood?” He nodded once. “Good. Is there anything else you’ve withheld from me during the trip?”

He glanced at his bag, with the little pile of bits, and the seal from her dress, and the checkbook still inside. He swallowed. “No.”

“Fine.” She sat back, her tail lashing as her ears folded back. “You can go.”

“I…?” He pointed at the door.

“Well I can’t exactly send you to your room, now can I?” Her words were clipped, and her tone harsh. “You’re dismissed, Spike. I’ll talk with you later.”

Spike got up, and then he left. He shut the door behind him, and then sat outside it, legs folded as he stared at the deck. The sun moved across the sky. Eventually a crewzebra came, and nudged him away, and he wandered down onto the deck with the other passengers, and sat next to one of the smokestacks.

In time, a crystal pony came looking for him, and though it took her several tries to get him up, Spike eventually followed her. They talked about steam generation and electrical power, magnetic fields and drydock procedures, though it was Drive Level who did nearly all of the talking. Eventually, she asked him if there was something wrong, and when he nodded, if there was something she could do. He asked if he could sit on the engineering deck for awhile instead of going back to the passenger area, and she allowed it. And so Spike sat with the ships Artificers—a crystal pony, an Equestrian, a zebra, a Zaniskarin, and a llama—and they drank bad coffee and told jokes about structural integrity and the MOHS Hardness Scale.

In time it grew dark outside, and a messenger came down to talk to the Artificers. Spike sat in the corner and said nothing, drawing no attention to himself, and it wasn’t until several minutes after the messenger left that he made his excuses. He walked calmly across the engineering deck as the tenor of the engines shifted around him. What had once been a lazy purr became a steady whine, their slow motions growing to the pounding of a racing heart. As soon as he was back in the passenger area, he broke into a sprint, rushing towards the command tower and the library therein.

“Twilight?” he called, but the library was empty, with only a flickering electrical lamp to provide illumination. He turned, and sprinted back towards their quarters, rushing down the stairs so fast zebra had to peel out of his way. Finally, he saw her up the hall, and had to struggle to stop in time, nearly slamming into her chest. “Twilight!”

“There you are, Spike! You had me worried sick. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Her expression was heavy, but the coldness that had been in it earlier was gone. More than anything, she looked sad, her eyes downcast and her ears folded halfway back. “Look… about earlier. I—”

“Twilight, the Captain just ordered the ship to turn around,” Spike huffed, badly out of breath. “I overheard it in engineering. We’re going back to Zebraria and he wants us to keep full engine power the whole way.”

“What?” Twilight’s eyes demanded answers, but Spike could only gesture to the stairs. They both rushed up to the top deck, and looked out at the stars, and Twilight tracked the constellations with her eyes as they turned around the ship. The engines’ once soft purr had turned to a loud whine, and water chopped around the paddlewheels.

“Come on.” Twilight ordered Spike, pushing past startled passengers and crew alike as she stormed her way towards the bridge. Up the stairs of the command tower they went again, past the library this time, to the highest level and the armored door there. Spike braced for the worst, but when Twilight lifted her hoof, it was only to deliver a firm knock. And the door opened for her.

“Captain,” she demanded, ignoring the younger zebra officer who had actually opened the door in favor of the older figure somewhere over his shoulder. “I am on a critical diplomatic mission from Equestria, and you have been commanded to provide me passage to my next stop. So I assume you have a good explanation for why you have reversed course in the middle of the trip?”

“I’m sorry, your Highness,” the Captain answered, gently pushing his junior out of the way. He was old, if not quite as old as the king, his eyes wrinkled, but his stripes still dark. “I’ve been ordered to return to Zebraria immediately. We just received word that Saddle-Arabian warships have attacked and captured two Orlovian freighters in the area. Empress Kifo has commanded all Zebrarian ships back to safe waters.”

Twilight stared him down, and it was only with some effort that he held his ground, drawing a breath. “Your Highness, even if I wasn’t under orders, I don’t think it would be safe to take you any further. If the Saddle Arabians are attacking merchant shipping, we’re very likely a—”

“Yes, I understand.” Twilight turned away from the bridge door, and put her hooves up on the rail. “Spike, get on my back. Now.”

Spike did as he was ordered, pausing only a moment to slip on his little traveling bag. As he climbed up onto her back, the Captain asked: “Princess, what are you doing?”

“Well I’m certainly not going back to Zebraria,” Twilight answered. “Have my things shipped back to Ponyville.” She spread her wings, and with one mighty flap, cleared the tall command tower, and glided off into the watery night.

Day 38: Akhal-Teke

So many of Twilight’s old books were prone to exaggeration and flights of metaphor, that it hadn’t even occurred to Spike to ask whether or not the illustrations within were accurate. He’d just assumed the artist and the illustrator had been part of their own little conspiracy to show their home in its best possible light. And yet, there it was before his eyes.

He was in Akhal-Teke, Capital of Saddle Arabia, and the buildings were sided with gold. Jewels marked the corners. The streets were paved with quartz. And true to the illustration, it really did glow in the setting sun.

They were rounding up all the Artificers and putting them into box cars.

Spike watched from a safe distance, concealed within the crowd that had gathered near the railway depot. Peering around somepony’s leg, he could see ponies in the golden armor of the Saddle Arabian royal guard moving in small and quick groups across the platform. The details of the search were not visible through the crowd, but the door to the guild hall had been smashed clear off its hinges, and more guards could be seen moving inside. Most of the Artificers had already been captured and herded into the cars, but a few were still awaiting processing. They were in chains, lined up at the edge of the train yard. Spike could see two Equestrian ponies, a llama, a changeling, a crystal pony, two Orlovians, a Kirin pegasus, four Saddle Arabians, and two zebra.

Most of them looked dazed and confused. The zebra were both stone-faced. The Saddle Arabians seemed pale, and the one at the end of the row was crying and couldn't stop.

Spike stepped out of the crowd, and walked through the line of guards holding them back. Like all Saddle Arabians, the guards were built on the scale of Princess Celestia, and with years of experience of the Sun Princess's pet peeves, Spike simply walked through their blind spot and then between their front and rear legs, darting beneath them undetected. It wasn’t until he was a good ten paces behind the crowd-control line that one of them noticed him, shouting for him to halt.

“My name is Spike,” he said, holding up the ornamental ring he’d stolen from Twilight’s dress like it was the royal seal itself. “I’m Number One Assistant to Her Royal Highness, The Princess Twilight Sparkle of Equestria. And—” he added firmly, glowering at a guard who’d taken a step too close, “—I have diplomatic immunity.”

The Saddle Arabian guards started down at this little creature that barely reached above their knees, until Spike let out a loud sigh, and added: “That means you need to take me to whatever officer is in charge of this mess. Now.”

The guards were not quite sure they agreed. But nor were any of them quite willing to forcefully eject him when he refused to move. And so they stood there and argued with each other, until one eventually left to fetch their immediate superior, who fetched his superior in turn, and his in turn. And then a pony came to Spike who didn’t have to fetch anypony at all.

Spike took a breath as she approached, forcefully straightening his shoulders and holding his hands behind his back in a rigid pose. By Equestrian standards, she was a giant, perhaps half a head higher than Celestia, but with a more thin and angular frame. Her eyes were sharp, her armor steel instead of gold, her hooves capped with solid and well worn shoes. Like all Saddle Arabians, she had no natural cutie mark, and so had been forced to craft her own, adorning herself with a saddle cloth that bore the symbol she’d chosen for herself: a genie lamp and a shield.

“Inspector Pasha,” she introduced herself, extending a hoof. Her tone was curt, but she bent her knees low enough to look him in the eye, and bowed her head to him without hesitation. Spike bowed just as low to her as he took her hoof in his claw, and the two shook briefly.

“Spike the Dragon,” he replied. “Number One Assistant to Her Royal Highness, The Princess Twilight Sparkle of Equestria. If you haven’t heard.”

“I heard,” Pasha said, her words still clipped. She turned away from him a moment, gazing at the imperial palace in the distance, its minarets and crystal towers barely visible on the far side of the city. Her tone softened as she continued: “May I ask how you got here so quickly? We only started in the last hour, and I’m sure you didn’t run across the city that fast.”

“Ah…” Spike glanced at his little travel bag, slung over his shoulder. “You know us Equestrians. We turn up all sorts of places we’re not expected.”

“Hmmph. So you do.” Inspector Pasha nudged her head at the platform. “May I assume Princess Twilight sent you to see about the Equestrians here?”

“Ah…” Spike cleared his throat. “Her Highness is concerned about all her subjects. I expect none of them have come to harm?”

“No.” The inspector gave a small shake of her head. “Would you like to see them?”

“Yes, thank you.” Spike fell in alongside her, the two walking half a pace apart and Spike one pace ahead, so that Spike would not rest in her blind spot, and Pasha would not have to crane her neck down to see around her ankles. “Can you tell me a little more about what’s going on? I didn’t exactly have time to get the full story on my way over.”

“His Highness, the Beneficent Sultan, has declared the International Guild of Artificers to be an illegal organization,” Inspector Pasha said, gesturing up at the work in progress ahead of them. Her pace was slow, particularly for the length of her legs, giving them time to speak as they approached. “All Saddle Arabian members of the Guild operating in foreign nations have been ordered to return home immediately, and all Guild houses in Saddle Arabia are, as of today, being closed.”

Spike nodded as they walked, keeping a steady pace and tone. “And what’s to become of the Artificers from the closed houses?”

Pasha shrugged. “The Saddle Arabian artificers are free to go. His Highness is constituting a Saddle Arabian College of Engineering so their talents can continue to be put to good use. The rest will be detained indefinitely. They know too much to be allowed to return home and act as spies.”

“Not that that’s a concern for the Equestrians,” Spike said firmly, “since Saddle Arabia and Equestria are such good friends. Such good friends, in fact, that Princess Twilight will undoubtedly be happy to save you the expense of sending them home by taking them into her entourage now.”

Inspector Pasha’s brow furrowed as she and Spike mounted the rail platform, and she didn’t answer right away. The platform was as vast and elegant as the Saddle Arabians themselves, built on a commanding scale. White arches two stories tall provided access to a space that seemed more like a palace than a loading dock, its clocks gilded in brass, its marble floors unscuffed. Above them was a high arched ceiling painted like the night sky, and above that were towers so tall they mocked the concept of gravity. The walls were covered in artwork, the train schedules rewrote themselves by magic, and above them flew Saddle Arabian pegasi with wingspans so vast each beat created its own wind.

Spike glanced over it all, but walked in silence, his expression a neutral mask. Finally, Pasha said: “I’m not authorized to let them go. But I’m also not authorized to violate your diplomatic immunity. So I suppose if you take them I can’t stop you—but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Spike grumbled. As they drew near the line of prisoners, he added. “Wait here, please. I’d like to talk to them without being overheard.”

He walked ten more steps forward, acting for all the world like he expected to be obeyed. It was only once he was well ahead that he peeked back over his shoulder to see if Pasha was still following him. She was looking away, talking with one of her guards. She didn’t see him shudder, or the sudden quickness in his step as he darted the last few steps to the prisoner line. All of the prisoners, he realized, were wearing steel pendants just like the one in his bag.

“Hey,” he said to the first one he passed. The llama. “I’m Spike. I’m from Equestria. I’m going to try to help you, okay?” He repeated the same phrase for the changeling, the crystal pony, and the others, occasionally adding, “Princess Twilight is here,” or similar phrases. Most leaned towards him with hopeful eyes, except for the Saddle Arabian at the end. She was still crying, her voice already hoarse.

Then he came to the two Equestrians. One was a blue pegasus stallion with a cog and a lightning bolt on his flank; the other, a yellow unicorn mare with a pile of bits, a bolt of cloth, and a spinning wheel. The mare’s posture was hunched, her gaze furtive and frightened. The stallion, by contrast, sat up straight in his chains, his manner dark and angry.

“Hey,” Spike called to them both. “I’m Spike. I’m from Equestria. I’m going to try to help you, okay? What are your names?”

“I’m Cobalt Blue,” said the stallion, his voice tight. The mare introduced herself as Power Loom. “What are you doing here? Did Princess Twilight send you?”

“Uh… more or less.” Spike spoke quickly. “Listen. You two are going to join Princess Twilight Sparkle’s diplomatic expedition. That means you’re Equestrian diplomats, so you can’t be arrested. Then she’ll take you straight home.”

Cobalt licked his lips, and looked quickly up and down the line. “No,” he said, immediately adding. “No. No. Don’t take us. We’re in the least danger. Everypony loves Equestrians and Celestia will probably demand us back anyway. Take Ola, Fofo, Jinn, and Teague.” He indicated the four Saddle Arabian ponies at the end. “You’re their only way out.”

“They’ll be fine,” Spike waved the comment away. “All the Saddle Arabian artificers are going to be let go.”

“They’re not Saddle Arabian,” Power Loom said, lowering her voice. “They’re Karabakh.”

Spike turned his head to look at the four at the end of the row. They were giant like Saddle Arabians, thin and angular like them, and tanned like them beneath thin coats. They wore elaborate saddle straps, halters, and wraps. They had no natural cutie marks, and so had sewn symbols into their saddle cloths, the identities they’d chosen for themselves. Spike saw a bundle of wire, a clockwork bird, a rising star, and a circle of five little hearts.

“Is ‘Karabakh’ a race, a nation, or a culture?” he asked.

“It’s a race and a culture,” Cobalt said. “Some ponies think it should be a nation.”

“Right.” Spike’s hand went to his forehead, and for a long time he considered. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can take them. You’re Equestrian, sure, but drafting foreign citizens into a ‘diplomatic mission’ is kind of pushing it.”

“You have to,” Cobalt insisted, his voice turning sharp and harsh. “Spike, the Karabakh and the Saddle Arabians have hated each other for centuries. If they go to prison, they’re never getting out. You understand? They’ll be taken away and nopony will ever see them again. They’ll be—”

“Yeah.” Spike said, his face blank and his tone dull. “I know. I can’t help them.”

“You have to!” Cobalt’s voice raised, his eyes narrowing at Spike. “For Celestia’s sake, at least try! Teague isn’t even supposed to be here. He’s on temporary assignment! He has two daughters in Tawantinsuyu and they’re never going to see-”

“I said I can’t help him!” Spike snarled, the words coming in a flash of hot anger. Fire and smoke blew from his nose and jaws, and the two Equestrian ponies scrambled backwards from the flames. Spike froze, rooted to the spot, his breaths coming deep and full of smog. He took him a moment to slow his heart, and to blow the last of the smoke away. “I’m sorry,” he said, softer. “Twilight might be able to do something. I’ll talk with her about helping everypony else. I promise, she’ll do everything she can. But right now I can only help you two.”

Power Loom’s face scrunched up, and her eyes started to water. Cobalt looked up and down the line. He spoke first. “If that’s the case,” he said, “then I think I’ll take my chances here with my friends.”

“Wrong,” Spike said, blunt. “I’m taking you back to Equestria if I have to ship you there in a crate.”

He turned to walk back to Pasha, and as he did, Power Loom called out: “Wait! At least take Cilia. He’s a changeling but he’s been in Equestria a long time so he should count as a citizen.”

Spike grunted, and stopped a moment to look back over the rest of the line: at Cilia, and the other creatures there. Inspector Pasha was waiting for him when she was done, and she again nodded her head to Spike when he approached. “I’ll be taking the two Equestrians with me,” he said, “and the crystal pony.”

“The crystal pony isn’t from Equestria,” Inspector Pasha replied firmly, “he’s from the Water Palace.”

“All crystal ponies are, by virtue of being crystal ponies, the rightful subjects of Princess Cadence, who is vassal to Princess Celestia. Ergo, all crystal ponies are Equestrians.” Spike said, another curl of smoke escaping him as he added: “And I’m taking him.”

Inspector Pasha paused, twitched an ear, and after a moment, nodded. “As you wish,” she said plainly. “But I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I don’t really care what you think.” Spike’s words came out hot and toxic. “Get those chains off them now.”

Inspector Pasha gave the command, and the three ponies were released. The crystal pony, whose name was Quartz Strike, had to be dragged away from the others, screaming obscenities at the guards who held him down. Power Loom came quietly, waiting by the platform’s edge. Cobalt pushed past towards the guild house, saying he was going to collect his personal things and would be back in a moment. Pasha sent two guards with him, and then sat down next to Spike to wait.

They had been waiting for perhaps a full minute when she said: “I’m sorry, but can I ask why you’re doing this?” Spike looked her way, and she continued: “Growing up, I’ve always thought of Equestrians as… well, the good guys. Your kingdom literally runs on friendship and love.”

Spike’s lip curled back, and his expression turned incredulous. “Why does that make it weird I’d want to help Equestrians in need?”

“It doesn’t,” Pasha said quietly, pausing and furrowing her brow as she considered her next words. “But, I do have good hearing you know. And in any case, it’s quite obvious you’d let them all go if you could.” She hesitated a moment, but then picked up her tone and pressed on. “I just don’t understand why, when the world is being split down the middle between good and evil, the country that has righted so many wrongs is afraid to pick sides.”

Spike let out a sharp breath, though this time without smoke. “That’s not what’s happening.”

“Isn’t it?” she asked, her tone just a little pointed. “Because, the newspapers are saying that those two Orlovian freighters we captured were full of explosives, crossbows, poison, and Orlovian officers going to train the Black Hooves to fight.”

“You shouldn’t trust the papers,” Spike said, but his quick tone noticeably slowed, and his spines curled back a few degrees.

“So it isn’t true, then?”

Spike drew his mouth into a line. “There may be some evidence that some members of the Orlovian government provided some military assistance to the Black Hooves. But we don’t have all the facts yet. And even if the papers are true, there’s no proof the Emperor or Princess Silver Dove knew about it.”

“So you’re going to just assume the best and forget the whole thing?” Inspector Pasha demanded, her tone growing curt. “You know they’re necromancers?”

“I know.”

His bland tone only seemed to set her off, and her eyes and voice both got sharper. “You know that when they tell stories about their history and how ‘some had to die that others might live,’ they’re talking about cannibalism?”

“Yeah, I know. The Orlovian exile wasn’t a great time.”

“They tried to kill your princess!” Her voice rose, her ears folding back sharply. “Don’t you care?”

“Of course I care!” Spike snapped, but he drew a deep breath immediately after, and lowered his tone. “But I’m trying to do what Twilight wants. And Twilight wants peace.” He took a tight breath, and then quickly added: “Besides, we don’t have all the facts yet. It’s possible it was just a few officers acting without anypony’s permission.”

“That is possible.” Inspector Pasha said, with a slow nod of her head. “But if it turns out that we aren’t so lucky, will Princess Twilight change her mind? Take sides?”

“She…” Spike flexed his claws, before forcing them down to his side. “Twilight wants peace.”

“‘Peace no matter what' rewards the aggressor.” Inspector Pasha said, shaking her head and turning away from Spike. “A real leader stands up in the face of evil.”

“War is an ugly business, Pasha.” Spike said, looking down at the floor. “Twilight knows that. Celestia knows that. What if you don’t win? Your empire could be destroyed.”

“Our empire is being destroyed. Bit by bit.” She let out a contemptuous snort. “When they poisoned our relationship with the Zebra and turned what used to be one of the great mystic nations of the world into a military puppet state. When they corrupted the Water Palace and filled their heads with dreams of an empire carved out of Kiria. When they promised the Tawantinsuyu that their blood magic could make a king an alicorn. Inch by inch. And they won’t stop until the entire world has fallen under darkness.”

Spike swallowed, rubbing at his temples. “Even if that’s true, all that’s cost you is pride and influence. If you go to war, ponies will die.”

Inspector Pasha didn’t answer right away, staring off into the distance. Around them, the wide arches let in the sunlight, and it sparkled on the stone tiles. The mortar between the marble blocks was gold as well, worn by centuries of hooves until it was totally flush with the stone beneath it. Even the stone itself was smoothed out, just like Pasha’s horse shoes. A strong wind blew in from outside, carrying with it the smell of the desert, and old cloth and foreign spices.

