The Substitute Librarian

by Georg

First published 7th of October, 2019

When the Mane 6 are away, somepony has to mind the store. And the orchard. And the library. This one has to fill in for Twilight Sparkle. The poor guy.

While the Elements of Harmony are away from Ponyville, a group of dedicated, honest, resourceful, and dedicated… Oh, wait. We said dedicated already. Anyway, some ponies have to fill the gaps. This is the story of one.

He has to fill in for Twilight Sparkle. The poor guy.

Editors: Tek
Cover art: Screenshot

1. Moving Targets

Author's Notes:

Many of you have followed Estee for years. I certainly have. We have considerably different writing styles, although both of us seem to enjoy ripping out a reader’s heart and salting the bloody wound. There have been more than one story I’ve been working on where I’ve considered the idea, “How would Estee have written this?” Well, the answer is most certainly different than the way I wind up writing, but I’ve wondered what it would be like for me to at least try to be true to the style at least once. What you see below is the answer to the question, or at least how I personally would have written The Traveling Tutor and the Librarian in Estee’s world. Quite unlike my story, this one is not a romance, or at least anything resembling such at first glance. After all, the protagonists never even see each other, since he is using an assumed name while substituting for the town’s librarian when she goes out on various Bearer of the Elements of Harmony tasks. And it most certainly is not canon with Estee’s world, except maybe at the fringes where we borrow from others. (as all authors do)

But if you look carefully, you may be able to see pieces moving on the chessboard in the shadows. And they might have knives.

“Now listen up.” The stodgy unicorn at the front of the group consulted his clipboard, then looked out into the train car where a dozen ponies were paying him varied amounts of attention. Two young seamstresses were displaying relative obliviousness by chatting eagerly to each other, the small group of student bakers stopped exchanging cooking tips, and Emerald maintained an alert stance in the front row with his own notebook and a graphite hoof-scriber. Even though it was early, he had attended far earlier classes during his college years so far, and this was one potential educational experience he was determined not to fail. Or at least not unless it became necessary.

Despite the early hour, the other temporary employees were all fairly alert, most likely because of the phrase ‘Guaranteed Three-Day Minimum.’ The employment packet that had been passed out when they boarded the train made no secret of the erratic nature of their jobs. Several of the deployments had been terminated by the return of the Bearers while the substitutes were still en route to their job sites, allowing the employees to enjoy a pleasant day trip to the small town with extra spending money for shopping.

Still, there was a faint undercurrent of tension through the train because of the possibility that the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony might not return from whatever task they had been assigned, and nopony really wanted to think about what kind of world-wide disaster that might entail. It was far easier to pay attention to the sharp voice of the impeccably dressed unicorn standing at the front of the train compartment as he ran through a few last instructions.

“My name is Papercut, and I’ll be responsible for this deployment. This is a scheduled full Bearer deployment with all of them on a mission for the Princess. Depending on the difficulty of their situation, it could be a week until they return, or more. The six teams filling in for them have each received their own briefing, so I’ll keep this short.”

“Too late,” called out one of the gardeners, although just enough under his breath that the natural noise of the moving train nearly smothered his words.

“Carousel Boutique,” continued Papercut as if he had not heard the slight, although one of his ears twitched. “We’re past most of the Fall fashion season, so all you have to do is watch the store and keep the Bearer’s daughter—”

“Sister,” corrected Emerald automatically without looking up from his notes, although he silently chided his mouth for drawing attention to himself afterward.

“Ah, yes.” Papercut made a correction on his clipboard. “Keep her sister out of trouble around the store. You have your list of behavioral rules, so try to stick with them. Sugarcube Corner?”

“Oui,” said one of the three slightly chubby fillies, all baking students from the school in Canterlot. “We have friends who have been here before, Monsieur Papercut. They say it is always a pleasure.”

Emerald smiled as he made the shorthoof notation on his notebook. He enjoyed the way the young Prench would-be chef pronounced ‘Mon-Sewer Pah-PUR-cuute’ in a way that irked their nominal leader like a hoof-edge along a blackboard. When he wrote it down, the graphite lines made a peculiar image on the paper in the shorthoof notation, much like the pinched lips and beady eyes of its owner.

“Sweet Apple Acres,” said Papercut, his eyes rising just enough off the clipboard to look at the four Canterlot gardeners turned temporary farmers gathered into a tight knot and discussing things among themselves. Papercut’s eyes rested for a moment on the ‘odd one out’ among the group, a greying brown burro who returned his suspicious gaze with a calm patience that Emerald had seen him use a lot in the mountain city. The other three earth ponies were all paying their smaller peer considerable respect. Emerald knew exactly why, and made a note to drop by the apple farm later to find out the exact circumstances surrounding Baron Chrysanthemum’s decision to send the senior manager of his estate’s landscapers on a simple apple-picking task.

“Si,” responded the burro in a tone of absolute and total respect for his superior. “Eet will be right in the middle of harvest, so wee will be working very hard. You are welcome to come out and assist eef you want, Senior Papercut.”

Continuing as if he had not heard a word, Papercut marked off his checklist and said, “The weather pegasi have already flown to the site, which leaves the veterinarian.”

“Present,” said a much older mare with a silver mane. She patted the unicorn foal at her side, who looked up with sleepy eyes. “I brought along my granddaughter this time. She’s really looking forward to playing with the birds.”

The steady progress of Papercut’s pencil down the checklist paused. “You were not supposed to bring along any extraneous relatives.”

“Do you want to spend a few days taking care of Fluttershy’s creatures?” asked the sweet old mare with a smile.

There was a long pause, then Papercut completed his checkmark.

“And our librarian this visit will be—” Papercut squinted at his clipboard, then looked up at Emerald with a frown.

“Emerald City,” said ‘Emerald’ a little louder than he expected. He exchanged a bland look with Papercut, who eventually looked back down and completed his checklist, although with a set to the unicorn’s jaw that did not bode well for Emerald’s present attempt at relative anonymity.

“Very well, we should be arriving at the town’s train station in a few minutes. The mayor will coordinate any requests you have for the Crown during your stay and answer any questions you might have about your assignment. Dismissed.”

“I do have one question,” said Emerald, hoping to head off the inevitable curious prying from Papercut. “It’s really nothing serious. I’ll explain over a glass of wake-up juice in the dining car.”

High prices, low quality, and wake-up juice that was both translucent and lukewarm. The dining car was everything Emerald expected, right up to the cramped seating and the sticky tabletop. He settled down in the uncomfortable seat and fixed Papercut with his most serious glower, matched by the placid servant’s returned innocent expression which rated somewhere around the level of I Have No Idea How The Prostitute Got Into The Fraternity, House Mother.

This was going to be difficult.

“Spill it,” said Emerald. “This library gig is a plum position. The Archivists should have slipped one of their own pet students into it, if nothing else.”

“And you’re here.” Papercut made one brief motion to sip from the paper cup before he wrinkled up his nose and put the untouched cup back down on the table with a sharp grimace. “M’lord.”

“My father did not pull strings to get me this assignment,” said Emerald, trying to keep his anger under control, as well as not begin yet another journey into guessing about exactly what strings had been pulled by who. He crooked a foreleg around his paper cup and took a long drink out of the vile fluid, which helped keep his thoughts under control as he continued.

“Or at least I wouldn’t think so,” he added with a terse frown that was intended to gain sympathy from his opponent even if the subject was too close to his own skin for comfort. “Baron Chrysanthum wants his obedient son in Canterlot, after all. Under his hoof, so I can be the good son he wants. Somepony to enter into the family business, marry whatever unicorn mare he picks out for me, and father a line of happy horned grandfoals for him.” Emerald broke off and quietly tapped the rim of the wake-up juice cup with the tip of one hoof.

“You expect me to believe that, M’lord?” asked Papercut, who contrary to his words, was beginning to show small signs of doubt in his face.

After another distasteful sip of wake-up juice, Emerald continued with as much honesty as he could. “I suspect this is as much a surprise to him as it was to me this morning when the messenger showed up at my frat house and escorted me to the train station. Although somepony managed to get Dawn onto the roster, I suppose. The burro,” added Emerald at Papercut’s quizzical expression. “He’s the head landscaper at my father’s estate.”

“Ah.” Papercut floated his clipboard out and reviewed his notes. “A last minute selection. As you were, sir.”

“Which brings us back to just how my name popped up,” said Emerald. “I’m in Education. There is exactly one Library Studies class in my transcript.”

Let unsaid was the excellent score he had managed while holding down a grueling class load that semester. The experience he had managing his father’s library substituted for several missed lectures, and some minor proactive buttering with some ‘discovered’ first editions for the teacher’s own library did the rest.

He viewed it as less a bribe and more of a tip. The professor had been extremely helpful in the family’s academic endeavors, after all. And the gift had very carefully been delivered after final grade submission.

“Anyway,” mused Emerald, “I only signed up for this task to spite my father. The castle is crawling with qualified Archivists and school library science students who should have all been ahead of me.”

“There are no students on the list, M’lord. They all withdrew their applications, presumably at the urging of their instructors.” Papercut flipped back a few pages. “Several of whom requested cancellations, two candidates are out of town at the moment, and it appears your name just came up. Quite fortunate. Hm…”

“Uh-huh.” Emerald slugged back the rest of the instant wake-up juice with a scowl, made only worse by the gritty taste of undissolved powder at the bottom of the cup. “This is not a cyclical position. What happened to the previous substitute librarian?”

“Librarians,” corrected Papercut, who was still reading his sheet. “None of whom made it through their assignment to serve a second time. Out of the Bearer missions involving Twilight Sparkle in the last several months, there were two substitutes who withdrew in the middle of their terms due to mental issues. Three others were issued Letters of Reprimand and Restraining Orders from the Crown upon their return to Canterlot and completion of their evaluation. One—” Papercut gave a tense frown “—defenestrated himself on the job. Thankfully, the assignee library is only two floors in height, but he jumped out of the window twice, the second time with a number of bee stings on his cutie mark.”

“It’s a librarian job,” muttered Emerald almost under his breath. “Check the books out, put the books back. An orangutan could do the job. A degreed orangutan,” he corrected at Papercut’s sharp glance. “One who has attended the university and learned the deep mysteries of the library science program, of course. Wouldn’t want any ordinary pony to think our jobs were easy. Right, Papercut?”

“Of course, m’lord.” The trim servant matched gazes with the new substitute librarian. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“For starters, you can stop calling me sir.” Emerald crushed his fedora down firmer on his head and slumped in the sticky train bench. “I’m only doing this to get out from under my father’s hoof for a few days. Every time you say ‘sir’ to me, it’s like he’s pushing down on top of my head.”

“Terribly sorry, sir.” Papercut was staring back nonplussed when Emerald looked up, and they matched gazes for a long time before Emerald let out his breath.

“Wheaton college, correct? Home of the Wheat Shocks, the best college buckball team in the league? Rock, Shock, Block, Shockers!”

“Why… Yes, sir.” The mention of his alumni status made Papercut’s spine straighten and his solemn expression gained the slightest hint of a smile at the very corner of his thin lips.

“Not the top of your class, I presume. Self-conscious about your looks, so you buy the best quality suits you can afford on a government salary in Canterlot. Attempting to fit in at court with your peers from more prestigious schools while carrying the anvil of a cowtown college around your neck means you have to look perfect, dress perfect, act perfect, even though you don’t have their diversity of usable spells. Sending money home to your mother, I presume?”

Papercut’s expression darkened, but he gave a short nod.

“Single parent household, then. Your mother always parted your mane on that side so you’ve never changed. Your tie is tied the same way, so you learned that from your mother too. She’s left-fielded, correct? Living in the lower-income Manehattan suburbs next to Wheaton, most likely employed in something blue collar. Nursing, perhaps.”

“She’s… a mortician’s assistant.” Papercut seemed to chew his next words before spitting them out. “Why did you read my file?”

Emerald shrugged and looked back at his own cutie mark, a child’s stubby unicorn horn with a few sparks spitting out of it. “No, I didn’t have to. Your cutie mark is a stack of paper cut in half, so your skill would seem to be in reducing the difficulty of getting through papers, a strange talent for somepony who works at the palace, although…” He took a breath, then stole Papercut’s untouched cup of wake-up juice and took an unsatisfying drink.

“Princess Celestia put you here. She doesn’t want anything interfering with the Elements of Harmony’s lives while they’re out on missions. That means she trusts you, and in all the years I attended the university, I’ve never known her to trust the wrong ponies. And that means she went through the long list of posers and fluffheads to find somepony who could buckle down and get things done regardless of their impressive credentials and fancy resumes. Somepony who had to take responsibility in their family after a parent left. Somepony who struggled through school, couldn’t make it to the elite institutions but still persevered, not somepony who coasted through on their family name. And above all, somepony not so comfortable in their position as to accept bribes, like your predecessor has been accused of doing. Quite a nasty little fuss in the newspapers, not totally swept under the rug, and a scandal which my respected father considers to be unwarranted, so I will also.”

“That’s… impressive, sir,” said Papercut as Emerald finished off the wake-up juice and crumpled the two empty paper cups in his forehooves. “I still want to know how you got access to read my file.”

“I didn’t. I read between the lines in the newspapers. Also, when your position was announced in the papers, I checked for your name in Twerp’s Peerage and the alumni records from my Canterlot Prep, both of which came up empty. For the rest, it’s written all over you.” Emerald reached out with one hoof and adjusted Papercut’s tie. “The way you hoof-launder your school tie instead of sending it out for professional cleaning, the little frayed spot on the tips of the collar, the way you fight to keep from coming down hard on the ‘sh’ sound when you speak. Just why you’re so resentful of somebody from the minor peerage who only wants to be treated like an ordinary pony. Is that so wrong, after all?”

“It… is not,” conceded Papercut, and although it looked as if he wanted to add another word, he stopped.

“Great.” Emerald City stood up with the crumpled cups pinned in one fetlock. He tossed them one at a time over his shoulder and kicked them into the corner trash bin before making a face. “I’ll try my best to keep the library intact if you’ll keep the wolves off my tail. If I look good, you’ll look good. Will that be acceptable, sir?”

Papercut nodded while getting to his hooves. “It is indeed. Are you certain you will be able to do the job of a proper librarian in Ponyville?”

Emerald City checked the packet he had been given when they boarded the train, including the spellkey to disable the wards on the library door and a stout envelope full of library procedures, which he had not opened yet.

“No problem. This’ll be a piece of cake.”

2. All Work And No Play

The rumbling in his empty tummy tempted Emerald to stop in at the bakery for an actual piece of cake on his way to the library and his temporary job. However, Sun was up high enough in the sky to discourage such a slothful idea as to be late to his first day of work. That still did not mean he was unable to enjoy the journey.

He hastened his steps into a pleasant stroll in the direction of the huge oak tree in the center of town, which could only be the Golden Oak Library. The town certainly could afford to tear the old tree down and replace it with a modern structure if not for the pragmatic approach of earth ponies to such financial expenditures. Most probably the budget for pest control and arboriculture visits was less than the equivalent amount of upkeep on a brick and glass structure, and the savings could be held in the town’s reserve fund in case the old tree caught a stray lightning bolt or tipped over in a storm. Plus over the years, it put on its own free building expansion projects, although probably slower than the residents wanted.

Emerald felt just a bit sorry for his father’s groundskeeper, stuck out in the orchard in the heat of the day and sweating his hide off while the lazy pony he was sent to keep an eye on was resting in the shade. The thumping of heavy school books in his saddlebags reminded him of the studying he was going to be doing while sitting around a quiet library, which made bucking apple trees seem slightly better in hindsight.

Maybe I can slip over there during lunch and bring him a cupcake from the bakery. It would give me a chance to stretch my legs and Dawn always had a sweet tooth.

His rapid stride brought Emerald to the front door of the leafy library just about at the same time as a young schoolteacher and her following throng of reluctant students. The earth pony teacher was a cheery pinkish-purple, a shade that Emerald found himself at a loss to identify by name, although he was more drawn to her bright attentive eyes and friendly smile.

“Good morning,” she fairly chirped. “I’m Miss Cheerilee. Are you waiting for the library to open too?”

“Actually, I’m opening the library,” he explained while rooting through his saddlebag and trying to find where the key had settled. “My name is Emerald City, and I’ll be the substitute librarian while Miss Sparkle is absent. Ah, there it is.”

Emerald picked the spellkey out of his saddlebag and held it in one hoof before touching it to the library’s bright red door. “There we go,” he declared before giving the doors a sharp and ineffectual tug.

Oh, pucker. It’s one of the company’s horn-keys.

“Maybe it’s stuck,” suggested Cheerilee before hustling over to a wandering student and herding her back into the group.

“Actually, I was just testing to make sure the locking enchantment was in place,” said Emerald. “Who here is the most powerful unicorn?”

“Twilight Sparkle,” chorused most of the little ponies, with two of the colts adding, “Trixie,” just a moment later.

“Is Trixie here?” asked Emerald. “Because Twilight Sparkle is on a trip, and we’re going to need a really powerful unicorn to use this key and open up the library this morning. Trixie?” Seeing none of the students volunteering, Emerald lowered himself to one knee and held the spellkey out on the flat of his hoof.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea, Mister City,” said Cheerilee, looking more than a little nervous at the flickering glows of illuminated stubby horns.

“Call me Emerald, please. Now, let’s have a little contest this morning. If I can get the unicorns in your class to come up here to the front, we’ll have them try to lift the key one at a time. The rest of you will be responsible for cheering them on, and for judging just who gets to open the door. Won’t this be fun?”

The students cheered.

The teacher looked very much like she wanted to find a suit of armor and a welding mask.

Five little unicorns lined up with some small amount of tussling for dominance that Emerald quashed by assigning them positions.

He was not too worried. About half of the class did not even have their cutie marks yet, so the worst the little unicorns could probably do was light their corona and make sparks.

Admittedly, the first one made hot sparks, but with a name like Firelock, he should have expected it and been a little more careful about holding the spellkey. One of the others could not even get her horn to light up, and a tubby colt almost appeared to be having a constipation fit during his attempt. The most promising candidate was a tall colt who looked to be all knees and ears. He at least managed to light up his horn with a partial corona, but after a few moments when the key did not glow or move, Emerald had to ask.

“Snails, was it? Are you trying to lift the key?”

The tip of the colt’s tongue emerged from the corner of his mouth and the key trembled slightly, floating up a hoof-widths but only for a moment until the hornlight abruptly cut off and Snails took a deep breath. “Whew. I almost had it there.”

“You weren’t trying as hard as I was,” said Snips, puffing out his chest proudly to make himself look bigger.

“Guys, we have one more contestant,” chided Emerald. “Your name is Dinky?”

The little student nodded, then put on her fiercest face. Somepony out in the diminutive audience whispered, “Go Dinks!”

Several sparks later, the young filly gave out a rush of breath and sat down on the library path.

“Nice try,” said Emerald in his most encouraging voice. “It looks to be close, but I believe Snails is our winner. Come on up here and open the door so you can be first inside.” He held the spellkey up to the door and watched Snails light up his horn again.

It was difficult to conceal his trepidation. After all, if the schoolfoal could not push enough magic into the working, Emerald would have to go find an adult to open up the building. An adult unicorn, of course, because Emerald could not do it himself. And that would probably put an end to his attempt at keeping a low profile.

The workings under the doorframe felt smooth, far more expertly laid than the commercial locking enchantments in House Chrysanthemum’s catalog, even the most expensive custom ones that were sold only by appointment, cash in advance. As a small colt, Emerald had tagged along for several of the security installations, quietly observing the elderly locksmiths ply their trade in interconnected runes and intricate workings that hurt his eyes unless he squinted really hard. For this door, the warning sensation of magical lines of force nearly flowed like water under the spellkey’s codes and Snails’ magic, a fluid entwining that grew right up to the point where the door lock gave out a low clunk. Emerald pushed the door open and waved the schoolfoals inside, giving a deep bow of the head to their teacher who was following them all in like an alert sheep dog.

“Thank you, Mister… I mean Emerald,” said Cheerilee with a smile. “They’re all supposed to turn in a book report next week, and that would be a little difficult without a book, wouldn’t it?”

Emerald had never been in a library tree before. The students seemed to know where everything was, and their teacher had them under control. It would be a shame if he did not poke around his new workplace at least for a few minutes, so he knew where everything was.

With that in mind, he took a quick look around the entrance, a respectable divot in the cavernous central chamber where incoming patrons could stomp the mud out of their hooves, which he did. The thick bristles of the welcome mat scratched right on the frogs of his hooves where he needed it most, making him feel welcome indeed when he took a step forward into the main room and responded back to the smiling teacher.

“Not a problem. This is a library, after all. Although it’s not quite like my father’s. I’ll just look around while your students find what they need.”

He tried to get a sense of the job ahead of him while walking past the book-crammed walls, starting with a quick stop inside the library’s bathroom. From the looks of the claw-footed cast iron bathtub and tidy sink, the small space did double-duty for both patrons and librarian, with a short stool in front of the sink for shorter foals to reach the spigots, and…

…with only one partial roll of toilet paper, and one rough cotton towel.

“Welcome to the Monastery of Saint Twilight of Ponyville,” he murmured once he had taken care of his business.

Thankfully, the packet said Thistle Burr had been the previous librarian, commander of the leafed legion, and squirrely nut in the library tree. Since she had been an earth pony, and most likely an earth pony had preceded her for several generations, most library processes were uncomplicated by his lack of a horn. This meant the main room’s librarian desk contained the locked bathroom linen closet’s key, a simple twisted piece of metal from a style dating back decades.

He used it to open the wall cabinet, which thankfully had not been magicked-up by the current librarian for security, and considered the contents. These were not towels for the patrons, being plush and fuzzy with a script ‘TS’ embroidered on each end, just what one would need to wrap around a soggy body after a good, long soak.

Also and oddly enough at the back of the cabinet, there was a collection of scented soaps and body lotions that would have put most beauty salons to shame, a short row of perfumes bottles that still had the sealing wax on the lids, five different kinds of mane shampoo and twelve conditioning products, as well as several sealed boxes of exfoliating pads, blush, eyeshadow, mane ‘frosting’ treatments, and other such feminine products.

He refilled the toilet paper dispenser, put an ordinary bar of soap next to the sink, got out an extra roll of toilet paper to sit on the back of the toilet, put the lush towels back on the shelves, and locked the cabinet with a sigh of relief.

Duty (and the quiet knocking of a student at the door) evicted him from the peace of the small chamber, and he strolled up the short-stepped ramp to the second floor. Which, of course, was just about as densely packed with books as below, including some on shelves which only pegasi or unicorns could possibly reach. There was also a closed door, most probably containing Twilight Sparkle’s personal space in the library, which he left closed. And a few steps up the ramp took him to an open balcony, the perfect place for the aspiring young librarian to enjoy a fall breeze, look out across the peaceful town, and still keep an eye on the library’s main room.

