The steady drip of water was an annoyance that Dim ignored, because he had far too much on his mind and such trivial distractions were beneath him. One had to be careful with what one heard, for ideas were much like a whore’s pox—once encountered, they tended to linger. Ideas were—potentially—the most dangerous things in existence, and Dim wondered if this particular spider queen was sealed away to keep her ideas away from the world at large.

His own intellect, his own intelligence, why, he was outclassed in every meaningful way, dwarfed by this sealed-away entity. For all he knew, he had learned something detrimental to his own well-being, something that might lead to his own purging. It was, indeed, a paranoid thought, but Dim knew that everyone was out to get him. It was dangerous conversing with such entities, for the knowledge they shared tended to make most mortals mad.

Dim had only been disturbed and was now left wondering about the truthiness of everything said. Things could feel true, or have the illusion of truth, but still be a lie. The opposite was also true; things could feel like a lie, or have the aspect of dishonesty, but hold within them an unwanted, or otherwise painful truth. Truth or lie, those words were now stuck in Dim’s head, very much like a seed stuck between one’s teeth, the sort of annoyance that could not, and would not be budged no matter how much one fiddled about with one’s tongue.

He was quite wary about the spider’s claim that the vault would only open for ‘royal blood.’ It was a suspicious claim to make and he wondered if, perhaps, she was stroking the shaft of his ego. Yet, there was a certain amount of sense to this. What if, acting as a contingency, he was a unicorn in need of some great power to defeat an alicorn? Might some unknown hand of fate guide him to a vault filled with baubles and trinkets of immense power to aid him? Being able to open the door would be a necessity in such a circumstance.

But still, doubt remained.

Even if the spider was just stroking the shaft of his ego, there seemed to be a portion of truth to her words. Angling his head, Dim had himself a good look at the vault door, which was made of some unknown orange metal, the likes of which he had never seen. It was flawless, unmarred, fully embedded in the stone wall. As for the wall itself, much of it had been chiseled away from around the door, revealing more of the mysterious orange metal beneath. Dim suspected that the vault itself was a room made from the strange metal, and that the stone had been shaped around it.

In the center of the perfectly round door there was a hole meant for horn-insertion.

Casting a furtive glance about, Dim couldn’t help himself, he had to check and see if he was alone, and he was, save for a great many spiders. Hundreds of little eyes watched him, waiting, and he saw far too many legs waving at him in unnerving, friendly ways. For most, the sight would be unsettling, perhaps even terrifying, but for Dim, well, Dim being Dim, he was only mildly put off by spiders waving at him. Being the polite sort, Dim would be kind to them and make sure that he didn’t step on any of them, because that would be quite rude, seeing as how he was here as a guest.

He was mostly certain that sticking his horn into the lock wouldn’t release the spider queen.

Angling his head, he pointed the tip of his horn at the opening and for some reason, had distracting thoughts about coitus. It too, required lining everything up just so and a good thrust for insertion. But this felt riskier and far more dangerous. Perhaps the door was a trap and would suck the life out of him. Maybe it really would release the spider queen, and he’d end up as just so much meat-webbing.

Taking a deep breath, Dim inserted his horn…

The door swung open and as Dim stepped aside, he was blasted with stale, dead air. Inside the vault, there was light, but try as he might, squinting the whole time, he could not discern a source for said light. It just… existed. There was magic here, but not the magic Dim expected. Sighing, Dim looked around, his weary legs wobbling with exhaustion. He had reached the ends of his endurance long, long ago, and now only stood due to sheer willpower.

Too weary for giddy anticipation, Dim entered and immediately stopped. Just to the left of the door was an overstuffed chair, dusty, but not rotted away. Beside the chair was a wooden table, rather plain, with a few items on top. A pair of forgotten spectacles could be seen, their lenses dusty, and there was no hint of magic about them. There was an ornamental box that Dim suspected held tobacco or something to smoke, and this, this had a curious enchantment. On top of the small wooden box was a pipe, and this was the source of the strongest magic in the vault.

Who enchanted a smoking pipe?

A really smart vizard, that’s who.

With their owner long gone, Dim took the box and the pipe, which he felt were a set of some kind. He would scry their enchantments later, when he had time. Beneath the chair was a rug, but it was so covered in dust that Dim could not see the pattern, or if it even had one. Turning his head, Dim now focused upon the other items to be found in this vault, uncertain of what he might find.

In the back of the vault there was a stone table, the likes of which Dim had never seen. It was an alchemist’s bench, complete with gutters, collection drains, and everything an alchemist needed for their craft. It was with great sorrow that he realised that the alchemist’s bench could not come with him. Sitting on the stone table was a small wooden chest, which Dim opened.

Inside the wooden chest, Dim saw brass and he was puzzled for a time until he realised what it was. Several brass plates, all held together with a single brass ring in the corner. This… was a spellbook, and not just any spellbook, but a centaur spellbook. Dim only knew of this because of his extensive reading, and the knowledge that centaurs liked items of great permanence. Paper rotted, but brass endured. This was a priceless artifact, a rare treasure indeed. Not just for the magic it no doubt contained, but the very fact it existed. How many of these had been lost to history? Melted down for their brass? How much had been forever lost, never to be known?