“Once,” Pasha said, “seven thousand years ago, Celestia came to Saddle Arabia. She was young, then. Nopony knows exactly how young. But she asked to stay in the palace, and Al-Haifa, who was king of all Saddle Arabians, allowed her to stay with his children. He forbade anypony to remark upon her alicorn nature, and she learned, and studied, and ate and played with the other children for many years. Eventually, it came that the other children grew old, and left, and Celestia, who had not aged a day, asked to leave as well. She was named a Princess of Saddle Arabia, and the king forged for her the crown that she wears to this day. And she left, to travel the world.”

Still looking at the floor, unaware that Spike had turned to stare at her, Pasha went on. “Some time later, a wicked djinni heard of a new alicorn, and stared upon Celestia with envious eyes. Bitter, but too cowardly to confront her directly, he instead cursed King Al-Haifa, that his pride in Princess Celestia should turn to poison in his veins. Yet though the king grew sick, he commanded that nothing should be changed, and went about his business as best he could. Incensed, the spirit appeared before him, and showed him visions of the future. He saw that, should he perish, his sons and daughters would war for his throne. The kingdom would fracture, and his golden age would come to an end. To avert this fate, the djinni commanded him to renounce Celestia or die.”

Pasha’s tail flicked, and her voice grew tight, and she turned to Spike and matched his eyes as she went on: "King Al-Haifa answered, ‘All mortals must die, and all empires must fall, but Celestia is eternal. I cannot replace the father she has lost, but I love her as a stallion loves his daughters. How then, could I curse her for eternity, to live with the knowledge that her father died a coward?’ And he did die, and his empire did fall. And today, every Saddle Arabian knows his name. He is one of the great fathers of our people. Nopony remembers the spirit’s name.”

Her tail lashed, and there was a tightness in her throat as she went on: “So, I suppose you might be right, that the age of heroes is coming to an end, and the future is just necromancers and steam power and the sort of political cynicism and calculation that makes no comment a valid response. But we are what we are. And we’re not going to abandon our Aero-Lipizzian friends in their hour of need. And if the necromancers want our empire they can come and take it.”

Spike swallowed, once. He struggled for words. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

Spike nodded, and another long silence came between them. He stared at the guild building, but there was still no sign of Cobalt. “So why all this then?” he asked, gesturing around them. “The Orlovians I get, but what do you have against the Artificers?”

“The Guild is loyal to no nation, and Artificers are loyal only to each other. They’d feel no shame for betraying us.”

“Yeah, but...” Spike shook his head. “Aren’t you about to get the same result anyway? The Guild has powerful friends, and they will never forgive you for this. Why pick a fight with them?”

Pasha hesitated a moment, licked her lips, and let out a short little breath. “Saddle Arabians have been fighting dark magic for longer than Equestria has existed.” She paused. “It always starts good: power, wealth, revenge. Whatever you want, it’s yours. Your problems, solved. But then you realize that you can’t put it down. That you need it now. Need the railway, need the coal, need the smoke. You need it to solve the problems it's created for you. Until you can’t stop it, and you become its slave.”

Spike paused. His spines folded back. “Yeah, I… uh.” He swallowed. “A friend of mine. Rarity. Messed with dark magic once. It…” He needed a moment to regain his composure. “Do you really think that—”

A loud crash carried from across the way, and metal cracked on metal. Spike threw himself to the ground, some unknown reflex slamming him flat against the marble. He looked up in time to see Cobalt emerge from the guild building, a steam-powered crossbow braced against his shoulder. It was smaller than the one Spike had seen before, lighter and designed to be supported by a pegasus wing, but the distinctive shape was unmistakable.

“Grab him!” Pasha shouted, leaping to her hooves.

“Get down!” Spike screamed.

“Everypony, run for it!” Cobalt shouted to to the prisoners.

Then he held the trigger of the weapon down, and swept it across the room.

When Spike finally lifted his head from the stone, sixteen of the royal guards were dead. Cobalt had unchained his friends and opened two of the rail cars, before himself being killed by an arrow. Roughly half of the escaping prisoners had successfully fled or hidden. The other half had been recaptured or killed in the melee. Pasha was lying next to Spike, right where she’d been, one of the steam weapon’s long metal bolts sticking clear through her torso from her chestplate to her spine. It had blown through her armor like it was tinfoil.

Eventually, her body was dragged away, and another officer arrived to replace her. He did not entertain the notion of letting any of the prisoners go, Equestrian or otherwise, and after a while, Spike left.

Then, he went to plan alternate transportation to their next stop, since it seemed increasingly likely that there would be significant delays.

Day 43: The Iron Crescent Railway

The train’s wheels clicked and clacked on the rails. The engine rumbled ahead of them, a steady, pleasant noise just quiet enough that it seemed more like a purr than any mechanical sound. From the car ahead came a steady babble of pleasant conversation, muted by the walls until no words could be made out and there was just a general impression of good spirits. A mare laughed. Outside the window, the Saddle Arabian desert slowly drifted past, its villages and towns visible only as spots of light beneath the starry sky, lit with the glow of oil lamps, magic, or, rarer still, electricity.

Spike gently cracked open the door to Twilight’s suite. The lights inside were out, and after barely a moment, he started to pull the door shut again. Then the shadow on her bed stirred. “I’m awake, Spike,” she says, her voice clear and alert. “I just turned the lights off so I could see the stars. Come on in.”

Light spilled in from the hall as Spike nudged the door open with his shoulder, both of his hands occupied holding a large metal tray. The room’s many decorations glittered in the pale electrical glow, white light playing odd patterns across golden decorations. The whole room was done up in the proper Saddle Arabian style: the walls brightly painted, the bed and other furniture lovingly carved from hardwood, and everything capped in polished gold. Pillows were piled everywhere, and Twilight was laying out on a pile of them on the bed, her head turned to stare out the window.

“You have letters that you’ll probably want to hear right away. And I brought you some juice.” Spike moved quickly, laying out his tray on Twilight’s spare table. It held a pile of letters, a pitcher of orange juice and a glass, scissors and a hairbrush, a collection of jewelry and a bottle of perfume, and a pack of long wooden matches. He picked up the matches first, pulling one out and lightning it with a puff of his dragon fire. The long wooden shaft proved ideal for reaching down into the room's thin-necked oil lamps, and soon, Twilight’s suite was bathed in a comfortable orange glow.

The whole process had gone so efficiently, Twilight had barely even sat up in bed. She was still rubbing at her eyes, when Spike shut the door to the hallway to keep out the harsher white light. “Thank you, Spike,” she said softly, watching him with tired eyes as he poured a glass of the orange juice. “Um…” She took the glass from him, levitating it with her horn. She stared down into the liquid. “So what do the letters say?”

Spike plucked the pile of letters from the tray, reading through them one at a time. “Princess Luna reports that the situation in Aero-Lipizzia is continuing to decay. There are race riots in the capital, and several unicorn and earth pony settlements on the Griffonian border have declared their independence. Emperor Iron Cross has mobilized the army and announced a draft of five-hundred thousand ponies to ‘suppress the rebellion and defend the realm.’ She says she’s pleading for calm but isn’t sure it’s making a difference. Prince Chain Link was one of the calmest and most moderate voices in court, and without him, the atmosphere has changed.”

Twilight swallowed, then nodded. She put the glass of orange juice to one side, her eyes still downcast. “Send a reply… um.” She bit her lip for a moment. “Acknowledge we received her message.”

Spike nodded and wrote quickly. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Next, please.”

Spike plucked the next message from the pile. “Princess Silver Dove writes from Tersk. She says she wanted to give you advance notice that two days from now her father will be mobilizing the army and announcing a draft of two million ponies. She says she and her father have no designs on Aero-Lipizzia’s territory, don’t want a conflict, and acknowledge Aero-Lipizzia’s right to suppress internal disorder. But then she adds that if Emperor Iron Cross attempts to use his pegasus air power to retaliate against the ‘innocent orlov civilians’ in his realm she will ‘render him incapable of such actions in the future.’”

Twilight drew a deep breath, and forcefully nodded. “Thank her for letting me know in advance. Remind her that in the eyes of Equestria, all pony races are equal, and that we have never condoned racial oppression. Inform her that Equestria is open to a negotiated solution that grants independence to those ponies who desire it, but that such a solution will regrettably be totally impossible if she attacks Aero-Lipizzia. Send Celestia a copy of the original message and my reply.”

Spike wrote quickly, checking once with Twilight to make sure the exact wording was to her liking. Then, he moved to the next letter. “Princess Celestia urges you to come home immediately. She’s concerned for your safety and—”

“Absolutely not,” Twilight snapped, her tone picking up an edge as her eyes narrowed. “Write to her that…” Twilight held a hoof to her chest, running through a breathing exercise. “Tell her that it’s more important than ever that I’m out here now, while we can still stop this thing. Saddle Arabia and Zansikar are close allies. If Zansikar says they won’t support a war, Saddle Arabia may bow out, and that means the zebra will probably bow out too.”

Spike’s quill paused, and he looked over the paper. “Do you uh… think you can make Zansikar see it that way?”

“They’re a democracy, Spike.” She shook her head. “How many ponies do you think will vote to go fight and risk death because of a foreign prince four thousand miles away?” She let out a sharp snort. “Tell Celestia we are on schedule and I’ll see her exactly thirty-eight days from now.”

Spike said nothing, and finished writing the letter. He reached for the next one in the pile.

“Sorry,” Twilight blurted out, abruptly. When Spike looked back to her, her ears had folded back, and her tail was tucked in behind her. “Sorry. I know I was kind of… stern. There. It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” Spike said gently. “It’s okay, Twilight. You’re under a lot of stress.” He looked back at the tray. “The rest of the letters are mostly just well-wisher letters and war intelligence. You can read through them later. I uh…” He cleared his throat. “There’s a party going on two cars up. I thought you might want to go join them. Get out of your suite a bit.”

“I don’t think so.”

“It would be good for you.” He gestured back at the tray. “At least let me cut your hair. It’s been over a month since we left. You’re starting to look a little overgrown for a head of state.”

Twilight looked at the tray, and the many accoutrements there. She swallowed. Laughed a little. “Spike, would you come sit over here, please? I’d like to talk to you.”

“Uh…” Spike touched the tips of his claws together, and it was only slowly that he sat down on the bed beside Twilight. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. I did.” Twilight fell silent after that, her tension so palpable she was almost squirming where she sat. She seemed to want to look anywhere but Spike: out the window, at the floor, up at the ceiling of the train car. “I haven’t treated you well.”

“Twilight, if this is about what happened on the Great Western, you’ve already apologized for that like a million times.” He waved the thought away with a claw, his tone at ease. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. ‘Sorry’ only counts when you understand why what you did was wrong. And… I’ve been thinking.” She went through another of her breathing exercises, holding her hoof tight to her chest and slowly letting it out. It took her a moment to go on.

“Everypony thinks they’re the good guy in their own story,” she began, her gaze resolutely on the floor. She spoke slowly, and quietly, taking her time with every word. “We always do what seems right at the time, so of course, we feel we’re doing the right thing. But sometimes, we lose our sense of perspective, and… it makes us do things. Like, when we first met Zecora. Applejack thought she was protecting her town and her family, and she is good pony. But, in Zecora’s story, Applejack is the villain. Or, a villain. We were all wrong. But we didn’t know that at the time.”

She fiddled with the sheets with a hoof, twisting the point down into the covers. “And…” She laughed again. “It’s a cliche, you know? How ponies turn out just like the ponies who raised them, even if they don’t want to? It’s a joke, almost. The mare who wakes up one morning and goes ‘Oh my gosh, I’ve become my mother.’ But it’s true. The whole reason I set out on this mission in the first place is I don’t want to be Celestia. I don’t want to play ponies like a centuries-long game of chess. I want to do the right thing now. I want to help the ponies… uh.”

She cleared her throat. “The people who exist. I want to do right by them. But Celestia mentored me, and honestly raised me for a lot of my life. I looked up to her. I still look up to her. And…”

She lifted her head to look at Spike, her eyes searching and worried. “It never even occurred to me to wonder if it was okay to give a child as a gift, or to raise that child to be a servant. And I didn’t realize what I did until…” Her voice cracked. “I mean, yes, I was upset. But I dismissed you. And it’s not okay, Spike. You’re not my servant. You’re my little brother. And I haven’t treated you right.”

Spike sat there with his hands folded in his lap, staring up at Twilight with a wide, blank expression. He bit his lip, and looked down as well, wringing his claws together. It wasn’t until Twilight sniffled that he managed to assemble a reply, resting a claw over her hoof. “Twilight, Celestia didn’t give me as a gift, she put me in your care. And you did a good job raising me. And yeah, maybe the whole Number One Assistant thing is a little different, but Celestia knows what she’s doing. I don’t think it’s just a lucky coincidence that we work really well together.”

“No, of course it’s not, but…” She sniffled again, shaking her head. “But it’s still not right. I’m sure she did think it over. I’m sure she somehow knew we’d work well together, and I can see the reasoning. You’re going to be a full adult dragon one day, and having a full grown dragon who cares for the ponies of Equestria would be really beneficial.” Twilight’s voice strained, and for a moment she struggled for words.

“I’m sure Celestia is doing what’s best for the long run,” she eventually said, but her tone was less than friendly, the strain around its edges spreading inwards, “just like when she told me that the story of Nightmare Moon was ‘silly old books’ she was telling me what she thought I needed to hear. But she still lied to me, and she still took away your choice about who you’re going to be and tried to make you into my lackey! And I let myself be a part of that.”

Spike sat there in silence for a moment, before forcing out a rigid: “It’s okay, Twilight.”

“No,” she insisted, her voice scratchy as her eyes misted up. She pulled her hoof away, but he extended his claw after it, and after a moment she relented. She rested her hoof where he guided, and he grasped her ankle with his off hand, both hands cradling her hoof in his lap. “It’s really not.”

He squeezed her hoof, and despite herself, she smiled down at him. “You know I’m not unhappy, right, Twilight? I like being a servant. I’m good at it. And you’re an important pony.”

“You don’t know what happy and unhappy are. You haven’t had the chance to learn.” She sniffled, and reached up with her other hoof, gently stroking back his spines. “Spike, if you were a pony, you’d be a young stallion now. We’d be looking for your cutie mark. This is the time in your life when you should be trying to discover your destiny. What makes you really satisfied in life.”

“But…” Spike hesitated, his posture turning stiff. “Being your assistant is my destiny.” He quickly added. “Twilight, I’m good at this. I’m really good at this, okay? I like it.”

“I know. I know. Shhh.” Twilight cooed, reaching out to pull him in a hug. He hugged her back tighter than he should have, his grip uncomfortable and his eyes wide. “I know. You’re an amazing assistant. And don’t think I haven’t noticed everything you’ve done to keep us on schedule and to cheer me up. A hundred little adjustments. But do you know why you’re a good assistant, Spike?”

He shook his head, and she gently pushed him back, holding him about the shoulders with a hoof as she looked down into his eyes. “Because you’re sharp. And hard working. And a good listener. And because you’ve grown up into a mature and patient young drake. You’re talented, Spike. You’re really talented.”

“A princess's Number One Assistant should be talented,” he insisted, a pleading edge to his tone. “I do more than just fold your laundry.”

“You’re right,” Twilight agreed gently. “I couldn't ask for a better helper. But just because you being my servant would be best for me, that doesn’t mean it would be best. Maybe you’d be happy as my servant. But you know, Spike? I think you’ll be happy whatever you do. You find the best in life, and you find the best in ponies. But there’s something out there that’s meant for you. Maybe it is being a servant. But maybe it’s dragon magic. Or maybe it’s traveling the world. Or maybe you’ll become an Artificer like those books you keep reading. I don’t know what it is. But you’ll never find it if you’re living in my shadow.”

“I have found it, Twilight.” Spike gripped her hoof tighter, leaning forward as he spoke. His voice picked up, words coming quickly and urgently. “I’m not… I don’t enjoy being a servant because l really love folding towels. It’s because you’re important. Making sure you can do your job, get around on time, all the little things. That matters. This is how I contribute. And it’s more important than whatever else I could do. Equestria needs its princess running on full steam more than it needs another magical scholar or a tinker.”

“Maybe that’s what Equestria needs, but I don’t think that’s what you need.” Twilight leaned down and nuzzled Spike’s forehead, smiling as she leaned back. “I’m not sending you away, okay? I promise. Goodness knows I’d starve if you weren’t around to remind me to eat. But when we get back to Ponyville, I want you to try other things. I want you to take some time to explore, or maybe take an apprenticeship with—”

“No.” The word came louder than Spike had meant it, and Twilight pulled her head back, a frown on her face. “No, I mean,” Spike added quickly, softening his words. “Maybe. But, right now, what Equestria needs is more important than what I need. What you need is more important. You’re the Princess. It’s your world, I’m just here to help.”

Twilight’s frown only deepened. “I don’t want to be some commanding better-than-thou aristocrat.”

“I know!” Spike pleaded, his eyes wide as he tightened his grip on Twilight’s hoof. “I know that’s not what you want to be, but that’s what you are. And that’s what Equestria needs you to be right now. That’s what the world needs you to be or it’s gonna explode. A princess is what you are, and a servant is what I am, and that’s okay. And that works. And I love you, Twilight, and I know you love me and…”

He swallowed, and his voice cracked. “Please don’t break it.”

Twilight’s ears folded back as she looked at him, tears forming in her eyes. She pulled him into another tight hug, sniffling as she blinked the tears away. “No, Spike, a Princess isn’t what I am, and a servant isn’t what you are. Serving is a thing you do. What you are is a person. A clever, hard working, kind young dragon, who I know is going to go on to do great things.”

She leaned back, resting a hoof under his chin so he had to look her in the eye. “And I need you to do something for me now, okay? Promise me.” Despite her hoof, he managed a nod, his eyes wide as he stared up at her. “I can see how much this is upsetting you. I know, being my Number One Assistant is a big deal to you, and I need you to keep doing that. This trip would already be a disaster without you. And I need you to promise me we’ll get back to Equestria on time.”

Again, Spike nodded, his chin pressing down into Twilight’s hoof. Despite the tears, she smiled a little, and went on: “But I also need you to promise me that you’ll really look at other things you might want to do. Not just give them a cursory glance so you can say you did and they weren’t interesting. Really open your heart to the idea. And if you do that, and you still want to be my assistant, the spot will always be yours. Can you promise that, Spike?”

For the third time, he nodded, this time adding: “I promise, Twilight.”

“I love you, Spike,” she said, giving him one more squeeze as she rubbed away the tears.

“I know, Twilight. And…” He swallowed. “You’re not like Celestia. You’re your own pony. And you’re going to be an amazing Princess.”

After a moment, he added: “Can I sleep here tonight? Beside the bed like I used too? I’ve been…” He drew an unsteady breath. “Having nightmares ever since Akhal-Teke.”

“Of course!” Twilight levitated a pillow up into Spike’s grip, then packed three or four more in around him for good measure. “Come on. How about we read together for a bit like we used to and then call it a night?”

“I, uh…” Spike turned the pillow over in his hands. “I should send your letters first. To Silver Dove and Celestia.”

“That can wait. You’re more important.”

“It can, but uh…” He straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. “It shouldn't. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay. If you’re sure.” Twilight pulled one of the pillows away so he could more easily hop down. “Come right back though, okay? You’re done with work for tonight.”

“Yes, Twilight,” Spike said, hurrying off. He grabbed the papers and scrolls he needed, pushed open the door to the hall, stepped out, and shut it behind him. Then he hurried down the hallway, around the bend to the conductor’s station.

Once he was out of sight and earshot of Twilight’s door, he leaned on the wall and lowered his head. The scrolls he was holding fell to the floor as he clutched his face with his other hand, struggling and failing to keep his breathing under control as air came in short, quick gasps.

Day 48: Marwari

Two hundred years ago, Celestia visited Zansikar, and toured its thirteen kingdoms. She was three times a princess, once of Equestria, once of the Sun, and once of old and noble Saddle Arabia, and the Zansikar told wild tales of her power and nobility. They said that her touch cured afflictions, that her breath revealed changelings, and that barren soil sprung into bloom in her wake. When told such stories, Celestia would offer no confirmation or rebuttal, only a silent smile, and in that smile her legend grew.