After taking a deep breath of the fresh morning air and relaxing, he had a few comforting moments to look out across the library floor from altitude with all the students scurrying around between the bookshelves. The space inside the tree was larger than he expected, since everything packed neatly into curved corners and nooks instead of nice, straight, labelled shelves. It did have accommodations for earth ponies with ladders and inclined steps, which only made sense since Ponyville was a mostly earth pony community, and the world had not started when Twilight Sparkle set hoof here. In fact, it was a much warmer space than his family library, where each child had been trained to remain silent and respectful.

“Hey!” he barked to a pair of students right below him. “No running, please.”

Not a sign that Emerald was turning into his father. Really. He tried to tell himself that while walking down the short-stepped ramp to the main floor of the library where he had dropped his saddlebags next to the desk. It was, of course, an oak librarian’s desk, built much the same as librarian’s desks had been built since the first pony had put together the first book and placed an implacable guardian to prevent it from being touched by lesser beings. The chair behind the desk’s impressive bulk was as stately as a throne in its own way, much like his father’s sturdy chair in the library at home.

Rather than sit down, Emerald decided to check out the rest of his new job’s work space first.

Just behind the librarian desk, there was a kitchen tucked away in a woody nook, a tiny space that just cried out ‘spinster’ in large, capital letters. All it needed was a half-dozen cats lounging around the tiny window and outside the back door, a few scattered around the window planters, and the picture would be complete. It certainly was just large enough for one, or two if the second was a very small dragon. The sink had barely enough space to put the drain rack to one side, and it had the obligatory two of everything from plates to spoons to cups, a teakettle on the stove…

Make that a full set of tea-making things, and every meaning of the word ‘full’ was obvious. Princess Celestia with her legendary love of the leaf could have walked through the low doorway to the kitchen and made herself perfectly at home. The copper kettle on the stove was burnished to a fine glow, the three infusers in the drain rack would fit perfectly into the mouth of the simple ceramic tea kettle placed on the small amount of counter space, and… Tea. There had to be tea.

Opening the door to the pantry revealed the elusive tea supply, which was nothing near what he expected. It appeared Twilight Sparkle had purchased several large tins of generic wake-up juice powder simply labelled ‘Wake Wake’ and stacked them across the bottom of the limited pantry space, with only the last one showing signs of use. Then there were the usual pantry items such as canned goods, flour, sugar, and baking supplies, all at a height where Emerald would have to duck his head to use them, and which fit with the estimated size of Twilight Sparkle’s dragon servant.

There was a considerable shift once the contents of the shelves reached his nose height. Many boxes of tea, boxes of strange brews which Emerald had never heard of before, and which he suspected were gifts on the order of ‘What can we possibly buy a unicorn who has no life?’

Still, there was nothing that fit within Emerald’s limited ability for cooking, i.e. haychips or… well, that was about it. The icebox seemed to be a better candidate for an early-morning snack before work, or at least until he opened it.

“Cheese,” he murmured, giving the orange block of supposed lactose produce a solid thump, “or some sort of brick. A bag of fossilized prunes probably older than the town. A jar of olives with all the pimentos sucked out of them. Brown stuff that’s supposed to be green. Green stuff that’s supposed to be brown. And wake-up juice,” he added, looking down into the pitcher, then pouring the thin granular residue remaining into the sink to make more later. “At least the icebox has cold water.”

That was an understatement. The filtering pitcher was the top of the line, with a familiar thaumic osmotic separation system guaranteed to give only the cleanest possible drinking water. Or as he got a better look, the cleanest possible tea water for the kettle sitting on the stove.

“You’d think they didn’t have hot tap water,” muttered Emerald, only to give the statement second thoughts. “I wonder if they have hot water.”

The rational place for a water heater in a building made out of a tree… would be somewhere he had not looked yet. Emerald poked his head out the kitchen’s back door and checked the porch, a little underwhelmed at the plebian nature of the utility room. A set of closed bins with some carrots and potatoes, an open bin of dusty alfalfa that had most likely been purchased a year or two ago, and the expected water heater where it would not leak all over the books when it inevitably failed. Oh, and a worn rake, the most needed yard tool for anypony who lived in a tree.

He did not step outside to look at the recycling bins in the back yard, because the door tingled just as much with security workings as the front, and the idea of having to knock on the library front door to have one of the children let him in would be more than a little embarrassing. An additional small door in the kitchen proved there was even a basement in the tree, although it mostly had boxes, a few stacks of old encyclopedias, and some stored medical equipment for whatever reason.

Enough time to scrounge through the basement later and see if there’s anything interesting in the junk pile. Better deal with the students now. I’ll check back when things slow down.

Returning to the main room, he took his place in the big oak chair with all the grace one would expect from the King of the Library. The chair creaked regally when he put his rump down on the flattened cushion, thus leaving His Majesty to reign over his papery kingdom…

...which was presently being pillaged by a marauding band of barbarians.

“Hey, no more than one pony on the ladder at once,” he cautioned. “And no fighting over the books… um… whoever you are.”

The king quickly turned into a jogger, moving around the library in a mix of exploration and discouragement of same, particularly when two of the colts had the expanding platform lift shoved over to the section on pony anatomy in search of a lesson that their parents would probably have kittens over. The teacher was a great help in identifying the names of the little spawn so they could be chastised more correctly, with the most troublesome being three of them who did not have their cutie marks yet.

There was also a red tag on each of their library cards with a long listing of book topics they were forbidden from borrowing, some of which made him look twice. And one which required checking to see if the library even had books on that. And it did.

Thankfully, the process of checking out books was so easy even the school foals could not mess it up. They each signed the notecard in the back of their desired book and turned it in before trotting off with their teacher, leaving Emerald to stamp the card with…

He added another note to the ‘Equipment For Purchase’ list, because the existing datestamp dated back to the Paeleopony Era, and had been stuck in a bottom drawer long enough for the ink to have turned into an insoluble glue. That meant having to mouthwrite the date on each card and file it, then retrieve the cards for the books the students had returned and match them up. At least the ‘Youth’ section of the library was all in one location, although just why the previous librarian had put the shelves there in backwards order baffled him. Maybe it was so that the students would not have to use the ladder?

The returned books having been dealt with, Emerald returned to the task he had originally intended and had been procrastinating about. Since there were no more library patrons wandering around, he spread all of his college books out on a table near the front door, got out his notes and his mechanical hoof-scriber, and had just settled down when an itching reminder in the back of his head made him get up. He walked back over to the librarian’s desk to open the thick packet of instructions he had been given when he got on the train and gave them a quick scan, which confused him even more at first until he realized that the librarian had written on the backs of the pages too.

She wrote out a numbered schedule. Broken into five-minute chunks for the entire day. With bathroom breaks. Oh, we can’t forget going to the bathroom, Little Miss Obsessive-Compulsive. And process statements for every task. Like I need…

Emerald got up from the desk and checked the library card drawer. There was one of the students with an overdue book, but she had brought it back, and it really was not worth nagging the youngster for two bits, so he marked out the fine and struck through the line in the ledger. That brought up a second moment of disbelief, which made him review the ‘Process - Overdue Fines’ guidelines, and then another reading of it to make sure it was right.

“Nopony charges compound interest on overdue library books,” he muttered. Flipping to the front of the ledger as an experiment, he took the first un-struck overdue book on the list, applied Twilight Sparkle’s formula to it, and began flipping beads on the desk abacus. When he ran out of beads, he resorted to using the graphite hoof-scriber on a piece of notepaper for calculations and considered just how many zeros the answer represented.

I don’t even.

Flipping the notepaper over, he sketched out a quick sign in graphite lines, then took a quill in his teeth and inked it. As a substitute librarian, he most certainly had the authority, and the thought of some unsuspecting long-term citizen of the small town having a debt larger than the Equestrian yearly budget hanging over them would have kept him from studying anyway.

Once the ink had dried, he took it outside and tacked it to the wooden Golden Oak Library sign, then returned to his books to get his studying underway. If the quiet library had a few customers who dropped off a forgotten book or two today, it would not bother him at all. There were still three classes worth of notes he had to get through just to keep even in his schoolwork, and that was not counting whatever his fraternity brothers took in review notes for the midterms he was facing later.

The useless schedule Twilight Sparkle had prepared for his imprisonment remained unread on the librarian’s table, while outside a simple paper sign attracted its first pony. She read it with growing interest and promptly set off to her home, spreading the news as she galloped.

Four Bit Friday Amnesty
Overdue library books may be returned today for a maximum fine of four bits each. Cash only.

3.Work Equals Force Times Distance Over Library Time

“Shh!!”

There really needed to be some sort of unicorn device to automatically make that noise when somepony stepped inside the library. Emerald made up his mind to bring the product suggestion up to his father the next time they talked, most likely in a few weeks when his parents’ cyclical attempts at matrimony induction for their most helpless child would crest again.

“Sorry,” whispered back the library patron, a young earth pony mare with flattened ears, a look of perpetual terror, and a blooming red rose on her shapely flanks. “Is the amnesty still in effect? I just have a few books overdue. And two magazines. They’ve got an article clipped out of them. The magazines, not the books. Are there additional damage charges?”

“One bit each for older periodicals,” said Emerald while striding over to the library desk, which was already heaped with returned books. “Let me get these marked off the ledger. Once you give the library the bits, that is,” he added since bitter recent experience had led him to the discovery that marking out a book fine without the bits in hoof led to a whole list of excuses and the departure of the patron ‘just for a moment to get my coin pouch’ and their complete absence afterward. Experience also made him count the bits, together with the tenth-bit pieces, buttons, pebbles, and other loose change until the required fines had been met, before he inked a thick line through each of the ledger entries. “Would you like to keep the overdue tags as a souvenir? I can mark how much you saved on them.”

Rose declined, of course, like every pony before her, and checked out several more books before asking in a timorous voice, “Do you know when my book requests will be in?”

He should have just said “No” and seen her out the door because Emerald had so much schoolwork still to do. The question triggered his own curiosity, and a few minutes leafing through the files showed there was a collection of book requests pending, some of which had been in the files for well over a year. Next to the yellowing pages was a ledger of recent library acquisitions, a long list made up of mostly expensive spell books and esoteric unicorn theory, which he stuffed back into the files before Rose could get a look at them and complain about the unfairness of it all.

“They’re on order,” he said instead. “I’ll contact a book dealer I know in Canterlot and put your request at the top of the list.”

The young mare squealed with delight, babbling something about the series being terribly underrepresented on the library shelves as she was gently nudged out the door. It left Emerald just enough time to sit down at his books before the next pony walked into the library and inquired, “Is the overdue fine amnesty still in effect?”

By the time he gave up and just moved his study materials to the librarian’s hefty oak desk, there was a line of ponies with books in various states of undress — the books, of course, not the ponies — from prim and proper hardbacks with untouched pages due to their careers as borrowed end table decorations, to tattered paperbacks so ragged that he could barely read the library label on the spine. One patron even brought in the front cover of an ancient magazine, only the cover, that is.

The stack of battered books grew as the morning drew on. The initial burst of overdue material slowed once the word got around that four bits was a maxim for late fees, but not when dealing with damaged material. Several of the returned books were beyond repair, although the patrons cheered up when Emerald would consult the card in the files to see if it had been a popular title, and therefore would have been damaged incrementally by each patron in turn instead of having to soak the last poor sucker for the full replacement cost. And not the new price as the Twilight-written procedures stipulated. One of the advantages of his busy life before college was that Emerald had been responsible for his father’s library, and thus for the ordering of replacement volumes from more practical sources than the overpriced Canterlot bookstores.

It had been a constant pleasure to see just how little of his father’s money he could weasel down the purchase of his desired tomes between estate sales, book donations to thrift stores, and less than retail discounts from some of the family’s griffon business contacts. Canterlot unicorns took a lot of pride in how much they spent on a book or collection, while griffons most certainly did not. Oh, prominent Protocrestians had books, of course. The saying was that they had at least two of them just so they could use the plural. It was a misplaced saying at best, because one of the sharpest book traders Emerald knew was a griffon, after all.

With that in mind, he separated the returned books into several piles: Reshelve, Reblock, Resell, Reject. The last category was the saddest. A paperback trailing loose pages would find new life after being pulped, perhaps returning to the library as something new and expensive. Or a newspaper, filled with Murdoch’s wild musings, more likely. Things had tapered off just enough in the afternoon for him to get some serious studying done when he heard the clopping of very small hooves approaching the desk right in the middle of a complicated bit of his lesson.

“Fines maximum of four bits each, cash only, thank you,” he muttered, running the hoof scriber under a line in his book and leaving a graphite trace behind. The phrasing of the statement he noted in the textbook was just enough different from the fraternity's previous test archives that he was going to need to research if there had been a change in the book’s text, or if the professor had been expecting the wrong answer for the last few decades. While working his way down the next convoluted paragraph, his nose involuntarily twitched, then Emerald had to wipe a bit of saliva off the corner of his lips as the familiar scent of baked goods struck home in his cerebellum.

“Cupcakes? Dawn!” Emerald gave a friendly smile to the small-ish burro, who had a box with Sugarcube Corner’s logo all over it sitting on his back, with a large paper bag holding it down. “You brought me lunch! How thoughtful.”

“Lunch was a few hours ago, M’lord,” said the burro in short, clipped words. “I came into town to buy our librarian a treat for his hard work. Are you going by Emerald today, sir?” he added.

“Using an alias for privacy is permitted under the terms of the volunteer agreement. So, are you spying on me for my father?” asked the substitute librarian with a huff of exasperation. “How about if I write up the report for dad? I’ll do it for free. ‘Your son spent the entire duration of the trip inside the library without a single mare in sight and nearly starved to death while studying.’ Short, simple, and accurate, I’m afraid,” he said over the sound of his stomach growling.

“Excuse me,” called out a pony from the library door, scurrying across the floor with several books perched on her head. “Are you in line?”

“So sorry,” said Dawn in his usual southern accent, taking a step to one side. “I was just getting some directions from Meester Emerald here. Go ahead.”

The burro remained quiet while the pony dumped five books on the table, tried to argue that twenty bits was far too much for a fine, and grudgingly paid it when Emerald threatened to raise it due to the tattered scuffs and numerous toothmarks on the book covers. Once the cheapskate was back outside, Dawn turned back to Emerald and shook his head slowly.

“What?” Emerald sorted the books into piles with their similar brethren and frowned. “You don’t criticize my extortion technique for getting late fees and I don’t tell your apple-picking buddies that you have a degree from Hayvard. Deal?”

“Tch-tch.” The burro shook his head and spoke with a clear, upper-class accent again. “Blackmail. What would you father say, M’lord?”

“He’d critique my technique. Now, come on. Thanks for the food and get out. You’ve got apples to pick and I’m going to be up until midnight working on my lecture notes. Midterms are coming.”

Giving a brief shudder as if Dawn was recalling his own time in the institutional shackles of higher education, the burro put his packages down on the desk. “As your mother specified in my last-minute instructions this morning, we have one dozen mixed donuts with sprinkles, a half-dozen cupcakes ranging from carrot to pumpkin spice, and a fresh pie. Apple, of course, from the farm. And in the bag, I’ve added a large collection of healthy carrots, apples, pears, peaches, and a bag of granola. They were on sale, but I left out the turnips, sir,” Dawn added. “I got indigestion just looking at them.”

“This assignment better not last a week or I’ll turn into a fatty immobile lump in the bottom of this tree.” Emerald picked up the paper sack of fruits and vegetables, carried it off to the kitchenette, and stuffed it into the mostly empty icebox. Then after a moment’s thought, mostly driven by his nose catching scent of the tempting pie, he got a clean plate and a fork out of the drain rack in the sink. “Gotta get at least one piece of this,” he muttered, easing a slice of apple pie out before pushing the rest back at Dawn. “Go ahead and take the donuts and the rest for your crew. I gotta get back to work or I’ll flunk Educational Thaumaturgy 207 along with the rest of my study group. Oh!”

After a quick dive behind the desk, Emerald resurfaced with the antique datestamp and pushed it over to Dawn. “Do you know any place in town where I can drop this broken hunk of junk off real quick to get it fixed?”

Naturally, the first mechanical shop Emerald was directed to, only fixed and built wagons. Since the smallest wrench they had was larger than the bent datestamp he wanted to get fixed, and he was on a tight schedule, he kept going to the next store.

And what a store it was.

The Enchantment Grotto was a sparkling wonderland of unicorn magic applied to frivolous needs and entertainment purposes which would have driven Emerald’s father into a rave of at least an hour, detailing every single way in which each thaum of magic could have been put to far better practical use.

Naturally, Emerald loved the place.

Glittering displays designed to sit on a shelf and be admired, beautiful starfields which could be applied to ceilings and synchronize themselves to the night outside, tiny little groves of gemstone plants that tinkled and sparkled in imaginary breezes. Even illusionary fish that would swim through the air, flicking their colorful fins and gliding up to unwary watchers. It was all so wonderful that Emerald could ignore for the moment how the whole expensive collection was designed to keep the purchaser from just going outside and enjoying what the real world had, and at a much lower price.

The one thing Mrs. Wonderment did not have was any way to fix any of her items.

To be honest, Emerald was not surprised. Most places that repaired unicorn workings were half-full of broken items, covered in char marks, and frequently in a state of reconstruction, something that made sales rather difficult.

He still wanted to just stay and admire the way the elderly matriarch of the establishment had decorated her small store, but he moved along on his task instead of playing hooky from his job because of a certain look in the eyes of Mrs. Wonderment. It was as if she was trying to remember having seen a little earth pony colt with the same cutie mark tagging along behind his unicorn father on a sales call a decade ago, and rather than explain his present adult penchant for fedoras and anonymity, he scrammed in the direction she indicated.

Which finally left him at Ratchette’s Fix-It Shop. The name had a nice ring to it, far more promising than the other two, along with a list of services on the sign, and a blessed ‘Open’ sign in the front window. The cardboard box of library date stamps shifted on his back as Emerald nudged the door open to the tune of a musical bell above the door, which happily chimed out a childish tune about a grandfather clock and several foolish mice.

“Hello?” he called out into the crowded shop area, or perhaps a used parts sorting room. When he had been younger, Emerald would have gladly spent days pawing through this kind of half-disassembled junk in search of some odd gadget or sparkling souvenir to show around class. His propensity for unrestrained curiosity around the company (and their junk pile) had constantly driven his father to distraction, and Emerald could almost recite the resulting familiar lecture about responsibility and caution by heart.

A noise came out of the back of the shop, sounding enough ‘just-a-minute-y’ to give Emerald a secret smile inside, and most of all, a few unsupervised minutes in the cluttered shop. After putting down the box of broken library card stamps and looking carefully at some of the parts scattered around, he began to peek and prod at the fascinating things, and one larger thing in particular.

Most of the regular junk in the room had been shoved together to make space for the rear axle of a wagon, which had some heavy assemblies bolted near the wheels. His father had never pushed his company into heavier devices like industrial shock absorbers due to problems with energy dissipation (and explosions), but the company who made these used a compressed double-serpentine of silvery metal that seemed to serve the same function. He poked at the edges of it, feeling the faint bite of passive spells under his silver shoes.

“So cool,” he breathed, then looked up to make sure he was still unobserved. Running one hoof down the edge of the thick metal case, Emerald cocked his head sideways and squinted at the interior workings of the hefty shock absorber, which had a few blackened spots and still retained the bitter smell of failed spellcraft. “Wish Dad could see this. Looks like they folded the enchantments back in S-curves instead of stretching them out flat like most shocks. It makes for a more compact design, but all that flexing must have broken something in there. I wonder how they kept the parts from touch—”

There was a spark as his inquisitive hoof reached just a bit too far into the device.

Magic flowed across his silver shoe, a Magus Deluxe that only the finest farriers in Canterlot stocked. The shoe was quite conductive to magical energies in order to ground more powerful unicorn spells.

Very conductive.

And when Emerald blinked away the sparks, he found himself embedded most of the way into the opposite wall, with an attractive young pegasus mare fidgeting over his twitching body.

“M-m-ma’am,” he managed before taking a deep breath and shaking his smoking foreleg. “S-sorry about that. Must have been a r-r-residual charge. G-give me a minute.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” A little prying got Emerald out of the wall, with some extra effort for his poor mistreated tail which had gotten stuck between two boards. It gave him some additional time to study the young mare while waiting for the unicorn who ran the repair shop, who was probably some ancient crust… No, device repairponies tended to the younger generation, who were spry enough to dive behind cover, or could bounce back from the normal aftereffects of failing devices exploding and throwing them through walls. Maybe her brother ran the shop?

“Pardon me,” he managed once three hooves could be trusted to remain under him. The other hoof, still tingling a little from his ill-considered widget exploration, cautiously touched the brim of his hat. The simple fedora had thankfully managed to stay stuck to his head during his unscheduled flight across the room, which he hoped would prevent unwelcome questions while dealing with the young mare.

Not that he would mind staying around the cluttered shop for a few hours with the delightful things to examine and a friendly mare who needed more attention, but he had a job to do. A paying job at that.

Managing a polite smile for the young mare, Emerald added a short bob of his head instead of the deep bow that he wanted. “We have not been properly introduced, Ma’am. My name is Emerald City, and I’m Ponyville’s substitute librarian for the next few days.”

The steel-grey pegasus showed a moment of concern in those dangerous pale eyes, which she quickly covered up by extending one hoof and putting on a false smile. “Pleased to meet you. I hope Twilight will be back safe and sound shortly. Oh, and I’m Ratchette. The proprietor,” she added with slightly more emphasis.

“Pleased to meet you, Ma’am,” said Emerald, touching the brim of his hat with one hoof again, just in case his tingling hoof had missed it the first time. He may have been still a little stunned, but manners had been pressed into his thick head since the days of his first tutor, and besides that, the young pegasus was one attractive filly, even if she was a little on the smaller side and with a peculiar cutie mark. Trying not to stare at the equiportent diagram on her shapely flanks, he continued, “I’ve got some cash work for you. A few library stamps need to be un-stuck from their pads, and I think the datestamp got bent a few years ago because I can’t get it to work at all. Oh, and the index card sorter back at the library thinks it should shuffle randomly, if you want to tackle that later.”

“That’s… fine.” Ratchette divided her attention between him and the defective shock absorber, which still had a thin trail of smoke coming out of the open panel.

“I didn’t break anything, did I?” Emerald edged toward the door, trying not to limp as he got feeling back into his hoof. “I mean the inspection panel was wide open and I thought it was discharged.”

“No, no. It’s fine.” The young pegasus was still wearing the most peculiar expression, much like somepony who had bitten into what they thought was a daisy sandwich, only to find an avocado pit. She glanced down at the shock absorber one last time before poking her nose into the box that Emerald had thrown the broken library stamps into. “I can get you an estimate on these, if you like, Mister City.”