Hesitating, Dim engaged his brain in a bit of internal dialogue. Why was this locked away? Why go through such trouble to secure it in such an impressive vault? If it were dangerous, why not just melt it down? What was the purpose of its preservation? Perhaps it was meant to be found, to be recovered, to be studied in the future… by those with ‘royal’ blood. But why? Dim counted fourteen plates, each as big as a slice of bread. Teeny, tiny letters could be seen, but this wasn’t Unicornian text, no. On the ring itself, he saw bold, blocky letters, which said, ‘De Anima.’ Something about that seemed a bit off somehow, as if it were not part of a complete title or sentence. Perhaps it was some ancient in-joke between centaurs.

Oh, this was a treasure indeed, and unable to hide his greed, Dim took the brass plates.

After securing them in his saddlebags, he had another good look around, but there was nothing left to take. This Moochick fellow had maybe done a bit of light reading from the looks of things, had himself a smoke, and departed. He cast a final glance at the eyeglasses sitting on the table, and thought about how annoying it would be to forget them in some vault somewhere. Heaving a sigh, Dim took the spectacles as well, not to keep them, but to return them to their owner, should their paths ever cross.

But he was keeping the pipe.

The makeshift laboratory still had bits of Uncle Dreadful dust in the air, dancing about as macabre motes in the pallid light. Dim had returned, as he had promised, and the dragons seemed to be somewhat surprised to see him. How to spring the dragons from their prison was a puzzle to be solved, and Dim was already wracking his brain for answers.

If he were a stronger unicorn with better magic, he might be able to overcome the attunement of this iron. Frustrated about this, he peered up at the lamp above with a scowl. Like his mother’s spirit projector, this was a device made with souls. Where the projector had unbelievable complexity, this was crude, something cobbled together with a rudimentary knowledge of forbidden magic. Simple as it was though, it was effective.

Housed within an attuned iron housing as it was, Dim doubted that he could harm the device, at least, not with magic. After a few moments of intense scrutiny, Dim came to the conclusion that the lamp was zebra magic of some kind, crude but effective zebra magic. This, into and unto itself, was revealing; Duc Truffe had zebras working for him, zebras who were less than good. Of course the pony who stirred up xenophobia in others had zebras working for him, because hypocrisy was a stepping stone to evil—one of the first steps, in fact.

With hypocrisy on his mind, Dim rummaged around in his saddlebags until he found the small derringer he kept. Holding it aloft in his magic, he took careful aim at the lamp, and then offered a warning to the two dragons in the cage: “There might be an explosion. Try to cover anything vulnerable. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

Eyes wide, fearful, Prominence nodded and pulled Thod as close as dragonly possible. Both of them closed their eyes and then buried their heads beneath their bodies. Dim raised a shield, and then, for good measure, he began casting a few protective wards upon himself. The brass derringer had a boar’s head, and within the boar’s mouth the two barrels could be seen. The gun didn’t look like much, but Dim had made the ammunition for it himself.

In each shell, there was a relatively harmless reagent that was mostly nonvolatile. But when fired together, the two loads would combine to form something incredibly caustic. It did a number on living tissue—something indescribably unpleasant—and Dim reasoned that it should dissolve the lamp. Or maybe just damage it. If the attuned iron housing was damaged, then perhaps he could deal with the lamp.

It was his only foreseeable option, at the moment.

There was a muffled bang from the derringer, a soft sound that was more like a dropped book than a thunderclap. The two projectiles connected, dribbled out a tiny portion of ooze, and an acrid smell filled the laboratory. Smoke began to rise from the ironclad lamp and an fearsome crackle could be heard. The witchfire glow from the lamp flickered, went a bit dark, and then there was a hiss as fine spiderwebs of cracks appeared in the crystal housed within.

Dim waited and waited, anxious for something to happen, anything. The hissing became a fizzle, like somepony opening up a soda bottle, and then there was popping, like ice shattering. In a burst of disappointment, the green glow died and the lamp’s magic was no more. Though annoyed with the anticlimactic outcome, Dim was pleased that the dragons were unharmed and that he hadn’t been blown to smithereens once more, because recovering from that was such a chore.

The iron ceased its peculiar hum and went silent.

Blinking, the two lethargic dragons reacted, and underwent a most curious transformation: colour returned to them, their dull scales taking on a faint shine once more. Thod reached out and with one claw, he sliced through the iron cage, then again, cutting off a section of iron, which he ate. Prominence did the same. It started with little nibbles, but soon became a feeding frenzy. Iron shavings, like crumbs, went everywhere.

Feeling rather good about himself, Dim sat down upon the floor and watched as the dragons had their first meal in who knows how long. He secreted the derringer away in his saddlebags, pulled out a flask of water, had a drink, returned the flask, and then decided to have a smoke. The sound of dragon teeth scraping against iron set Dim’s own teeth on edge, but that was a small price to pay.

Author's Notes:

And now, we return to Fancy, to finish up some loose ends.