Determined to win her favor, each kingdom received her in a lavish style. One carpeted the entirety of her route with rose petals that her hooves should never touch the ground, while another fused ten thousand precious stones together by magic to carve a statue of her from solid sapphire. But when she reached Marwari, capital of the largest and richest of the thirteen kingdoms, she found the greatest gift of them all. The city had constructed for her a grand palace made entirely of white stone and gold and set upon its grounds the finest of gardens. It was for her use, and hers alone, and when she left it would remain vacant until next she visited.

The feat was tremendous, and so taken was Celestia with the work that she decided to base her own palace at Canterlot upon its design, and on the spot, she blessed the ponies of Marwari and their kingdom. The deed became a part of history, as did the building that inspired it: The Equestrian Palace in the West. When planning her trip, Twilight had hoped dearly to stay there, and to assume the centuries-vacant home of Equestrian royalty.

The Ambassador to the Republic of Zansikar thought the request quite odd, and firmly suggested that perhaps Twilight would be much happier just finding a nice hotel or staying in the First Citizen’s guest quarters. But she insisted, and he relented. It was, after all, her palace.

“Twilight?” Spike called, the hinges on the spa doors creaking loudly as he pushed them open. The spa and its internal gardens occupied an entire level of the palace, built to be an enchanted grotto in miniature. Filthy and cracked mirrors were positioned to shine sunlight down onto garden boxes of dead trees, while tarnished and clogged silver taps stood poised to pour water into dust-filled pools. A carving of Luna as a filly played in a dry fountain. Every fitting was adorned with sockets, the gems long gone.

But Twilight was not there. Nor was she in any of the dusty hallways, nor the master bedroom where the ceiling had partially fallen in. Spike eventually found her in the library, its vast collection of books long since taken by mold. Moth corpses and bird droppings covered the floor, and a hole in the ceiling let in far more sunlight than the grimy windows. She was turning through one of the surviving tomes, her motions delicate and careful.

“Twilight,” Spike called. “The First Citizen is here to see you.”

“Thank you, Spike.” She shut the book, and turned to follow him through the palace. They walked in silence for most of the way, but when they were almost to the foyer, she said: “After the trip is over, I’d like to come back here and fix this place up. Turn it into a home for any Equestrians visiting Zansikar.” She paused. “I think that would do a lot to improve relations.”

Spike bit his lip. He looked over the ruined fixtures and the crumbling walls.

“Yes, Twilight,” he said.

Then they arrived in the foyer.

“Hello, your Highness!” called the First Citizen on sight of her. He didn’t look like much -- a thin little grey stallion in his late forties, a dusty and somewhat worn tweed jacket making him resemble an academic more than any great head of state. He was a unicorn, his crew-cut mane making his horn stand out more than it might have. And he was flanked by somepony else -- a large earth pony mare in uniform.

“Hello, First Citizen,” Twilight replied. Her body turned stiff for a moment, but she forced through the hesitation, and extended her hoof with the bottom turned down. Without missing a beat, the First Citizen took her hoof in a gentle magical grip, and kissed the top in the proper fashion. “Uh…” Twilight cleared her throat. “Welcome to my home. May I call you Deep State?”

“You may.” He smiled, releasing her hoof. “May I call you Twilight, your Highness?”

“You may.” After a moment’s awkward hesitation, she gestured back at Spike. “And this is Spike. My, um… little brother.” Spike’s expression was as awkward as hers, and he gave a small wave to Deep State. “He’ll be joining us.”

“Oh.” Deep State frowned a moment, but recovered quickly, reaching out a hoof. “A pleasure to meet you, Spike. I do apologize for not greeting you earlier. I’d been informed you were her valet.”

“What, you can’t see the family resemblance?” Spike asked, and they shared a polite chuckle as his claw shook Deep State’s hoof. “And, the major?”

It took Twilight a moment to catch Spike’s meaning, and a moment more for her eyes to dart to the rank pins on the mare’s collar. She was nearly the size of Big Mac, though with an off-yellow coat and a rougher, worn face. Her uniform was simple and made from cheap brown cloth, its only decoration the steel rank-indicators on her collar, and her cap that bore the double crosses of the Republic.

“Ah,” the First Citizen nodded. “Permit me to introduce Major Stone Table, my bodyguard.”

Twilight waved a little, a stiff smile on her face. Stone Table only nodded in reply, her expression stoic. Silence fell over the room. Eventually, Twilight cleared her throat. “Would you like to go for a walk in the garden?”

Deep State beamed. “I think,” he said, voice friendly, “that would be an excellent idea.”

He turned to the door, and Twilight stepped up to his side. Stone Table moved to keep her position just behind Deep State and to his left, while Spike did the same for Twilight, politely waiting just behind her and to her right. Twilight began to move out the door, but then paused and looked back at Spike. Her horn glowed, and she picked Spike up, pulling him forward until he was standing alongside her instead of behind her.

“Uh,” he managed, a small blush in his cheeks. “Right.” She smiled too.

Together, the three of them walked through the palace doors and into the vast estate that surrounded it. Though the grounds had been no better maintained than the palace itself, they were at least more habitable. The garden boxes were overgrown, but the trees were alive, and a few of the fountains were full of relatively clear rainwater. The sun was shining, and a cool breeze blew through the trees.

“I have to say,” the First Citizen broke the silence, “the newspapers have given quite a heroic account of your whirlwind race around the world. Once the news of your bet with Celestia broke, they couldn’t get enough of you. There are stories of train hopping, detours from your route, sinister conspiracy in the desert. You must be exhausted if even half of it is true.”

“Less than half, I think,” Twilight said politely. “And while I appreciate your hospitality, I’d like to skip the small talk and get straight to business.”

“As you wish.” Deep State’s tone was affable. “Do you mind if I smoke?” After Twilight shook her head, he pulled a pipe out of his pocket, tamping it down with magic and then lightning it with a flash from his horn.

“I read your telegrams,” he began, in a calm and orderly tone, “and while I may quibble on some of the specifics, your point is well taken. I agree that if I announce that Zansikar will not support Saddle Arabia in the event of a war, there is a significant chance they’ll back down without a fight. I think you are somewhat optimistic about the odds of that good news spiraling all the way back to Aero-Lipizzia, but it would at least limit the scale of the conflict. I found your argument persuasive, and I am prepared to act on this council.”

Twilight’s ears perked up, her expression lifting. “I, uh… really?” She straightened her neck quickly. “No offense. This trip just hasn’t been that easy.”

“No offense given.” He chuckled slightly. “However, there is a minor complication that I would welcome your assistance in unraveling. I understand you’re quite the scholar. Are you aware of how much coal Saddle Arabia provides to us every year?”

“A little over thirty million tons annually,” she answered without hesitation, “mostly via the Iron Crescent Railway.”

He smiled and nodded, gesturing to her for a moment with the tip of his pipe. “Just so. Or to put it another way, nine out of every ten pieces of coal burned in Zansikar were mined in Saddle Arabia. The consequences of Saddle Arabia cutting us off would be, to say the least, disastrous. And were I to announce we will not honor our treaty obligations…” He gave a small shrug.

“I’m sure we can think of something,” Twilight said quickly. “For something this important, there has to be a way to keep you supplied.”

“There is indeed,” Deep State said, his words softer than they’d been, and oddly distant. Then all snapped back to normal, and he met her eyes. “I wanted to finalize the terms before you and I spoke so that I could give you concrete information instead of ifs and vague hints. I came directly here from meeting with the ambassadors for Orlovia and the Water Palace. Tomorrow I am going to be announcing that in the event of an armed conflict, we will be supporting them against Saddle Arabia.”

Twilight froze to the spot in the middle of their walk, her expression blank. The First Citizen and Spike were still in motion, and each took a step ahead of her before they realized she’d stopped. For a second they looked each other in the eye, and then both took a step back to her side.

She recovered a moment later, shaking out her head. “You…” She bit her lip, her breath becoming audible as her chest tightened. “You can’t. You can’t. You’re one of Saddle Arabia’s oldest allies. They’ve been your friends for centuries!”

Sensing that Twilight wasn’t about to resume walking, Deep State moved to rest in the shadow of one of the poplar trees. He shrugged. “Unfortunately true,” he said with a sigh, “but as they say, that was then, this is now. The reality—”

“The voters will never allow it!” Twilight’s voice rose. “They’ll have you out of office so fast you’ll leave skid marks!”

“Well, possibly so,” he shrugged, accentuating the gesture with his pipe. “But in my experiance, voters tend to be…” He made a slow swirling gesture, like he was searching for the words, “strongly in favor of measures which will prevent them from being incinerated.”

Twilight faltered. Her ears folded back. “Uh…”

Deep State rolled the bit of the pipe over in his teeth for a moment, then again indicated Twilight with it. “Tell me, Twilight, do you know how many dreadnaughts the Water Palace’s navy has?”

“I…” Twilight frowned. “I don’t know the exact-”

“Fifty!” He gestured high into the sky with his pipe. “Can you believe it? That’s more than any other three countries combined. And make no mistake, they’re proper beasts. A single crystal pony battleship carries nearly two thousand tons of ammunition alone. Shells the size of a pony. Shells that I need to worry about when thinking of the forty million Zansikar who live on or near the coast.”

He took another puff, and gestured at Twilight. “So you see my situation. If I go to Saddle Arabia, my ponies burn. If I refuse to pick sides, they starve. The Water Palace offered us very reasonable terms. I’d have been a fool not to take them.”

Spike frowned. He reached into his backpack, and for the pen and scrolls within.

“I didn’t-!” Twilight snapped, her words coming hotly as her feathers ruffled out from her sides. It took her a moment to suppress the reaction and to calm her tone. “I asked you to help me limit the damage to innocent lives. Not to expand the war even further!”

“Please, Twilight. I understand you’re a mare of principle, but you’re also a scholar. Think rationally.” He turned, spotting an old fountain to their left under a crumbling rotunda. He walked that way with his bodyguard beside him, and Twilight and Spike hurried after him, Spike’s attention still on his scroll as his pen scribbled.

“Which is more likely to keep Saddle Arabia out of the war?” he asked as they walked. “A former ally pledging neutrality, or a former ally pledging to the other side? Saddle Arabia is surrounded on three fronts now, and the fourth is the sea. There’s a very good chance they’ll back down without a fight.”

Spike looked up from his notes. He mumbled something barely audible, and put the scroll to one side. Stone Table glanced his way, but nopony else did.

“I guess…” Twilight agreed, her ears folding back against her head. “But what if they don’t?”

“Diplomacy is never a sure thing,” Deep State agreed. “But I do think this approach gives us the best odds. I understand it’s distasteful, but with your endorsement of the action, and our combined political pressure, we just might avert something terrible.”

“And then what?” Spike asked, barely loud enough to be heard. Deep State and Twilight both turned to look at him. He shied away from their gazes, but after a moment, turned back and cleared his throat.

“You betray Saddle Arabia,” he said, keeping his voice clear despite the obvious strain. “They cut you off. They’re pressured out of the war. No conflict happens. Then what? You still don’t have any coal.”

“Spike, he just explained that.” Twilight shook her head. “Orlovia and the Water Palace are going to supply them.”

“No way,” Spike said quickly. Then he froze, his mouth drawing into a line. When he spoke next, it was more slowly. “I was, uh…” He glanced at the scroll. “Doing the math real quick. Since the Zebrarian freighters we rode on were gifts from Orlovia. How many freighters like that would it take to supply thirty million tons of coal a year? And it’s too many. Way too many.”

“Your brother is quite astute,” Deep State said to Twilight, nodding in Spike’s direction. Twilight frowned, looking quickly between the two of them. “While Orlovia may have plenty of coal, supplying an entire country via a three-thousand-mile contested sea route is entirely impractical. The Water Palace is much closer, but as they do not burn coal, they are not in the habit of mining it, and lack the materials to supply us. Which brings us to the second half of our new understanding, and the part that concerns you most intimately.”

“I don’t…” Twilight’s frown deepened, and she hurried to catch up as the First Citizen reached the rotunda. The fountain inside was a vast circle, filled with a massive stone carving of a world map in relief. Little mountain ranges rose out of the granite, next to rivers intricately carved by hoof. Once, the oceans had been actual bodies of flowing water, but now they contained only dust.

“You know that Equestria doesn’t have the coal to supply you either,” she explained, as he stepped into the fountain to stand in what should have been the western ocean. “I can’t help you.”

“In a way, you can,” he replied, looking down over the map. “Two centuries out of date, but it’ll do.” His hoof reached across to where a modern map would have shown the Republic of Zansikar. The old map still showed thirteen kingdoms.

“We have a year’s supply of coal laid in,” he explained. “And in the event of a war, the Water Palace and Orlovia have agreed to allow us to keep the western half of Saddle Arabia, including nearly all of their coal mines.”

He indicated Zansikar’s eastern border, and Saddle Arabia beyond. “It would guarantee us a future supply, as well as building a respectable empire out of the old world. But, as Spike has pointed out, the war might not happen, and even if it did, we can’t be sure of a crushing victory within one year. We need more immediate assurances.”

His hoof moved north.

Twilight swallowed. Her voice turned quiet. “Kiria hates the Water Palace. They’ll never agree to help you.” A faint breath escaped her. “No matter what I tell them.”

“While I do appreciate the offer to intercede on my behalf, I wasn’t planning on asking.” Deep State shrugged. “The Water Palace has wanted to conquer the rest of Kiria for years. The only thing that held them back was us. And now we’ve come to an understanding. They’re willing to concede us the bottom third,” he traced a line on the map with a hoof, “to secure the other two-thirds for themselves. And our section contains more than enough coal for our needs.”

Twilight drew a deep breath, her barrel shaking as she stared at the map. Spike walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, gently squeezing. “What does this have to do with us?” he demanded, his voice stern.

“You were offered a country once before, weren't you?” Deep State asked. Slowly, Twilight lifted her head. “In Aero-Lipizzia? You were offered Chain Link’s hoof in marriage. A chance to be an Empress. I now offer you that opportunity again, for a nation that has more of a future.”

Twice, his hoof tapped the map. “The Kirians are a proud breed. Breaking them would be a nasty business: rivers of blood, reign of terror, the allegorical iron hoof and such. All of which sounds like quite a lot of effort when all we really need is for them to sell us a resource we’re perfectly willing to pay for.” His hoof turned up. To point at Twilight.

“So I thought, after we’ve conquered them, rather than annexing them outright, why not allow them to become a protectorate of somepony a little nicer. Somepony they won’t feel the need to rise up against. Somepony they can trust, but who remembers who her friends are when it comes to trade policy.” He smiled at her. “Kirians love alicorns, you know. They think you’re the pillar of harmonious enlightenment.”

“Heh…” Twilight’s head sunk, and her ears folded back. Spike pulled closer to her, a frown on his face. She didn’t respond to him.

“I know,” Deep State said slowly, “that it isn’t what you wanted. But I’m sure if you think about it, you’ll see it’s the correct choice. It minimizes the odds of the war spiraling out of control. It gives you a country that you can rule with love and friendship, and through which you can bring your famous Equestrian ideals to the west. It makes you a real ruler. And all I ask in return is for you to endorse turning against Saddle Arabia, and sell me some coal later.”

Twilight sniffled. She reached up to rub her eyes. “No, no. I understand,” she said plainly.

She swallowed. “You’re a monster.”

Deep State frowned as Twilight lifted her head, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “I mean,” she said, her voice cracking at the edges. “I have actually fought the Queen of the Changelings, a giant bug monster parasite that eats love, and I think she was less evil than you. It’s actually kind of impressive.”

“Twilight…” The First Citizen’s frown deepened, and he took a half-step her way. “I know this isn’t the solution you asked for. But as a leader, I have to do what’s best for my ponies. I would far rather we live by our neighbor’s happiness and not by our neighbor’s misery. But that isn’t the world we live in. I’m in a very difficult situation.”

“You’re a good pony in a bad system, right?” Twilight asked, voice cracking. She even smiled, as her eyes glistened. “No. Chain Link was a good pony in a bad system. He wasn’t perfect. Aero-Lipizzia is a racist dictatorship and it raised him to believe some things. But he tried. He wanted to change the world. He wanted to be fair, and to be a better ruler than his dad was. He didn’t wait for the world to allow him to be good. He would have been a great ruler.”

Her lip curled back like she’d eaten something sour. “You are the monster dragging around his corpse and using it as an excuse to kill millions of innocent ponies.”

“So will you intervene on Kiria’s behalf then? Declare war yourself?” His eyes narrowed. “Or perhaps you were going to try to stop me here and now.”

Twilight drew a shaking breath. Stone Table took a half step forward, placing herself between Twilight and the First Citizen. Spike stepped between Twilight and Stone Table, and cracked the joints in his claws. The sharp points shone in the sunlight, and a thin line of smoke curled out of his nose. He gripped the edge of the fountain, ready to hurl himself forward, his claw tips digging deep grooves in the stone.

“The bodyguard,” Spike said. “She has something that negates unicorn magic. She’s way too calm about her odds of winning a fight with you.” Spike and Stone Table locked eyes. “I’ll take her. You get the bad guy.”

“No,” Twilight said abruptly. She reached out a hoof and pushed Spike back and out of the way. He folded his claws in the nick of time, just as Twilight’s leg brushed over them. “No. I won’t use my power to depose a foreign leader.” She drew a few deep breaths, struggling to go on. “I won’t sink to your level.”

“You really are a pacifist, aren’t you?” Deep State asked, his brow furrowed. “Your convictions are admirable. But they’re about to make things a lot harder on a lot of ponies.”

“My conviction is what’s going to save the world,” Twilight growled. “I won’t let this happen.”

“How are you going to stop it?” Deep State asked, an incredulous note entering his voice. “You had the opportunity to stop it here and now, you couldn’t even take it. You’re an immortal magical creature. You’re royalty—a head of state. But all the power in the world will do you no good if you are not willing to use it.”

He let out a long sigh, gesturing down at the map. “You’ve certainly been blunt as to what you think about me. Let me me be candid in return. You’re a Princess in name only—Celestia’s pet. You have no country that obeys you, no armies who rise at your command. The only things you have to call your own are your personal might and the sterling reputation for goodness that all Equestrian princesses carry with them. You just demonstrated you aren’t willing to use your might to stop something terrible. I am offering you a chance to use your reputation instead.”

“You’re offering me a chance to whitewash your atrocities.” She sneered. “Not interested.”

His mouth drew into a line. “You understand that this won’t change the outcome. The deal is struck. Zansikar will change sides; Kiria will be conquered. The only difference is that instead of becoming an Equestrian protectorate, it will be annexed outright: iron hoof, river of blood, reign of terror. All that. You’re not helping anypony and are in fact making things much worse.”

“No,” she shook her head, her voice ragged but firm. “You don’t get to decide my options. Princess Cadence rules the Crystal Empire and all crystal ponies, including the Water Palace. She’ll put a stop to this. I will put a stop to this!” Her voice rose, and she leaned forward. Soon she was shouting. “I will stop this. I will stop this madness before it goes any further! And when your country is alone and isolated because of your treachery, I will-!”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to force herself to swallow. She blinked, and tears ran down her face. “I will come back,” she said, her voice sinking until it was quiet again, “and we will discuss the terms of a lasting peace. A better peace, than the one that lead to this… to whatever this is.”

She sniffed, and spread her wings from her body, lifting her shoulders and emphasizing her stature. Despite the tears running down her face, the image was unmistakeable: a proud alicorn ruler, hoof and horn, wings spread high, unshakeable where she stood. “And when I do,” she commanded, her own Royal Canterlot Voice echoing off of every stone, “you will have taken better care of my palace.”

Deep State froze; his jaw worked back and forth. Finally, he bowed his head. “As you wish, Princess.”

“Good!” she snapped, her voice like a hurricane’s roar. “Now get out of my house!”

The First Citizen and his bodyguard left. Once they were out of sight, she slumped from her pose, her wings tucking in tight against her side. Spike hurried to her, and hugged her tight, and she hugged him. She blinked away the tears, the flow slowing as they embraced.

“You know,” Spike said gently, “other than the crying, that was kind of awesome. You went full princess there.” He gave her a little squeeze around the shoulders.

“I did, didn’t I?” Twilight asked. A shaky laugh escaped her, and she reached up to rub away the tears and clean her face. “It got kind of dramatic.”