“Just call me Emerald, please,” he responded with a smile at the doorway. “And they’re just stamps. They’re mechanical, so they can’t be too expensive to repair, and if they’re broken too badly to fix, just tell me and I’ll pay you for your time out of the library funds. We had quite a few overdue books get turned back in, so we’re running a surplus in the ledger, but I didn’t want to just order all new stamps when we might be able to get them fixed for less. Anyway, if you have any questions, I’ll be over at the library, Miss Ratchette. Good day.”

There was a line of ponies at the library door by the time he got back, which he expected, and a number of books sticking out of the drop-off box, which was more than he expected. Emerald bumped the door open and picked up the little wooden wedge he had used to keep it from locking behind him, then turned to do his job, which took over an hour to get the backlog caught up. He was still fairly certain that the loose change he had scraped out from the bottom of the drop-off box did not match anywhere close against the associated overdue books. He dumped the bits into the cashbox anyway because it did not matter how many books a library theoretically possessed somewhere within a few hundred trots of the shelves, as long as there were books on the shelves, and getting them back allowed them to go out again.

He had just gotten settled down at the massive librarian desk with his school lecture notes when there was a thump…

...above him.

Followed by a whump, then a thud, and rather peculiar rain. It took a moment to realize the rain was just letters drifting down from above, and another period of observation to notice a dazed pegasus sitting in the middle of the library main room. Also thankfully, the mailmare did not appear seriously injured, except for the way her eyes pointed in different directions.

Derpy, however, was in the section of the orientation packet Emerald had read several times. She was classified as an environmental hazard, and pegasi were advised to give her plenty of airspace, while ground-bound ponies should not take insult at an impact as if it were aimed at them. Quite the opposite, in theory, because ponies who yelled at her and lost their temper were more likely to get hit, as if her crashes only hit the things she was trying the hardest to avoid.

Abandoning his homework for the moment, Emerald scurried over to the downed flier and helped pull her up, apologizing all the while. “I’m sorry, Miss Derpy. I didn’t realize the mail was ready just yet or I would have opened the… skylight?” He paused for a moment to look up at one of the big windows that had just swung closed on spring-loaded hinges behind the unexpected aerial visitor, then returned his attention to the young mare, who did not look like she could even attend college yet, let alone be given a uniform and a job delivering mail. “Didn’t know we had one of those. Anyway, I was wanting to talk with somepony in town to see if they could run an errand for me in Canterlot. Do you handle Ponyville’s delivery there?”

“Wha?” Blinking furiously, the young mare managed to get both eyes to focus on him for a moment. “No, that would get me home late.”

“Very well.” Emerald bent down to help gather up the loose letters and unconsciously sorted them, much the same as he had been hoof-sorting library cards for the last hour. “If you can pass word to the mailpony in charge, I’ve got a few letters that need special delivery and a package that needs to be taken to m— Taken to Baron Chrysanthemum’s estate in Canterlot, and another package brought back. It would be a daily run, or every afternoon as long as I’m here. With tip,” he added.

Once all of the mail had been sorted into Ours and Somepony Else’s, Emerald saw the mailpony off by the front door and checked the envelopes left behind. There were bills, of course, which reminded him to look for the library cheque book, and some postcards to be placed on the public bulletin board. He didn’t have time to read them all, of course, so he filed the bills, stuck pins in all the postcards, and settled back down with his delayed homework.

Which seemed to make the front door of the library creak open again. Of course.

“How much of a tip, sir?” The mailmare was looking… well, technically she was looking at two different things, but one of them was Emerald, so he surmised the question was directed at him.

“Twenty bits? I admit that’s not much, and the package isn’t ready yet—”

“I’ll be back right after my rounds are over and I’ve got the mail for Canterlot loaded.”

Then the mailmare was gone, presumably to resume her path of destruction and window-crashing until she ran out of envelopes.

Focus was the most critical tool of a student, but only one. Tools make more tools. Add lecture notes, archived old tests, outlines from previous students, and tidbits gleaned from books. Stir well, summarize, and organize, leaving a set of notes that his fellow fraternity stallions would be able to work their way down over the next week until midterms started. Tools make tools make tools. His work would pass through years of fraternity brothers, legions of wealthy upper-crust unicorns who would start their post-college years just the slightest bit smarter and ready to face the world, while owing some small part of their success to him.

It was an investment, of sorts.

One advantage Emerald had over his fellow frat brothers was that putting together their cram sheets left him with all of the relevant information hammered into his mind with sledgehammer-like efficiency. A second advantage he held over them was simple experience, since flunking out of the classes that his parents had forced him to take and re-take left him older, more experienced in the arcane ways of the university, and able to focus in even the most chaotic environment. And a third advantage was a tool that he could not think of as such, a pony quite close that he dared not flaunt around his hormone-filled frat buddies.

Dear sis,
Here’s the shorthoof study sheets for two of the major courses with early exams. Try to make the transcription as readable as possible and run off fourteen copies for the study group at the frat house. I’ve got four more I have to get done this evening, but I need the class review notes that Bunkie and Fips were supposed to take today while I was gone so I can put together the rest tomorrow. Bunkie should be over to the house this evening, so make sure to get the notes from him, staple the study sheet transcripts to his ear if you have to make sure he takes them back with him, and slap him if when he gets fresh.

The new job in Ponyville is a hoot. I mean literally, because there’s an owl living upstairs. If you can, drop by after midterms and ask for Emerald. I’ll be here unless I’m out running errands. Or got sent back to Canterlot. Lots to do, little time. Say hi to Snowball for me and make sure she’s not freaking out over her exams.

Your little brother,
GG

Emerald sat the letter to one side, dunked his quill, and started on a second letter to the griffon book dealer. He had intended on writing it earlier, but the traffic into the library was endless, made only worse by his own stupid idea about encouraging the return of late books. At least this letter was shorter, allowing him enough time to get them both into envelopes and stamped with the last two stamps in the desk drawer.

☑ - Finish off any critical library tasks that need done today.
☑ - Get first two cram sheets done for KFP
☐ - Shopping for wake-up juice, note paper, quills, stamps, toilet paper(!), chewing gum
☐ - Work through review class notes from Bunkie
☐ - Mark out his mare drawings and pornographic comments in margins
☐ - All nighter
☐ - Run away to Mexicolt and become a pool colt

It was just about closing time, or close enough that Emerald really did not care to keep the library open any more. After all, there was a mountain of books on the librarian desk for reshelving. He had resorted to putting all the recent returns (that were not leaking pages) into the reshelving cart and sticking a ‘Popular Releases’ sign on top of it. Since work was taken care of (or could be ignored for a day or two) and all of his notes so far had been packaged for the delivery to Canterlot, Emerald had just enough time to—

The skylight slammed open and Derpy plummeted through again, landing on top of the couch cushions that Emerald had dragged to her last impact area. A few flecks of stuffing indicated at least one of them would need repaired, but that would late until waiter. Err… Obviously, not enough wake-up juice after a long day.

“Here’s my package for Canterlot,” said Emerald, helping the young mare to her hooves and passing over the bound portfolio. “Cash in advance, I presume? Oh, and if you go in the house by way of the back entrance, Cook will send along a couple of muffins.”

After sketching out a quick map of the estate for reference, Emerald saw the mailmare off by way of the library’s front door. Then he flipped over the ‘closed’ sign, slipped the wedge back under the same door so it would not close all the way, and set off into the town at a gallop to see to his extensive shopping list.

At least this evening, it would be quiet enough to catch up on the rest of his homework.

Small towns not only rolled the streets up at night, but tucked them into locked storage so they would not be stolen. Only running as fast as he could allowed Emerald to make it to his self-assigned tasks before the stores closed, although it meant coming back through the library front door, pulling one of the wire carts from the Bargain Barn stuffed so full that it dragged along both sides of the doorway. After all, the parsimonious cheapskate who ran the library seemed to believe in only buying paper when the last sheet was used, and probably plucked passing pigeons for the poor-quality quills in the library public writing jar, so stocking up was a reasonable precaution.

He did not have any dramatic plans after his return, just putting all of his purchases away, shoving the borrowed cart behind some shelves, and returning to studying. That would have worked except for the small unicorn sitting at the library desk already, with her nose down in his lecture notes.

“Hey! Library’s closed. Sun will be setting in about an hour.” Emerald pushed the cart with his purchases over to the appropriate section of the heavy oak desk and began to refill the drawers while grumbling, “I’m not running a library, not a day care. I mean I am running a library.”

“Miss Twilight always lets me stay late if I don’t disturb her,” said Dinky. “I was just looking at your scribbles. Don’t you know how to write?”

“Excuse me.” Emerald put a ream of lined notepaper into the top drawer of the desk and stuffed the public quill jar full again with good quills. “I know perfectly well how to write. That’s shorthoof. It’s what they use in court when there’s no unicorn spells to transcribe the proceedings, because it’s faster than writing. A lot faster, once you get good at it. Now scoot, so I can get back to work.”

It took too long in the kitchenette to get all the brand name wake-up juice concentrate put away, the replacement paper trash bags stuck in the holder, and the dish soap refilled, so Emerald was simmering slightly when he pushed the empty cart back into the library main room. It helped that Dinky had run the toilet paper over to the bathroom, which gave him a chance to go back into the kitchen, mix up a pitcher of fresh wake-up juice, and pour himself a hefty glass of it.

Still behind schedule for the evening, Emerald had just gotten seated and started working his way down the remaining lecture notes when Dinky spoke up again.

“So why don’t you use a spell to write?”

“Can’t.” Emerald nudged the graphite feed on his hoof scriber and stopped scribbling. “Have you ever heard of Rhynorn’s Flu?”

The little unicorn shook her head.

“Nasty disease for unicorns, and yet it is one of the least bothersome at the same time. It makes unicorn magic… well, there’s a whole page of technical terms for it, but think of it as putting a sparkly crystal in a bright sunbeam. The magic of even the simplest spell gets scattered and goes everywhere except where it needs to be. Thankfully, that’s about the extent of the problem, except for a runny nose and sneezes for about a week. All three pony tribes can catch it, just like the regular flu, so the treatment is just bedrest and not using unicorn magic for a week or so until it goes away. Earth ponies and pegasi have no problem with that, but unicorns can get… crabby. My mother caught it once and broke nearly half a tea set before it ran its course, and that was just a mild case that made her spark for a day or two. Some unicorns get a lot sicker. They recover, of course, it just takes longer and they can’t use their magic during that time or it gets worse.”

“So you got your cutie mark in Rain-horn’s flu?” Dinky pointed to the stubby unicorn horn cutie mark on his rear, which was surrounded by several erratic sparks.

“I got my cutie mark in education,” corrected Emerald. “To be specific, teaching young unicorns their very first magic, and how to keep them from just making sparks. After that, I’m really at a loss for spells, to be honest.”

He had hoped the confession would allow him to return to his studies. Most unicorns lost interest rapidly when he admitted his magical talents were limited to the equivalent of knowing all forty-seven verses of the Camelopard Song. Of course, nearly every single unicorn that Emerald had spoken to in the last several years already had their cutie mark.

Dinkie, to his sudden realization, did not.

“Teach me!” she blurted out. “Mama doesn’t know how and none of the adult unicorns in town will pay attention except Twilight and she just uses all these big words until my head spins and I still can’t light up my horn and do any magic so will you teach me please please please?”

Emerald looked at those plaintive eyes. Then his stack of undone homework. Then with a sinking sensation, he looked around the inside of the library, which was devoid of any other ponies.

Teaching was a fragile occupation. Teaching foals was so fragile it could break forever with one sideways glance. All it would take was one female student like this one saying one word and all of his years in college to follow his talent would go to…

“Let’s go outside,” said Emerald. “Out in the town square.”

Sun was nearing the horizon, which meant there were still ponies scurrying around the town, trying to get delayed tasks completed before Moonrise. There were not as many ponies as the crowded Canterlot streets, of course. Sometimes Emerald though the entire mountain was one day behind and racing to catch up, although he could not imagine how far behind Princess Luna must feel.

“Magic is like this fountain,” said Emerald, poking at the still water with a stick.

“Magic has goldfish in it?” Dinky poked at the water with a stick also, frightening one of the pool’s denizens of the not-so-deep into making a brief splash.

“Well, all of the Unicorn Magic Youth Education Specialist literature today says we’re supposed to introduce young students to the wonderful world of magical exploration with an orchestra analogy, with all of the thaumic emanations and interactions like musical notes fitting into a symphony.” Emerald hit the water with his stick again and watched the ripples. “I like the books I found in my father’s old collection from his school years that talk about magic as ripples. Then about twenty years before that, magic was supposed to be taught as colors, and before that, I have no idea. Flavors, maybe. Teaching magic over at an ice cream store has some advantages, I suppose.”

“That sounds really good.” The voice was enthusiastic, but most certainly not Dinky.

Emerald looked up from splashing his stick in the fountain water. “Snips? What are you doing here?”

“Saw you with Dinky.” Snips shrugged his rounded shoulders and peered over the fountain’s edge. “Are you playing with the goldfish?”

“Mister Emerald is teaching me magic,” said Dinky, splashing the water with her stick some more. “But you need a stick.”

One thunder of small hooves later, Snips returned with a stick of his own. And another unicorn student, who had a marshmallow on the end of her stick as if there was a fire around somewhere. Or there would be soon.

Emerald looked over the bright, eager students and counted points on heads. “So Snips, Dinky, and Firelock. Who are we missing? Sweetie Belle and Snails?”

“The susptitute stork-keepers over at the dress shop make her go to bed early,” said Snips with his nose wrinkled up at the thought of the horrible indignity. “And his father won’t let Snails out of the house on nights where I’m out.”

“So why doesn’t he tell his father that you’re out on the nights when you’re home, and you’re home on the nights you’re out?” asked Emerald. “But I didn’t tell you that,” he added quickly. “Firelock, you probably shouldn’t stick that marshmallow in the water if you’re going to… Oh, never mind. Maybe the goldfish will like it. Anyway. Does everypony have their stick?”

Four sticks were proudly held up, one of which was a little sticky from the missing marshmallow.

Emerald had never really taught a structured class before. His experience was mostly limited to working with his little sister back when she was trying to get accepted into Celestia’s school. Although that was always with some of her friends, because fillies tended to learn in clumps much the same way that grown-up fillies tended to visit the bathroom together, because female, duh. And of course whenever his parents took him to some elaborate party or occasions, Emerald found it to be much more interesting to wander down to the foalsitting room and ‘help out’ with the children. That was where he had learned some of his most critical lessons on how to talk to older ponies, because many of the wrinkled old prunes running the room had their own ideas about what would be a ‘fun’ activities for their temporary charges.

This evening made for a far more interesting evening spent under the setting Sun with the four of them waving sticks in the fountain and watching the way the ripples interacted, sometimes to the point of making splashes when the resonant frequencies matched. Those splashes were analogous to the sparks that a young unicorn would make when all of their magic fought against itself instead of blending into a harmonious whole, and incidentally similar to the issues that an adult unicorn would have when suffering from Rhynorn's flu, which of course he mentioned again.

Sunset let him transition the wet fountain analogy into what it would be like to raise and lower Sun and Moon much the same way unicorns did centuries ago, before the modern labor-saving device of a Princess was invented. While typical levitation was a single-track spell where a unicorn would just reach out with their magic and lift, manipulating a stellar object supposedly involved two energy flows. According to accepted theory, it was a far more complicated routine than any ordinary unicorn could master without the risk of burnout, or somewhat more grisley and permanent consequences that history books tended to leave out (but which his students seemed fascinated by).

Once Sun had been placed firmly behind the horizon and Moon was lifted, Emerald shifted the lesson to the wind. He continued while all three students lined up facing the evening breeze with eyes closed and ears up, listening⁽*⁾ to their teacher.
(*) Emerald did not realize how rare this kind of attention was, since he always focused intently on his own teachers, and he had not gotten out into the real world of secondary education on the other side of the desk yet.

“Don’t try to feel anything having to do with magic,” said Emerald. “Just keep your eyes closed and feel the way the wind is flowing over your coats, brushing up against every hair. Lower your head so your horn points directly into the wind and imagine that same sensation flowing down it, across your face, along your body, and out your tail. Snips, stop waving your tail around.”

“It’s flapping,” said the chubby unicorn. “Since it’s a really strong breeze.”

The breeze picked up with the passage of a pegasus overhead, who followed her high-speed pass with a high-speed crash into the top of the library.

“And that’s the end of the lesson for this evening,” said Emerald, who had followed the trajectory of the laden postal pegasus with a sense of foreboding and a vague fear of having to fill out some sort of paperwork for the resulting injuries. “For homework, practice doing this into every breeze you can find while trying to imagine the same feeling running in the other direction.”

“You mean like farting?” asked Snips, which set the other two unicorns giggling.

“No, it’s—” Emerald paused in his turn toward the library and the college notes that were going to take up most of his evening. “Actually, if framing your magic that way lets you light up your corona, toot away. It’s taking something from inside you and moving it to the outsides, after all. Let me know how it works tomorrow. Now head home before you get into trouble, or miss dinner.”

The last word got the results he wanted. Little unicorns dashed in all directions, although Dinky headed at full speed toward the library, calling out, “Mommy, I’m glad you’re back!”

It did explain a lot, particularly Dinky’s lack of parental assistance in learning how to use her unicorn magic, as well as the reckless abandon which she was taking to the educational process. By the time he made it to the library, Dinky and Derpy had put most of the furniture back and made a neat stack of the sheaves of paper that his fellow frat brothers had sent him.

“Thank you, Missus Doo,” he said after checking his folders. “And I see Cook sent… crumbs,” he added, looking into the paper bag. “That’s fine, no problem. I’ve got fruit in the icebox. I’ve got quite a bit of work to do tonight, so if you’ll step this way, thank you, and goodnight.” Emerald splurged on his schedule for a brief wave and a smile to mother and daughter as they trotted off into the lamplit darkness.

He waited for a time, just looking out into the darkening night, until he was certain that Dinky and her mother were out of sight, then cleared his throat and asked, “Can I help you, officer?”

There was a rustle in the bushes, and a dappled grey unicorn mare emerged out into the library’s porch lighting. “How did you know I was there?” she asked.

“Because a complete stranger was playing with three of the town’s unicorn foals at the fountain while Sun is setting. If there isn’t a police officer watching the suspect, something is wrong. I’m Emerald City,” he added. “Education student at Canterlot.”

“Miranda Rights,” said the unicorn, looking a little like she had just bitten into an unripe lemon. “Chief of Police.”

Emerald stood there silently and observed.

“Interesting teaching technique,” said Miranda.

Emerald nodded.

“So, are you going to invite me in?”

Emerald shook his head. “I have a lot of homework to do this evening.”

“I know what you mean,” said Miranda with a slow shake of her head. “Every time the Crown sends a group of substitutes for our local heroes, I get a report.” She paused. “M’lord.”

Letting out his breath in one long huff, Emerald put a hoof against his forehead. “What do you want?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Miranda Rights paused again. “Sir.”

“I’m not offering a bribe,” said Emerald rather quickly. “I’m just here to do a job and get paid for it, but everypony wants something. I want to be left alone. You want the ponies of the town to be safe. Twilight Sparkle wants—” Emerald looked over his shoulder at the neat shelves full of books, the neat stacks of instructions on her neat desk…

“Another book,” prompted Miranda.

“To find the library in slightly worse condition than she left it in,” said Emerald, “with just enough things out of place or needing to be corrected when she returns so she feels good about herself, so she can think she’s a little better than her temporary replacement, and most of all, worthwhile.”

Officer Rights looked as if she were going to make a snarky retort, but after a few moments of thought, she closed her mouth and nodded.

“And since you’ve read my file,” continued Emerald a lot slower, “which includes my arrest record, my family history, and my academic career to date, and you’re still here, that means you’ve got more questions for me. Questions of the sort that if I don’t answer them, you’ll ask other ponies, like my mother, who I really expected to be here since she knows her son has temporarily escaped from the safe and secure environment of Canterlot.” He tugged at the collar of his vest. “You can barely see the leash, but it’s there, nonetheless.”

That earned him another slow nod, and the hint of a smile in the corner of Miranda Rights’ lips. “The previous librarian used to make a pot of coffee at night, and we’d sit out here on the library steps for an hour or two and just talk.”

“Thistle Burr drank coffee?” Emerald shuddered, but was momentarily taken aback at Miranda Rights’ momentary smirk. “You’re just pulling my tail, aren’t you Chief Rights?”

“Oh, no,” said the officer. “The librarian before Twilight is the nicest old mare you’ll ever meet. Thistle Burr, however, is the most—” her lips pursed in search of a word “ —difficult pony, who lives outside of town with the most disagreeable dog. They’re made for each other, really.”

“But the packet I got said—” Emerald paused, then continued slower. “The packet that every reporter would use when they come to town in order to write a nasty story about your present librarian.”

Chief Rights shrugged. “Typos do happen.”

“Typos. Right.” Emerald turned to walk into the library. “I think I saw her old percolator in the back of the pantry, and there may have been half of a can of grounds with it. If it will make you happy, Officer Rights, I’ll brew us up a couple of cups and we can chat out on the steps.”

“I won’t take too much of your valuable study time,” said the policemare as she followed him past the stacks of paper waiting at the library desk.

Over an hour of valuable study time later, Miranda Rights had still not gotten to the bottom of her coffee cup. To be honest, Emerald had only himself to blame. Between the Ursa, the hydras, the zebra outside of town, and of course Nightmare Moon, the tales the officer told made him think of only one thing.

“Why haven’t you moved out of Ponyville yet?”

“Honestly?” She made a wide gesture with her half-full cup at the quiet town, lurking under the moonlight as if it was just waiting to spawn some other world-destroying monster. “When I started the job here as a patrol officer, I was bored. You have to realize that excitement is bad for a police officer. We get called when some mare has gotten off her medication, or a little filly is walking through the town by herself at night, or worse, when something violent is happening. We can be bored for hours on end, and get all of our excitement in one concentrated burst when we least expect it. It wasn’t until I became police chief before I recognized what a special place this is. Sometimes it gets crazy, and it’s always different than normal, but despite all the backstabbing, complaining, squabbling, cheating, lying, and just downright nastiness that ponies do to each other…” She paused and took another sip, but did not say anything else for a time.

Emerald leaned back up against the library’s bark exterior and finished off the last of his coffee. It was his third cup, since he had thought drinking all of the first one would send the police officer on her way, or maybe the second cup would work. The third time did not appear to be the charm either.

