From deep within Sundance's nose, there came a ticking. It was one of life's great mysteries, the ticking that could sometimes be heard within one's own nostrils. Sometimes, it drove him to distraction, because it happened at the worst possible moments, such as when he took a test. Currently, it was a minor annoyance that kept him from breakfast. Tick. Tick. Pop. Tick. When the pop happened, the slight variation of the sound, his right ear jerked. It was almost as if he happened to be a fizzy bottle of soda pop.

The worst time that it could happen was when he was in bed, and it kept him awake.

So annoyed was he by his infernal nose-ticking, and not wholly awake, that Sundance found himself dangerously close to a horsey moment. Only he lacked awareness of said horsey moment, and therefore did nothing to gird his loins against it. Some ponies reveled in their horsey moments, while others lived in fear of them. It crept up on Sundance like a primary school fart, a dangerous, wily enemy known to strike without warning. Before he knew what was going on, his lips peeled back from his teeth, his ears pinned back against his head, his nostrils flared extra-wide while his sides convulsed, and a great wickering, bellowing whinny savagely-ravaged his body.

It was a thunderous sound in the dining hall, a most curious noise, because of the social contagion that it inflicted. Though perhaps, a more reserved sort might call it a social phenomenon. Like a yawn released in a library, or a classroom, the horsey moment tore through the gathered equines, seized them, hijacked their brains, and within seconds, they too had a horsey moment. An explosion of barnyard cacophony rocked the dining hall, with whinnies, and wickers, and expressive, eloquent equine bellows. Like Sundance, lips were peeled back from teeth—or in some instances, toothless gums—ears fell back, and throats were made long and resonant. In the midst of it all, there was a frightful mooing, the sort of moo that was said to foretell the end of all things and to signal the coming of the majestic moo-siah.

At the end of it all, little Tarantula and Flax went, "EEE-AWWW!" together as one.

Having just witnessed the horsey moment, Corduroy said nothing, but shook her head. She did not woof, or bay, or bark, or give into base instinct. All she did was roll her eyes while she ate her oatmeal. As for Sundance, it took a moment for him to recover, and when he did he could not help but notice that all eyes were on him. He was to blame. His moment of careless horsitude caused the collective horsey moment. Just one little slip in a half-awake state and they'd all turned back into dumb beasts for a time.

"Well"—Earwig's eyebrow arched in annoyance—"that's one way to start the morning."

"Is there anything else the Milord would like to inflict upon us?" asked Good Spirits, who rubbed the corner of his jaw.

"Mama…"

Hollyhock asked her son, "What is it, Lemongrass?"

"What are you eating under there?" the kind colt asked of his mother.

"Under where?" she replied, oblivious to her son's treachery.

All of the foals and little ones giggled, while some covered their mouths to silence themselves.

"Oh!" gasped Hollyhock after she realised that she'd been had by her son of all ponies. "You dirty little scoundrel! How could you?"

When the colt was snatched up, he howled in alarm, and Sundance watched as Lemongrass was aggressively hugged. It made him think of his own mother, who he missed. When the colt's eyes bulged from their sockets, Sundance allowed a wistful sigh to escape. For all of her faults—of which there were many—Hollyhock was a good mother. She had come into her own and every day, she seemed to be a better pony. Sundance realised that she had changed, more so since their shouting match. Being surrounded by young ones that needed her care had brought out the very best in her. She was the mother figure that would hopefully restore their faith in the world. At least, that was Sundance's fondest wish.

Leaning over towards Sundance, Corduroy said to him, "I am surprised that you haven't left yet."

To which he replied, "I've learned that these pickups take a lot of time. It's not a matter of pick up and go. I don't think I'll be home by evening. I should be back by tomorrow though… which means I'll be behind on stuff yet again and have to catch up."

"That missive from Mrs. Velvet was highly detailed."

These words gave Sundance pause and he took some time to consider them. Fly to Beantown, just south of Fillydelphia. Find Peaceful Pastures Asylum. Gain custody of a pegasus filly by the name of Sparrowhawk. Achieve custody at all costs, by any means necessary. That last part—double underlined—worried him, though Sundance could not say why. There was an included writ stating that Sparrowhawk was now his property—which troubled Sundance a great deal, but he was more concerned by the fact that Mrs. Velvet felt that such a writ was necessary. There was something about this that she hadn't told him about, and whatever that was, it bothered him a great deal. The fact that the instructions were so detailed, so specific, and yet so vague unnerved him.

"Sundance… be careful. I have a bad feeling about this."

He turned to look at Corduroy. Yes, she was worried, and he could see it on her face.

"This feels dangerous somehow. Menacing. Something about it—"

"I'm just retrieving a foal, Corduroy. From a hospital. Not sure how that can be dangerous."

"Don't dismiss my feelings."

"Oh, I'm not. At least, I didn't mean to if I did. I'll admit that this seems a bit weird, but dangerous?"