“You should open with that next time. Booming voice, storm clouds out of nowhere. ‘Heed my words, mortal!’” Spike’s high-pitched impression of Twilight’s Royal Canterlot Voice was less than menacing, and she smiled. “Totally change your image.”

“Let’s not go too far.” She let out a long breath, and shook her head. “He doesn’t understand, Spike. None of them understand. This conflict, this thing, the monster, whatever it is. Once it starts, it’s not going to stop. One spark, and the whole world will burn down. Millions of ponies will die.”

“I…” Spike bit his lip. “Yes, Twilight.”

Twilight frowned, and her eyes refocused on him. “You’ve said that before,” she said slowly. “You don’t agree?”

“I agree with the second half,” he said, hesitating before he finished, “but I think they understand just fine.”

“Heh. No. If they understood, they wouldn't be going through with it. They’re not all… like him. They just need help seeing the light.” She looked towards the distant palace gates.

“I…” Spike glanced down at the map. At Kiria. “Twilight, what would you do if you were in his place?”

“Huh?” Twilight turned back to Spike. “What do you mean? I’d stay out of the war. Find another way to get coal. We could probably even keep getting it from Saddle Arabia, if we just explained to them that our situation is—”

“No. No. I mean…” Spike frowned. “Pretend you’d married Chain Link. You’re Empress of Aero-Lipizzia. But that doesn’t instantly solve the crisis. The orlov population still hates being a part of what they see as a pegasus empire. They still want to revolt and form their own country. Would you suppress the rebellion?”

“No, of course not.” Twilight’s frown intensified. “I’m sure we could work out some diplomatic solution.”

“That involves them being their own country?” Strain started to show in his tone, and he reached up to rub at this face. “That involves the orlov, who I remind you are a majority in more than half of your territory including the capital, breaking away and forming their own state?”

“I guess? I don’t know. It would depend on the details.” Twilight stepped over to Spike, and put a hoof around his shoulder. “Why does it matter?”

“Because you’d be remembered as the last Aero-Lipizzian empress, whose rule destroyed her empire!” Spike’s fist opened and closed, and he gestured sharply at nothing. “Because…”

He lowered his hand, and let out a slow sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Spike…” Twilight shook her head, leaning down to catch his eyes. “Empires don’t matter. Countries don’t matter. Lives matter. If I was an empress and my last act was to save all my subjects from a terrible war, I’d be happy with that legacy, no matter what history books say.”

Spike didn’t answer. She nudged him with the tip of a hoof, and he snapped to life as though emerging from a trance. Finally he replied, “You’re the Princess, Twilight. I’m just worried.”

“I know. I’m worried too.” The the two stepped apart, and Twilight looked off at the map. “You think I should have fought him?”

Spike licked his lips. He glanced at the stone map one more time. Finally he said: “No.” Then he added, “No, don’t be silly. It’s a pretty bad precedent. You know. Beating up a world leader on your goodwill tour.”

“Good.” Twilight smiled. Though her face was dry, she rubbed at it again. “I was really worried I made the wrong call there.”

“I believe in you, Twilight. You always know what to do.” His eyes rolled over the dust-filled sea, to a little spot in the middle of the ocean. The stonemason had put so much detail into that tiny island. Crystal towers were carved in relief, and there were even tiny featureless crystal ponies at play. “Do you really think Cadence will be able to help?”

“Yeah.” Twilight nodded, her voice returning to something like normal. “The Water Palace is a part of the Crystal Empire. Its ponies have been waiting for a thousand years for their home to return. They even have a name for Cadence! She Who Was Prophesied. She’ll… she’ll turn this around.”

Spike looked around the ruined gardens, two centuries of neglect in every cracked stone. His jaw opened. It shut again without a sound.

“Is something wrong?” Twilight asked.

“No,” Spike said at once. He swallowed. “I love you, Twilight.”

She reached out and pulled him close against her. “I love you too, Spike.”

And in the shadow of the ruined palace, they hugged.

Day 53: The Amelioration

Ponies laughed. Glasses clinked. A shot of hard liquor was poured for somepony who wasn’t there.

“Okay,” one of the artificers said, once the laughter died down. He turned to the pictures on the wall. They were neat rows of unframed black and white photographs, each stuck to the wall with drafting tape. They were all photos of ponies: at graduation ceremonies, laboring in workshops, even one criminal lineup where she held a sign that bore her name and the charges. Eyes scanned over them.

“Teague,” one of them said, pointing out the next picture in line. A photo of a Saddle Arabian stallion who wore a guild medallion, with a mare at his side and three kids around him. He wore the traditional saddle-cloth and halter, the cutie mark he chose for himself a quill and spinning wheel. “Did anypony know Teague?”

“I did,” one mare said. A journeymare, Spike realized, for her neck was decorated by two black bands instead of a full medallion. But her masters let her take the center of the engine room, and she cleared her throat.

“It’s, um…” She coughed, her glass floating by her side. “When I was an apprentice in Tawantinsuyu, he was assigned to our guild house, and I got the meet and greet job. You know, show him around, get him settled in the city, all that. And I’m a teenage silly filly and I’ve never met a Saddle Arabian before, much less a stallion. So he shows up and I’m all…”

She blushed and looked aside, and a gentle laugh ran through the room. “I swear I didn’t know he was married. So I’m showing him around the city, hitting on him with all the charm a fifteen year old can muster, and I don’t think he even notices. Finally, we get to the Garden of Things to Come, and he’s got to get rid of the decorations or they’ll be ruined by the steam. So he strips off that saddle cloth, and with the height difference it’s uh…”

She drew a line out from her eyes, and a smile appeared on her face. “And I blurt out, ‘You’re pretty eye level there aren’t you?’ And he turns to me with the most innocent face in the world and politely asks what that means, because he’s new here and doesn’t know all the local turns of phrase.”

More laughter circled the room, and her blush intensified. “What’d you tell him?” somepony called.

“What do you think I did?” The mare laughed. “I stammered something incoherent about Saddle Arabians resembling Princess Celestia and dragged him off before he could ask more. And then I found out he was married and I was so embarrassed about the whole day I avoided him for months until he got reassigned to the interior.” She gave a small shake of her head. “Which is too bad. The other apprentices told me he was one of the best teachers.”

A lengthy silence came over the room at that. Artificers stared into their glasses. Finally, the journeymare at the front lifted hers. “To Teague. I should have known you better.”

Glasses clinked. Everypony drank. A glass of liquor was filled for Teague and poured into the engine’s waste overflow chute. It flashed on contact, steam and a little tongue of flickering fire rolling out of the vent back into the engine room.

Spike stared at his untouched glass, swirling it slowly and watching the liquor inside slosh. “Did anypony else know him?” somepony asked. After a little while, when it became clear nopony did. The artificers’ gazes slowly returned to the pictures. A little yellow Equestrian pegasus was next. “Swift Key. Did anypony know her?”

Somepony did. They got up and started to tell a story about being her bunkmate on a zebrarian freighter during their training. Spike turned away, staring past her to the engine core.

It wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen before. Crystal pony ships had no furnaces. Crystal pony ships had no coal. They did have boilers though. The core transmuted liquid water directly into steam using something called “crystallic mana induction” that Spike didn’t understand. He could still appreciate it though. The great crystal sphere rested in the ship’s center like a heart, thirty paces across and utterly flawless. Its surface was transparent, letting Spike see all the way through to where glowing blue rods criss-crossed the clear water within and bubbles boiled upwards.

He could hear the turbines too. There was no pounding or hissing or screeching like there was on Zebrarian ships. It was just a steady purr. The whole engine room reminded him of the crystal empire: big, quiet, elegant, and crafted entirely from shiny crystal. There was no dirt or coal dust on the floor, no team of sweaty earth ponies with shovels. There was only the core, and its purifying light, and there in its aura, the artificers’ wake.

“To Swift Key.” The mare finished her story. When Spike looked back at her, he could see her eyes were watering. “I should have listened to your stories.”

Glasses clinked. Everypony drank. A glass of liquor was filled for Swift Key. And another name was called.

“To Thunder Bolt. I should have been there when you needed me.”

“To Diaspora. I should have kissed you.”

“To Oxide Brush. You were a good artist. I should have told you.”

“To Double Tap. I should have appreciated all the little things you did.”

“To Leaf Dance. I should have gone on that walk.”

Sometimes the stories were funny, and ponies laughed. Sometimes they were sad, and the room lapsed into silence. Until finally, eyes went back to the board. “Cilia,” one pony said, the next picture that of a changeling in its natural form, frill and hole-filled legs and all. “Did anypony know him?”

“I did,” Spike blurted out before anypony else could speak. The room turned to stare at him. He didn’t get up. He just look down into his glass, and swirled the untouched liqueur.

“I was in Akhal-Teke when it all happened,” he said, his voice straining around the edges. “I just met him. He was there in the lineup with Teague and all the others. The others there told me to take him and get him to safety. But I didn’t think I could. I thought the Saddle Arabians would trust a changeling less.”

His claws scratched at his own scales, hard enough to leave scratches. His gaze stayed down hard, focused on the glass and nothing else. “I picked two Equestrians and a crystal pony instead. I thought it gave them the best odds of escaping. But everything all went wrong. And Cilia was still in chains so he couldn't change forms or fly away. And if he’d been the one I let go instead none of this would have happened and…”

His voice cracked. He struggled to go on. “I’m sorry.” Tears formed in his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Silence hung over the room. Nopony knew what to do, and uncertain looks passed from one artificer to another. Finally, one of them stood up. A young earth pony stallion with a bright red coat, nearly pink, his mane frizzy and wild. He wore an Artificer’s pendant around his neck, and a small grey saddle cloth over his back. Spike could see his cutie mark: a heart and a pile of steel bars.

“Come on, kid,” he said, a hoof gently but firmly nudging Spike away from his glass and towards the door. “Let's go for a walk.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” Spike mumbled, as the new pony lead him from the room. “Please don’t tell Twilight I ruined the wake.”

“Not a word,” the stallion promised. He led Spike out of the engine’s pure light, and up the stairs to the deck. It was a new moon and the stars had come out, the crystal deck bathed in shadow. The surface was rough under Spike’s feet, the once smooth crystal sanded down so it was easier for hooves to grip. They were at the stern, and the artificer lead Spike up to the rail, looking back the way they’d come.

“What’s your name, kid?” he asked.

“Spike.” He sniffled quietly, rubbing away his tears. His voice was still shaking. “You?”

“Girder.” He let out a little breath, and patted Spike’s shoulder with a hoof. “You’re the Princess’s valet, aren’t you?”

“I’m her assistant.” He reached up to grip the rail with both claws. “I was visiting the guild house when I saw the guards rounding everypony up. And I thought, since we had diplomatic immunity, I could take a few of them out of the lineup. But we’re Equestrian. I thought it had to be ponies we could pretend were with us! I didn’t have any authority to do anything and I was just hoping nopony realized it and I messed everything up.”

“Were you doing what you thought would save the most ponies?” Girder asked gently, his voice quiet. Spike nodded. “Then you’re okay. That’s what Cilia would have wanted.”

“But I made a mistake!” Spike insisted, his voice torn. “I got ponies killed.”

“We all make mistakes, Spike. But you tried. That’s more than anypony else did.” Girder took in a slow breath and let it out. “And that’s something. And I don’t think Cilia would want you to beat yourself up over it. He always hated when ponies felt guilty around him.”

Silence hung between them a moment. They both looked away and off into the sea.

“When they chained him up, they didn’t run the chains through the holes in his legs, did they?”

“Huh?” It took a moment for Spike to turn his head, the reaction delayed. “No, I… I don’t think so.” He rubbed the tears out of his eyes. “I think they just used regular shackles. Does it matter?”

“The holes in a changeling’s legs are part of their respiratory system. If you stuff something into it, they can’t get enough air. So it’s ah…” Girder let out a weak, hollow little laugh. “It’s good they didn’t do that. I wouldn’t want him to be in any pain before…”

His jaw open and shut without finishing the sentence. “Yeah.”

“I don’t think he was in any pain.” Spike said, his voice cracking again as his pitch wavered up and down wildly. “I didn’t see what happened when the fight started. But it was all over so fast. I don’t think he ever felt what hit him.”

“Good.” Girder said, biting his lip and looking down at the propellers. “Good.”

A long stillness came over them. There was just the darkness, and the stars, and the smell of the sea and the churning propellers. Zansikar was behind them, lost over the horizon.

“How did you know him?” Spike asked.

“I asked him to marry me.” Girder laughed a little, and the sound wasn’t as hollow as it had been. It even went up to his eyes. “I was born in Equestria. I did my apprenticeship there. He was one of the other students. We all found out he was a changeling when we were pretty young, but the master wouldn't have it. He said the Guild allowed all comers no matter what the locals thought, and that if we breathed a word about it to anypony we’d all be ejected and banned from the organization. So it was our little secret. Just the four of us.”

Spike turned to face Girder properly, watching as he spoke. Girder glanced his way, and Spike gave the smallest of nods. Girder turned back to the sea. “So um…” He coughed. “We got to be teeangers. And you know how-wait. How old are you?”

“Dragons mature in a weird order,” Spike said quietly. “Intellectually I’m like, a young stallion?”

“Interested in romance yet? Noticing other dragons?”

“No. That won’t happen for a few decades. But, I know how all that works. Birds and bees and stuff. You won’t be corrupting my innocence.” He looked down. “Heh. Some of my friends from Ponyville are hitting that age now. They’re smart but it kinda makes them stupid sometimes.”

“It does! It does make you stupid.” He let out a long hiss of breath, and a smile touched his face. “So of course, when we were kids, we’d play games with him. Turn into this! Turn into that! And it was all good fun. But when we got older, it got a little more, ‘Turn into him!’ ‘Turn into her!’ But playing romance games with a changeling is a losing proposition. And soon enough, we were alone and I’d gone and wished myself flustered. And he uh… he was my first kiss. And my first love. Stupid hormonal teenage love, but, real love.”

Girder rubbed his face. “And he was good. I knew he was doing it because he needed love to survive. But it was a symbiotic thing. He was comforting and sweet. I was a real emotional teenager: angry and sad and bitter all the time. And he calmed me down. He saved me from doing a lot of stupid things. And when I didn’t want to have a certain conversation with my parents, he could be a very respectable mare for a few hours.”

“Heh.” Spike managed a very hollow laugh. “Wasn’t that a little weird?”

“Oh, it was super weird.” Girder licked his lips and smiled. “But, you know, changelings do need love to survive. More than one pony can give them. If you’ve ever seen a changeling feeding off of just one pony, that pony gets really sick really fast. So Cilia was in four or five relationships at any one time. All under different aliases so it wasn’t obvious. But he was our little love bug. And teenage me didn’t… appreciate, seeing my very special somepony kissing some mare. So I got angry, and then I got sad, and then asked him to marry me. Just the two of us. I didn’t care if I got sick.”

“And he told you no?”

“Of course he told me no,” Girder snorted. “Because even if that wasn’t a blatantly stupid plan, he actually did care about me and so he wasn’t going to be the instrument of my assisted suicide. And he told me that. But I didn’t want to hear it. I was so worked up. All I heard was, ‘I’m going to make you love me and then cheat on you whenever I want.’ And I said some things. Things you can’t take back.”

He lowered his head. “We made up. Kind of. I tried so hard to take it all back, but it was never the same. And when it was time for our journeys, we didn’t ask for the same assignment. I did my journey in Zebraria, he did his in Kiria. And then we got different postings, and we kind of drifted apart. I always wanted to see him again. You know. Maybe become friends. But it never ended up happening.”

Spike reached out and put a claw over Girder’s hoof. Girder looked down at him, and smiled. Then, with a theatrical flourish, he mimed the motion of pouring a glass over the side of the rail. “To Cilia,” he said. “I should have loved you for who you were, instead of trying to own you.”

“I should have saved you,” Spike said. He sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. “Thanks, Girder. I’m sorry I messed up the wake.”

“You’re fine, kid,” Girder waved it off. “You’re just hurting like everypony else. Saddle Arabia hurt us all.”

“They did." Spike asked softly. Then, he abruptly added, "And now you’re going to get your revenge on them, aren’t you? You and your Water Palace and Orlovian friends.”

Girder frowned, his brow furrowing as he considered Spike. But he answered the question plainly: “Yeah. We will. Rivers will turn to blood, and the skies will rain fire. The gold’s gonna melt off the buildings and the cities that rose from the desert will return to the desert.”

“They haven't done anything,” Spike said, gripping the rail tighter. “The pony who hurt Cilia is dead. I was there. Her name was Inspector Pasha and Cobalt shot her. You’re only killing innocent ponies.”

“We’re not killing anypony. They’re killing themselves by starting a war they know they can’t win, and then snubbing the one group that might be able to help them.” Girder shrugged. “You think the Orlovians bother to consult us on their war policy? Like they’ll start a fight just because we ask them to? The only thing we ever hear from them is demands for more tools and complaints that everything is too expensive.” He said the last words with a sneering, nasal inflection and let out a snort.

“We’d have supplied Saddle Arabia just as well and just as much as their enemies. But they didn’t want us. Too proud and too superior. And now their pride is going to turn to poison in their veins. And they will die, and their empire will fall, and their precious golden age will come to an end. And everypony will say we were the villain, just because we saw it coming. But we tried to help them. We offered them a chance to renounce the old ways. It’s not our fault if they wouldn’t listen.”

Spike frowned. “Were you quoting that old fable on purpose?”

“What old fable?” Girder frowned back.

“You know.” Spike gestured back the way the ship had come. “The djinn who cursed King Al-Haifa.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s a Saddle Arabian...” Spike froze mid sentence. “Nevermind. Sorry. I just… I don’t want anypony else to get hurt.”

“Yeah. I know.” Girder shook his head. “Sorry. I know a got a little over the top, there. I’ve mellowed a little since I was a teeanger, but I guess I’m still kind of an angry pony.” His tail swished. “I think I’d forgive them though, if they wanted it. If they realized they made a mistake and stopped this whole thing. I may not be Equestrian anymore, but friendship is still magic.”

“That’s good, I guess.” Spike nodded. “I don’t think that’ll happen though.”

“No, I don’t think it will either.” He stepped back from the rail, and flicked his tail. “So why do you hang out with us jerks anyway? Not that I mind.”

“I was thinking of apprenticing with the Guild after Twilight’s trip is over.” Spike swallowed. He looked from Girder to the ship, then out to sea, weighing his words in his mind. “But I’m afraid.”

Girder tilted his head, ears askew. “Why?”

“None of you are what you were. Like you! You were born in Equestria, you know that friendship is magic. But you're not Equestrian anymore. An Equestrian would never condone what the Guild has done.” Spike’s tone picked up, and his words suddenly turned accusative. “They’d be disgusted with themselves for even considering it!”

Girder listened as Spike yelled, but his face remained impassive. “It’s true,” he finally said, with a certain amount of resignation. “Haven’t been back there in a long time. Don’t imagine it would really be my home anymore even if I did visit.” That gave him a moment’s pause. “Still. If it bothers you so much, why not join a local guild? Don’t let our reputation fool you, lots of the world’s best tinkers and engineers work local.”

“They…” Spike’s words slowed, and his volume dropped. “They don’t work on interesting projects.”

“They work on exactly the same equipment,” Girder said firmly. “In fact, a lot of the time they just buy our work and install it themselves. The Iron Crescent Rail and the Friendship Express are the same engine with some superficial modifications.”

“Yeah, but their machines aren’t…” He bit his lip. “Pretty.”

“Pretty?” Girder’s brow furrowed.

“Beautiful. I mean...” Spike said, stumbling through every word. “They aren’t… they don’t have that… something. Yours do. Yours are special.”

“Beautiful like a pony is beautiful?” Girder asked.

“Beautiful like the railroad is beautiful. How it twists the landscape around it and makes villages spring up by the tracks. Or like the new airship engines that could circle the world without stopping. Or like the telegraphs Twilight gets every day. Or like steam power or like ships the size of a city or like… this!” He gestured sharply back at the Amelioration behind them. “Like… I don’t know.”

“Oh.” Girder smiled, and a little half-laugh escaped him. “I’m sorry, kid. I hate to be the one to have to tell you this. But that’s because it’s not machines you’re in love with. That sweet, sweet scent you’re smelling is power.”