Wake-up juice was a much more controllable way of keeping alert at night, and from the looks of the library pantry, Twilight Sparkle was buying the generic mix by the barrel, and tea leaves by the bale. Coffee was noxious, toxic, bitter, vile, and worst of all, smelled absolutely wonderful, thus giving the illusion of an exquisite experience while betraying the drinker with the first sip. Sugar did not blunt the taste much, even when the drinker put enough sugar to leave sludge along the bottom of the cup. Still, he had gotten slightly used to the taste over the years since it was a last resort of a studious student. Well, nearly the last resort. Emerald had never understood students who used Blitz or Pop to pass an exam when the week after, they would go through anywhere up to a page of consequences.

To drink this stuff, the former librarian must have burned out her sense of taste years before she retired. Or maybe she had a belly made of rusty iron. Still, there was something restful about sitting in the front doorway of the library with the warm light pouring out into the town’s soft darkness and the feel of the bark on his back. It was… librarian-like, despite the bitter drink that was setting his nerves on edge. And provided a way to scratch that itch between his shoulder blades whenever he thought too much.

The muffled tone of the clock tower finally made Miranda Rights stand up with her cup floating to her side. She gave the leftover contents a quick flick to toss them into a nearby bush, then passed the empty cup to Emerald.

“That’s the end of my shift. Time to go back to the office and check out for the evening. It was a pleasure meeting you, sir.”

“The pleasure was all mine, m’lady,” echoed Emerald out of habit before he checked himself. “I mean Officer Rights. Um… If you don’t mind a question.” Continuing before the policemare could voice an objection, he asked, “Do you think I’m doing a good job as a substitute? Honestly?”

“You want me to be honest?” Miranda looked back over her shoulder as she walked, seeming to blend into the shadows and vanish by stages with every step. “If you were a permanent librarian, I’d be overjoyed. As a temporary?” She clicked her tongue somewhere out in the darkness. “Miss Sparkle is going to blow her stack when she returns. And I intend on being as far away from the explosion as possible.”

4. Clever Title

Something was hammering Emerald’s head into the floorboards. It was probably related to whatever had crawled into his mouth and died, and the elephant who was sitting on his back.

The raw oak of the library floor felt cool and welcome against his face, if perhaps a little powdery. The resident librarian used a nice flavor of wax, although it was getting a little thin, and probably needed a second coat over the battered grain of the bare oak flooring. Or maybe he needed to quit licking that particular section of the floor to get the taste of old coffee out of his mouth. Yes, that would help. Some.

Prying an eyelid open only made things worse. Sun was happily shining through the library windows, at an angle that could only mean what Emerald laughingly called a schedule was already blown. And somepony was still hammering on the front door, which explained the rhythmic echo rebounding between his ears.

Defying the best efforts of gravity, inertia, and the rest of the world to keep him face-down on the floor, Emerald staggered to his hooves and set his best course for the library door, only to see a bedraggled brown griffon already standing there, who seemed to take great joy in knocking on the inside of the door while watching his reaction.

“Uncle Picker,” groaned Emerald. “I must have left the wedge in the door last night for some fresh air while I was studying. I didn’t think you’d be here until later today.”

“What, and miss my favorite client?” Rag Picker gave a short bound forward with his claws scratching along the library’s wooden floor and caught Emerald under one agile foreleg. With the other, he ruffled the pony’s uncovered tangled mane, then swept a lock of the same mane down over his forehead. “Where’s your hat, son? I thought you had that thing glued to your head.”

“Oh, my hat!” Emerald squirmed free of the griffon’s loose grip and vanished behind the couch, only emerging when he had his fedora back in place. “It’s a sticktation spell, Uncle Picker. You know that.”

“We old birds get forgetful when we’re older,” scoffed Rag Picker. He gestured outside with one wing, ignoring the maltreated brown feather that fluttered to the ground with his motion. “Like I almost forgot to pick up my driver before flying down here this morning.”

“Aye,” called the snow-white pegasus lounging outside the front door. Lark Spur was his usual laconic self, displaying his indifference to the early hour of the morning with a yawn that exposed every one of his perfect teeth. There was a rumor around the Buckball team that they wanted to forcibly change his name to Academic Probation last semester after he blew off one of his critical classes, and to see him out enjoying the beautiful morning instead of chained to a desk making one last try at cramming that information into his thick skull before midterms….

“Uncle Picker,” said Emerald firmly as he turned to the smirking griffon. “I wrote you to pick up some scrap and see if you can locate some books on the secondary market, not to try tutoring Ironhead here one last time before he flunks out of school.”

“Relax, dude.” Lark Spur made a little twisting motion with one hoof, but did not come into the library. “There’s no way I’ll pass this midterm, so I’ve decided to go with the flow.”

“And work for Picker for the rest of your life, pulling carts full of scrap books to the recycler instead of teaching young pegasi to fly,” said Emerald. “I’ve seen the way they look up to you.”

“Griffons too,” said Picker. “I told him, but you can see the words just bounce off his skull. ‘E’s stubborn, like some other young idiot I know. He would have made a good griffon.”

With a plaintive groan, Emerald trudged off to the tiny kitchenette, returning in a few minutes with a large glass of wake-up juice and an improved attitude. “Lark,” he managed after a long drink, “I tutored you all semester. This is the last class you need before graduating, but you’ve fought me every step of the way. Don’t you want to—”

The expression on the bulky pegasus spoke volumes. “Hey, I want to graduate,” he protested.

“Bull.” Emerald went over to the hefty oak desk and shuffled through several stacks of notes, talking as fast as he could put words together. “You’re afraid of going into teaching and failing. Well, I know a little something about failure. You’ve never given up in buckball, right? The coach would throw you off the team on your ear. You’ve lost games and you’ve won games; which one feels better? Are you a loser, Lark? Do you want ponies pointing to you in Canterlot, saying ‘There goes somepony who could have been something, if he had a drop of courage.’ Do you give up when the other team scores a goal? Or do you bite down, kick that ball, and score!”

“Yeah! Wait, what?” Although Lark was a fairly large pegasus, Emerald City was not exactly petite either. He put one shoulder under Lark’s side and shoved him in the direction of the desk, and the set of notes resting on it.

“Final exam notes for Adaptive Physical Education covering all three pony races. If you put your rear down in this chair and study today, you’ll pass. Fail—”

“And I’ll fire you,” said Picker. “No more trips around town with Uncle Picker, getting first dibs on book collections getting tossed. Enjoy shopping retail for a change.”

One of Emerald’s ears twitched with the unexpected support from Picker. “Does that mean you’ll be needing another wagon puller? I mean I can’t fly, but I can still… never mind. He turned back to the pegasus student, who was in turn casting a skeptical look at the stack of papers and organizing his excuses.

“I don’t see why I need to know about pony disabilities for all three races when I’m just going to be teaching little pegasi,” he started.

“Loser or winner,” said Emerald. “That’s a binary choice. Pony disabilities don’t cut that fine of a line. Have you seen a pegasus with Bucker’s Hip? I have. Not all pegasi are limited to pegasus illnesses or disabilities. If you want to teach pegasi foals how to fly, if you’re willing to put in that one final push to score that one last point, you need to know it all. Some little foal out there is just fluttering around on the ground, waiting for you to go teach him how to use his wings. And better yet?” Emerald lowered his voice and moved closer. “You pass that test and I’ll buy a round for every one of your frat brothers. Fail, and I’ll tell them what they missed.”

Lark Spur sucked in a panicked breath. “You wouldn’t. Would you?”

Emerald turned his back and moved over to the cardboard boxes of books he had organized, trying not to smile at the sound of rustling pages behind him. “So, Uncle Picker. I’ve got three boxes of recycling to load, and then we can discuss the list of used books I’d like to get ordered. Outside, so we don’t disturb Lark while he’s studying.”

It took a few minutes to get all the boxes of hopeless books, ancient newspapers, and magazine scraps taken out to the griffon’s wagon, which although small, was large enough to hold them and have some space left. One last trip into the library to get a drink, a minute to pee, and a headache pill stolen from Twilight Sparkle’s huge pill bottle in the bathroom, allowed Emerald to re-emerge refreshed into the bright morning to exchange opening pleasantries with Uncle Picker before the serious negotiations started.

“Interesting list of books,” said the elderly griffon. He waved the sheet of paper in one claw, with neat lines of book titles and maximum prices. “Lots of first editions in your dream list, I notice. Toss another box of scrap in here for me to pick through and I may consider a discount.”

“I probably shouldn’t. I’d have to yank out all the cards and do the paperwork to pull them from library inventory.”

Thankful for the library’s icebox, Emerald took a deep drink out of his chilled glass of wake-up juice, which he had made last night while in the sleepless throes of post-coffee cooldown. That blessed beverage covered up the lingering taste of his coffee from last night, which was why all his homework had been completed, the book request list filled out, the returned books carded, sorted, and stacked by library section, and he vaguely remembered climbing around on the top of the shelves with a dustrag in his teeth before sleep had claimed him. Thankfully, his collapse had been after crawling onto the library couch. Regrettably, there had been enough couch-lumps that the bare library floor had turned out to be more comfortable.

“You’re keeping the boxes of ratty old books at the end of the desk?” Picker gestured with a small metal flask, which he had just taken a good slug out of.

Ah, the real negotiations begin.

“Well…” Emerald considered his words and held his glass of wake-up juice out, which Picker reluctantly added a few drips from his flask. “Better,” admitted Emerald after another drink. There was more peppermint than alcohol in the Protoceran drink, although both ingredients helped open his eyes and nasal passages far more than the weak juice. Even his ears managed to perk up.

“Better be better, young ‘un,” cautioned Rag Picker while screwing the lid back onto his flask. “Your father sent it as a gift, an’ he don’t believe in shorting bits to a good friend of his.”

“Bits are actually the problem,” admitted Emerald. He leaned up against the rough wood of the cart and gestured with one hoof. “You see, those paperbacks are too expensive to throw away. Still, they’re worn enough that they need to be taped up at least, and I can’t do that very well.”

“I cud tape ‘em up,” admitted Picker.

“And sell them back to us,” continued Emerald without a pause. “Miss Bradel lives in town, and I’d really love to have her rebind them, but oh the cost! We could probably put in another branch of the library for what she’d charge. My father had his copy of Principia Thaumatica rebound by her a few years ago. Expensive as anything, but well worth it.”

“Aye, she does quality work,” admitted Picker. “I’ve sent many a prime but worn-out find to her talented hooves and gotten them back so sharp I could’a sold ‘em as new. Not that I’d do that to an old and trusted customer like you,” he added.

“I’m not old, you’ve never trusted anypony, and I’m barely a customer,” said Emerald. “Not like my father. So how much would you charge to tape them up?”

Picker said a number. Emerald winced.

“For that price I might as well have them pulped,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll toss them into the back of the wagon.”

“You most certainly will not!”

Having never seen Mrs. Bradel before was no barrier to recognizing her at first sight. Emerald City probably could have drawn an adequate sketch of the middle-aged mare yesterday after meeting her son and not had to change a single inked line now. She was smaller than most unicorns, in height but certainly not weight, with an oddly short and blunt horn for her age, which really went well with the narrowed eyes and the lips scrunched together into a disapproving scowl. Although her horn was pointed directly at Emerald, he knew without even looking that she had a book for a cutie mark, most likely done in extremely precise lines and quite neat, much like her short-cropped mane drawn back in an exact scroll-like curl. She was a unicorn who could have been effortlessly dropped into any gathering his mother presided over in Canterlot, where similar short-tempered unicorn mares got together and sniped endlessly about the failures of their unicorn sons.

Only in this case, he was the direct focus of her smoldering ire.

At first, Emerald thought she was going to snap at him for disposing of so many of the library books and periodicals, but an errant breeze took that moment to blow a loose page out of the wagon, or at least most of the page that had not been eaten by mice. Her thin lips became only thinner at the sight until they were nearly dotted lines, and her voice regained a little focus when she asked, “Where are they?”

“The books I was going to have—” Emerald stopped before saying the ‘p’ word and pointed at the library door. Mrs. Bradel stomped inside and returned shortly with two boxes of books floating behind her instead of the one box that Emerald expected to retape. “We can’t afford to have you rebind them,” he said instead. “I was hoping to find some volunteers around town to tape up the corners and spines so they would be good for a few more years, but—”

“Volunteers?” Mrs. Bradel let out a short snort, much like an angered minotaur. “Bending down corners and ripping up the covers? I think not!”

Emerald felt an unreasoned impulse to stick up for the volunteers who worked at the library, but to his regret there had been no new names on the signup list he had found, only dust and a few marked-out names with dates a decade ago.

“Now before I take these to be properly cared for,” snapped Mrs. Bradel with just the smallest hint of strain in her voice, which was probably due to picking up more weight than she was used to. “I came here to tell you to stop bothering my son!”

“Ah, Snips,” said Emerald with a great deal of his stress sloughing away. Working with young unicorns and their first magic made everything else he did worthwhile. Even putting up with mares like this one. “Your son was out at the fountain with the rest of us at the tutoring session last night. Officer Rights said they were all quite interesting children.”

“Interesting is not the word I would use,” said Mrs. Bradel. “You taught him how to make that horrible noise, didn’t you?” Before Emerald could respond, she plowed onward, “Honking like some sort of… digestive illness all around the house! It’s disgusting! It’s—”

“Wonderful!” Emerald beamed and took a step forward, his radiant face fixed in the absolute example of a teacher with a prize student worthy of a scholarship to the highest school in Canterlot. “I had no idea he would learn that lesson so fast. The other students are going to be so far behind him. You have a very talented colt, Mrs. Bradel. Brilliant, if I may say so.”

“Well,” started Mrs. Bradel. The distraction caused her concentration to waver, and the boxes of books began to slowly sag to the ground behind her. “I’ve always… Brilliant?”

“Learning how to focus his magic into a sustainable corona with a simple working in that short a time is quite a feat. Why just yesterday morning when I first arrived at the library, he was unable to even make a spark. I had to get young Snails to use the key to open the wards, but with this kind of progress and the correct encouragement, I’ll bet Snips will progress to multiple periphery workings inside of a year. How long can he make the sound?”

“A few seconds,” said Mrs. Bradel. “But—”

“Several seconds? Fantastic! Since he’s making so much progress, I suppose I can let him skip the next few days of tutoring if you promise to have him practice every day at home. That will let me work with the more difficult students and see if I can bring them all up to the same level of skill.”

“Skip… Oh, no! No you don’t.” Mrs. Bradel huffed herself back up, only this time in more of a Righteous Indignation instead of Divine Vengeance fashion. “If you’re having magic tutoring sessions with the other unicorn students, I insist my Snips be included.”

“Well, I really don’t want them to feel left out,” started Emerald, “but I suppose he would be a good example of how to sustain that ever so important first corona effect, and he could help teach the slower students. If it’s not too much of a bother, Mrs. Bradel.”

“I shall reserve a place on his schedule every evening you are here,” said Mrs. Bradel. “As long as you keep him away from that troublemaker! Now, I must be going. There’s work to be done.” With an additional sniff, the middle-aged mare hefted the two boxes of books and headed away, leaving Emerald to keep a pleasant smile on with his jaw locked shut until he was absolutely certain she was far enough away not to hear.

“What a pleasant young mare,” said Picker in his best monotone.

“She’s a gift horse, since she’s going to tape up the books,” said Emerald as he shrugged into the wagon harness. “For that job alone, she is a distinguished and notable member of the town. And the sooner I get out of town for a few hours, the lower the probability that she’s going to come right back at me like a badly thrown boomerang before the job is done. Let’s get these back to your warehouse in Canterlot. We can discuss the book requests while walking.”

“Sounds good to me.” The elderly griffon hopped on top of the wagon and made himself comfortable with the library book orders clenched firmly in one claw. “Onward, my faithful driver. Let us flee the scene of the crime before yon constabulary comes to enforce the restraining order.”

Emerald let out a chuckle when he started walking, the wagon clunking along behind, although the laughter trailed off with realization. “A restraining order?”

“A minor issue.” Picker straightened up and looked over his shoulder. “You could pick up the pace, though.”

The walk up the long road to Canterlot was far more interesting with Rag Picker to talk with, although it would have been nice if the elderly griffon had gotten down from the wagon. Emerald’s short bursts of speed to dart from class to class in Canterlot was not really an exercise program on par with a long, slow trudge up the side of Mount Canter with a passenger-laden wagon squeaking along behind him. Thankfully, it gave him the opportunity to get the griffon in a good mood by asking about his previous trips to the small town and the odd things that seemed to happen there on a weekly basis. It was good for Emerald too, because keeping one’s nose to the scholastic grindstone for too long left you without a nose to sniff the roses, and no place to rest glasses when you got old and feeble.

Although when Picker told him about the way Twilight Sparkle reacted to his last recycling trip to Ponyville, Emerald felt an irrational urge to return to the library, create a tiny altar out of the scrap books in the cart, and make a bloody sacrifice of himself across them to assuage the vengeance of a wrathful librarian.

The impulse only lasted a moment. He had more important things to deal with than a miffed librarian in a small town. He had goals. Tasks to accomplish those goals. Classes to pass in order to get the degree he needed to escape his father’s overcontrolling reach. Important ponies outside of Canterlot who needed to be given the proper opinion of his own skills and talents. Becoming a respected young unicorn magic instructor would be a long, slow slog up a tall mountain far longer and harder than the mere Canterlot road he was trudging up now, and one misstep would send him tumbling to the bottom in a metaphorical puddle of blood.

Until then, he could happily chat with the elderly griffon and get a good price for the library’s book order. The used novels and paperbacks could be had at a discount from Picker’s stash, a complex web of distributors and fellow trash-pickers across the land. The spellbooks that Twilight Sparkle had meticulously listed, not so much. Or rather, too much. Far too much.

“We’re not purchasing a mansion for you to have a place to rest your old talons,” said Emerald, grateful that the road was leveling out as they got near to the city. “They’re books. Just books. Third editions of the same volumes would fit in the library budget with space left over.”

“The list specifies first editions.” The smiling griffon waved a sheaf of papers. “And only first editions. Underlined twice. No self-respecting unicorn researcher would ever stand for anything less.”

“I don’t have any respect,” said Emerald. “My father would tell you so himself.”

“I beg to differ.” Picker leaned back in his bed of loose pages and shredded magazines like a fat old bird in his nest. “Youth. So impertinent. I think there’s a dictionary in this mess somewhere if you want to look it up.” The old griffon ruffled his feathers while Emerald panted for breath. “You’ve never had children of your own. Greedy little squabs, screeching and screaming about how bad they are being treated until they go flapping out on their own. Then in good time, they come scratching around the nest again, looking to find what they had lost without even knowing they had it. You are losing what you want to keep as badly as my brats did.”

“And what do you think I want?” Emerald slowed his pace to a sedate stroll, the wagon squeaking along behind him.

“Respect. Oh, I’ve seen the way the little ones caper around you.” Rag Picker gave a snort and wiped his beak on a loose page. “They worship at your hooves, and I know you would do anything for them in turn. All of the little ponies, not just unicorns. I’ve even seen the way young griffon chicks act around you. What I’m talking about is your father.”

“What about my father?” Emerald leaned into the harness until the wagon clattered along at a good clip, making the elderly griffon bounce on his makeshift nest, but not impeding his cutting words in the slightest.

“Oh, you talk big about getting out from under your father’s hoof so you can live a life of educating young unicorns.” Picker let out a sharp, rasping cough. “You’re living your life rump-first. Griffons have their priorities straight. Bits don’t lie to you. They stack up in neat little rows and keep to themselves. They don’t run your life, like you ponies and your Marks.”

“I’m not falling into my Mark,” countered Emerald.

“You’re either a gutless coward or an outright liar. If you really wanted to get away from him, you would have changed your name and emigrated to Protocera ages ago.” Picker stood up, stretched, and moved with one casual flap to walk briskly at Emerald’s side. “So why didn’t you? There are quite a few young unicorns in the griffon lands. They need somepony to teach them about their first magic also.”

“I’m frail, and would not survive the journey. Or at least that’s what my parents would say.” Emerald let out a breath in a sharp, bitter hiss as he tripped on a small stone and stumbled. In the process, his dark fedora tumbled from his head and rolled down the road, making him limp over to where it was lying in the dust. He jammed the hat back on his hornless head and snapped, “None of this would have mattered if I had been born a unicorn.”

“And if I had been born with a trunk, I could have been an elephant.”

Emerald kept walking, and Rag Picker did not say anything else for a long time. They continued in relative silence while the cart clattered along through the outskirts of Canterlot, along the streets, and to his shop. Unfortunately, the grouchy griffon resumed talking once Emerald had gotten the wagon parked in the pulping equipment yard behind his shop.

“So, you still want to order those spellbooks on your list before you go? All nice and fresh off the press.”

“Yeah, about that.” Emerald leaned up against the wagon to catch his breath. “Did you know that the last first edition spellbook I purchased for my father’s collection seems to have had a correction inside it that was only in the third printing of books by that author?”

“A fluke,” said Picker.

“And yet the flyleaf page clearly said it was a first edition,” countered Emerald. “Almost like somepony had found a source for printing a large stack of first edition flyleafs, purchased a binding machine from my father with all the most modern workings, and went through all the trouble of unbinding the brand new cheaper third edition just to rebind it with a new flyleaf and sell it for many, many times the price.” Emerald took a few tattered pages out of the bed of the wagon in order to wipe the sweat off his brow. “Purely theoretical, of course. By the way, how have the workings on that rebinding machine you bought last year been functioning? Father would probably like to know, because his company will be coming out with a revision for the spells in the workings early next year.”

Rag Picker walked over to the pulping yard gate and waited for Emerald to leave before closing it behind them. Then he named a smaller number.

Emerald waited. Eventually, Picker named another, slightly smaller number. Then, after a period of quiet beak-grinding, a last number far more suitable to the library’s budget.

After a few moments writing in the library cheque book, Emerald tore out a single bank draft and hoofed it over to the quiet griffon. “Thank you, Uncle Picker. I knew we could come to an agreement.”

“Maybe it’s better that you didn’t run off to Protocera after all,” he mused. “You’d own the place in a few decades no matter how many griffons are there.”

Sheer serendipity in timing allowed Emerald to catch a train for the trip back down the mountain to Ponyville with only a few minutes spent lounging at the station. It was a good thing, because his hooves were starting to hurt with every step. All he wanted to do was stagger back into the library, stuff the cheque book back into the desk—

Oh, buggerit. I have to get those Amnesty Friday bits deposited before Picker’s check clears or it will bounce like a red rubber ball.

And to make matters rapidly worse, five youthful and bright horn-adorned faces awaited him at the library door.

“All right!” cheered Firelock before the rest of them could speak. “Can we light something on fire this tutoring session, Mister Emerald?”

“Hold that thought.” Emerald darted into the library, pushed Lark Spur back behind the librarian’s desk, took away his comic book, and gave him a quick quiz on the notes he was supposed to be studying. Surprisingly, he did not do as bad as expected. So after pointing his older student’s nose at the rest of the notes, Emerald heaved the metal bucket he had been using as a deposit box out of the desk’s bottom drawer, muscled it onto his aching back, and staggered out the door again.