"Just be careful, alright?" Reaching out her paw, she rested it upon Sundance's foreleg. "If there's trouble, you get out of there. If you can. Asylums are, by their very nature, difficult to escape from."

Something about these words chilled him, and Sundance suffered an involuntary shudder. Looking into her eyes, he saw that Corduroy really was afraid. Surely, Twilight Velvet wouldn't send him into something overtly dangerous. That would put her own plans, and her daughter's plans at risk. Yet, Sundance could not deny that something seemed a bit off about this, like a swollen carton of milk left for just a little too long, forgotten in the back of the fridge.

Drinking chunky milk had consequences, as he'd once discovered the hard way.

Beantown was a city made of bricks. The narrow, twisting, claustrophobic streets? All bricks. All of the townhouses that crowded the skinny lanes and ribbon-thin streets, all brick. And they came in odd shapes, too. Because the streets were maze-like warrens with twists and turns and odd corners, the townhouses and rowhouses had some peculiar shapes. Some were triangular, others were trapezoidal, some were rectangular, and a few were shapes that Sundance could not name. The only thing they had in common? They were all built from bricks.

There were canals here as well, but narrower ones meant more for transportation of those who lived here, at least that was the impression that Sundance had. These were spaced out and almost formed a grid, albeit a crazy grid with warped angles and crooked bends. Nothing here was particularly tall and because there were no dense concentrations, urban sprawl stretched from horizon to horizon. It was entirely different from Baltimare, and from anything else that Sundance had seen. Below him was a maze made of bricks. Residential and commercial sections overlapped, with shops on street level and apartments up on top. Most buildings were only five or six stories tall, with ten stories being just about the tallest buildings that stood out in the whole mess.

And it was a mess.

A beautiful, chaotic mess.

Like Baltimare, it was dirty. Gritty. Grimy. Some of the boats that jostled their way through the canals were steam powered, and burned coal. Sundance spotted steam powered trolleys on some streets, and these belched out clouds of soot and ash as they trundled up and down the narrow confines of the urban canyons. Yet, for all of the filth, there was something charming about Beantown. Like Ponyville, with its provincial thatched roof cottages and whitewashed houses, Beantown was a city frozen in time. It was exactly the sort of mess that Sundance imagined when he learned about early industrialisation in school.

Only other cities grew, changed, and adapted. They tore down old districts to build new structures with gleaming steel, glass, and concrete. Skyscrapers replaced short, squat brick buildings—but not in Beantown. This place was a time capsule of sorts, a bit of history that was lived in. A museum with living exhibits. It was also a warning, and was exactly what Sundance didn't want for his own barony. As charming as it was, it was also horrendous.

In the skies, he was alone for the most part. Very few pegasus ponies flew up here. From what little he could see, most of Beantown's residents were earth ponies. He flew over a brick factory, which was rather shaped like a squared-off kidney bean. It wasn't a huge structure—not at all like the immense factories of Jersey City—but was rather smallish for what it was. Surrounding it on all sides were townhouses and rowhouses, all of which were conveniently crowded around a workplace. Not too far away was a molasses distillery, which smelled absolutely horrendous.

Try as he might, Sundance could not spot a suitable place to land.

To the north was Fillydelphia and to the south, a great distance away, Baltimare. Off to the east was the ocean, all crowded with ships and boats, and to the west, as far as the eye could see, was endless brick. Gulls and terns mocked Sundance as they circled overhead. A massive airship slowly descended and prepared to dock in port. Now on the ground, Sundance watched as the immense ship settled earthward in a reserved, majestic manner. Even with the winds coming off the ocean, the airship was somehow as steady as a rock.

The port airstrip was rather busy with military traffic, and Sundance dared not linger, lest he be in the way. Pegasus ponies in golden armor flew short flights off of seaships, moving goods back and forth in sky trucks very much like his own. As for the port itself, what a busy place it was! Castles constructed from crates were everywhere. There was an open-air market in the south-eastern corner, with stalls, wagons, carts, and all manner of customers. Perhaps most interesting of all, there were dragons here, and minotaurs, and diamond dogs, and even Abyssinians. Though it was rude of him to do so, Sundance could not help but stare.

It relieved him to see such diversity.

For whatever reason, it was important to him now, though why exactly, he could not say.

The air stank of briny ocean, fragrant tea, and baked beans. A cafe patio—constructed of brick of course—was crowded with soldiers in golden armor, salary workers, teamsters, and other creatures thirsty for a cup of tea or a bite to eat. The menu had exactly two items: a piping-hot cup of tea, or a hot bowl of beans. The soldiers sat in their own section, all grouped together, as did the salary workers, who spoke amongst themselves of bottom lines, company policy, and taxes. Stimulating conversation, to be sure. Sundance was just close enough to them to listen in on what they had to say.