Spike’s motions slowed, and he stared up at Girder. “What do you mean?”

“Every local guild builds machines. They tinker and work and make things slightly better or more efficient. But where this symbol goes?” He reached up, and gestured at his medallion. “Forests are clearcut, mountains are leveled, cities rise from the dust, gravity is defied, and empires take to the waves. We make ponies rich and ruin nations. We change the world and shape it in a new image. That’s what’s got you on tiptoe.”

“No it… I mean. No you don’t.” Spike closed his hand and looked back up. “The ponies who pay you do that. You’re just mercenaries. You don’t control the end result.”

“So?” he asked, his tone even a little light, despite the lines around his eyes. “Haven’t you ever thought change was beautiful? Just for its own sake?”

For a moment, Spike hesitated. “I…” He drew the word out. “At Griffonstone. There were sawmills. And a lot of fresh construction. And ponies and a railroad and a bank and, I don’t know. It was nice.” He swallowed. “A lot changed.”

“And a lot will change tomorrow, and the day after that, until what was is gone, and there’s something new. And that new thing will in turn be changed, and destroyed, and remade. And it will never stop.” Girder flicked his tail back and forth. His ears perked up.

“It’s why we have to give it all up,” he finally said. “There are sacrifices you make when you join the International Guild. A guild master has no nation. He serves no princess or king. He carries no banners and honors no causes. Because Equestria, Celestia, princesses, nations, they believe power is a means to an end. Some of their ends are good, some of their ends are bad. But it all has to be for something.” He gestured at himself. “And that’s why the Friendship Express isn’t beautiful like Griffonstone is. Because no matter how much rail gets laid, Equestria will still be Equestria.”

“That’s wrong,” Spike insisted, his tone straining at the edges. “Power isn’t the point. It can’t be the point.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s how villians think, and because your machines kill ponies!” Spike snapped, a gout of fire shooting out of his mouth as he bellowed. Girder pulled away from Spike’s sudden outburst, his ears folding back. Spike jabbed an accusative claw at the ship behind them, its crystal deck bathed in the twilight. “Because that thing isn’t a work of art. Because it’s a weapon and it was built to kill ponies and because you’re destroying the world!”

It took Girder a moment to recover, and to slowly sit forward. He took a breath, and straightened his ears. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to upset you. And who knows? I’m not the best judge of character. Maybe I misread you entirely. Lots of ponies join local trade guilds, and are very happy. And if that’s what you want to do, I think that would be a very interesting apprenticeship for a talented young scholar.”

He reached up and rubbed his jaw. “But just take a bit of advice, okay? I spent a lot of my life worried about the pony I was supposed to be. Stressed and angry. Not asking questions in class because I was afraid of looking stupid in front of the masters. Hiding my real feelings from Cilia. Dragging a shapeshifter home and lying to my whole family because saying I liked stallions felt awkward. All it did was make me a miserable, unpleasant pony to be around.”

He waited a moment to see if Spike exploded again, but all the little dragon did was wrap his arms around himself. “There comes a time when you have to stop worrying about who you’re supposed to be and accept who you are.”

“I don’t want to be like you.” Spike’s tone wavered. “You’re an amoral mercenary who has no problems selling weapons to the highest bidder.”

“I’m an engineer and an artificer who wants to change the world,” he replied firmly. “It’s up to other ponies how they want it to be changed. But you know? Even if you do join the Guild, don’t worry.” He tapped his medallion once. “These things aren’t magic. They don’t eat your soul. There’s no ceremony where you sacrifice your love for Equestria. The Guild didn’t make me the way I am, I joined it because it fit me. Ponies who can’t deal with what we do just drop out and pursue other things. And it really is that simple. Whatever you end up doing, it’ll be right for who you are.”

Spike was quiet for a long time. “And what if who I am isn’t so good?”

Girder shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t figured that part out myself. But you’ll be in good company, and you’ll be amongst friends. And you’ll be happy. Even if those friends are amoral mercenaries.” He added a snort.

“Yeah.” Spike swallowed. “Yeah. Sorry. I totally… you didn’t deserve that. It’s been a stressful trip and I—”

“Kid,” Girder held up a hoof. “It’s fine. Really. I’ve been there. Sometimes you’re hurting and you just need to be a jerk for a bit. No harm done.” He lowered his head to look Spike in the eye. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed. “I think I’m going to go back to Twilight now though, if that’s okay.”

“I think that’s a very good idea.” He turned back to the ship, and Spike headed off with him until they came to their fork in the path. “Good night, Spike.”

Where Girder went down into the depths of the ship, Spike went up to the elevated second deck, and the officer’s quarters therein. Twilight’s room was second from the end, and he reached up to grip the handle. “Twilight?” he called, but when the door slid open, the room was dark.

“Twilight?” he called again. “Are you uh… did you just turn the lights out to watch the stars again?” There was no response. He could see her outline in bed. “Twilight, are you awake? I really need to talk to you.”

She stirred briefly, but then fell back asleep. Spike bit his lip, and then stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind him. Feeling around in the dark, he eventually found the little pile of blankets that served as his basket. He curled up inside it, and shut his eyes.

But sleep would not come.

Day 58: The Water Palace

One thousand and eighteen years ago, Queen Resonance, ruler of the Crystal Empire, commissioned a palace by the sea. She desired a chance to travel, and to see the world, and to meet strange merchants from foreign lands, who were generally disinclined to make the long inland journey to the capital. This she commanded of her loyal architects and engineers, who faithfully obeyed.

The construction took over a decade, for the Crystal Empire was an arctic domain, and all its coasts were harsh things of ice and jagged rock that were deemed unsuitable for the construction of a welcoming home. Instead, her architects claimed a small uninhabited island in the western sea: a temperate place of golden beaches and warm air.

It was a momentous decision. Never before had the Crystal Empire journeyed so far from its northern borders, and not all in the Imperial Engineering Corps realized the scale of the undertaking. Before construction could even begin, thousands of serfs had to be relocated to the island to serve as laborers, and tens of thousands of tons of construction materials had to be transported one crate at a time. Whole fleets of caravels were purchased, seized, or built for the endeavor. Port towns came into existence and then vanished. Lives were made and destroyed. But on the island’s shores, a crystal palace rose.

No detail was spared in the working. The architects cleared the rest of the island to make its forests pleasant and welcoming, and constructed docks for the traders their queen desired. They created a picturesque town entirely from scratch, and then imported artists, artisans, and ponies of learning to live in it, so that the queen would have someone to talk to when guests were not in residence. The gardens were filled with exotic trees imported all the way from Zebraria, the caravel crews risking death to carry the plants through seas of black and white sails.

Fifteen years after the project began, Queen Resonance arrived at last, carrying her infant daughter, Princess Cadence. The queen admired the settlement, praised the palace’s view, and tried the strange foreign custom of “sunbathing.” Cadence took some of her first stumbling steps along the golden beaches, cried when the water got in her eyes, and ate a sea shell. Their visit lasted a week.

Then, Queen Resonance returned home to the capital. She never saw her palace again.

“Princess Cadence! Princess Cadence!” one of the reporters called. Spike flinched as another camera flash went off, the light blazing down directly into his eyes. Twilight was having just as much trouble as him, staring straight ahead through the spots in her vision.

The others seemed okay, though. There were six of them up on that stage: Princess Cadence, Princess Twilight, Spike, Shining Armor, Deputy Minister Red Tape, and the minister’s wife. Spike didn’t remember her name.

“Yes yes, everypony, it’s good to see you too,” Princess Cadence said, waving to the mob of reporters and photographers like she was greeting an old friend. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but it’s been a long trip and we’ll be releasing an official press statement soon, so let’s keep this short. One question each, no followups.”

Her hoof stabbed out, indicating a crystal pony in a white hat. “Mr. Silverhoof. Question from the Seasteader’s Almanac?” Twilight turned to follow where Cadence pointed, but the reaction was sluggish, her eyes wide as she took in the room. Nopony seemed to notice.

The reporter paused to bow his head low to the ground, touching his forehead to the earth. “Good morning, Your Highness. What’s the purpose of your visit to the Water Palace?”

“Conferring with the Deputy Minister on the political instability in the Kirian region.” Her words came out quick, clipped and to the point, far from her usual soft speaking style. Her hoof jabbed out to indicate a young dragon; a juvenile standing perhaps twice as tall as a pony. He had a little hat. “Next. Mr. Ignus?”

“What’s your position on the Interspecies Marriage Act?”

“Why, Mr. Ignus, are you propositioning me?” She laughed. The room laughed. Shining Armor swatted her with his tail. Twilight frowned. “For it, obviously. Adopted children have been a part of the Empire since the days of the Majordomo Carpet Pull. The act just gives additional legal support to that longstanding tradition.”

She indicated another crystal pony—a young mare. “Good to see you again, Clarity.”

Her forehead touched the ground. “You as well, Your Highness. In your most recent address to the legislature, you urged them to hasten the full enfranchisement of the diamond dog population. Given that more than a third of diamond dogs cannot read, how can you possibly expect them to be informed and responsible citizens of the Empire?”

“In the battle of Emerald Gulf, First Sergeant Rex Quartz lost an eye, an arm, and both ears dragging wounded crystal ponies to safety from the fire,” Cadence said, her tone turning firm. “Including one of your great uncles, I believe. He was the first diamond dog to receive the Golden Circle for valor and the first diamond dog to be made a full citizen. He couldn’t read either. The diamond dogs have been a part of the Empire for three generations, and they’ve proven their loyalty. It’s time we acknowledged that fact.”

Twilight’s frown intensified. Cadence didn’t notice. Her hoof shot out again, indicating a griffon. “Mr. Peck.”

He lowered his head to touch the ground. “So then you support citizenship for diamond dogs who serve in the army or navy?”

“Any creature good enough to fight and die for the Empire is good enough to be a full citizen of it.” Another point, this time to a pegasus stallion. “Mr. Stormchaser.”

His head touched the ground. “What’s your position on the potential war across the Orlov and Kirian regions?”

“I have never and will never condone aggressive warfare. Love is the mortar that holds the Empire together, and selfish conquest is anathema to that bond. In the end, aggression harms the attacker as much as it harms the victim.”

She lifted her hoof, but before she could point, the pegasus reporter spoke again: “So are you stating that you will not support the Empire in the event of a Kirian war?”

That got the room’s attention. Heads perked up. Cameras flashed again. Cadence’s rapid diction paused for half a beat.

“If the Empire goes to war,” she finally said, “it will be a dark day for us all, and for the world. But you are my people, and I am your Princess, and the sun will never rise on a day I don’t support each and every one of you. Even you, Mr. Stormchaser.”

Twilight turned to look at Cadence. Her mouth fell open half an inch. Cadence’s hoof pointed to somepony in the third row. “Next question. Go.”

“Question for Princess Twilight!” the reporter called. His head stayed up. “During your trip around the world, you’ve been an outspoken advocate for peace. But you’ve notably refused to endorse the Treaty of Mutual Understanding between the Empire and Zaniskar. Why are you against the world’s best hope to avoid war?”

Twilight fell silent for a long time, the seconds drawing out. She looked at Cadence. She looked at the room. Cameras flashed.

“He betrayed his oldest friends because they stopped being useful to him,” Twilight finally said. “What’ll happen to him when he stops being useful to you?”

The spell was broken. Anarchy reigned. Reporters shouted questions and yelled over each other to be heard. Photographers moved to catch it all with a lens. Newsboys dashed out the back with scribbled notes in their teeth, sprinting to be the first to bring the missives back home.

“Silence!” The Deputy Minister roared, his hoof slamming hard against the floor. “You are in the presence of your princess, and if you think I won’t draft each and every one of you for this shameful behavior, you’ve got another thing coming!”

The Deputy Minister’s incendiary glower swept the crowd. The room quieted.

“Thank you, Red. But I don’t believe that will be necessary,” Cadence said, her voice as calm as ever. “I remind you all that Twilight is a Princess of Equestria, not a princess of the Empire. Her statements reflect her personal beliefs, not the government’s official position. And I do hope there’s enough dignity in this room not to speculate about a mare’s personal life like a filthy gossip rag.”

She let that statement hang for a moment. A few ponies nodded. “Very good. No further questions for the moment, I’ll put out a press statement later today. See you all soon.”

Cadence turned away, and the reporters started to file out. She took Twilight by the shoulders. “Let’s go speak in private, Twilight,” she said. “Now.”

She left. Twilight left. Shining left. The Deputy Minister and his wife left. The reporters and photographers left. Then, Spike was alone on the stage.

He stood there for awhile, watching the empty pit below the stage. Nopony else walked in.

Eventually, he reached into his little travel bag and took out the list of errands that needed seeing to. It was a long list.

He left the palace then and walked out along the golden beaches where Cadence had walked as an infant. They were the only undeveloped land on the island. So precious was space on the Resonance Isles that there was none of it to be wasted on frivolities like houses or roads. The original palace was the only building under six stories tall, and between the buildings, elevated walkways twisted through the air like winding ribbons. Banners hung from their sides, showing Cadance’s cutie mark.

Nor did the construction stop at the island's edge, for where nature had placed the sea, the Empire had sunk crystal pylons as thick as the oldest redwoods and constructed a city upon them. As Spike walked over one of the long bridges, he could see the Amelioration carefully maneuvering its way between the pylons towards its dock. The crew waved.

First, Spike went to the bank, cashing a rather large check. He spent fifteen of the bits getting one of Twilight’s dresses cleaned, and another ten replacing his travel iron, which had broken the previous night. Five more bits went to a bottle of Twilight’s preferred shampoo, and three towards some horseshoe polish. Twilight’s telegrams were free, but he tipped the operator a bit.

The remaining sixteen thousand, nine-hundred-and-sixty-six bits were spent in an exclusive shop uptown. There they precisely covered the purchase of three items: rare tea, an exotic bottle of brandy, and a golden statuette from nearly a thousand years ago. These items Spike brought with him during his next errand to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, where those gifts were given to, respectively: a secretary, an undersecretary for diplomatic affairs, and a senior secretary for customs and excise regulations.

Twilight’s paperwork was processed very quickly.

By the time Spike finished in the Ministry, the sun was past its apex, and he wandered until he found a cafe. Finding a table, he glanced at the menu, then glanced down into his bag. Not many of Lidar’s bits were left.

“Just tea,” he said to the waitress, pushing the menu away. She brought him some bread anyway. He watched the ships pass below, a cool sea breeze washing over him.

He wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been sitting there when the griffon approached him. “You have the look of a creature,” the griffin said, taking the seat opposite Spike, “who has seen more than he wishes to see.”

Spike turned his head to consider the newcomer: a griffon, male, middle-aged, a fedora on his head and a pack slung over his back. His tail hairs were graying, but he still seemed fit, his eyes alert. He carried a pad and pencil in one talon, the other resting on the table edge. On one of his ankles, he wore two bracelets made of blue crystal, the other ankle bare.

“Do I?” Spike asked.

“In the marines, we called it the thousand-yard stare,” the griffon said, “and yeah, you got it.”

“It’s been a long couple of days. I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep.” Spike sat up a little straighter in his chair, refocusing his eyes on the creature across from him. “You’re a reporter.”

“H.L. Griffin, Harpy Weekly.” He offered his talon, and he and Spike shook, claw to claw. “You’ve heard of us?”

Spike nodded. “I’ve heard of the paper. I’ve heard of you, too. Twilight loves your articles. She says you have a very high standard of fact-checking.”

“I like to think so.” He signaled the waitress, ordering tea for himself, plus a bowl of gemstones and the plate of herring for the table. “The Deputy Minister asked me to write a story on Twilight. Something positive. Show a bit of friendship to the Princess of Friendship. He feels it’s important the public understand how much she loves the Empire.”

“She doesn’t.”

“I didn’t say she did.” H.L. shook his head. “I said the Deputy Minister feels it’s important the public understands that she does. For Cadence’s sake. Twilight put our beloved princess in a very awkward position this morning.”

“I’m sure whatever lie you can think up will be more persuasive than whatever I’d tell you.” Spike waved him away. “Write what you want.”

“Harpy Weekly is a paper of repute, Mr. Spike. We never lie,” H.L. said firmly. “I assure you, whatever I print about Princess Twilight will be strictly accurate and well researched. I’m just offering to emphasize the positive.”

“Then you’re wasting your time.” Spike turned his head back to the sea. “There’s no way to spin this story. Twilight is against the war. She is against war. And she will always be against war, no matter whose side she’s supposed to be on. Because the thing that makes her an alicorn, the thing that makes her special, is that she really does see the potential for friendship in every creature. Every life is precious.”

He rubbed his jaw, eyes still turned out to the horizon. “You want to say she loves the people of the Empire? Do. Print it. Because she does. And no matter how much they hurt her, she’ll always love them. But she won’t love them any more than she loves the Kirians or the Saddle Arabians or the orlov. Because nations, armies, borders, are just ways of organizing the things that actually count.”

It took him a moment to find the words, his voice tight: “Empires don’t matter. Countries don’t matter. People matter. That’s her position on conflict, and if you print anything else, she’ll publically call you a liar.”

H.L. nodded and lapsed into silence. His pencil scribbled in his notebook. The waitress brought food and more tea.

“How much do you know about the history of the Empire?” H.L. asked. Spike shrugged. H.L. took that as his signal to go on.

“A little under a thousand years ago,” he began, “in the first decades after the old capital vanished, the waters surrounding the Resonance Isles were dominated by griffon pirates. Though the crystal ponies of the Water Palace had large fleets and skilled sailors, the griffons made their home in the clouds, and the ponies had no means of attacking air targets. Thus, the griffons could strike at will, and the Water Palace was a frequent target of raids or cruel extortion.”

He waited until he was sure he had Spike’s attention, then went on. “Eventually, though, the ponies became aware of one tribe of griffons who made their home on a small island called Isla Rego instead of building cloud structures, and a plan was hatched. A lone ship from the Water Palace managed to slip up to the shore undetected in the night, and its marine compliment snuck ashore.”

H.L. walked his talons across the table like moving hooves, mimicking the motion of sneaking through the underbrush. “Silent as death, knives made of glass in their teeth, they came upon each griffon home one at a time. They killed every griffon old enough to spread their wings and stole every child and every egg. Then they burned the whole of the island to the ground so that none of the other griffon tribes would realize what happened. And with their precious cargo, they returned home.”

He swept up his talon into a fist, sweeping up the salt shaker with it. He toyed with it with his claw tips, turning it over in the air. “Now,” he said brightly, “this is where, in another world and another story, the ponies would have enslaved the children. But as Cadence said, love is the mortar that holds the Empire together. It always has been. And Majordomo Carpet Pull understood the danger of creating soldiers who resent the nation they fight for.

“So he took a chick, too young to know what had happened, and adopted her as his daughter. Her name was Glint. And if you believe her autobiography, her father treated her like she was his own every day of her life. And in time she became Major Glint, first senior officer in the Empire’s first air force, because Carpet Pull wasn’t alone. All the stolen chicks were given to families who would care for them, and love them, and whisper into their ear every night, ‘you are a citizen of the Crystal Empire, and that makes you special.’”

H.L. paused, letting the moment sink in, and watching the frown on Spike’s face grow. “Of course, once they came of age, it was all over. Crystal armor and weapons were far superior to anything the pirates had, and Major Glint and her air force systematically destroyed the pirate clans. Some elected to join the Empire, on the promise that in three generations they’d be made full citizens. Others refused, and were slaughtered to the last. And here we are.”

He returned the salt shaker to the table with an elaborate little twist. “And what does that make me?”

Spike didn’t answer, and H.L. went on. “Should I be outraged that my ancestors were murdered in the night and kidnapped? Should I be proud of the Water Palace for accepting the griffon children as their own? Was Major Glint an abused victim who rationalized what was done to her, or a proud war hero who saved her people from destruction?”

“I don’t know.”

“‘I don’t know’ doesn’t cut it here, Spike,” H.L. snapped. “I served in the marines during the Diamond Dog Rebellion. The same marine corps, I remind you, who went ashore on Isla Rego. If someone asks me if I was an honorable soldier trying to end a bloody civil war or a murderous thug perpetuating the same evil that was perpetuated on my ancestors, you think I can answer, ‘I don’t know’?”