“This tutoring session will take place while walking,” he managed as the five little unicorns fell into step around him with all the organization and sedate manner of energized electrons around an unstable nucleus. “Snips, your mother tells me that you’ve started this lesson ahead of time.”

“Oh, yeah!!” The rotund little unicorn nearly tumbled when his hooves started dancing under him. “Listen to this!”

He stopped, planted all four hooves, and wrinkled up his nose while the faint glow of magic formed in a corona around his horn. Then there was an awful, terrible, flatulent noise that any colt would be proud of, complete with a slow dying off until it ended in a wet ‘poit’ that made the mind think entirely disgusting thoughts of trying not to step in something.

Despite the lateness of the afternoon, Emerald had stopped by his student to watch (and listen). “Excellent,” he exclaimed as he picked up the pace again with the jingle of coins on his back. “Can you walk and do that?”

“Me too!” declared Snails. “We had some practice time while waiting.” The taller unicorn’s steps hesitated while he was walking, and he did not squint quite so much, but a golden light lit up his horn in a simple corona while they walked, and a few moments later he began giving out a ‘blat-blat-blat-blat’ noise with every step.

“Excellent!” Emerald caught sight of the local bank and adjusted his course accordingly. “Normally, it’s the fillies who learn that spell first instead of the colts. Have you girls practiced?”

“I didn’t really have time,” started Sweetie Belle. “My friends and I were crusading—”

“Our fire chief, Red Splasher doesn’t like me practicing outside,” said Firelock in a rapid burst of words. “Or indoors.”

“I… don’t really have an excuse,” admitted Dinky.

“No need for an excuse when you have an opportunity. You five stay right outside of the bank here and practice together just as loud as you can. Remember, it’s like the feeling you get facing horn-first into the wind, only backwards. Since Snips and Snails already have gotten started on the lesson, they can coach you three. You’re all really close to getting this one, and I bet you’re all making noise by the time I get the deposit done. How does that sound?”

One general group agreement later, Emerald trotted up the front steps of the bank and tried the door, which was locked. He rapped gently on the glass and caught the attention of a sharply dressed bank clerk, who walked over to the doors and announced loudly enough to be heard through them, “I’m sorry, sir. We’re closed.”

Emerald checked his vestpocket watch, and eyed the sign. “You’re open for another few minutes. All I need is to make a deposit in the library fund and I’ll be on my way.”

The town clock tower took that moment to chime the hour, and the clerk’s face acquired a most subtle smile of very little amusement. “We were open. We’re closed now. Come back tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to keep this much money in the library overnight.” The moment he said it, Emerald knew it was the wrong approach. The clerk’s eyes moved to the bucket on his back, obviously calculated just how much work it would be to count the bits, and determined that the bank door would remain resolutely closed until morning.

Of course, that was before a stentorian ‘blat’ of impressive duration filled the air.

“By the stars,” exclaimed the clerk. “What was that?”

“Just my students, practicing their magic,” said Emerald over the sound of a second noise, even louder, as if Snips and Snails were engaged in a competition.

“Well, you can’t have them doing that in front of the bank,” snapped the clerk on the other side of the door. “Move along or I shall notify the police.”

“Your bank is closed,” stated Emerald. “You said so yourself. Certainly there can’t be any issue with noise outside a closed establishment.”

“But—” started the clerk, only to have a third noise echo around the street outside, sounding vaguely like an irate goose.

“And they’re improving so fast,” said Emerald just before a noise like a terminally wounded clarinet shrieked behind him. “Ah, that must be Sweetie Belle,” he added.

The clerk jerked her head up and looked past Emerald with an expression of barely suppressed abject terror. “The Crusade,” she whispered. “And… Oh, no. Is that Firelock?”

Emerald took a casual look over his shoulder at the four small unicorns putting out a cacophony of noise, and the reddish one in the middle who was struggling to catch up with her diminutive peers. “Yes, I believe so. Hopefully, this lesson will help her harness the control she’s going to need with such a powerful talent. I’ve always heard how young ponies are going to set the world on fire. She’s the first one I could see doing it literally.”

There was a jingling of keys in the door and the clerk fairly yanked Emerald into the bank. After that, things only sped up. The tin bucket full of bits was dumped unceremoniously into the counter bin, which growled and snarled as the golden disks were shunted off into individual paper-wrapped cylinders and the mechanical counter’s magic working clattered its way to cover the hot check Emerald had just written.

One of the clerks even pulled the deposit slip out of the library cheque book and began filling it out for him when Silver Standard, the president of the bank, came out of his office to see what all the fuss was about. Emerald was not privy to the brief discussion the clerks had with their boss, but when the bit counter gave a crunching noise and ground to a halt with half of the contents still uncounted, the older stallion was the first one over to him with a smile and an offer to double the estimated amount of bits in the deposit if he were so kind as to accept the generosity of the bank toward the respected civic institution of the public library and if you would sign here please and take these six lollipops for your wonderful students thank you so much for doing business with us and we hope you have a nice day back at the library sir goodbye.

There was barely enough time to grab the deposit receipt before the doors slammed closed behind him, which left Emerald free to trot across the street to his independent study group.

“Ladies? Ladies! And you two also.” Once the farting noises died down, he waved the white piece of paper and passed out the lollipops. “Mister Silver Standard was so impressed by your progress that he gave you all a treat. Everypony wave, please.”

All the bank employees were lined up behind the wide expanse of plate-glass windows and waved back, some with obvious relief that the inadvertent concert was being cancelled due to sugar intake, others with a furtive ducking behind something solid to use as cover.

“Now I hate to break up the practice, but I need to get this receipt back to the library and into the ledger. On the way, I need everypony and that includes you, young lady—” he added, looking straight at Firelock “—to practice the same technique only as quietly and consistently as you can. Think of it as a long hummingbird hum with the lollipop in your mouth keeping you from saying it, so your horn has to speak for you. Ready? Let’s go.”

Without an oncoming deadline, the trip back to the library was accomplished in a much more sedate fashion. Sucking on the lollipop gave Emerald the excuse to nod at the passing ponies instead of stopping to talk, which would undoubtedly disturb the student’s concentration.

Firelock was starting to worry him. Well, the little firebrand probably worried most of the flammable town in a slightly different fashion than her behavior worried him as a teacher. Her corona flickered and strobed like a candle in the wind while the other four students managed fairly constant although weak glows around their horns while walking. Her start at spellcasting was still far better than she had done when he first arrived in the town, but with her peers progressing ever more rapidly, she could lose confidence and backslide. Or worse, get frustrated and blow something up.

A quick trip inside the library while his students were honking outside did not make any epiphanies descend on his hornless noggin, but it did get the empty bucket and filled cheque book put away, and Lark Spur redirected back to his notes again. By the time Emerald came back outside, the unicorn study group was all honking away by the fountain, less one who could be seen trugging away.

“Hey, Firelock! Wait up.” It took some quick galloping to catch his reluctant student, who nearly turned the corner by the time Emerald got in front of her. “You’re supposed to be over by the fountain so you can practice,” he said. “Do you think they’d mind if I stood in the water while I taught? I walked all the way to Canterlot, and my hooves hurt.”

“I… uh… We’re not supposed to get into the fountain,” said Firelock, obviously confused by the multiple angles of the conversation, and that Emerald had not asked her to go there, but simply assumed the fact, and was leading her there. It was a routine that — in his experience with other ponies — worked wonders. A question could always be met with a simple ‘no’ for an answer, while sweeping somepony along into an activity required the subject to be forceful and active to change direction.

“We’re not going to be practicing for very long,” said Emerald while coming around Firelock’s other side and guiding her toward the fountain despite a certain wavering of her course. “And the water should help with your lesson. You see, in order for you to use your magic properly, you have to want to cast a spell. And I don’t think casting a fart spell is quite your cup of tea.”

“You’re going to teach me a fire spell?” Firelock sped up her pace to the point where Emerald had to trot to stay even. “Is it a fireball or a sheet of flame or a giant—”

Since they had nearly reached the fountain, Emerald asked, “Have you ever bought a spark shower firework?” He kept right on walking down the steps to keep his inertia while Firelock continued to follow like a second tail. “With all the little colorful sparks shooting up into the air and that shrieking noise they make?”

“Yes! Wait a minute.” The little unicorn paused at the edge of the fountain’s stone lip with the rest of the students next to her, obviously unwilling to climb down into the water where Emerald had just waded in, belly-deep. “Is this just a ruse to get me to make farting noises out of my horn?”

“Yes.” Emerald splashed the water with a hoof. “And the rest of you should watch too. From the edge,” he added before the magic tutoring session turned into a wild pool party.

There was a narrow set of stone stairs on the inside wall of the fountain in case a pony or some ducklings fell in, making a ramp which was just wide enough for Firelock to stand on the bottom step and not have to tread water. She made herself comfortable with the other small unicorns peering over the edge, then looked over at Emerald with the eager expression of the young and guileless.

“A spark fountain firework makes a shrieking noise by passing the stream of hot gas through a restriction,” started Emerald. “Ponies use their lungs and their throats the same way. You four—” he nodded at the watching students “—are streaming your magic out of your horns and tightening up the flow to make that noise, which is the exact same process that older unicorns use to fire bolts of magic, or project shields, or to play music, although it’s generally easier just to pick up a tuba.”

“My uncle has a tuba,” said Snails before being shushed by the other students.

“So why are we in the fountain?” asked Firelock. “Is it because I could surge and set fire to—”

“Yes,” said Emerald quickly before he heard the rest of the list. “Young unicorns have been known to lose control of their magic. In that case, I think a quick dunk into cold water would help you recover your concentration.”

“I really don’t want to get dunked,” said Firelock.

“Then try really hard not to lose control,” countered Emerald, rolling right into the lesson before his student could get distracted. “First, to make the fire fountain noise, you have to imagine your entire body to be covered in tiny little fires. Tens of thousands of itty bitty teeny little things, smaller even than a grain of sand. Fire is what life is after all. We breathe air to burn food, so our fire keeps us warm. Your magic is mostly fire, and your horn can be like a wick to your candle. Start by gathering all of those tiny fires together, one tiny bit at a time, letting them stream harmlessly across your body until they reach your horn… yes, like that,” he added when Firelock’s horn began to glow a deep red. “Like a candle, the corona should stay steady and bright, but not too bright.”

Inside, Emerald fought hard to keep his face straight and his hooves from tapdancing with joy, even being up to his belly in water. Firelock had lit up her horn just as smooth as an older unicorn lifting a spoon. Incentive was a wonderful thing. Too many teachers⁽*⁾ would try to keep her from thinking about fire.
(*) And flammable bystanders in the town. And the mayor. And Red Splasher, the fire chief.

“Now imagine some of those tiny bits of fire floating up in the candle flame,” said Emerald, “while you tighten around the fire. There we go,” he added when the first spark floated up. “Focus. Squeeze the flow a little tighter to make it whistle. Yes, like that. Keep it steady. Steady. STEADY!”

The faint whistle rose in pitch and volume as Firelock’s horn erupted in a spray of sparks, quickly cut off when Emerald swept a leg under her and she fell horn-first into the water. A cloud of steam burst around them, making Emerald cough as he nudged the happy, soggy student in the direction of the steps.

“Did you see that! I was making fire! Flames, even! I bet I can—”

“I’ll bet you can catch a cold if you don’t go home and get toweled off,” said Emerald sharply. “That was a good start, as good as any young student I’ve seen—”

Other than my sister, Frost. At least we can put out fire. Her frostbite stings.

“—but you’re going to need to improve your focus before I teach you any more. All of you.” Emerald eyed his suddenly quiet students gathered around the edge of the fountain. “The first step to casting any spells is not power. That comes far later. The real first lesson is control to keep your magic steady. You will need to generate an initial corona and hold it while sitting, talking, and walking. If you have to maintain a constant musical note, or a little — a tiny little, that is — fire on the end of your horn, that’s fine. Have your parents help you, or work with each other. From what I’ve heard, reading a book at night is good practice. If you don’t keep your focus, it gets dark.” He winked. “That’s normally a bad sign.”

The children laughed, which was nice, because adults never did laugh at his corny jokes. It was music to his ears, particularly the way they chattered among themselves as they departed for their homes, leaving Emerald enough time this evening to study for final exams.

And as he walked away from the fountain, leaving puddles of water behind with every step, he would not have exchanged that moment for anything.

5. Final Push

Emerald had been too happy to relax when he got… home.

It was an odd concept. After only one full day of librarianing, the creaky old oak tree felt more ‘home-like’ than the fraternity house in college he had spent the last few years in, or even his own home with his parents. The tree was no modest Canterlot estate, to say the least. It creaked and moaned in even a light breeze, and there was an ugly crack in the front door that any competent librarian would have gotten patched the day it happened. After the stressful day he had just survived, nopony could blame him for just staggering inside and flopping down on the couch, even if he was still a little damp from the fountain.

Instead, he slipped through the propped-open door just long enough to retrieve a paintbrush and proceed with a little housekeeping job he had never really thought about before. There was a flowerbed outside filled with a dense purple mass of autumn-blooming crocus, although it had a wire mesh fence around it to prevent any unwise nibbling by ponies too young to recognize their nature. The one thing the broad blooms lacked were bees, who were lazing around by their hive up on a library branch as if they were too proud to lower themselves to the menial task.

It seemed a terrible shame.

The delightful scent of crocus tickled his nose when he stepped over the wire fence and began to tickle the flowers back with the paintbrush grasped firmly in his teeth. After all, even if they were poisonous flowers, they deserved to be as happy as he was. So Emerald dipped the paintbrush into the blossoms with abandon, flicking and brushing pollen until a few curious bees from above came down to see what he was doing.

And then a few more bees followed, apparently jealous of their private honey source being poached even if they had not been taking advantage of their asset. Before things got out of control, Emerald slipped out of the flowerbed and bent the wire fence protecting the flowers back into shape. It probably wouldn’t hurt the local students more than a tummyache if they took a nip or two of the poisonous petals, but better safe than sorry. He retreated further as more bees gathered, content to listen to the drone of their activity from the relative safety of the library doorway while the sun sank lower in the sky.

There was something magical about the way twilight settled in over the small town of Ponyville, like a dignified old mare slipping into an evening gown to go out among other dignified, respectable relatives for a night of sipping wine and gossiping. He flipped the ‘Closed’ sign over and retreated inside, this time allowing the door to close completely with the faint thrum of the locking enchantments.

Much like the bees, Emerald really did not want to work on such a nice evening. It was beautiful outside. If left to his own devices, he would dither around the building until past midnight, which would be too late to actually start one last pass over his notes before the upcoming midterm examinations. Proactive procrastination prevention was prescribed.

He made a list, putting ‘Study’ at the bottom.

And it was a little bit of a cheat, but he put ‘Pollinate flowers’ at the top, then marked it off.

Then with the realization that Lark Spur was no longer in the library, and that the physiology notes he was studying had been read all the way through to the sample test in the back, he marked one more entry on the list to be immediately marked off.

While he sat there looking out of the library window across the growing shadows of the town, Emerald let his mind wander a little. If the Elements of Harmony remained out on their mission past midterms, there was supposed to be some mechanism for him to retake any missed exams without losing points. He could be here a week or more, keeping the books herded into their respective vertical corrals, chatting with the townsponies, and sleeping on the lumpy couch so he didn’t disturb Twilight Sparkle’s bed. Which was worth an entry on the list.

Curiosity made him look into the closed bedroom, although he still felt a little like a voyeur, and had to check and make sure the library front door was locked first. He had expected her bed to be a mess, with books stuffed under the sheets and bits of leftover snacks laying around, much like his own bed at the fraternity house. Instead, Twilight Sparkle’s book-packed room was as spotlessly clean and ruthlessly organized as a military barracks, with a bed that had been made so tightly that the covers were in danger of splitting.

Just out of curiosity, he even bounced a bit off the taut sheets just to see how far it would go.

There was no way in Tartarus that he ever could sufficiently clean up behind himself after sleeping there, and it would have been a little creepy anyway for both of them. The secondary alternate of the basket was also right out, both because of the lingering scent of predatory dragon and the reduced size. So the couch it was.

He would probably be sleeping downstairs on the library couch for as long as he was a substitute librarian. Or more probably knocking the cushions onto the floor and sleeping there, because a close inspection revealed the ancient couch had more knots in it than the tree.

He marked ‘bed’ off the list. That left food, because it was impossible to study while being distracted by hunger. At home, his mother would have told Cook to…

The gut-clenching stress just came out of nowhere. To fight it, Emerald stretched out on the cool wooden floor of the main library floor, putting his nose against the worn oak and breathing in. The home he had grown up in had been all varnish and tile, tidy rugs and smooth granite, frozen in time. Everything had a place there. Every plate, every portrait, every book in the library. From the precise greenhouse in back where his mother ruled over every flower and shelf, to his father who ran his company like a military operation. Every one of his brothers and sisters had their role to play, their assigned places in the orchestral performance while their goofy earth pony brother banged away on the drums in the background. From high society to diplomatic appointments to social placement to academic excellence, his siblings all accepted their placement in the universe as dictated by parental prerogative. The one space in the family machine lacking an appropriate gear was an heir to the House Chrysanthemum industry, and therefore a place in the corporate structure of the company.

A space that would not, could not, and was not going to be filled by a simple teacher of elementary unicorn magic.

If only there were some way for him to merge with the library tree, to become one with the flow of sap and bookshelf. The second youngest child of Baron Chrysanthemum would vanish, and the students of the small town would flourish in return, learning under his shade, reading his books, absorbing his wisdom through some process that perhaps library trees did. Then again, trees had bees, and ants, and had to stand outside in the rain, snow, and wind. It would be a heavy price to escape his father, even if it was nothing but fantasy.

An idle thought about what Rag Picker had said still scratched at the back of his mind. He probably could run away to Protocera, find a position teaching foals among the local ponies there, and live his entire life out from under his father’s guiding hoof. Then again, the House Chrysanthemum company sold unicorn workings to the griffons, so his father could probably track him down even there. Inevitably, the distant visit would include another mare that Father thought would make a good match for his errant son, somepony with a few drops of noble blood who would bring him back to Canterlot where he belonged, and produce grandfoals, of course.

There was certainly familial love in that persistent endeavor, a thread of love that had brought the baron’s once-frail son to where he was now. As much as Emerald wished he could sever those ties and fly away to become his own stallion, he could not bear to think of the consequences. Because, after all, he loved his family too, and did not want to hurt them. Even though he refused to admit it out loud.

If you fall asleep here with your nose against the floor, you’re going to wake up tomorrow in a world of hurt. Come on, up and at ‘em. Finish your list, do your last studying before the exams, then sleep. And find some way to keep those couch cushions under Derpy’s landing spot all the time. She makes such a loud noise that she might get hurt. Or disturb the patrons.

Food. That was next on the list, after getting up and staggering into the tiny kitchen. There was fruit in the icebox, so it took very little time to make a quick fruit salad, a cooking task that was well within his limited talents and sufficient to keep him fed for a few meals. It left him with more than a few of the delicious trimmings and peels to snack on rather than throw away perfectly good food. He diced and cubed in relative silence, enjoying the familiar sounds in the empty tree-house. It was a comfortable life he could get used to in a hurry, without many of the luxuries of Canterlot but with the simple pleasures he enjoyed far more. Admittedly, there were not enough unicorn students in the small town to keep him busy tutoring through their first magic, but a job as a librarian would fill the gaps quite well indeed.

Something gave off a short tremor underhoof while he mused and cubed, making the lighting devices in the library flicker. It was just for an instant, but showed just how dark the place would be without an alternative light source. The official residents of the tree were a dragon with exceptional night vision and a unicorn who could make her own light, so he took a break and scrounged in the cabinets to find a dusty candle lantern that probably dated back a few decades. Most modern candle fixtures had a working to quench the wick when it had burned down to the bottom, although this antique actually predated the Chrysanthemum company, and Emerald did not think there was any kind of unicorn magic on it. He stuck one of the ceramic kitchen plates under it instead, added water to the extinguishing reservoir, placed the whole thing on the table, and lit it with one of the long wooden matches from a dusty box next to the oven.

There. If the lights go out, I won’t break my neck trying to find things in the dark.

Dawn, his father’s groundskeeper, would probably make another visit and bring more food than Emerald could eat again if he was not discouraged. Although there had not been any bananas in the collection he had recently delivered, and a proper fruit salad practically required a banana or two. Certainly, somewhere in the farmer’s market there had to be some imported bananas, and a single one would not break his budget, so Emerald left a quick note to himself on the table.

Dawn, get a banana.

Dinner having been taken care of, Emerald put the bowl of diced fruit into the icebox to chill while getting set up for the rest of his evening chores. His stomach rumbled objection to the delay in getting fed, but he ignored it. After all, if he was hungry, he would not dawdle around.

It was an incentive, a literal carrot on a stick in fruit salad form.

Notes were next. He needed a comfortable spot to spread out his papers without getting them mixed up in the library paperwork, so that left… hm… the balcony, of course. There would be a nice breeze from the dark town, a few stars to keep him company, and nothing to distract him like being surrounded by readable books.

The reduction in the massive oak desk’s paperwork load from sending his notes into the frat house was made up for by the increase in their notes he had received in return, so repacking his study materials into the oversized saddlebags was difficult, but still possible. Which left him free for his short trip up the low-stepped ramp where his study location waited.

Hooking the firefly lantern on a nearby hook, Emerald took a look around the balcony. The scent from the pollinated crocus flowers below made a nice counterpoint to the oaky scent of the tree, the lamplight provided just enough illumination to make reading pleasant, and lying chest-down on the bare wood should be just uncomfortable enough for him to stay awake. It left him musing about his placement in the universe as he arranged the stacks of notes. After all, it always felt good to reach the end of his study guides, putting that last period on the last line before the last burst of studying . There were always edits, of course, but this marked a midpoint, a time of scholastic understanding that most of his fellow students only reached a day or two after final exams. It was made only better by knowing his hard work had gone off to his fraternity in Canterlot where his frat brothers were studying, even if they did not really appreciate his work. After all, he did. And most likely Derpy appreciated his putting down cushions for her inevitable crash landing in the middle of the library main room.

He stretched out and put the school notes to one side, just looking through the balcony’s railing at the glimmer of the town lights below. There was a shallow depression where he was resting against the bare wood of the balcony floor, most likely put there by generations of belly-pressure by librarians much like himself who flopped down on their chests to watch the town sink into darkness, or early-rising librarians who liked to watch the rise of Sun. It was a good spot to think and observe as shadows finished engulfing the town and the windows started to light up in small clusters.

A line of lights began to work their way down one of the larger paths, which took Emerald a few minutes to recognize. After all, he had only skimmed the librarian instructions in his packet, and could barely remember a townspony called Blighter the Lamplighter, who must have been making his rounds, leaving small pools of golden light in his wake.