Of course, the ponies of Beantown ate beans, and plenty of them. More beans were tinned here than anywhere else in Equestria, and the tinneries ran all hours of the day. The military's bean rations came from this place, and hungry soldiers needed plenty of protein to take the fight to Grogar. Beans were big business; Big Bean lived here, this was its home turf. Bold beans. Baked beans. Beans of a twice-fried nature. Chili beans. Bean salad. Bean-loaf sandwiches. Beans beans beans.

Here, in this place, the wind existed in a broken state.

"Hiyas, cutie. Care for some lunch?"

The waitress spoke with a thick accent, with her kuh sounds followed up with a wuh sound. "Hiyas, cwutie. Cware for some lunch?" Sundance was immediately annoyed and entranced by it. There was no deliberation, no hard decisions, no paralysis brought on by too many choices. Options for his early lunch were limited, and in a strange way, he was thankful for this. It eased the mind and made life easier.

"A bowl of beans and a cup of tea, please."

"Cold beans, or hot?" the heavily-accented waitress asked.

There was a choice to be made, but not an onerous one, and Sundance replied, "Cold."

"Good choice," the waitress said to him. "It'll be right out."

"Thank you," he replied, grateful for a bit of simplicity in what was sure to be a complicated day. "Say… if you don't mind me asking—"

"For a date?" Her eyes brightened. "Sure thing, sugar."

It came out as 'swure thing, swugar' much to Sundance's consternation.

What came out of Sundance was a hesitant sputter: "A-a date?"

"We could skip the date and get right to marriage, if you'd like. There's a civil service chapel just down the road."

"Mm-mm-mmarriage?" After a quick swallow, Sundance got control of himself. "But we just met. I don't even know your name."

"My name," she said, smiling at Sundance while batting her eyelashes, "is Navy Bean Pie. As for marriage, a gal has to be bold if she wants it to happen. This is Beantown, sugar. On average, there is exactly one stallion for every twenty-seven mares. My biological clock is a ticking time bomb, sugar. So how about you and I go for a little walk down the lane, and get to know each other?"

"I'll just have the beans and a cup of tea," he said, somewhat ruffled.

"Suit yourself, sugar." Her wink was saucier than the baked beans being served.

"I was going to ask if you knew where the Peaceful Pastures Asylum is located."

"That place?" Navy Bean's face contorted into something that was almost fearful. "That creepy old place? I heard that they pull out bits of your brain through your ear there. Why do you want to find that place?"

"I have to pick something up." His reply, while honest, revealed nothing.

"You'll be lucky to get back out of there again," she said with a shake of her head. "I heard they snatch up the homeless for experiments and scramble their brains like eggs."

At this moment, Sundance could not help but be reminded of Corduroy's words.

"If you need directions, I can give them to you, sugar. But really, you should stay away. Some ponies say that Peaceful Pastures is the reason why so few males are born here. And others say that there's creepy alien stuff that goes on there. If you go there, you better be careful, sugar. Your face is handsome enough for a gal to like, and there's a real shortage of that around here."

"Um, thank you?"

The waitress smiled. It was a real smile, warm, sincere, and meaningful. It was the sort of smile that for the briefest of moments, caused Sundance to reconsider his decision. Perhaps a short walk down the lane wouldn't be so bad. She didn't know him, and he didn't know her—but there was some advantage to this. His title as a baron was unknown to her, and so would be a pleasant surprise. Her earth pony body was practically lithoid in nature, with hard-angled muscles and inviting solidity. Unable to stop himself, Sundance wondered what might be.

"You'll want to find Canal One-hundred and One, sugar," she said to him as he suffered his moment of distraction. "It is west and south of here. Once you find it, follow it for several miles. Not sure how far. It's a long ways, sugar. Just stick with the canal and you can't get lost. It dumps out into the moat that surrounds the asylum. That place looks like something out of a horror movie. The windows are covered with bars. It's huge… like, really, really huge. A complex, I guess. A whole bunch of buildings and there's an alchemical factory there. That's no rumour, that part. I heard that they test new drugs on the patients and that's part of what scrambles their brains. Not every drug is successful, if you know what I mean."

Mildly horrified, Sundance nodded in acknowledgement.

"The main gate is north-facing. You'll want to go there, I guess. You can't miss it. Don't plan on flying inside those walls, sugar."

"No flying?"

"Pegasus ponies can't fly there for some reason," Navy Bean replied. "Some kinda spooky magic at work, I guess."

This worried Sundance more than he cared to admit.

"You be careful, alright?"

"Sure thing," he replied as he began to worry about what he was getting himself into.

"I'll be right back with your order, cutie… you just sit tight." Just as she turned to go, she paused, and after a moment's hesitation she added, "Good luck with whatever it is you're doing. You've been incredibly nice. You remembered your pleases and thank yous. That's rare around here. Most of the fellas are jerks. I think that's because there's so few of them that they know that they can get away with it. It really was nice to meet you."

"It was a pleasure to meet you," he responded, flattered and flustered.

Her smile broadened, revealing a few teeth, and then without another word said, she was gone.

Author's Notes:

Are we brave enough to follow our protagonist into a spooky asylum?