Spike considered that a moment. He reached out to the table and took a gem from the pile. He didn’t eat it. “What did you answer?”

“I answered that I was a marine and proud of it.” HL shook out his feathers, his wings flexing from his sides. “Because no matter if the war is right or wrong, the marines have always been there to defend the Empire.”

Spike’s jaw open and shut. He struggled for words. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because anypony who says, ‘Empire doesn’t matter, people matter’ and thinks they’re showing their love had better be prepared to look me in the eye and tell me, ‘Being a marine doesn’t matter, all the people you killed matter.’ People need to know who they are. They need to know what they are. That’s what empire is.”

He pushed his empty tea cup away, a silence settling over the table. “And that’s why people will die for their country. And that’s why they’ll kill for their country. Not because they care about borders or politics or any of that. But because if they don’t, what are they? I know what I am. I’m an imperial citizen. I’m a griffon. I’m a reporter. I’m a veteran. What are you?”

Spike looked down at the table. His eyes stared through the wood. “I don’t know.”

H.L. shrugged. “Well you tell your princess she’d better have a good answer to that before she makes an ass of herself in public again.”

“Twilight knows what she’s doing.”

For a long time, H.L. stared across the table at Spike. Then he asked, “Do you really believe that?”

Spike swallowed. He listened to the sea air. His eyes shut. “No.”

Day 59: The Braided Tail

The interior of the airship was tiny, its cargo area barely twenty feet long. Its massive engines shook its frame like an earthquake, the gasbag above hissing and creaking with the strain. The noise was deafening, and as the cabin was far too small to accommodate a substantive heater, the high-altitude air had its way. Frost formed on every surface; gusts of wind that made it into the cabin cut against flesh like knives.

None of that mattered. Twilight had conjured a bubble of silence and a powerful warming spell. Spike had wrapped a blanket around them both. They were snuggled together, safe and comfortable in their own little world, and they were reading. For once, it was Spike who’d suggested the subject matter. He’d bought a book of Saddle Arabian faerie tales, translated into modern Equestrian.

“Once upon a time,” Spike read, speaking slowly, “there was a small kingdom being menaced by its more powerful neighbor. The armies of the greater kingdom were said to be so vast they stretched from one side of the horizon to the other, and where they marched, rivers were drained dry by their thirst. All who they conquered they enslaved, and the king of the smaller kingdom feared for his ponies.

In his desperation, he called upon all the unicorn sages of his realm for a solution, and in their own desperation and in their loyalty to him, they drew from the tomes of forbidden lore that they had so long kept safe from the world. In the king’s throne room, they carved a circle of stone and filled the circle with oil and set it alight. Into the circle of flames they chanted to call upon one whose soul was fire, cruelest of spirits, the princess of all djinn, whose name turned the lungs of mortals who spoke it to ash.

One by one, the sages spoke her name, and each burned from the inside out, until the last sage fell, and the king was alone in his throne room. Long he waited there, until the sun set and fires died down and all was darkness. It was only then, in the faintest starlight, that he saw something dread and terrible take shape in the circle. He quavered with fear and could not speak, and though the sages had warned him he would face the djinn alone, he called for his servants.

The servants came when they were called, bearing torches to cast back the darkness. But when light returned to the room, the terrible shape was gone. Instead, a mare stood in the circle. She was of plain appearance and manner, and though surrounded by the king’s resplendent hall, she dressed herself only in the saddle cloth of an ironmonger, a single iron earring her only finery. And she waited for the king to speak.

‘Thou art the princess of all djinn?’ the king asked, and the mare said that it was so. ‘Why do you clothe yourself thus?’

‘For my soul is fire, O mortal king, and hast thou seen fire conjure steel from the ether? Nay. Though fire may turn iron to steel, the iron is consumed for the bargain, never to return. Such is my nature, and the nature of the wishes I may grant. Ask of me that a mare should love thee, and she will adore thee with devotion and loyalty, but closed is the path of the mare thou mightest otherwise have wed. Ask of me strength, and all the world shall be borne upon thy back, but hidden are the roads a weaker stallion might have walked.’

The king did not know what to make of this, and so spoke: ‘I wish for victory in the war.’

The princess of djinn bowed her head before him and said that it could be done. Yet before she called upon her powers, she spoke once more: ‘Art thou sure,’ she asked, ‘thou wouldst not rather have peace instead?’

The king said that he did not think such a thing was possible, for it was well known that his enemies’ cruelty was exceeded only by their greed.

‘It is for this fault that peace is possible,’ the djinn said, ‘for it is known that to enslave a city, one must have three ponies for every ten one seeks to enslave, and that three of the ponies taken will die in the process, and two more will be pegasi, and escape, and harass the countryside. Slavery devours silver like rust devours iron, and a greedy pony does not take at great cost what he may have cheaply. Pledge to thy betters two-hundred-thousand taels of silver a year for thy ponies’ freedom, and by my power, I foresee they will honor their word.’

The king’s temper rose. ‘Such a tax would impoverish the realm to the last serf!’

‘This is so,’ said the djinn, ‘but it can be done. And so peace can be thine.’

The king refused, and so the djinn said, ‘There are other roads by which thou mightest gain peace.’ And the king demanded to hear them.

‘Thou mightest bend thine knees, as thy magic hath compelled me to bend mine,’ the djinn said, ‘swear thy kingdom and thine armies to thy better’s cause, and marry thy daughter to their grandson, and I foresee they will rule thine ponies as honorable vassals, and protect them from predation.’

The king’s temper flared brighter, and a dark mood surrounded him. ‘Such surrender would see my ponies vassals of an empire. We would never again be free.’

‘This is so,’ said the djinn, ‘but it can be done. And so peace can be thine.’

‘I do not want peace,’ said the king. ‘I wish, as I have wished, for victory in the war.’

‘Then victory shall be thine,’ the djinn said. ‘Thy wish is granted.’

And so the djinn cursed the king, and his brothers, and his vassals, and every stallion in his realm, that if they were not victorious in the war, their sisters and their wives and their daughters would burn from the inside out, as the sages had burned. And every stallion in the realm knew they were so cursed, and knew what would befall them if victory was not theirs.

It is said in the wise writings of sages that when soldiers abandon their cookpots, slaughter their slaves, and burn the provisions they cannot carry for they know they shall never again need them, that an army is prepared to fight to the death. And when the invading army appeared on the horizon, the soldiers of the weaker kingdom did as such, and painted their faces with the blood of cowards.

Battle was joined, and each stallion fought like a pony possessed. No threat nor wound could deter them, and with each defender that fell, the invaders gained no more profit than a howl of rage that chilled the bones of the living. The attackers’ ranks faltered, and in time broke, and the battle turned. Those who had thought to conquer found themselves sheep set upon by starving wolves, and not one survived.

And yet, all was not done, for the stallions of the weaker kingdom were given to doubt. The army was destroyed, but could the foe not raise another? What was victory, with all that was precious on the line? And the madness did not abate, but grew into a foul beast of smoke and flame, more dread than any dragon, and upon the stronger kingdom marched the army. Each city in turn was struck, and in each, the entire population was put to slaughter, to the last filly and colt.

And thus in time it came to pass that the king stood in what was once the capital of his foe. The whole of the city burned, and the sky was naught but smoke and flame. Monsters that were once ponies shrieked and snarled around him, each a rabid dog straining at its chain. Up to his ankles ran rivers of blood.

‘Am I dead?’ he asked. ‘Is this the underworld?’ And the princess of all djinn appeared by his side, and told him that he yet lived.

‘No pony will ever forget your wickedness,’ he told her, tears streaming from his eyes as a young filly pulled from its mother. ‘I see your true heart, monster. Let a thousand years pass, and all of Saddle Arabia will tell tales of the evil of the djinn. Never again will you be summoned.’

‘Ponies may tell what tales they will,’ the djinn said, her voice mocking him with every word, ‘but thou knowest the truth, O mortal king. This was thy wish.’

Bile rose in the king’s throat. ‘I did not want this.’

But the princess of all djinn only sneered. ‘Nor do farmers want to till their fields, but we cannot eat their wants in lieu of grain. I have offered thee no deception, oh mortal king. Thou wast warned at the start there would be a price, for I cannot conjure steel, nor victory, nor peace from the ether. Thou stoodst before my altar, wrapped in my grace, and three times I sought to turn thee from this path. Freedom was thine for silver, for pride, for your ponies’ daughters, and three times thou refusedest me, and now the daughters of a great nation are all slain, and their brothers beside them.’

Rage rose in the king’s eyes. ‘Do not presume to tell me my own soul, monster.’

‘Then wish of me once again,’ said the djinn, ‘and by my power, I shall turn back the hands of time. Thou shalt be the starving king of an impoverished nation. Or perhaps a servant, watching thy daughter bear thy conquerors’ children. Or perhaps thy sages shall find nothing of me in their books, and we shall never meet, and thy kingdom will be enslaved, and thou wilt die in thy throne room, and all this will be undone. Wish of me, and it shall be so.’

The king looked at the fire and blood around him and said nothing.

‘Hear me, O mortal king, and know my words to be true. That while thou mayest have wanted to avert this, thou didst not want it enough. All is fire, and fire consumes, and to that hunger must one be sacrificed that another may be warmed. This is life, and the warmth that I put in the blood of the living, and the choices that make them alive. Thou hast made thy choice, and by thy choice, thou livest, with thy silver, and thy pride, and thy daughter. May they bring thee joy.’

The princess of all djinn then vanished, and the king did not see her again.”

The last page of the story had historical notes on the story’s origin, as well as an illustration depicting what a Saddle Arabian king from that era might have looked like. Spike fiddled with the page with a claw as Twilight finished reading the annotations.

“Wow,” Twilight said, drawing in a hissing breath through her teeth and letting it out as a sigh. “That was kinda dark. Aren’t there any happier stories in this book?”

“A few,” Spike shrugged. “I asked if we could read this specific story for a reason though.”

“Oh?” Twilight turned to look at him. “Is it important for some reason? Historically or something?”

“It doesn’t strike you as a little odd?” Spike asked. Twilight tilted an ear, and her head along with it. “Like, kind of remarkably, even precisely similar to the situation we’re in? Like maybe in a history repeats itself kind of way?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Come on, Twilight,” Spike sat up, waving a claw through the air. “Two countries are involved in an old conflict. A seemingly unremarkable craftspony selling metal and metal-based products shows up and offers them whatever they want in the world. And it seems like a great deal, but when they take it, everything spirals out of control, and what started as a small, manageable conflict blows up into something way worse.”

Twilight stared at him. Spike let out a sharp breath. “None of that strikes you as familiar?”

“So…” She paused. “In this metaphor, I’m like, what? The djinn trying to warn the king?”

“No, Twilight!” He lifted his claws to his face. “It’s not a metaphor. It’s literally happening again. The two warring countries are Aero-Lipizzia and Orlovia, or really, any of the countries we’ve visited. The brewing war is the brewing war. The curse is artillery, or dreadnoughts, or any of the other promises that the losers’ cities will be destroyed. And the djinn is The International Guild of Artificers, Tinkers, Mechanists, and Engineers, i.e. the iron-based organization that sells weapons to the highest bidder. I mean, come on. The djinn appears as an ironmonger, which I remind you is another way of saying ‘weapons dealer.’”

“Eeeeh.” Twilight tilted her head back and forth. “I guess. I think you’re kind of projecting, though. The story keeps things simple by just saying the king’s enemies are so big and so powerful and so evil that he’s backed into a corner. But in real life, things are more complicated than that. There are always third options which—”

“No, Twilight. No.” Spike quickly thumbed through the book to an earlier page. “You’re not getting it. Like, look at this story.” He pointed. “This is the story of King Al-Haifa. King of the Saddle Arabian golden age. Specifically it’s the story of how he defied a djinn’s wishes by refusing to renounce Celestia, and so she cursed him that his pride would turn to poison in his veins. And I ran into an artificer earlier who said that the Guild gave Saddle Arabia the chance to reject the old order, but they refused, and so their pride was going to turn to poison in their veins.”

“So he was quoting the story.”

“No, he wasn’t!” Spike’s voice rose, and the frustration in his tone rose with it. “This book has two hundred Saddle Arabian stories about the djinn, and they all have the same themes. Djinn love appearing as innocuous merchants, they hate alicorns and hurt them by hurting the ponies they love, and they like cursing people and inciting wars. Seems like a pretty good fit to me.”

“Spike.” Twilight gave a little laugh and stroked down his spines with her hoof. “You know that djinn aren’t real, right?”

He hesitated. His eyes glancing between Twilight and the page. “They might be real. Nopony thought Nightmare Moon was real before you.”

“That is true,” Twilight said, but she gently shook her head. “But this time, I’ve asked Celestia directly. All the Saddle Arabian fables she’s allegedly a main character in never happened, including all the ones about evil fire spirits.”

“But that doesn’t prove they don’t exist,” he insisted, lifting his hands into the air as though to grasp some unseen object in front of him. “It could just mean that Celestia never actually encountered any. If they’re not real, how do you explain all these stories about them?”

“Because they’re good reading, Spike.” She gently gestured at the half-open book of tales. “Djinn are fictional monsters used as a metaphor for evil so that the writer can show a character’s inner monologue on the outside. Sometimes they represent greed, or hate, or dark magic, but they’re just an allegory. King Al-Haifa did exist, but he wasn’t cursed by an evil spirit. He was poisoned by his son who wanted to seize the throne.”

After a moment’s thought, she reached out again and pulled him into a hug. “I know this has been hard on you. And I totally understand wishing that everything terrible happening in the world was being caused by an evil spirit, something the girls and I could get together and go turn to stone with the Elements of Harmony like the old days. But I promise, things will work out. Cadence is going to stay in the Water Palace, and once she turns them around—”

Spike pushed Twilight away, hard enough she had to let go. She frowned intensely, but he kept his hand up, holding her at arm’s length.

“Twilight,” he said, “Cadence is not going to turn the Empire around.”

“Oh, come on.” She smiled. “Did you read the Deputy Minister’s speech?”

“Yeah.” Spike nodded, his brow furrowed and his eyes intense. “Did you? Because when you strip out all the fluffy junk about eternal friendship and love and respect for Equestria’s wishes, do you know what he actually said? There were only two parts of actual policy in that speech: building twenty new dreadnaughts, and drafting half a million soldiers. He’s made up his mind, he’s just waiting for an excuse so he doesn’t look like the aggressor.”

“Cadence says she has a lot of influence with the ponies and the legislature. She thinks she could still turn it around.”

“Then Cadence is wrong, Twilight!” His voice rose to a shout, the sound reverberating inside their little bubble.

“You just… you get these notions in your head,” he shouted, gesturing wildly. “You always have! Curses don’t exist, you have to send in a friendship letter every week, the world’s ending next Tuesday morning, the train schedules are always accurate, all the world’s countries get along great, omens aren’t real, Cadence is going to turn this around, and djinn don’t exist! And you’re always so sure you're right, and you won’t let anypony talk you out of it. And…”

His voice grew more and more strained the longer he spoke, until what had started as a furious rant had reduced itself to a squeak. His voice wavered up and down and finally cracked as he struggled for breath. “What do you think’s going to happen, Twilight? We’ve only got two countries left. Kiria isn’t an aggressor, and the Guild owns half of Tawantinsuyu. What do you imagine you’re going to say in those countries that will somehow turn this around?”

Twilight let out a little breath, her ears folding back to the halfway point. She lifted a hoof to rest it over Spike’s hand, offering what comfort she could as he kept the two of them apart. “I’ll say whatever I can, Spike,” she said softly, “and I’ll hope for the best. And yeah, maybe… maybe it won’t work out.” Her own voice strained a little, and she sniffled. “But you know, it is just like in your story. The djinn warned the king, and I’m going to warn them. But if somepony is determined to be evil, you can’t force them to think the same way as you. You just—”

Spike ripped his hand out of her embrace. Twilight’s eyes went wide.

“No. No. No.” Smoke curled from his nose even as his eyes started to water. “That’s not what the story is about. Not at all. The point is that wanting something doesn’t mean anything if you aren’t prepared to make sacrifices to get it. So you know who you are? You know who you are in this story?”

His tone turned nasty, and his claws balled into fists. “You’re the king! Because something is getting sacrificed at the end of this story, and you’re the one who gets to pick what it is. You had the option to sacrifice your neutrality, the option to sacrifice your reputation, and the option to sacrifice your morals, and you said no to all three. So instead, we’re sacrificing a couple countries. Instead, we’re going to have a war, Twilight! And wanting it to end doesn’t mean a thing if you aren’t willing to actually stop it!”

“Woah, woah.” Twilight lifted a hoof as though to ward off a blow. “Spike, calm down. I know you’re upset, but when did any of that happen?”

“In Saddle Arabia, you refused to take sides with Celestia’s homeland over a country full of necromancers. I bet if I was Princess Silver Dove, I’d be a little worried about the prospect of fighting an alicorn. But you made it pretty clear you weren’t going to stand in her way!” His hands shot up, spreading out to either side. “Then, in Zaniskar, you had the option to guide the actions of a major country by playing along with them, but you turned that down too. Then, finally, you had the option to save Zaniskar and Saddle Arabia by fighting the most evil First Citizen to ever get elected, and you couldn’t even do that!”

Twilight’s face fell. Her tail sunk between her legs. “You said… uh. You said you thought I did the right thing by not fighting him.”

“I was lying to make you feel better! Of course you should have fought him. You should have snapped his neck like a twig!” Spike squeezed his eyes shut, and tears rolled down his face. He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, burying his face in his knees. “I love you, Twilight. I love you so much and I want you to be happy, but it’s all falling apart and I need you to understand that. You’re the only one who can fix it.”

Twilight reached out to Spike to hug him, her leg halfway around his shoulders. Then she paused, and retracted her hoof. Her ears folded tight against her skull, and she looked down to the deck. It took her a moment to find words.

“I’m sorry, Spike,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry for everything. I’m sorry I brought you on this trip. I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you. I can see how much strain you’re under. The stress of everything that’s happened. But I also know that what I’m hearing is just the stress talking. The Spike I know is a wonderful person who would never say that murder is the answer.”

“The ship we were going to take to Kiria was part of the merchant marine,” Spike said, sniffling as he forced the words out. “It got activated and wasn’t available for us. The next fastest ship would have slowed us down by two weeks. This was the only airship that could get us into Kiria ahead of schedule. And the only way to get it on such short notice was to spend sixteen thousand bits bribing a bunch of customs clerks to get it reassigned.”

“Spike! Where did you even get…” Twilight pulled her head back. “Bribing a public official is a crime, Spike!”

“Of course it’s a crime,” he sneered, looking off into the corner. “So is writing checks for Equestria without the government’s permission. So is paying off a driver to use their Guild car for personal use. So is pretending you’re somepony you’re not to get information on train schedules. So is a quartermaster using military cargo space to store his personal provisions, but I didn’t see you complaining when the navies we’ve been traveling with somehow always found what you needed.”

She stared at him, mouth agape, eyes wide. Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t speak.

“So here we are,” he snapped. “You got what you wished for. We’re making it around the world in eighty-one days. And now you’re going to shout, ‘But that’s not what I wanted,’ and I’m going to say just what I’m going to say. Just give the word! The pilot will turn us around, and we can go back to being weeks behind schedule. If that’s true, and this really isn’t what you want, give it back.”

“Spike…” Twilight’s eyes filled with water, her voice shaking in her throat. “What happened to you? Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t know.” He looked at the floor. The walls. The ceiling. Anywhere but Twilight. “I’m a dragon, remember? Creature of fire. And you said I was supposed to look around and see what really fit me. And I did. And maybe I have more in common with the bad guys in this story than I thought.”

Twilight let out a single breath. Squeezed her eyes shut. “That’s not true, Spike. And I know you’re hurting and I know that when ponies are hurting sometimes they need to lash out. And I know that’s just part of how these things go. But you’ll have time. And you can get over it. And heal and… and everything will be okay. Everything will be fine.”

She snuffled, rubbing at her eyes. “Here. Here. Let’s just…”

She tried to put the book away, but her horn flickered, and her concentration broke. The sound bubble vanished and the warmth with it, the roar of the engines and the lashing cold rushing in. Spike grabbed the blanket before it could blow away and pulled it tight around him and Twilight, a little puff of his fire breath keeping them warm.