Even that limited light would not last for long, because last evening had surprised Emerald with the relative shortness of Ponyville’s night life. In two or three hours, Blighter would reverse his path. The streetlamps would go out one by one until the only artificial illumination left in town would be a small red lamp at the police station and the library’s porch light. The moon and stars would remain, of course, although nopony would be watching them but Princess Luna and himself.

Emerald had never really considered what magic was behind the huge oak tree he was in until now. Library Oaks were unusual, but not too rare across Equestrian towns and villages. They were probably a result of mixing earth pony Cornucopia Effect and unicorn magic, now that he thought about it. Even if only one or two groups of specialists knew the combined working, the trees probably took forever to grow to this size. He closed his eyes and touched his hooves to the raw oak of the balcony floor, trying to feel down below the magical wards, under the workings that Twilight Sparkle had spread around, way down to the earth pony magic that underlaid everything. It took some time, but the library was empty, and he had the time now. Whenever Emerald had tried to touch the magic that made plants grow before, even with houseplants at home, he had failed. This time, there was something there, something about the much larger plant that he was actually inside of that made him feel as if he could almost hear it say…

No, there was too much of Twilight Sparkle’s unicorn magic scattered around. Besides, he never had gotten his natural earth pony magic to even sprout beans in school, so expecting to somehow reach out to the heart of the tree and feel it speaking to him was just his mind playing tricks to keep from studying.

After stretching out in the shallow wooden depression again, he tilted his hat back and looked out into the dark town, sparkling in the moonlight and seeming as if it were a whole new place. The scents of night-blooming gardenias and jasmine drifted up the tree’s trunk, along with another delicate scent that he could not place. It was admittedly nice, but distracting as he continued to observe the town’s transition into deeper darkness.

Once his studying and midterms week was over, if he were still librarian, this would be the perfect place to relax in the evenings. All he needed was a place to put a glass of wake-up juice, a notepad, and a stack of library books to enjoy the evening. That would be about perfect. A little twisting around and looking let him see the fresher marks in the bark where Twilight Sparkle had fixed a lamp hook for illumination, behind him for some reason. And the dark round rings where she had placed her damp glasses were likewise located underneath the lantern location, which was both a little foolish because flying insects would drop into the wake-up juice, and it would take a considerable stretch to reach way back there in order to pick up the glass. It would have made far better sense to have both the lamp hook and the refreshment over—

She reads books while facing into the library, not facing out. That means what I’m smelling is from her other—

It only took a moment to hop up, regard his previous location, and decide on another activity for the evening rather than leaving his nose stuck down into the female librarian’s regular rump resting spot. Unfortunately, rearranging his notes to allow for lying down in the opposite direction left him facing into the library, at an altitude where he could see every misaligned book and gap. And after all since he was being paid to manage the library, it only made sense to actually do the assigned job this evening before reviewing his notes again. Besides, he would never be able to focus on his studying if he could see distracting tasks that needed to be done.

It only took a few minutes to trot down the shallow steps of the ramp to the main library floor, arrange the couch cushions on Derpy’s regular landing spot, finish the check-in and fine payments for the last few books of the evening, and regard the stack of books that still needed reshelving. Even with the hopeless books he had sent out to be pulped, the returns were probably going to be more than the empty spaces in the shelves, which would mean more rearranging, shuffling, and moving to get them all to fit, if they would. That could take all night.

Tomorrow. Afternoon, maybe.

Finishing up the rest of the tasks let Emerald tidy up the huge librarian desk, make one pass around the library with the Barnyard Bargains cart to pick up any misplaced books (because the Returns cart was already full), and some dusting.

After marking the last line in the daily ledger entries, he finished his tasks by refilling the quill box again with his earlier purchases. Grumbling about library patrons who viewed the jar as a discount shopping center, Emerald checked to make sure none of his notes had slipped into any cracks in the massive oak desk, refilled the ink bottle, adjusted the magical desk light, and gave a short nod.

Librarian duties for the day, done. Student duties for the evening, prepared. Study time, about to start. At least I can do that without sniffing Twilight Sparkle’s…

Emerald lifted one foreleg up and sniffed his pits.

Revised plan: A quick bubble bath, a small bowl of fruit salad and a large glass of wakeup juice from the icebox, and then studying all night.

While strolling into the bathroom and getting the ancient claw-footed tub prepared for a bath, Emerald considered a proper incentive for after studying, other than just collapsing and sleeping until noon. A book would be a nice change of pace, something short and punchy that did not relate to teaching.

The tub filled exceedingly slowly, so while Emerald was waiting for the suds to build up, he perused the shelves of the library as a patron. Several of the books tempted him, particularly one called Banging Around the House which he had thought was a fix-up book for home repairs, until he put it down on the librarian desk and peeked inside.

“We’ll just set this one aside for now,” he murmured, putting it on the far end of the library desk where it would not ignite any of the other paper. A book on Minotauran mining poetry looked like an interesting candidate for this evening’s relaxation, at least for a short time after study guides and before bed. At home, he could read in the bathtub, but here, it probably was a very bad idea, particularly since the book was supposed to be a post facto reward.

Putting the book on the librarian chair for later, Emerald wandered back into the bathroom and turned off the faucets. The air was filled with the delicate scent of lilac, a healthy covering of suds nearly reached the top edge of the tub, and the towels…

“Why does she lock the linen closet?” grumbled Emerald while rattling the wooden door. “It’s not like anypony is going to steal…”

On second consideration, the spare roll of toilet paper he had left out after filling the roll was gone, and the primary roll next to the flush toilet was stripped down to the bare cardboard tube. Getting the mechanical key to the bathroom cabinet out of the librarian desk, he opened the linen closet much like a banker would open the vault to reveal the precious contents.

Getting out two extra rolls this time, Emerald refilled the toilet paper dispenser, put the spare rolls on the shelf behind the toilet, and locked the rest of the vanishing supply securely back into the cabinet. It was worth noting that the door’s lock had quite a number of tiny scratch marks around it, as if library patrons made a habit of ‘nudging’ the lock in the hopes of lifting a few rolls of toilet paper or fluffy towels for their own home. In hindsight, the missing loose towel in the bathroom had probably suffered the same fate, and was in use in some townspony’s bathroom.

Maybe if I chained one towel down, it would stay put for the whole day?

Placing the two largest and fluffiest towels next to the tub, Emerald slipped out of his vest and tossed it gently outside of the bathroom, then paused with one hoof just barely touching the suds.

At home, this would be the moment that one of his brothers would do something terrible. He would be forced to respond, and only be able to return once the bathwater had cooled to something worthy of ice cubes. In that regard, his frat brothers were true brothers also. In fact, Emerald could not ever remember taking a proper hot bath, ever.

“I’m not at home or at school,” he murmured. “I’m librarysitting. The front door is closed, the sign is out, and the town is about as dark as it gets around here. Getting one hoof wet will not somehow trigger a disaster. There’s nothing on fire in the entire library other than the candle in the kitchen, and that’s in the glass jar, on a plate, in the middle of the table, so it won’t spill. There’s nothing keeping me from getting into the tub and staying there until I’m a wrinkled prune.”

He paused, listening. Something out in the darkness had made a noise. It could have been a giggle, or perhaps one of the squeaking noises the tree made in the breeze. Perhaps the universe was laughing at him. Or there was an intruder. Who had somehow bypassed the complicated magical wards around the library—

Or possibly had just flown in through the open balcony doors upstairs.

He scowled at the foamy suds. During his review of the library, Emerald had noticed a set of thaumaturgical research tomes on a high ‘Reference’ shelf, out of reach of the town’s youth. From his own experience purchasing spell tomes for his father’s library, Emerald knew the prices on those kinds of books ranked from ‘expensive’ to ‘you have to be kidding.’ Undoubtedly, due to the fact that Twilight Sparkle was Princess Celestia’s private student, some of these books could literally be priceless.

“And what am I supposed to do if somepony is stealing them,” he muttered while trotting back out into the well-lit library, “other than scream my head off and hope the local police just happen to be outside.

A brief check of the main floor showed the valuable reference books still intact, with no shadowy figures stalking around the library on book-stealing missions. The second floor was likewise empty and quiet, leaving Emerald to look out across the town from the open balcony doors for a moment.

The only activity he could see was the train, which was pulling into the station on some late-night run with the distant shuffle of a few ponies either getting on or off.

“Thank the stars for small favors,” murmured Emerald. “I know Dad’s got some locking bookshelf widgets with magical wards for expensive volumes. Maybe I can get a couple donated here next month… Naa, he’d use it as some sort of social prybar.”

Giving the balcony doors a shove to close them, Emerald felt the tingle of locking wards under his shoes and grimaced. He was being paranoid again. When everything was going his way and normal ponies would be perfectly happy, he just had to start angsting until something, anything would go wrong. This ‘librarian’ job had turned out to be almost trivial, his studying was going better than it would have in the fraternity with all the minute-by-minute interruptions, and…

Well, he had to admit it. The town was full of attractive mares, which was something to consider checking out after his midterms were done.

By the time Emerald got to the bathroom again, he was whistling a merry tune, right up to the point where he touched one hoof to the warm suds and somepony started hammering on the front door of the library.

“If that’s my brother,” muttered Emerald as he headed out into the library main room. “Pow, right in the face. We’re closed!” The locking wards to the door gave him a sharp tingle when Emerald yanked open the front door and gave the stodgy unicorn behind it a fierce scowl. “Oh! Papercut. What are you doing here at this hour of the—”

“Bearer mission is over,” managed the panting bureaucrat, who looked as if he had run to the library from admittedly somewhere close, since he was just out of breath and not sweaty. “They’re getting off the train right now, and the return trip to Canterlot leaves in ten minutes.”

“Ha! I knew it!” declared Emerald to the momentary bafflement of Papercut as he turned and darted up the shallow steps of the ramp to the second floor. “Let me grab my stuff. Go ahead and tell the others.”

“You’re the last one. The weather crew got the farm and the animal shelter; I just finished with the bakery and the clothes store.”

“Thank you, Papercut, You’re like a brother to me. Really,” managed Emerald as he collected his notes, a task that might have taken until after the train had departed if not for a pale grey glow that surrounded each stack and sorted them into his saddlebags neatly. “I mean, thanks. Honestly. Sorry about snapping at you like that.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Papercut, who had followed Emerald up the stairs and was using his magic to gather up the last few bits of paper still scattered around. “Sir.”

“Not a problem.” Emerald prepared to shoulder his bags, then accepted the pocket-filled vest that Papercut floated over. “Oh, almost forgot that on the bathroom floor. Thanks again.”

“Just attempting to leave the workplace neat and tidy for Twilight Sparkle.” Papercut followed obediently behind Emerald as he scurried down the stairs, his sharp nose twitching as he peered into every corner of the quiet library. “Acceptable, I suppose, although there are still quite a few books that need reshelved.”

“Leaving them for the regular librarian. Don’t want to miss the train.” Emerald paused at the front doorway and looked back at the library he had called home for such a short time. Everything was so neat and tidy it could almost have been his own father’s library. If nothing else, the Princess’ student should appreciate finding it so—

“Just a second, Papercut. One last thing.” Darting into the main room again, Emerald bucked out with both hind hooves in a calculated bump against the nearest bookshelf, setting it wobbling and knocking some of the neat rows of books into minor disarray. He repeated the process on the next bookshelf, trying to control the impact enough not to send any of the books tumbling to the floor.

“What are you doing?” hissed Papercut from the doorway. “We need to— Oh, hello Miss Sparkle. Is there anything I can do for you?”

The returning librarian’s answer was nearly inaudible, although a second, much younger voice that had to have been her dragon added, “We’re fine, just glad to be home. Papercut, right?”

“Yes indeed, young sir.”

Emerald did not quite catch the rest of the conversation, because he gave a quick hip-bump to a last bookshelf on his way around the corner as Twilight Sparkle passed on the other side, and the sound of books rustling drowned out the words. He did catch a glimpse of the dragon, a short purple creature with frilly green fins, as he headed out the front door right afterward, and managed a quick nod of the head before emerging into the cool night air and turning his steps to the distant train station. Slow at first, but increasing to a rapid gallop when the first short whistle sounded.

He managed to convince the conductor to hold their departure the extra minute it took for a panting Papercut to catch up. After all, he was the one who signed the cheques.

Author's Notes:

And everything was fine, until the next morning when Emerald woke up to find a police officer waiting for him…

6. Just Desserts

“Hey, Greenie. There’s a policemare here for you.”

“Osteomalacia-induced wingbone distortion,” gasped Emerald as he bolted up from the bedroom floor with two pages of notes still stuck to his face. “Or undiagnosed erythematosus causing joint… Oh, Bunky. Policemare?”

“Officer Grace,” said the neatly dressed unicorn mare behind his fellow fraternity brother. The fraternity hallway was dim because several of the illumination workings had been scavenged to complete midterm projects by the engineers among his frat brothers, making the quadratic equations covering every inch of the walls difficult to see, and the dark green mare in the blue uniform practically fade into the shadows. “If you will come with me, sir?”

“Because…?” Although he was still blinking away sleep, Emerald was not about to burn any of the precious Day down at the police station, not-answering questions about whatever his frat brothers had done during Night.

“It’s about the library.” The laconic expression on the policemare did not shift one muscle, but Emerald practically hopped up off the floor and dove into his notes.

“Another Bearer mission this soon?” he grumbled, stuffing notes into his bag and holding a quill in his teeth. “I might as well move into the library and live there until midterms are over. Bunky, make sure the professors know I’m missing the exams while on Crown business, so I don’t get gigged. Repeat that back to me.”

“What?” asked Bunky before tearing his eyes off the slim unicorn mare with the silky dark green coat and managing a weak focus back on his fellow frat brother.

“On second thought, take this note to my professors,” muttered Emerald through the quill in his teeth, scratching away on the desk notepad. “Make sure they know I’m on Crown business and that I get to retake my exams without being gigged for missing them. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The policemare seemed subtly entertained by Emerald’s bag-stuffing, although she did not contribute one thaum to his efforts, or help him with his unbalanced load while they hustled downstairs and out into the dimness of the early morning Canterlot streets. She did however, raise one eyebrow when he stopped on the sidewalk.

“Escort to the train station?” he prompted, expecting the gut-twisting sensation of teleportation like the last time he had been picked up at the frat house for his substitute librarian job.

“We will be walking,” she said instead, turning to stride down the sidewalk with long, brisk steps. It took little time for Emerald to catch up, and he managed to get his thought processes jump-started by the exercise before they had traveled a single block.

“We’re not going to the train station, are we?”

“No, sir.”

A few steps later, Emerald added, “Are you taking me to the police station, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

After due consideration, he hazarded, “What if I refuse?”

The young mare shrugged and kept up her brisk pace. “I’d have to arrest you, your father would send a lawyer, and most of the day would be taken up by unproductive arguments, shouting, threats, legal actions, posturing, that kind of thing.”

“Oh.” Emerald continued walking for a time while thinking. “How do I know you’re not going to get me to spill whatever few beans I have, and then arrest me anyway?”

“Because…” Now it was the policemare’s turn to look contemplative. “I will give you my word.”

“Your word?” echoed Emerald. “You expect me to trust you? That will be cold comfort for when I wind up in a cell.”

“The Princess trusts you. The Princesses, that is. I have gone over your records extensively and believe that you are sufficiently honest that I can trust you in return. And… Well, there is one other thing, but I shall reserve that question for later. I can give you no more assurances.”

“I… suppose.” Emerald made a sharp turn into a nearby Starbuckers. When he came out with a cardboard carrier on his back, Officer Grace was standing there with the same patient look on her face. “Since we’re going to be at your office for a while, I got your usual,” explained Emerald as he continued walking. “The barista knew you.”

“Practical.” The unicorn mare floated a foam cup out of the cardboard carrier, took a sip, then returned it with a grimace. “The quality I’ve learned to expect.”

Emerald shrugged. “Sue me. I still think you’re going to arrest me anyway.”

Officer Grace shook her head, making the tight bob of reddish mane at the back of her head wobble. “Believe it or not, I am far more interested in finding out what is going on.”

“Ahh…” Emerald picked up his pace. “You know, I think the feeling is mutual.”

“And when our conversation is complete, and you return to your studies,” continued Grace without missing one step. “Remember that on the exam, it’s never erythematosus.”

It was the fastest Emerald had ever gone through a police station, and on a side of the dividers he had not seen before. Rather than an interrogation stall, the two of them appropriated a smaller conference room that still had an empty box that once held donuts littering the desk, and Grace brushed away the crumbs before dropping the first thick folder down on the cleaner surface.

“What?” asked Emerald. “No threats of prosecution? No searches of my possessions for nefarious plans?” He looked around the conference room. “No one-way mirrors?”

Grace shook her head again. “We received your file as a matter of procedure before you were assigned your task in the Ponyville library. I was the one who did the preliminary security investigation. In addition, when the reports began coming in early last evening, I took the liberty of sending for your recent academic records. I doubt that you have had the time to plot treason against Their Highnesses’ representatives.”

“Treason?” Emerald lifted one eyebrow and peered at the flattened parchment scroll that Grace scooted across the table to him. He read for a while, then looked back up. “I’m conflicted. She’s writing this on parchment that I purchased. Are these even laws?”

“Two of them are,” admitted Grace. “Several of the city attorneys are looking into the last one. Either Twilight Sparkle made an error in her transcription, or you somehow managed to merkle a fizgomet.”

“The fizgomet probably deserved it.” Emerald flipped the sheet over and passed it back, only to have Grace send another bundle of parchment sheets his way, this one about twice as thick.

“That was the initial missive,” she said in a perfectly flat voice. “This one was sent about an hour later.”

“Theft. Grand Theft Shopping Cart. Theft again. Misappropriation of funds. Malicious mischeif is misspelled. Hm…” Emerald made a correction with the red pencil from his pocket, then read for a while, turning pages and making marks as needed. “Probably has to do with the boxes of scrap books I sent in for pulping, and the check I wrote Uncle Picker for replacements. There’s several boxes of books in Mrs. Bradel’s care also that didn’t get recorded in the ledger, so… Still, the estimated loss she has listed for the—” he squinted “—armed robbery and ultra grand larceny in the first degree is too high. And redundant.”

“New volumes, first editions. They don’t come cheap.” Grace slid over a book catalog. Emerald slid it back.

“Public library. Secondhoof purchases and… I better stop there,” admitted Emerald.

“Your ‘Uncle’ Picker, I presume,” said Officer Grace. “Frankly, I’m torn. He provided a great number of my textbooks during my school years, and I have several of his volumes in my private library.”

“Uh-huh,” said Emerald, working his way through the sheaf of parchment.

“All first editions, of course,” added Grace.

“Of course.” Emerald turned a page and stopped. “A writ of replevin? What’s that?”

“An action to recover the property you supposedly stole,” said Grace, still watching his face. “I.e. the vast collection of the Golden Oak Library historical references and antique texts snatched callously away from their shelves and flung into an unknown and most probable horrific fate.”

It took a while to properly absorb the legal charges. “You know, a mouse ate all the way through several of them, and I really don’t want to guess what the book on plumbing was used for.”

“I didn’t say it made sense,” stated Grace. “I said she was filing the legal demand.”

“Should be easy enough to abide by the recycled letters of the law,” mused Emerald as he flipped forward a page. “I’ll get Picker to load up a wagon full of wood pulp and dump it— No, better not. Twilight Sparkle is wound tight enough to be used as a watch spring already.”

“She is the trusted student of Princess Celestia,” said Grace, “bearer of the Element of Magic, noted scholar—”

“And if you stuck a lump of coal up her ass, you’d have a diamond inside of a week. I already have parents like that, so I don’t need some short-tempered librarian trying to control my life,” said Emerald under his breath. He flipped forward another page, then looked up into Grace’s wide eyes. “What, did I say that out loud?”

The policemare seemed to be having some sort of problem with her bottom lip. It twitched, and a tear was forming in the corner of one eye. “I will… disregard that for the moment,” she said after a while. “All of the Bearers have their own idiosyncrasies, but Twilight Sparkle has an impressive collection. One must realize the importance of her work is sufficient to overcome them, as well as be considered one of the most critical assets of the Princesses.”

“So…” Emerald considered his relative position, which was quite low and rug-like, before returning to the impressive collection of documents. “She wrote all of this last night, after going out on some dangerous mission for the Princess. Risking her life for several days, then… Did she write a report on what the Bearers did?”

“That’s classified,” said Grace, with a certain stubbornness to her tone that indicated she was not privy to that information either.

“So either my actions made her report be delivered late to Her Highness,” mused Emerald, “or she managed to write a report already and all this, which is just crazy. I mean priorities,” he added with a wave of one hoof. “If I’m such a threat, why was I sent to librarysit her precious books, and if she’s just having a serious angst fit about her latest Bearer mission…” Inspiration struck, and hard enough for Emerald to stop talking for a moment. “She’s coping.”

“Beg pardon?” asked Grace, who appeared slightly set back at his rambling train of thought.

“Everypony copes with stress in different ways,” he started, falling by habit into his best lecturing cadence. “I get a little hypersensitive and start contingency planning, my father spends extra hours at work hammering out new projects, my mother cuts the heads off flowers in the greenhouse, and you…” Emerald looked his polite captor in the eyes, shifted his gaze down to the image of a camera on her flank, then nodded. “Eidetic memory, I presume?”

“Photographic, yes.” Grace lit her horn up, and a small illusion of Emerald’s frat room appeared on the table in front of them. “I never forget a detail.”

“So you never forget a stressful moment either,” continued Emerald, “which means your favorite way of dealing with stress is not to deal with stress. I’ll bet Twilight Sparkle deals with the Bearer mission stress with a quill. She takes it out on anypony except Her Divinity, Princess Celestia, which I can’t blame her for. Heavens knows, I’d never want to dump on Her Highness. So—” he prodded the pile of parchment “—I get to be her bucking bag.”

“That does seem consistent with the treatment her previous librarian substitutes endured,” said Grace with a slow nod as she let the greenish illusion of Emerald’s messy room fade away. “She has high standards, but some of her complaints were slightly excessive.”

“Slightly?” Emerald gave her another close look. “You’re not her sister or something, are you? An aunt, perhaps?”

Grace shook her head. “No relation. My House does not cross with hers inside the last five generations or so. Or yours, for that matter.”

“Meh.” Emerald prodded the thick pile of parchment again. “So how do I get out of here without being arrested?”