Twilight told him he was a good little brother. She told him she loved him.

But she didn’t tell the pilot to turn around.

Day 60: Ferghana

“The Pillar of Harmonious Enlightenment.” That’s what they called Twilight.

In Kiria, where order and harmony were prized above all things, she gave speeches before vast and adoring crowds. In temples that taught that all life was sacred, and where the monks refused to so much as step upon ants, she spoke of the value of peace. In immaculate gardens that had stood unchanged for a thousand years, she took tea with royalty, drinking from teacups once reserved only for Celestia. To seekers of wisdom, who hoped to one day achieve such enlightenment as her, she spoke of friendship, and magic, and offered mentorship. She even let them touch her wings.

Spike was likewise welcomed, for the Kirian people had long been friends to the dragons. Dragons watched their ancient highways, took roost on their sacred mountains, and gave their most gifted drake to serve as the Emperor’s bodyguard. Dragons were guardians, they said, and so it was only right that this most enlightened of ponies should have a dragon as her protector. Surely, they said, he was the most faithful of servants and the most humble of warriors, and they asked him for tales of his travels.

Spike said nothing, and after a time, he found Twilight’s ear and asked if he could go see to their travel arrangements. She hesitated before answering, a grimace briefly touching her face. Spike had already stressed himself out so much with their travel plans, she said. She would see to it from this point on. She said he should take this time to relax, and see the city, and perhaps meet other dragons.

Spike considered that, and then nodded. He excused himself. He went back to their quarters and crawled into bed. He remained there for the rest of the day, staring at the walls.

Had he walked the city, he would have smelled the stagnant water pooling in the lowtowns. He would have bought noodles for a utility worker and listened to her complain about burst pipes and delayed spare parts. He would have visited the Guild house and witnessed Artificers sitting idle, and heard their complaints that the Kirian government hadn’t paid its bills in nearly four months. He would have seen rust on the train tracks and rot in the cross-ties.

But he didn’t walk the city.

Later that evening, when Twilight returned to their quarters, she was distressed to find Spike in such a state. She hugged him, told him she loved him, and expressed her fear for his well-being. She promised that the trip was almost over, and soon they’d be back in Equestria, and he could have all the time he needed to heal.

They were about a hundred miles into the countryside when their train derailed.

Day 71: KLE-O43

Twenty years ago, when Twilight was taking her first stumbling steps as a filly, Tawantinsuyu had cut a deal with the Guild. Tawantinsuyu had always been a notable country, with a rich mystic tradition and some of the world’s most powerful sites of natural magic. But it had also always been a very poor country, and the king wished that to change.

Knowing that wealth required railroads, steam engines, and electricity, but having no funds with which to purchase such items, he asked the Guild if a trade might be arranged. His country had a great deal of land it was not using, as well as natural resources the Guild could exploit.

At first, negotiations struggled. The Guild was a trade association for the advancement of its members, not a bulk resource supplier, and they had no interest in diversifying. The king offered lumber, mystic artifacts, rich fishing rivers, and mountains filled with silver, all of which were refused.

Finally though, with the assistance of a third party, an arrangement was made. The Guild’s associates at the Imperial United Fruit Company would cover the entire bill in cash. All they asked for in return was a legal monopoly on the export of a fairly minor commodity item. Apparently, they thought there might be some kind of profit to be made in the banana trade.

After Twilight and Spike’s train overturned, they had not been able to find another. The entire Katwasu rail line was down for critical repairs. The best they had been able to find was a rickshaw pulled by a pony made of steel. Writing on her left flank where her cutie mark should have been said that her name was KLE-O43, and that she charged one bit for every five miles. Her right flank had a slot for coins.

Spike put a bit in. “Tampuli City,” he said. Kleo started walking. Five miles later, she came to a stop, and he had to put in another bit. And so it continued. Kleo didn’t seem to like taking more than one bit a time.

Their train ride to Tampuli City was supposed to take two days. Factoring in Kelo’s slower maximum speed, the less efficient mountain roadways, the need to stop for food and water, and the requirement of one of them staying awake to put a bit in every five miles, Spike estimated that reaching the Tawantinsuyu capital by rickshaw would take roughly three weeks.

“We’ll find something better,” Twilight said, “when we cross the border.”

But they didn’t. The first settlement over the border had no airships and no steam cars, and its railroad line served only to carry cargo to the nearest port. It was a little banana farming town.

They were all little banana farming towns. Fields of banana trees stretched as far as the eye could see on either side of the road.

It didn’t take long to finish reading all of the books they’d brought with them. Neither of them felt like talking with the other. Days stretched into weeks. Weeks of dirt roads and banana fields and the steady clip-clop of Kleo’s iron hooves. Twilight grew sullen. Then she grew quiet.

To distract herself, Twilight wrote letters. She wrote them to Celestia and to her friends. She asked how things were in Ponyville. And other ponies wrote her letters too, and had them delivered to her via Celestia and via Spike. Not a day passed that Spike didn’t belch up a bundle of telegrams wishing Twilight well or inquiring about her trip.

It was 4 A.M. when the telegram came. 10 A.M. in Vineigha. It was Spike’s turn to stay awake to keep putting bits into Kleo. Twilight was curled up sleeping next to him when his stomach convulsed, and he belched up a neatly rolled telegram. He read it silently to himself, then shook Twilight until she woke, and then read it aloud to her.

“At 8 A.M. this morning local time,” Spike read aloud, “The Aero-Lipizzan Imperial Air Corps commenced a general offensive against all provinces currently aligned with the Black Hooves or otherwise in a state of rebellion against the crown. At 9:15 AM, Princess Silver Dove of Orlovia, speaking for her father, issued an ultimatum: twelve hours to withdraw, or a state of war will exist between their two nations.”

Twilight’s breath came quickly. She sharply sat up in the rickshaw, her ears coming to attention. “And?” she demanded.

Spike shook out the telegram in front of her. “That’s all it says, Twilight.”

She began sending letters again: to Celestia, to Luna, to Emperor Iron Cross, to Princess Silver Dove, and Empress Kifo, and every other leader she’d met. She pleaded. She threatened. She promised Equestria’s treasure and its magic and its friendship. And when those letters went unanswered, she wrote more.

It was noon when they came to their scheduled stop at a little village by the roadside. Spike suggested they stop here for the day, but Twilight refused, insisting they keep the best time possible. They asked after express trains that didn’t exist and bought food Twilight couldn’t keep down. By 12:30, they were on their way again.

When responses came, they were scattered and inconsistent. Many simply consisted of a single line, or a curt “message received.” Twilight’s language grew increasingly extreme, the promises and threats she made growing in turn. The clock ticked past one. Then two. Three rapidly approached.

“Spike,” Twilight said. “Take a letter to Princess Celestia.” His claw grasped his quill, lifting it to the page. “Tell her…”

Twilight hesitated. She squared her shoulders in the little rickshaw. She took a breath. “Tell her to threaten not to lower the sun. It’s the only way to turn things around.”

Spike froze. The quill didn’t move. “Twilight…” He said slowly. “I don’t think…”

“Millions of ponies are about to die!” In a flash, fury filled her eyes, her expression twisting into a snarl. In the tiny, confined rickshaw, her voice echoed off of the walls, every bellowed word assaulting Spike from all directions. “And zebra. And dragons. And diamond dogs. Millions of innocent creatures! Do you get that, Spike? Because lately it feels a lot like nopony, nopony except me understands that!”

“I get it, Twilight. I get it.” His voice fell soft. “But what you’re asking is--”

“Is what!?” she screamed. “A threat? I tried the diplomatic approach, and they weren’t interested. So fine, if they won’t listen to reason, then there’s no point in trying to reason with them, is there!?”

“Twilight,” Spike said softly. “Please remember what happened to Princess Luna. Please listen to yourself.” He swallowed. “You’re frightening me.”

The breath was swept from Twilight’s lungs. She pulled her head back. Her eyes were suddenly unfocused, sweeping over objects around her at random. She reached out to Spike as though to hug him, but pulled back her hoof at the last moment. She stared at the road. She opened her jaw, but only stammering emerged: “I… no. I… it’s not… we.”

Finally, she managed to croak out: “Spike, send the letter, please.”

Spike did.

A response from Celestia arrived almost immediately. He unfurled the scroll, and read it.

“My Dearest Twilight,” he said slowly. “I understand that what you are doing comes from a place of love. You love all the ponies of this world, as I love them, and it is unbearable to you to think of so many of them being hurt. And it is true, I could threaten to freeze half of the planet and incinerate the other half if they do not stop. But what would come of it if I did?

If they call my bluff, I will have accomplished nothing, save to shame Equestria in the face of the world. I would save no lives, and perhaps even harm many, for our only influence to shorten the conflict would have been destroyed.

And what would happen if they did not believe I was bluffing? What would happen if all the ponies of all the nations you visited believed I would burn their children if they disobeyed me? What kind of world would I have created?

War is an appalling thing, Twilight. There is much I would do and much I would sacrifice to stop what is to come. But there are lines I will not cross—not even for this.

I will not allow the rising sun to become a symbol of terror.

I’m sorry.”

Twilight said nothing. She turned to her side, and watched the banana plantations roll past. Kelo came to a stop, and neither of them put another bit in.

The telegrams started arriving by 3:16.

Orlovia declares war on Aero-Lipizzia.

Aero-Lipizzia declares war on Orlovia.

Saddle Arabia declares war on Orlovia. Zebraria declares war on Aero-Lipizzia, Griffonia, and Saddle Arabia. Griffonia declares war on Zebraria and Orlovia. Zansikar declares war on Aero-Lipizzia, Saddle Arabia, Griffonia, and Kiria. Kiria declares war on Zansikar.

The Water Palace declares war on Kiria, Saddle Arabia, Aero-Lipizzia, and Griffonia. Tawantinsuyu declares war on Griffonia, Aero-Lipizzia, Saddle Arabia, and Kiria. Zebraria declares war on Kiria. Aero-Lipizza declares war on Zebraria, Zansikar, the Water Palace, and Tawantinsuyu.

Griffonia declares war on Zansikar, the Water Palace, and Tawantinsuyu. Saddle Arabia declares war on Zebraria, Zansikar, and Tawantinsuyu. Kiria declares war on Orlovia, Zebraria, the Water Palace, and Tawantinsuyu.

The last telegram came at 3:25. It was one line long. “Equestria declares neutrality.”

That was when Twilight started to cry. Great heaving sobs wracked her body, tears streaming down her face. She cried and cried and couldn’t stop, and nothing Spike did could comfort her.

It was mid-afternoon on Day 71. They were seventeen days behind schedule, in the middle of a Tawantinsuyu banana plantation.

It was over.

Day 79: Tampuli

High in the mountains, above the banana plantations and the lush jungles, rose the city of Tampuli. Built tens of millennia ago by a long forgotten civilization, its stones were so perfectly formed that they clung together without mortar. Every window was host to a carefully polished crystal that acted as a mirror, that even the deepest of buildings were lit by sunlight and without need for candles. Its streets were wide and elegant, and every time it rained, natural channels swept them clean. Three of the seven greatest mystic sites in the world were within its walls.

For centuries, the llama had made their home in Tampuli without modification, content to live in the structures they’d found abandoned. That had changed in recent years, however. So long as their business partners retained the lucrative banana trade, the Guild showed its appreciation to the llama by lavishing their capital city with gifts.

They built theaters, a university, countless libraries, an express rail line to the coast, a new sewer system, and electrical lighting for the streets. They paid the finest scholars from around the world to come and lecture and paid the tuition of the children of influential leaders. They refurbished the great mystic sites and restored the ancient temples to their original condition.

Twilight didn’t want to see any of it. She went to her hotel room and didn’t come out. She told Spike to go see the city on his own. Which, in a sense, he did.

“A pleasure to meet you, Spike,” said Chapter Master Cobblestone, her servant pouring each of them a cup of hot chocolate. “To what do I owe the occasion?”

She was a little earth pony, slight of build and quiet of voice, her Guild pendant resting overtop the bundled scarf she wore to keep out the cold. By contrast, her office was huge, with a single massive window on one side overlooking the mountain slopes and an extensive book collection on the other. The desk in the middle was made of marble and polished smooth.

Spike waited for the servant to go, and only once they were alone did he answer: “I need to get one pony from the Feathered Serpent Hotel downtown to Canterlot Palace in the next thirty-six hours.”

Cobblestone snorted. “Well, that might be doable, with a fast ship and a time machine so you can catch it last month. I’ll provide the ship, you provide the time machine?”

“It was my impression,” Spike said, his voice tight, “that you were in the business of solving problems. Granting wishes, as it were. This is my wish. I want you to make it come true.”

“I’d help if I could.” Cobblestone shook her head, sitting back as she sipped her drink, “but what you’re asking is simply impossible. The fastest military courier in the world would need three days to make the trip.”

“But you research new cutting-edge airship designs,” Spike said, locking eyes with her. “I’m sure you have something that’s faster than the fastest courier currently out there. And you also have access to a ready supply of llama mystics. Stuff the ship full of them and have them accelerate the propellers or enchant the wind or bend time or whatever it takes.”

“An experimental craft? At least a dozen of the finest mystics in the world? Right after a declaration of war, when those things will be urgently needed by the army? Not to mention that technology and magic rarely combine well.” She let out a grunt. “Very difficult.”

“I have observed that, properly motivated, you excel at solving very difficult problems. Pretend the Equestrian treasury wrote you a blank check to solve this one. Then stop pretending.” The blank check hit the desk, shoved her way.

She stared at it for a long time.

“Why,” she asked, “do you care? I read about Princess Twilight’s wager in the papers, but I’d assumed that was all called off now. Current events kind of stole her thunder.”

“Why do you need to know? I’m paying you, aren’t I?” His tone hardened into borderline hostility, his eyes narrowing. “If a check doesn’t make the point, I can go to the bank and come back with a wagon full of cash.”

“That will not be necessary.” Cobblestone raised her hoof, her voice still gentle. “And normally, you would be quite correct. But in this particular case, I do actually need to know why you want it.”

“Winning the bet will make Twilight happy.”

Cobblestone shrugged. “Then what you want is simply impossible and I cannot help you for any amount of money.” She spread her hooves apart, bottom sides up.

“That’s not true,” Spike snapped.

“You lied first,” she replied, smooth as ever.

Spike hesitated. His eyes went down to the floor. His claws came together in his lap. His claw tips touched. “Because…”

He needed a long time to find the words. But find them he did. “In two days, Twilight is going to lose the bet. And I have no idea what I’m going to say to her when that happens.” He swallowed. “She’s already lost everything else.”

“Who cares?” Cobblestone asked, her eyes narrow and her tone probing. “It was a meaningless bet in the first place, and you said it yourself: winning it won’t make her happy.”

“It’s not about happy.” Spike drew in a shaky breath. “This trip meant so much to her. This was her proving she could be a real princess. This was her proving she could make the world better instead of just being Celestia’s shadow. And it all blew up in her face. And, yeah, sure, she doesn’t know what she’s doing. And we messed up a lot of things. And she has a lot to learn. But…”

He sniffled, his eyes heavy. “I’m so worried that we’re going to get back to Ponyville, and she’s going to crawl under her library and never come out. And she’ll never be a real Princess because she doesn’t think she can be. And the world won’t ever get better. She matters, and if she gives up on the world, that matters too. And…”

He swallowed. “I want her to win something. Anything. Just so she doesn’t give up.”

The Chapter Master nodded, pressing her hooves together. She thought about it for a long time, the seconds ticking past in silence. Finally, she pressed her hoof down against the blank check and returned it to Spike.

“What you are asking for,” she said, “cannot be purchased with money.”

“That’s not the same thing as it being impossible.” His voice was tight, but a firmness returned to his words. “Give me a blank contract, I’ll sign the bottom. You can fill in the terms and conditions later. Just as long as Twilight gets what she needs.”

Cobblestone did give him a blank page, and he did sign it. The paper burst into flames and vanished into a curl of smoke, not even ashes left behind.

“The Guild,” she said, “does maintain a private express service that should suffice for your needs. Bring Twilight and yourself to the Garden of Things to Come. A porter will help you find your way.”

Then she sipped her hot chocolate and summoned the servant to show him out.

Twilight didn’t understand why Spike wanted them to go so badly. She definitely didn’t understand why he was packing their bags. The Garden of Things to Come was certainly famous as a mystic site, but it was of no interest to either of them. It was just a garden planted next to a crack in the mountainside that constantly spewed steam and sulfuric fumes. The llama believed that inhaling the vapors allowed them to see the future, or the spirit world.

Equestrian scholars thought differently. Several of the substances in the fog cloud were powerful hallucinogens. No magic was required for it to make ponies see things.

The garden was surrounded by a high stone wall to keep the fog contained, leaving it accessible only by a single archway on the side of the city that faced the slope and the open air. Spike dragged Twilight every step of the journey there, begging, pleading, cajoling, and talking over her protests. Her temper shortened, but he managed to get her to the gate, where the fog cloud spilled out of the arch and off the side of the mountain.

There were no porters there. Just llama and tourists and seekers of wisdom, their eyes dilated and their minds elsewhere. Some laughed. Some cried. Some curled into balls and wouldn’t stop screaming. It was not far from the archway to the edge of the city, and a long drop awaited anypony who threw themselves over the rail.

Next to them stood Twilight and Spike, their suitcases all around them.

“See?” Twilight let out a sharp breath. “There you go. Bunch of tripped-out tourists. We came, we saw, got the postcard. I’m going back to the hotel. Let’s go.” She turned to leave.

Spike dropped the suitcases and ran inside.

“What? No! Spike!” Twilight shouted. “Spike it’s dangerous in there what the heck are you doing!?” Her horn came to life, but before she could focus on him, he vanished into the fog.

“Spike!” He could hear her calling. He could hear hoofbeats as she charged after him. Around him were flashes of a garden, revealed ever so briefly in the swirling mist. To his right was a bench and a row of flowers. To his left was a series of flowering trees, being tended by llama gardeners in gas masks. There was a wrought iron table where two llamas sat, laughing at something only they could see.

He plunged on ahead. It all vanished behind him. “Spike!” Twilight called again. He pushed over a garden box. Through a line of bushes. “Spike!”

“Holy horsefeathers, Spike!” a male voice called. Turning, Spike saw Wanderlust—the pony from the pegasus express who’d helped him so long ago in Griffonstone. He was sitting back against one of the tall shrubberies, half shrouded in mist, dressed in a beat-up brown jacket and cap. “Hey, Spike! Over here. Remember me?”

“Wanderlust?” Spike froze. “You’re the Guild’s private express?”

“Sorry, kid. I ain’t been in the express business for awhile.” He leaned out, looking far and off to his left, and said, “Private Dive! Get your butt over here!” As he shifted, Spike could see him more clearly. His jacket had a formal cut and many pockets, and there on his shoulder were three chevrons.

“You’re an officer,” Spike said, his tone suddenly dull.

“Yeah, I know, right?” He laughed. “They’ll give anybody pips these days. Really scraping the bottom of the barrel.” From the left, a young pegasus appeared. He was barely an adult, if that, dressed in a ragged and mud-caked uniform. Wanderlust gestured him over at Spike. “Look who I found.”

“Oh, wow. Good to see you again!” Power Dive reached a hoof out, and he and Spike shook. “I’m Power Dive. We met on the Friendship Express, remember? I was with my mother. You introduced us to the Princess?”

“No. No,” Spike said. “I swear, this won’t happen. I’m going to come back to Equestria, and then I’ll go to Griffonstone, and I’ll find you both before you can get drafted. You’ll never go to war. You’re Equestrians. You can come home.”

“Ah, come on, kid. You know us better than that. This is our home. Besides, if I wanted to play it safe, I’d never have left Equestria in the first place.” Both of them looked up suddenly, watching something Spike couldn’t see. “That’s the signal. Come on, let’s go. I’ll see you on the other side of the field.”

Each of them pulled out a weapon. Some variant on the steam-powered crossbow Spike had not seen before. “Bayonets on, featherbrains!” Wanderlust called. “On my signal, up and over the top!” Knives were affixed to the end of barrels. Spike could smell sulfur.

Wanderlust pulled out a cheap whistle on a chain around his neck and put it between his lips. Then he drew in a deep breath, and bellowed at the top of his lungs: “OUT OF THE TRENCH!”

Blowing his whistle as loud as he could, he scrambled up the shrubbery behind him and over the top. Power Dive followed him. All the others followed him.

Spike never saw them again.

“Spike!” Twilight’s voice echoed out of the fog. He turned back towards her and ran, calling out her name in turn. The garden around him began to twist and melt, dark things taking form in the fog. He heard shells scream overhead. He saw soldiers digging holes in which they would be buried. The air was thick with the smell of musty hay.

“Gas gas gas!” one of the gardeners screamed, sprinting past. His gas mask was useless. Mustard gas burns all permeable membranes, not just the lungs and eyes. Spike watched the gardener flail and scream, watched him fall and spasm on the ground as chemical scars and pus-filled blisters spread from his hooves, spread from his genitals, appeared under his tail and along his belly.

“Spike!” He crawled towards the source of Twilight’s voice, slugs whizzing through the air around him like buzzing insects. He passed the llama at the wrought-iron table, but it had become a nest of razor wire, their bodies slashed and their uniforms bloody where they had tried to crawl through.

He rolled into one of the garden boxes to try and get past the wire. The mud came up to his shoulders. It got everywhere. It carried everything. Rats were in the mud. Insects. Lice. Shrapnel. Poison from the air. Acid from the rain. Oil from the engines. His scales were rotting off. He screamed at the top of his lungs.

Then, purple light surrounded him, and he was pulled up out of the muck. The fog thinned, and Twilight appeared, beating her wings furiously to clear the air.

“Oh my gosh, Spike!” she hugged him tight to her chest. “Never, ever do that again! What the heck were you thinking!?”

“I…” He struggled for words. “I was…”

“Nevermind. You can tell me when we’re out of here.” She pulled him onto her back and spread her wings, taking one hard flap to carry them up and out of the fog.

Her head cracked hard on a metal ceiling. Then both tumbled back down to the ground, landing not on dirt or stone, but on a wooden floor. Lifting their heads, they found themselves in a train station, shrouded in fog, a train waiting on the platform ahead.

There was a porter there to help them up. A young pegasus. “Your Highness.” He helped Twilight to her hooves, then Spike in his turn. “The express to Canterlot is boarding. This way, please.”

The train left the station a few minutes later.

Day 80: The Spirit World

The train was an elegant thing, as much a work of art as a machine. It was made from the finest wood and polished brass, every component etched with beautiful depictions of the nations it visited. Gentle electrical lights filled the interior with a warm glow so diffuse it seemed to have no source. The engine purred, soft as a cat.

The world beyond the train was less pleasant to consider. Through the windows, Twilight and Spike could see a twisting nether world lacking direction or true form. Through swirls of purple and pink mist, they could see the vague outlines of islands floating in the air, broken and ancient cities, and things that had no name but filled them with an instinctive dread. When lightning flashed, they could briefly see the creatures that lived in that cloud. Things the size of whales with the sensibilities of wasps.

One of the serving staff had brought Twilight an ice pack for her head, though. So that was nice.

Twilight had demanded an explanation from the staff, and received nothing but polite deflections. Then she demanded an explanation from Spike, and received nothing but stammering incoherence and an insistence they were going back to Equestria. She considered demanding answers in a slightly more insistent tone, possibly with the addition of lasers to emphasize her point, but upon reflection decided she would be patient.

And soon enough, their host arrived.

“Terribly sorry to keep you waiting.” She was a slight thing—a little grey earth pony, nearly half a head shorter than Twilight. She would have been utterly unremarkable in a crowd, her drab coat and off-white mane drawing no attention. She wore a saddle cloth draped over her midsection in the Saddle Arabian style, but it bore no cutie mark. She had hers on her flank like an Equestrian pony: the Guild’s cog-and-bolt.

She slid it across from them at their little table in the dining car, folding her hooves in front of her. “Coffee? Tea? Have the servants helped you?”

“I’d prefer answers, if it’s all the same to you,” Twilight growled. “Where are we, and who the heck are you?”

“You’re in the spirit world,” she answered, her tone cordial and largely flat, “and I am the princess of all djinn.”

Spike looked down at his claws. Twilight froze, biting her lip as she processed that information. “Prove it,” she said.

“It is said, is it not, that my name is death to any mortal who speaks it? And dragons, while long lived, are mortal. So, Spike, if you could be a gentledrake and cover your ears for a moment?”

Spike hesitated, lifting his head halfway to her. “But it’s only death if I say it, right? I could still hear it.”

“I suppose you could,” she agreed, “if you desired to know a word that would consume you from the inside out if you ever once uttered it.”

After a moment’s thought, Spike covered his ears and hummed loudly to himself. Wrapped in that noise, he could only watch without sound as Twilight leaned across the table and the princess of all djinn whispered in her ear.

Twilight’s eyes went wide. Her ears shot up. The little hairs of her coat stood on end.

The name did not take long to utter, and when it was done, Twilight sat back in her chair. Spike uncovered his ears.

“Wow.” Twilight’s voice wheezed. “That, uh… okay. Hello, your Highness. I’m sorry for doubting you. Princess Celestia informed me you didn’t exist.”

“Did she say I didn’t exist, or did she say the stories Saddle Arabians tell about me were fictional?” She waggled a hoof in a playful little gesture. “Because you always need to watch the exact wording with that mare.”

“So I’m realizing.” Twilight took a deep breath and again looked around the train car, taking in all of its details as though for the first time. Finally, her eyes returned to the princess opposite her. “Did you cause the war?”

The princess of all djinn snorted. “No. It’s strange, but not many empresses consult me on their war policy.”

“Then why have you brought us here?”

“Spike asked me to assist you. It seemed like a reasonable request.”

“He asked you.” Twilight looked down at Spike, whose eyes remained somewhere around his feet. “Just like that.”

“More or less. He promised me anything that was his to give if you got back to Equestria in time to win your bet. And from his expression, I’d hazard he believes he sold his soul to me.” Spike looked up, and she gave a gentle shake of her head.

“What!?” Twilight whirled to stare at Spike. He offered no response. His eyes watered, and he pulled up his knees around himself.

The anger on Twilight’s face faded, replaced with shock and confusion. “Spike…” She said slowly. She reached out a hoof to touch his shoulder. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m sorry, Twilight.” Spike’s voice cracked. “I was supposed to be there for you, but everything went wrong, and I didn’t know how to fix it. And I wasn’t the person you needed me to be. And it all fell apart. You’re supposed to be the hero of the story—the mare who always saves the day. And it was awful just seeing you staring at the walls.” He choked up, squeezing the tears out of his eyes. “I didn’t want you to give up.”

“Spike…” Twilight’s eyes watered as well, and she pulled him into a tight hug. “You’re such an idiot.”

They hugged each other, and squeezed until their breath was gone, and for a little while, their tears ran down both their faces.

Eventually, as they began to pull apart, the princess of all djinn spoke. “He’s actually quite bright.” Her tone always stayed the same: never quite friendly, but ever cordial. “But there are a number of factors impairing his judgement. His love for you, his shame that he loves me, his need to prove himself, but also a rather severe case of shock.”

She pointed at Spike with a hoof, but turned her eyes back to Twilight. “I don’t think he ever fully explained to you, but at Akhal-Teke, he was present for the shooting at the train station. He was in the middle of a conversation with the officer in command when one of my Artificers blew her spine out through her back. It’s the sort of thing that could shake a pony up. Or a dragon.”

“Oh, Spike. Why didn’t you tell me?” Twilight hugged him again, but he had no answers; he just stared at the table.

“When you get home,” the princess of all djinn suggested, “you might have Luna help him with his recurring nightmares.”

Twilight lifted her eyes from Spike and turned them to the mare across the table, her face hardening into a glare as she protectively pulled Spike against her. “How do you know all this?”

“Well, he has been carrying around one of my pendants for the last seventy-something days. And he did put himself entirely inside my power.”

“You can’t have him!”

“I can, actually. But don’t worry.” She lifted a hoof and made a small waving gesture. “I don’t have much of a use for his soul. My request will be much more reasonable. We can discuss the details in a moment. But first--” she leaned across the table “--let’s talk about what I’m giving you. Because all Spike asked for was for you to get around the world by your little deadline, but I don’t think that’s what he actually wanted.”

Twilight hesitated a moment. She looked between Spike and this strange mare. “You can end the war?”

“Mmm.” She wagged her hoof, a note of reproach in the gesture. “That’s what you want. Not what he wants. And even you don’t want it bad enough. Spike was speaking for me, during your little chat on the airship. I offered you a chance to sacrifice your neutrality, your reputation, or your moral code. And you refused.”

“You have the power to end this and you’re refusing to use it because I won’t sink to your level.” Twilight’s voice sunk to a growl, her hoof rising to the table. “You’re killing millions.”

“I’m djinn, Twilight. My sole desire is to see others’ desires fulfilled. And so I grant wishes to those who are willing to sacrifice to see those wishes come true. And to help you?” She pointed. “Spike is willing. And his wish is that your trip not end in failure. That you know that as a Princess you are more than Celestia’s shadow and that you see the path forward to making the world a better place.”

“And this path you’ll show me—” Twilight’s voice remained low and distrustful “—I assume it entails further sacrifice?”

“All things do.” The princess of all djinn shrugged. “But sacrifices I hope you’ll find more palatable than the ones you’ve already refused.”

Twilight looked down at Spike. Though his eyes were still full of tears, he nodded, and Twilight turned back to the mare across the table. “Out with it, then.”

“You’ve visited every major power in the world,” the princess of all djinn said. “Save one. I’d be happy to stop by and make an introduction.”

“The changelings?” Twilight’s muzzle scrunched up. “Why would they help? Queen Chrysalis is a warmonger herself! She attacked Canterlot.”

“She’s a warmonger when war suits her interests.” The princess of all djinn lifted a hoof. “This war does not suit her interests. The conflict will generate powerful emotions to be sure, but changelings cannot live on grief and hate. And back at home, fear of wartime spies will have everypony on alert for infiltrators and put her drones at risk.”

Twilight hesitated. Her muzzle relaxed. “Maybe. But even if she did want to help, how could she?”

“Government officials can be persuaded to lobby for peace. And if they won’t see reason, they can be replaced by shapeshifters with more suitable attitudes. Chrysalis already pursues the second half of this strategy in isolation. Since the day the crown prince was killed, her infiltrators have fought for peace. But they were too few, and too late. She cannot prevail on her own.”

“So,” Twilight said, her voice hard. “You want me to team up with Chrysalis so she can have government officials who disagree with me kidnapped and replaced.”

“I was going to suggest you take advantage of the infiltrators she already has, but I’m sure you two can work something out that you find morally acceptable. Chat over tea and biscuits. I’ll bring some honey. Changelings love honey.”

“And you expect me to overlook the fact that she’s a selfish tyrant, and all the horrible things she did to my brother and Cadence, simply because she happens to want the same thing as me at this exact moment?”

“I expect nothing of you, Twilight.” The princess of all djinn sat back. “Wish it to be so, and I will drop you off in Ponyville and you’ll never face of any of these events again. Or perhaps you’d rather I return you to Celestia, so you can assist her with her strategy for rebuilding the post-war world in a more peaceful image. But if you want to help the ponies who are fighting and dying right now, this is the least objectionable option that is likely to produce results in time to save them.”

Spike rested his hand over her leg. She looked down at him. “It’s better than refusing to raise the sun, Twilight.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose. “You kind of scared me there.”

Twilight’s face tightened. She reached down to rub his scales with a hoof. “I know.” After a moment, she returned her eyes to the djinn. “And what happens to Spike?”

“The same thing whether you take my offer or not. He will be my servant. He will apprentice with my Guild and will remain there until such time as he earns the master’s pendant he borrowed. After that, he may stay or go as he likes.”

Twilight frowned. “Why go through all this trouble to ask for something you were probably going to get anyway?”

“Because I know you and Celestia and Luna and Cadance,” Spike said, speaking quietly. “And after the war, it’s likely one of you will try to disband the Guild. So having…”

The princess of all djinn lifted her hoof to her lips. Spike fell silent. “A servant does not discuss his master’s affairs with others,” she rebuked him ever so gently. “Not even his beloved former master. Or his beloved sister.”

“No way.” Twilight moved a little more of her body between the djinn and Spike. “I don’t care what deal you tricked him into making. He’s not well, and not in any state to be making those kinds of promises! I won’t let you—”

Spike took Twilight’s shoulder with his hand. He gently pushed her away, down into her own seat. He took her hoof in his claws and held it gently.

“Twilight,” he said, speaking slowly and deliberately. It took him a moment to find the words. “You know I’m not a pony, right?”

She started to reply, but he quickly lifted a claw to silence her, taking the time to find the words. “I mean, I’m not like you. All the things on this trip that hurt you so much: the intrigue and the scheming and the corruption and the greed. They never hurt me. They never even bothered me. In Equestria, everything is so simple. But out here? Out here is different.”

He gestured wildly in the air, turning his wrist to mimic the motion of wheels or gears. “Seeing how it all fits together. All these ponies with their conflicting desires and selfish interests that have somehow clicked into this… this functional thing. It’s like seeing a machine go together with all of its delicate little gears. And it’s a beautiful machine. The most beautiful machine. And…”

He glanced at the princess of all djinn. For a moment, Twilight followed his gaze. It took Spike a moment to speak. “And I fell in love.”

“Spike.” Twilight laughed a little, brushing his words aside like some childish fantasy. “You’re just rattled. You don’t really love…” He caught her eyes. She stared down into his. “You… uh…”

Twilight looked back at the djinn across the table. Then back to Spike. She bit her lip. “I, um…”

Spike went on. “Yeah. I know. I knew. I mean, I knew I was in love with something you thought was a monster. And I thought that made me a monster. And I saw it all falling apart, and the more I tried to help, the worse everything got. But now I guess…”

He squeezed her hoof tighter, squared his shoulders, and looked her in the eyes. “Twilight, I’m not a pony. Pony magic is based on friendship, and love, and kindness. Dragon magic is based on fire and strength. And that’s why Celestia gave me to you when I was an egg. Because without you to teach me right from wrong, I totally would have grown up to be a monster. And you did teach me that. And I want to keep doing the right thing.”

He licked his lips and forced himself on. “But let me teach you something, okay? You didn’t help anypony this trip. You didn’t save anyone or stop anything bad. And the reason you didn’t is because you made yourself powerless. And power is what the rest of the world respects. In Equestria, standing by your principles is always the right thing to do. But the rest of the world doesn’t work that way. Sometimes you have to bend to get the best outcome. And if you can’t ever bend? You’ll break.”

He let out a little breath, a sound that was almost a laugh. “And I saw what you breaking looks like, Twilight. I saw it when you were ready to tell Celestia not to lower the sun. You did go full Nightmare Twilight there for awhile, and I don’t ever want to see it again. So, please. I know I tried to help you so much this trip, and I messed it all up, but just let me help one more time?”

Twilight looked down at Spike. She bit her lip.

Silently, without a word, she wrapped him up in a hug and squeezed tight.

Day 81: Canterlot

Canterlot’s central rail station was a humble thing, particularly compared to the great capital it served. The ponies of Equestria treasured elegance over efficiency, so where other stations would have had ten sets of rails and cargo cranes, Canterlot Central had soundproof walls to muffle the whistle of trains, elegant platforms where ponies could wait, and cafes and overhangs for passengers’ comfort. It was a quiet little station, where trains arrived precisely according to schedule and there were rarely surprises.

Thus it was that the station manager, whose name was Cross Tie, stood on Platform 7, forcefully staring at his watch. According to the station schedule, the Tawantinsuyu Express was due to arrive at Platform 7 at 5PM sharp. That had caught his eye when he arrived in the morning, and he’d interrogated each of his subordinates about it in turn. But none of them could remember putting that train on the schedule, and in fact, so far as any of them knew, no such train existed.

But, it was on the schedule, and it was not the place of a station manager to change train schedules of his own authority, lest he cause a collision. And so the station manager stood on Platform 7, looking at his watch as the last seconds of 4:59PM ticked past.

At the exact turn of the hour, a whistle roared, steam rushed around him, and from the thin air itself, a train pulled into the station. Other stallions might have found this unsettling. Cross Tie found it both comforting and proper.

The door opened, and Twilight Sparkle emerged. “Your Highness,” he greeted her. “Good to see you return from your trip.” Following the Princess of Friendship was Spike, who he recalled was her valet. “Sir.” He nodded his head. Last off the train was Queen Chrysalis, shapeshifting mother of monsters, by whose dark will he and all of Canterlot had nearly been enslaved.

He stared at her for a long moment. She stared back. Then, she gestured at the train, where two overworked changeling drones were unloading a great many bags. The suitcases leaked ichor and changeling slime. “You. Serf pony. Find a porter for my things.”

He nodded, his faith in the unyielding order of the station once again justified. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“And we’ll need a carriage to Canterlot Palace. The fastest available,” Twilight said. “I need to see Princess Celestia immediately.”

“I’m sorry, your Highness,” Cross Tie bowed his head low. “But Princess Celestia is not in Canterlot at the moment. Her train departed for the Crystal Empire this morning. I presume she has gone to see Princess Cadence.”

Twilight considered that. “Then I’ll need a telegram sent. Exact words. Do you have something to write this down?” Rail Tie did, quickly pulling a pad from his pocket. “Message Begins: Dear Princess Celestia.”

Twilight paused. She cleared her throat. “I win. Your faithful student, Twilight Sparkle. Message Sent, Day 81, Canterlot.”

The End

And so, Twilight completed her race around the world, having lost a servant but won the wager, and perhaps gained wisdom for the bargain. She came to an understanding with Queen Chrysalis, and though Celestia did not approve, Twilight came to an understanding with her as well. She was a princess in her own right, and she would do what she saw fit.

Twilight and Spike returned to Ponyville, and there spent much time with their friends. Twilight had many things of which to unburden herself, but her friends were always there for her, and in time her pain was soothed. Spike’s troubles were harder to express, but with Luna’s help, his nightmares stopped, and when he shut his eyes, he no longer heard the hiss of steam and the clang of ejecting rounds.

Drop by drop, harmony flowed back into their lives. The news from abroad was terrible, but not all ponies read the foreign papers, and it was easy to pretend none of it existed. Twilight and Spike both kept informed and active in such affairs, but when they needed to, there were days they could walk into Ponyville and leave all of it behind.

Eventually, after his application was processed and he completed his entrance exams, the day came for Spike to be apprenticed as an Artificer in the Canterlot Guild house. He’d asked to take the trip alone and for no fanfare to be given, and the others respected his wishes. And so it was that he came to see Twilight in her study one last time.

He was getting taller, she noticed. Soon he’d be a drake in his own right. His little traveling bag was tossed over his shoulder. Around his throat was the black band of a Guild apprentice, to which a pendant would one day be attached. They hugged, and she told him she loved him. He talked about his schedule and when he’d be free, and she promised to visit him soon.

He was just turning to go to the train station when his eyes flicked over to her desk, and the numerous charts and papers there. “What are you working on?”

“The new solar calendar!” she replied brightly. “The one without leap years.”

“You’re actually making Celestia do that? I thought it was just a friendly bet.”

“No way, Spike. Leap years are awful. The world will be better off without them. Just think of all the damage they’ve done!”

Spike let out a little snort. His claws rested over the strap of his bag. “How do you figure?”

“If it weren’t for leap years,” Twilight explained, “we’d have left a day earlier. That meant we’d have left Griffonstone the day before the Black Hooves tore up the tracks instead of the day after. That meant we’d have arrived in Vineigha on time without you having to go through the Pegasus Express. That means Prince Chain Link and I would have had our schedule moved up a day, so he’d have missed the tour of the countryside we were tagging along for. No assassination, no orlov rebellion, no spark for the conflict. No war tearing the planet apart.”

Twilight glanced at her charts. “Really,” she said, “when you think about it, leap years destroyed the world.”

Spike let out half a laugh. He struggled for words.

Finally, he managed a weak smile. “Yes, Twilight,” he said. “Never change.”