“One simple task,” said Grace. “Over the years that I’ve worked for the police office, I’ve found a single eyewitness to an event will always give misleading testimony, even when that witness is myself. Since I have the responsibility of reporting to Their Highnesses with regards to Twilight Sparkle’s complaints, it would be preferable to have your perspective on the events. Perhaps some middle ground can be found, without involving lawyers, judicial actions, and dismal swamps in distant lands where you can be—” Grace lifted a single sheet of parchment in her magic and squinted at the scribbled letters “—locked up in a prison to be banished to another country where you can be locked up again forever.”

“I feel like I should grow an evil mustache to twirl,” groused Emerald. “Unconditional immunity for my testimony?”

Grace slid over a piece of parchment, all filled out except for his signature. “To hear the other side of this story? Absolutely. All I ask is that you do not leave out any detail, no matter how small.”

Well, she did ask for it. And the longer Emerald was in the police station relating his story, the more he could claim he was being cooperative at any trial. With a little urging from Grace, he started his recitation at the train, because the trip from the frat house to the station had been a little chaotic at best, and he had a unicorn police officer/witness escorting him anyway. Grace seemed interested in his walk around the oak library once he reached Ponyville, so he expounded for a few minutes about his theory on the genus of the Common Library Tree. He could not help but add his thoughts on the young unicorns he had given a little tutoring and how the town was so different from Canterlot.

He had just gotten to the evening where he was making a fruit salad, when there was a knocking at the door to the conference room, and a delivery pony came in with oatburgers and hayfries for the both of them. After Grace had paid (with the absolute minimum tip), they spread the food out across the conference room table and dug in.

“I have to say,” said Emerald after a quick swallow of oatburger, “that this is the most polite interrogation I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing with the police.”

Grace dabbed her lips with a napkin before returning to cutting her oatburger with a knife and fork expertly manipulated in her pale green magic field. “I examined those records in the process of doing your security review. I would hesitate to call them ‘interrogations’ except in the technical aspect of the word. Repeating ‘I want my lawyer’ for several hours makes rather boring reading. The officer only wanted to know which of your fraternity brothers had stolen her hat.”

The old container of wake-up juice from this morning was empty, so Emerald dropped it into the trash and picked up the remaining glass of orange soda that had obviously been purchased for him. “In any event, you bought my favorite lunch, we’re talking privately without one of those one-way mirrors, and I have to say this is the most pleasant time I’ve had with a young mare in simply ages.”

Grace looked down at the table and seemed to be totally engaged with the precise bisection of her remaining oatburger. “Please, sir. I’m not that young.”

That was worth a brief snort on his behalf. “Nonsense. You should have seen some of the old crones my father was trying to set me up with. Well, you probably have, if you were responsible for reviewing my file.”

The resulting silence and the light blush along her ears spoke volumes, but it did bring up a thought that rattled around in the back of his head as he continued his testimony after their light lunch. After they cleaned up the table, all that was really left to tell was yesterday’s interrupted preparations for a relaxing evening at the library, but as he wound up his story with the noble train-bound band of brave replacements headed back to Canterlot to cash their checks, Emerald noticed a certain twitching to Grace’s bottom lip again.

“I have a few questions,” started Grace once she had gotten control of her concealed giggling. “I did not want to ask this at first, but why are you so forthcoming with me now, as opposed to your previous interactions with the police.”

“I was captivated by your smile,” said Emerald.

“I don’t smile,” countered Grace, demonstrating the straight face she had been wearing since they met.

“Well, I signed that immunity agreement.”

“I scarcely think a simple signature explains your cooperation.”

“You bought me lunch,” added Emerald.

“You were cooperating before I fed you,” said Grace.

“I… um… gave some thought to the matter,” said Emerald reluctantly. “Twilight Sparkle is Princess Celestia’s student. If Her Highness got involved… Well, I don’t want to meet her again.”

“Again?” Grace got the distracted look his professors managed whenever Emerald was taxing their memories, only since her talent was perfect recall, he suspected he knew exactly what folder she was mentally leafing through, made only more obvious by her next words. “There are no indications in your file that you have ever met with Her Highness. Either of Their Highnesses, in fact.”

“It was a long time ago,” offered Emerald.

“I suppose I could ask Her Highness when I deliver my report,” mused Grace.

“No!” Emerald tried not to fidget and failed. “Look, I was very forthcoming today. Can’t you just leave it at that?” The silence made an effective answer. “I met her just after I got my cutie mark in unicorn education,” he admitted. “I was young, excited, exuberant, and extremely proud of my rump at that moment.”

After a moment’s consideration, Grace seemed to accept his excuse without further elaboration and move on. “Before I ask my next question, I just wish to state for the record that I do not see any possibility of you being incarcerated for any of your actions at your assignment. Well, except for one possible action, and I’m beginning to doubt that Twilight Sparkle even noticed.”

“One?” Emerald began to rise to his hooves, only to settle back down in his chair at a quelling motion by the policemare.

“As a matter of fact, it relates to my first question.” She licked her lips with just the tip of her tongue and cocked her head slightly before continuing. “What would you assume if you returned to your home after a long absence, only to find your caretaker of the opposite sex had prepared a candlelight meal large enough for two, a warm bubblebath, placed a mildly pornographic book on your favorite desk, and dusted herself in fragrant night-blooming crocus, which according to the file is one of Twilight Sparkle’s favorite scents.”

Emerald chuckled briefly. “I’d think she was trying to get some— Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no!”

“A flirtatious young male from a lesser unicorn house, with a history of feminine matchmaking from his family,” continued Grace without changing her impassive expression or breaking out in laughter as he suspected would happen. “In hindsight, selecting you for the post shows a startling lack of political tact on behalf of the assignment committee. That is unless they were influenced by your father.”

“Oh… no,” said Emerald finally and with absolute authority. “That’s not dad’s style. He’s a subtle as a crutch. Mom too.”

“In any event,” said Grace, organizing the stack of papers with her magic, “there has not been any kind of averse indication from Her Highness’s student, so either she is lurking in wait for your return with amorous intent, or romantically clueless. I suspect the latter,” she added.

“That’s… You don’t seriously think somepony other than my parents was trying to set me up with Twilight Sparkle, do you?” He shuddered with the thought. “I’m starting to think I’ve got a price tag still stuck to my hat, and there’s a sale. It’s just… my parents or the selection committee didn’t put the fruit salad in the icebox, or run a hot bubble bath, or force me to light a candle—”

The realization hit him like a brick, or maybe a nightstick considering his surroundings. “Officer Grace,” he started slowly, “how much do you know about the magical abilities of Library Oaks?”

“No more than a casual exposure during several classes from my University days and your theories from earlier today,” she responded, although she connected the dots with uncanny speed. “You cannot possibly believe that a magical oak tree might possibly be attempting to ‘pollinate’ its librarian in order to raise a future generation of librarians, right?”

“It’s… highly unlikely,” he admitted after due consideration and considerable trepidation. “Librarians tend to be old, dried-up spinsters with a half-dozen cats. And no ‘pollination’ of any sort.”

“A future that both Princess Celestia and Twilight Sparkle’s parents would find less than optimal.” Officer Grace left out a brief huff of breath. “As would my parents.”

Emerald’s heart nearly stopped again. “Wait a minute,” he started, but the policemare was having none of it.

“Your home situation parallels my own in one fashion,” said Officer Grace. Her horn lit up with a faint green corona, the door to their conference room glowed, and the door’s lock engaged with a very final clicking noise, followed by another short stack of papers sliding over to his side of the table in her magic. “It only seems sensible that the solution to our respective troubles be shared in turn. My parents are quite upset that I have not produced an heir to the family yet, and they have engaged in several frustrating and fruitless attempts to match me up with unsuitable suitors.”

“A prenuptial agreement,” murmured Emerald as his eyes were drawn to the papers in front of him.

“An established, contracted relationship.” The initial burst of energy that Grace had used to get this far into the proposal had faded, but she managed, “It would not need to involve intimacy. There are medical procedures to allow childbirth without that process. I understand it is not uncomfortable, or at least too much.”

“Foalbirth or intimacy? Wait a minute!” With the door locked, there was noplace for Emerald to run, and he most certainly was not going to assault a police officer inside a police station. If nothing else, the resulting arrest would be… difficult to explain to his father. And the newspapers would have a field day.

Prison or matrimony. There has to be a third choice.

“So if I don’t sign,” he began slowly, “I won’t have a defense when Twilight Sparkle comes to the mistaken conclusion that I was trying to seduce her? And if I do sign, you’ll defend your—” he shuddered “—fiancé against the insinuation that I might be unfaithful to you? Because being married to you and in prison would not be very conducive to conception.”

“Yes.” His blushing would-be-bride seemed to be finding something on the conference room table to be absolutely fascinating, and had not taken her eyes off it while talking. “Foals can wait a few months, I believe. My family will make arrangements for a proper nanny. You need not concern yourself with their nurturing, other than the occasional visit. Their genetic makeup should be satisfactory, since my family has a great deal of magical control but lacks the thaumic strength and reserves that House Chrysanthemum is noted for. My mother insists on the phrase ‘hybrid vigor’ when discussing her plans for my betrothal. Her selection criteria in that regard has been… lacking, and although you were not on her initial list, I believe I can talk her into it with little effort.”

The conversation was falling off the side of Mount Canter and gaining speed. The only brakes he could think of…

“Even though I’m an earth pony?” asked Emerald, realizing how stupid it sounded since she was responsible for his security screening, and had to already know despite his hat.

“There are several earth ponies in your family tree,” countered Grace. “The fact did not prevent your lineage from producing many powerful unicorns. In fact, it may have been a contributing factor, which only increases your prospective ability to sire powerful unicorn foals.”

And there was the crash, the explosion, and fire. So much fire.

With a growing regret for the number of times he had casually flirted with one young mare or another, Emerald browsed through the prenuptial agreement and subsequent engagement paperwork. It was perfect, as he suspected everything was that Grace touched. She was a unicorn from an established family, so his parents would be… happy if he signed, he supposed, although each of his siblings would laugh themselves sick. And true to her word, it would remove one of the major foci of his conflicts with his father.

While he was thinking, there was a quiet knock at the conference room door, and a pegasus officer stuck his head in. “Grace, we’ve received another letter from the Princess’s student.” He glanced once at Emerald and added, “You’re going to want to see this one.”

And that was it. Undoubtedly, Twilight Sparkle had just twigged to the mistaken idea that her creepy criminal replacement had planned some sort of unwanted romantic intervention, and the next thing he would hear was the slamming of a jail cell door. That also spelled the end of his tutoring career, because no parent would dare hire a teacher who had assaulted the Princess’s student, even in theory. Dad would undoubtedly provide a lawyer and support, but even if he only had to serve a year or two sentence, the old stallion would be right there when he got out of jail with a prospective bride and a position at the company, just like he had dreaded every year in college.

Breathing out slowly, then taking a deep breath, Emerald asked, “So?”

Grace dismissed the other officer before opening the message and reading it. There was only one page, and it did not take her more than a moment before folding it back up and turning to Emerald.

“If I were a cruel mare,” she started, “I would demand an answer from you right now.”

Emerald licked his dry lips. “In my experience, all mares have a cruel streak in them. Some thicker than others.” After a moment, he added, “You do not strike me as a particularly cruel pony. Neither does Twilight Sparkle.”

Dangling the letter in front of him, Grace almost smiled. “Suppose it asks us to transport you back to Ponyville so that you can complete your interrupted romantic interlude?”

“I’d suspect a forgery,” he responded instantly.

With the short amount of time that Emerald had been exposed to the impassive police officer, he was getting a good handle on how to read her reactions. She was the small-print edition of a mare, written right out to the margins in endless pages of large words and with multiple volumes but no illustrations. The faint flicker of her eyelashes and short snort was the equivalent of loud laughter from any other mare.

He took the message when Grace floated it over to him and read it with a growing sense of relief.

“The dragon certainly seems to take after his owner, and vice versa,” mused Emerald. “Dear Police Commissioner. Morning mail arrived. Twilight currently sleeping curled up on top of new books. Disregard all previous letters. Sincerely, Spike.”

Which only left… Grace.

He had to admit to some degree of sympathy with her situation. His own parents had pulled out most of the stops to get him hitched up to an ‘appropriate’ mare, and their qualifications for the position had declined over time. It would even quench their obvious desire for grandfoals, which would take some of their attention off him. And if he wanted any feminine companionship, there did not seem to be any problem with continuing to ‘fool around’ as he had in college.

But he found his thoughts turning away from himself.

“Grace,” he said slowly, “what kind of social life do you have?”

“An adequate one,” she stated in plain, simple words that made him think of late hours at her work with long evenings spent reading books and doing crossword puzzles in an empty apartment.

“No, I mean have you ever approached another pony with any kind of romantic intentions?”

“Why should I?” replied Grace “Feelings should be kept out of the workplace.”

“Not at work. At a social event. A party. A walk in the park. A date. You’ve been on dates before, right?” A cold lack of response made Emerald press onward. “You can’t expect to win the game if you don’t play. No, wait,” he added. “Life isn’t a game. It’s… everything. My parents had an arranged marriage, and they lived into it. Not perfectly, not even close to what I want out of my own life, but they made it work. Marriages are pain. You give your entire life to somepony else, you live with their pain, you hurt when they hurt. Except for labor,” he added. “My father refused to be in the delivery room for any of us.”

Grace did not react to his admittedly disjointed argument. Emerald pushed the unsigned prenuptial agreement back to her.

“No. Not because of me, but because of you.”

“Me?” Grace looked up with what must have been the first real emotion she had displayed so far, and the tears he could see in the corners of her eyes just tore Emerald’s heart out.

“Yes, you.” Emerald got up and scooted his chair around to her side of the table so he could sit beside her, and offered her a kerchief from his vest pocket. “Your special talent means you’ve always been afraid of something bad happening when you open up to some other pony, and having to live with that experience every day forever. So when you researched my background and found out I’m a hopeless squish, you decided to do the first spontaneous thing in your entire life.” He nudged the pile of prenuptial agreement papers. “Of course, you had to plan that too.”

With a faint green glow of her field, Grace lifted the kerchief out of his hoof, dabbed her eyes, and sniffed. “Of course. Planning is—”

To be honest, Emerald had not planned to dart in close and kiss Grace on the lips. It was spontaneous, it was brief, and it was a lot like kissing his mother, but it made those drooping green eyes open wide, and both of her eyebrows nearly vanish into her short manestyle.

“Sometimes, not planning is better,” he managed.

It seemed wise to shut up at that point, since he had just technically assaulted a police officer inside of the station. He busied himself with putting papers back into folders, arranging things on the conference table until they were about as arranged as they could be, and then tucking the slightly damp kerchief back into his vest pocket.

Once things were put into order, he faced a much more important decision.

“A year,” he blurted out. “I will consider your offer seriously in one year, provided…” An idea blossomed, probably something that would get him killed or shackled, but it at least was something.

“Provided you accept every offer anypony makes to you during that time to attend any sort of social event with them. That includes dates, parties, concerts, celebrations, or anything of that sort,” he finished. It was a safe condition, since the socially awkward police officer most likely would never—

“Agreed,” said Grace. “I shall see you in a year. That will give me an adequate time to interview child care professionals and make other arrangements.” She raised one eyebrow. “Presuming you hold up your end of the bargain.”

“I am a stallion of my word,” said Emerald. Despite meaning what he had said, he tried to figure out a way to travel back in time and unspeak those words even while they worked their way back through the building on the way back out onto the Canterlot streets.

He was not used to being thwarted. He was a thwart-er. A year from now, he was going to be right back in this police station, facing the same cold fish, getting asked the same matrimonial question. She probably would not have even kissed another stallion by then, because nopony would know to ask…

Oh!

“Pardon me, everypony!” Jumping up on top of a desk on their way out of the building was probably a little overdoing it, but he had every single police officer’s attention, plus several criminals being processed. “Officer Grace and I made a wager, and she has just agreed to accept every invitation to any social event she is presented with in the next year. For example,” he continued, catching the eye of an officer who was fairly close to the bulletin board, and one announcement he had noticed on the way into the building. “Officer, has anypony ever invited Grace to your blood drive?”

“No,” said the police officer hesitantly. “She would never… You made a bet?”

“In a way,” admitted Grace.

The officer took a moment, then asked, “Grace?”

“Yes, I will participate in the blood drive,” she said

Emerald could not keep from whistling all the rest of the way back to the frat house, despite upcoming midterms. The school problems he was going to face over the next week were nothing compared to mares, and he had passed this test by a wide margin. By the time Twilight Sparkle was finished reshelving all of her new books, his presence would be a fading memory. And in a year, the prim and proper Officer Grace most certainly would meet some social unicorn who would be just as stuck-up as herself, and the two of them could produce however many stuck-up foals as they wanted together.

Best of all, it was a wonderful day for a walk, and he would never have to worry about going back to Ponyville ever again.

Author's Notes:

And onto hiatus status it goes. Will our hero manage to avoid his destiny of librarian responsibilities and matrimonial complications? Will the poor Library Oak ever manage to pollinate? Who knows.

7. Alicorn and Alibi

His plan was flawless.

According to Emerald’s father, all of the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony were going to be at the Grand Galloping Gala. So was the latest Future Mrs. Emerald City, escorted to the event by Emerald’s mother for a coincidental meeting with him.

Therefore, Emerald needed to be somewhere else this evening. Somewhere he could go on short notice, where he could not be dragged into another matrimonial scheme. Somewhere he had to be, where even Baron Chrysanthemum could not object.

Somewhere Twilight Sparkle would not be able to find him.

Therefore, the Ponyville Golden Oak Library, Open Sunrise to Sunset Daily.

All Emerald needed to do was leave a note for his parents and his fraternity brothers, catch the train, and spend all evening in Ponyville, lounging at their only hotel while working on some of his inevitable homework.

It was a two-fer. In Canterlot, Twilight Sparkle would be at the Gala. His parents would also attend the Gala, show Lady Whatshername around, and return seething to their home. If they checked at the frat house to see where their son was hiding, they would find an Emerald-shaped hole and a flawless alibi.

His parents would not dare interfere with Princess Celestia’s plans, even if the princess in question was unaware of his scheme. Um… Plan, that is.

The only uncertainty in his plan was timing. If the Bearers were taking the train to Canterlot, they would be on the platform as he arrived. Admittedly, from the pictures in the newspapers, they were a fine group of mares, but he did not want to meet them under any circumstances. Despite Twilight Sparkle’s previous sworn complaints, he was not an epic danger to Equestria. He did not need to be force-fed rainbows, or have his library card impounded, or be imprisoned in a prison in a swamp that was transported to another country to be imprisoned, or whatever the chain of incarceration she had sketched out in her last letter to the Canterlot police.

Once the train wheezed to a halt at the Ponyville station, he peered out the window.

Good. No prospective brides. No famous Equestrian heroes. No relatives. No police.

Still, caution was the watchword. He trotted out into the sun-dappled afternoon streets of the small town, horribly overdressed but maintaining his active and cheerful demeanor. After all, if you looked like you knew what you were doing and belonged there, you could go just about anywhere. And the first place he went was the local boutique. The employment packet from a few weeks ago said the Element of Generosity worked there, and since there was a ‘Closed’ sign in the window…

Looking good. Better check one more place, just to be sure.

The last time Emerald had been to Ponyville, he had been so tempted to stop by the Sugarcube Corner and get something sweet to eat. This time, there was no time pressure, so he slipped in the door with the cheerful ‘ding’ of the bell and got in line.

After one breath filled with calorie-laden atmosphere, he immediately regretted not stopping here on his previous visit.

Even though it was nearing the end of the day and the bakery was getting ready to close, they still had an astonishing collection of goods. He was still making up his mind when the line moved forward and he found himself facing a cheerful chubby mare with a tired smile.

“Oh, you must be Mister Emerald,” she said before he could even open his mouth. “Just a moment.”

In a blur of light blue fur, she was gone, only to return with a small box tied up with twine. She put it down on the counter carefully and nosed it in his direction.

“I didn’t order anything yet,” he protested. “Although I’d like that last brioche, two of the cinnamon twists, and go ahead and bag everything left on the bottom tray. They look so good I can’t decide.”

The requested pastries vanished into a paper sack, which cost far less than Emerald had expected due to the ‘End Of Day Half-Off Sale’ and the lack of the Canterlot ‘Everything-Has-To-Be-Brought-Up-The-Mountain’ surcharge.

“Thank you very much, Mister Emerald,” said the clerk as she swept up the bits. “Now, don’t open that in here. Pinkie Pie was very upset at not being able to throw you a party last time.”

“Pinkie Pie knew I was…” Emerald considered the obvious holes in the information packet he had received on his last visit, weighed it against the poke in the flank he had just received from the next pony in line, and decided it was not important. “Is Pinkie Pie here, ma’am?”

“Sweet heavens, no. She went up to Canterlot with all of her friends about an hour ago.”

A second and more solid poke in the flank made Emerald move to the bakery door, calling out “Thank you, ma’am” over his shoulder.

Once he was safely outside, he had time to think. About an hour ago, he was boarding the train in Canterlot, and yet he was supposed to believe the Bearer of the Element of Laughter managed to discover his destination, create a gift—

He eyed the box. It seemed innocuous enough to ignore for now. He had things to do.

☑ — Escape from Canterlot
☑ — Verify that the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony are not in Ponyville
☐ — Establish alibi at the library
☐ — Spend the evening eating donuts and studying at the local hotel
☐ — Return to Canterlot in time for morning classes

Checking to make sure his bow tie was still snug, Emerald trotted in the direction of the library with dinner and the odd gift resting on the middle of his back. It was a little unnerving. The evening Sun and a light breeze cast the waving oak leaves into dark shadows moving in a constant pattern that made it seem alive. Or that may have just been his mind playing tricks.

“No pollination today, you naughty shrub,” he murmured under his breath as he slowed to a walk. “Just a quick stop and a hotel room for the night.”

The ‘Closed’ sign was up in the library’s front window, but he knocked on the door anyway, with just the slightest concern that perhaps Twilight Sparkle had not been able to make the trip to the Grand Galloping Gala. In that case, he would simply excuse himself to the young mare with a polite lie and come up with a different tale to spin to his parents tomorrow. Thankfully, there was no response, and alibi established, Emerald turned with the intention of heading straight for the hotel.

Unfortunately, there was an older mare standing on the path in front of him.

“Good afternoon,” she declared, giving him the committed smile of an expert con artist or a salespony. “Are you needing into the library, sir?”

Giving her a shrug and moving to one side, Emerald kept his face friendly. “Well, I was going to pick up a book for the evening, but it looks like your librarian is out of town.”

“Oh!” The mare’s face gained a look of sly joy, much like somepony who had just found a ten bit coin on the sidewalk. “Mister Emerald! Why, I almost didn’t recognize you in such a fine suit. I’m Mayor Mare, which you should have known if you had dropped by the Town Hall on your previous visit like your instructions had specified.”

Oh, no. She’s a politician. It’s worse than I thought.

“I really didn’t have time. I was so busy with the library work and teaching some of the town’s young unicorns,” said Emerald, trying to keep as close to the truth as possible.

“So I heard,” said the mayor with a growing smile.

Emerald did not like that expression. It was far too shark-like.

“I understand you taught Firelock how to make a flame,” she started, showing a few teeth in her predatory smile.

“With the proper precautions,” he added quickly. “It is far better for her to learn in a controlled environment than on her own.”

“And you taught the rest of your students how to make the most interesting noise,” she continued.

Better to go on the offensive than defense.

“They’re practicing? Oh, how wonderful!” he gushed. “You would not believe how many young unicorns neglect their early developmental period when they should be getting control over their magic. I know personally how it can cripple their abilities for years afterward. Some of them have uncontrollable destructive flares, or worse, wind up with first-level corona instabilities and live their life without being able to even lift a spoon. Why, my own unicorn parents still roll their eyes when I eat my cereal right out of the bowl without proper table utensils, which of course, I can’t use the same way as them. I guess teaching the precious children of your town is as close to using unicorn magic as I’m going to get.”

“Oh, I never thought of it that way,” said the mayor, giving Emerald’s hat a short glance. “I suppose as much as we dread what our young students do with their developing talents, the alternative would be far worse. Still,” she cautioned, “Firelock.”

“I’ll drop a note with some suggestions for the next visit by your Unicorn Magic Youth Educational Specialist,” said Emerald while trying to figure out how to do just that. Certainly, somebody at the college would be able to pass along a message to her tutor. And some burn cream for the inevitable hiccups during lessons.

The mayor was not taking his hint about the conversation being over, and gave him a quick top-to-bottom look, lingering on his expensive suit. “So, have you returned to pay our Twilight Sparkle a visit?”

“No.” It was as solid and definite answer as he could make to the mayor without stomping one glossy hoof-boot against the ground. “My visits here are strictly on a professional basis. While I was on the way to the Gala, one of my fraternity brothers mistakenly told me that the library was needing a sitter this evening, so I hurried right here.”

So I told Bunkie instead of him telling me. Close enough for an alibi.

Emerald rattled the door, feeling the faint tingle of the locking enchantments under his insulating dark hoof-boot. “Regrettably, I seem to be too late. I might as well head over to the hotel for the evening and work on my homework before heading back on the morning train.”

“Nonsense,” scoffed the mayor, producing a spell key. “As a matter of fact, this evening is the annual Harvest Night Library Sleepover for young foals among the community. We have story-telling and board games, which incidentally allows the parents a few hours of quiet time after a long day in the fields. Then they all curl up in their sleeping bags until morning when the parents pick them up.”

“Uh-huh.” Emerald considered his words. “Do any of them actually sleep?”

It was the mayor’s turn to shrug. “It’s always been such a difficult time, what with the previous librarian making us hold the event in the Town Hall. We have two volunteers, but to be honest, I wasn’t quite sure how it would go tonight without somepony else providing a quelling influence on the children’s natural energy. It’s so nice that you came down from Canterlot to help out.” The mayor paused. “M’lord.”

“Next time, I’m going to be born into a small woodcutter’s family,” mused Emerald as he dropped his saddlebags on the library desk and began kicking off his hoof-boots. “A little proper tugging at the forelock, some bowing and scraping, nothing but porridge every meal… Well, maybe it’s not that bad.”

“Twilight Sparkle wrote up a lesson plan for this evening,” said the grey-maned mayor, hoofing over a thick scroll of parchment. “As long as you keep the students out of her room and nothing burns down by tomorrow morning, we can all call this a success.”

“Right.” Emerald eyed the mayor, who had begun moving toward the front door. “We?”

“There is some long-delayed paperwork waiting for me back at the office,” explained the mayor, who continued to crab slightly sideways in her escape attempt. “Twilight Sparkle made some requests for library procedure changes after her last Bearer mission. This seems to be a good time to catch up on them, since I’ve found a volunteer to preside over the story reading tonight. Several of the children will be bringing older siblings or relatives, so you don’t have to worry about assistants. Just keep them out of the books and don’t make a mess.”

“Don’t make a mess,” he murmured to himself after the mayor left. Dropping into the oak chair behind the massive desk, Emerald opened up the stack of instructions, and the inevitable checklist accompanying it.

☑ — Read checklist
☑ — Read instructions
☑ — Take optional test on Page 47 regarding same
☑ — Make sure Pinkie Pie’s snacks are unpacked
☑ — Greet young ponies when they arrive
☑ — Take attendance

“Emerald!” By all means, the charge of three young foals should not have knocked him onto the floor, but since they were unicorns, and were therefore leading their charge horn-first, he decided on indignity instead of injury. Then again, if he had been thinking, a minor injury would have gotten him out of this task.

No, it was too much fun listening to the children babble about what had gone on since his last visit.

There was, of course, the inevitable backsliding in their magical homework among the unicorn students, although Snails had progressed to being able to pick up the pasteboard boxes of the boardgames, and Snips was at least trying to sort the pieces when everything spilled. Sweetie Belle, however, had regressed back to a flickering first stage corona with occasional sparks, although she somehow managed to incinerate a cookie and a glass of juice while getting snacks, which was a good sign.

As more students arrived and Emerald found himself being introduced to the young and the old, the names started to blur together. It was far better than working on the homework in his saddlebags, which Emerald had deposited in the librarian’s chair, along with his formal suit and pinching hoof-boots.

He kept the hat. Otherwise, he’d be naked.

To be honest, Emerald had played all of the worn board games before as a foal and grown rather tired of them. His older siblings had never been comfortable with taking him out into the dangerous world to play risky games such as hoofball or Scuttle. “Your brother is too fragile,” was the constant refrain from both Mother and Father. At least in school, he had been able to join the track team, even if he was destined to come in at last place during every meet. And the chess club, of course, in which he held a similar record more by intent than disability.

None of the children had any such reluctance, and neither did Emerald. He could have called it his second childhood if he had not been rather shorted on his first one. Between brief conversations with the younger ponies, they trounced him at Battleclouds, clobbered him at Food Pyramid, out-tossed him at the beanbag toss, and out-tailed him when pinning the tail on the paper pony. Things by that point had begun to wind down, so after declaring that he was exhausted and needed to sit down for a time, Emerald took a break with some snacks, a paper cup of juice, and a spot next to Derpy’s seat.

“I’m glad I only get to do this occasionally,” he admitted to the quiet pegasus. The temporary lull in the activity gave him the opportunity to ask a question that had been bothering him over the last two trips, although he wanted to angle into it just in case it was a sensitive topic. “I’ll bet you’re glad to have Sparkler over there to deal with Dinky, Miss Derpy. Or is it Doo? I’ve heard it both ways tonight.”

Derpy looked at him… well, one eye looked at him, which was about as good as he was going to get. “You can just call me Derpy,” she said flatly. “Everypony does.”

“As you wish, m’lady.” Emerald touched one hoof to his hat. “I understand that group story reading is next, and—” he nudged a short sheaf of paper on the nearby librarian desk “—due to the youth, inexperience, and fragility of the children, the present librarian has a list of topics we’re not supposed to cover.”

“Any story with words in it?” asked Derpy, which struck him as unreasonably humorous.

“Yes,” he managed through a stifled chuckle. “Although I’ve got an idea. If you could talk to Sparkler for me…”

“Everypony over here, please. Bring your sleeping bags.” Emerald pushed on the librarian desk to get some more space on the main floor, but was unable to make any progress until several of the children contributed their assistance. “Thank you, Truffle. And…”

“Scootaloo, sir.” The diminutive pegasus hooved her mane back into shape and looked up with pale violet eyes, although her face was covered in crumbs. “This is my first Harvest Night Library Sleepover,” she added proudly.

“Please don’t call me sir, just Emerald. Now, everybody get comfortable and I’ll tell tonight’s story just as soon as I get our storytelling light.”

It was a short walk back to the kitchen pantry where Emerald found the ancient candle lantern stored exactly where he had found it the first time. It took some effort to extract it due to several more tins of generic wake-up juice concentrate stacked in front of it, and he managed to get the water reservoir refilled without making too much of a mess.

“Just need to figure out what story to tell them,” he muttered between his teeth while striking the match. “It’s a lot easier to fake an idea for a story than an actual—”

In the flare of matchlight pushing back the kitchen’s darkness, little glints of microscopic crystals sparkled in the oak walls, the floors, and everywhere the raw tree was exposed, giving him the brief sensation of floating aimlessly in a star-strewn sky. The brilliant reflection of the spotty mirror over the sink drew his attention away from the glittering spectacle and to the shadowed spectre looking back through the silvered glass, much like some sort of ghostly librarian looking disapprovingly at his pitiful attempts to entertain the town’s youth.

It also gave him an idea, once he got his breath back.

Once he had returned to his previous seat out in the library main floor and turned off the overhead lighting devices, the idea had bloomed into a full-fledged terror. His brothers would have approved. His younger sister would have screamed. His older sister would have clomped him over the head with something.

“It’s awfully dark,” complained one of the students out in the shadows.

“It’s supposed to be dark,” countered Emerald as he placed the candle lantern on the massive oak desk. “And quiet. You see, this is a library after closing time. We don’t want to disturb the librarian spirit who is cursed to haunt this place until the end of time.”

“Haunt?” sounded one of the small voices.

“Librarian?” sounded another, more afraid than the first.

Several flickering unicorn horns lit up, and the small ponies gathered closer together. The faint chill of a distant breeze encouraged their herding behavior, and Emerald pretended not to notice Derpy on top of a nearby bookshelf, using her wings and pegasus magic to shift the temperature of their storytelling area until it began to resemble the upcoming winter. If they were chilly and huddling together for warmth, they would be that much easier to deal with, after all.

“Haven’t you ever wondered just how your town acquired a magical library oak tree?” he started, low and nearly under his breath. Faint flickers of ghostly light reflected from all of the surroundings with much the same microscopic crystalline glitters in the raw oak, giving a fairy tale atmosphere to the darkened room, even without Sparkler adding her own faint blue glow of light to the surroundings in order to make the shadows dance.

“It all started many, many years ago, in a land far from here, where an elderly librarian managed her collection of books in a ramshackle stone building. It leaked when it rained, let wind in through the cracks when it stormed, and was a generally miserable place for her to live.”

“Why did she stay?” asked Dinky.

“Because she loved her books,” continued Emerald. “Each and every one of them was like a child to her, even though she had no children of her own. And that was probably a good thing, because for a pony who loved books, she despised pony children.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward, putting every bit of contempt he could into each word. “You see, children lose books. They fold the corners back on pages. They put them face-down on the floor and break their spines. They spill sticky things on the covers, and tear pages when they squabble with other ponies. And yet, in order for her to have a place to live with her beloved books, she had to lend them out,” he added, curling his lips back from his teeth and hissing. “She hated that more than anything, and glared at everypony she met.”

“She sounds like Twilight Sparkle,” grumbled Firelock, who had not even lit up her horn, most probably due to the number of fire alarm and extinguishing spells scattered around the bookshelves.

“Oh, no! Twilight Sparkle has friends.” Emerald waved one hoof in a broad arc around the dark book-filled room. His eyes were adjusting to the dark, which boded well for the anticipated ending of his story when the time was right.

“This librarian had nopony at all. As long as she was surrounded by her books, she was… Well, not happy. Let’s just say she was less miserable than she could have been. During Day, she would glare at the ponies who dared to slink into her library and borrow her beloved books, while at Night, she crept around the building in the dark, without even a candle to light her way. You see, she was very old, and knew there would come a time soon when she would die and go beyond the Great Plain. She would not be able to bring her books, and she could not bear to see them destroyed. That is why she could not bear to see any candles. She hated fire of any sort!”

“The monster,” whispered Firelock.

“That was only the start of her monstrous ways,” continued Emerald. “You see, one night when she was muttering and complaining around the library, she found a strange book on the shelves, where she was certain there had not been one before. The ancient book was dusty and cracked, with glowing silver runes on the cover and a thick band made of leather strapping it closed.”

“Don’t open it,” whispered Snips with his eyes closed. “Don’t open it, don’t open it…”

“And she opened it!”

The little ponies all gasped.

“It did not seem to be one of hers, but it was in her house, so she read it!”

The little ponies all gasped again.

“Then something truly terrible happened. Something so awful that it had never happened before, and most probably would never happen again.” Emerald paused for dramatic effect. “She… smiled.”

Several of the little ponies screamed, but hushed up quickly when their friends shushed them.

“It was a terrible, cruel, evil smile,” continued Emerald. “Because you see, there was a spell in the book. Something so vile that I don’t dare tell you, because your young minds would break under the strain! The librarian did not care how evil it was, just that it could solve her dilemma and she could be with her books forever!”

“What’s a dill emma?” asked Snails.

“Shh,” cautioned Snips with his eyes still closed. “I’ll tell you later.”

“So that evening, while the whole town was sleeping, the librarian made her preparations. She drew runes on the creaky floorboards, arranged all the library cards into a mystic circle, and drew upon her power to summon…” Emerald paused, and looked around the circle of entranced faces, feeling marginally smug about seeing Sparkler just as entranced as her little sister.

“First, I must tell you about alicorns from long, long ago,” he said in a conspiratorial tone, but continued before any of his audience could break their immersion. “Back long before Celestia, far in ancient history when there was an alicorn for everything, every blade of grass, every tree, every rock. Thousands upon thousands of them, with magic beyond measure, filled the world with light and wonder. Nopony knows what happened to them, but they all passed into the Great Beyond many years ago, leaving only their spirits behind to roam the world. One of these alicorns was the spirit who lives in every library across the entire world.

“She was a majestic creature, beautiful beyond words and graceful, although not large because she was a very practical creature, and to be large would have made it difficult to fit between the bookshelves, of course. Since her passing from the material world many years before, she had transformed into a being of pure ideas, thoughts, and dreams. Of storms and summers, of patrons walking quietly among shelf-lined walls and the loud cries of the young. Of books, lined and straight, filled with the knowledge of ponies long dead and awaiting a chance to live again in the hooves of an interested reader. Of rain and sunshine and wind, the droning of bees outside her windows, and the touch of the snow upon her roof. She was the unseen queen of all she surveyed, ruler and guiding hoof, a refuge for weary souls battered by the world and a beacon of learning for the hungry masses.”

After sufficient time, one of the students asked, “The librarian summoned an alicorn?”

“Not just an alicorn,” whispered Emerald. “The Alicorn of Knowledge, she who knows everything, and what she does not know, she can find, because every book in the world falls under her domain. Knowledge is its own power, and the librarian let out a joyful cackle at the sight of such a mighty creature trapped within her runes and sigils.

“Alicorn,” she commanded, “I have two tasks for you.”

Despite its overwhelming might, the alicorn remained quiet and did not attempt to escape its bonds. “Speak,” it said in the calmest voice.

“I wish to have a library suitable for my books,” said the librarian with a sneer. “One that does not leak when it rains, and remains comfortable for me in the worst weather. It must grow as I add more books, and never be destroyed. And over that library, I shall reign forever as an alicorn just like yourself. Immortal, powerful, and respected, making all who come near cower in fear, and never touch the books in my care.”

The mighty alicorn nodded, then lifted her head and looked the librarian in the eyes. “Are you certain?” it asked.

“Of course, I’m certain,” snapped the librarian. “Do as I command!”

“Bound by your spell, I can do no other,” said the alicorn.

She lifted her horn, and golden light filled the ramshackle library until it was impossible to see. An oak tree which was growing along one outside wall burst into furious growth, whipping leaves and branches around as it sprang into the air and expanded, wrapping the library in its wooden embrace. In moments, it had completely surrounded the old library, and when everything stopped moving, all of the librarian’s prized books were secure on their new shelves.

Well, the librarian was pleased, to say the least. The mighty oak tree was at least twice as large as her previous library, and the books had enough space between them for a great expansion of her collection. However, her aged limbs and wrinkled face had not changed a bit.

“Alicorn!” she snapped. “Why have you not completed the second of my tasks! Give me your power so I can live forever, like yourself!”

“Your second task is far more difficult,” said the alicorn. “The risks are great. Life cannot be given without life taken in return.”

“Take the lives of those wretched children,” spat the librarian as she gestured to the library cards scattered across the floor. “They are worthless creatures, who live only to damage my beloved books.”

“Why would I do that?” The glowing alicorn stepped forward, through the scattered runes and sigils which no longer held their previous structure, and therefore no longer blocked the creature’s power. “Children are the precious gift given to the future, filled with boundless potential. They are the ones most in need of my wisdom, learning from my pages, becoming more than the generation before. They come to me, and I open my heart gladly so they can drink deeply of wisdom and knowledge.”

The alicorn stopped, and lowered her horn. “Nevertheless, I shall give you what you demanded.”

To the librarian’s horror, flames began to erupt from her coat, and in moments, she was consumed in a cold fire that devoured her entirely. Still, the ancient alicorn continued to speak while the librarian burned.

“In your foolishness, you shall attain wisdom. You shall become as I am, a spirit of libraries all over the world. Your home will be wherever books are kept for the use of many. You will see your beloved books placed in the care of others, powerless to interfere as they read them and enjoy. Perhaps, after centuries of this ghostly afterlife, you will learn the lessons I have attempted to teach. This is the gift which you demanded, and that is what you will receive. Forever.”

Emerald placed the glowing candle lantern down in the center of their tight group, with each of the little ponies staring at the flame with wide eyes. “Nopony ever saw the librarian again. In the morning,” he continued, “there was an immense oak tree in the center of the town where the ramshackle library once stood. The ponies of the town marveled at their new library, and did not miss the troublesome old mare one bit.

“Time went on, and the town needed somepony to watch over the books, so they hired a pleasant mare who appreciated the children of the town, and always made sure every pony found the books they enjoyed the most. It could have been a satisfying end to their story, but there was more.”

By this time, the smaller unicorns had become so transfixed that none of them were keeping their horns lit, not even Sparkler, which he took as a good sign. He had been a little worried about the fire portion disturbing his audience, but Firelock’s presence must have made most of the young students fairly immune to mere literary fire, so he continued.

“In the spring, the town’s new library erupted in—”

“Fire?” asked Firelock eagerly and expectedly.

“—blossom,” continued Emerald with a cautionary look at the young firebug. “Beautiful white flowers like flames covered every branch, and by that fall, hundreds of acorns were gathered by the townsponies. They were so excited by the gift of nature that they sent those acorns to every single city in Equestria. Some of them did not grow, of course, while most never got larger than saplings. Only a special few grew into great libraries like this one, centers of knowledge for ponies of all ages. But…”

He lowered his voice and bent closer to the candle’s flame. “The librarian’s curse followed the trees. It is said that on dark nights, when you light a candle in a closed library and listen very closely, you can still hear her screaming in the fire that turned her into a spirit.”

Every little pony perked up their ears and listened with wide eyes, even Snips. It probably did not help that Emerald had his lips just barely parted, and was releasing his breath very slowly between his teeth in a nearly inaudible hiss.

“You see,” continued Emerald in a low whisper that made the little ponies huddle closer, “there was a flaw in the librarian’s prison. She was only powerless to affect the living who enjoyed her beloved books. Wherever there are libraries, there are mischievous little ponies who abuse the books, tear the pages, stain the covers, and lose them. None of you are like that, are you?”

All of the young ponies including Sparkler dutifully shook their heads.

“Good,” said Emerald with a sigh. “Because naughty little ponies have been known to vanish at night around this kind of library. Nopony ever sees them again, but in the morning, the tree always looks a little bigger, and has more space for books.”

“Twilight might like that,” said Firelock hesitantly.

“I’m sure she prefers you all just the way you are now, since you’re good little ponies,” said Emerald. “Besides, there are always two ways to tell if the librarian is looking at you, ready to pounce. First, is to look into a candle flame like this one.”

All of the young ponies stopped their fidgeting and gave the flickering candle their full and undivided attention while Emerald continued.

“Whenever she uses a candle flame to spy on naughty little colts and fillies, it flickers because she breathes on it… like this one is doing. Hm…” Emerald pulled the candle lantern closer and got a good grip on it, because the next part had a good chance of getting it knocked over, and he did not want to clean up the mess.

“Of course, the second way of telling if she’s going to pounce is if you see her ghostly figure—” he whirled and pointed at the top of the library stairwell “—like that!”

The screaming started immediately, and little ponies began running everywhere.

8. Alicorn and Alibi

“That was probably the most fun I’ve had at an all-nighter, ever.” Emerald picked up the dustpan and dumped the last of the dirt into the paper trash bag while Dinky scurried to put the broom back into the kitchen where it belonged. Most of the children had already departed with the dawn as early-rising parents had come by, checked the building and the child for fire damage, then toted off their sleepy tot for whatever they had scheduled for the day. The children had been astonishingly helpful during the morning clean-up time, particularly when Emerald had wondered out loud if he needed to light a candle to help them see the trash that should be thrown away or the sweeping that needed to be done. All in all, a very productive evening, even if he had not managed to teach a single magic lesson to the unicorn students.

“The party was way different than I expected.” Derpy shook her hoof and considered the sleeping bag she had somehow tied to it while rolling up the extras. “The mayor normally does the story reading.”

“And puts everypony to sleep, I suppose. What fun would that be? Here, let me help with that.” Through judicious application of teeth and hooves, Emerald managed to free the awkward mailpony, although he had to roll the sleeping bag back up and tie it to prevent an encore bondage performance. “There! All the spare bags are ready for the mayor to pick up. Which reminds me.”

He scurried back to the librarian’s desk and began inking a note with quill firmly grasped between his teeth. It was the first writing he had done this evening, which made it an effort to maintain a cheerful attitude while writing the note. After all, his college studying backlog just kept growing back in Canterlot the longer he was here, enjoying himself. Plus, Twilight Sparkle was due back in the library soon, and he really wanted to be gone by then. One arrest was plenty.

“Good morning, Emerald!” The mayor poked her nose in the front door and looked around, perhaps expecting fire residue or explosive damage. “Oh, my. No problems overnight, I presume.”

“Nothing I was unable to handle with the assistance of the volunteers,” chirped Emerald once he had finished his short note. “Miss Doo, if you would take the trash out to the bins while Sparkler and Dinky carry the extra sleeping bags outside, I believe we can leave the library nearly as clean as we found it. And if you could please sign here, Madam Mayor?”

“I hope you’re not expecting a check,” said the mayor as she trotted over to the desk. She read the thank-you note without further comment, then selected a fresh quill out of the library patron cup and signed her name at the bottom. “Considerate of you,” she added after putting the dripping quill back.

“Twilight Sparkle deserves considerable thanks for letting us use her space, and you deserve the credit for how well it went,” stated Emerald while grabbing a tissue and wiping up the leftover drips of ink before they could stain the desk. “Now, come on. Time to go.”

“You don’t want to meet our local celebrity again, Mister Emerald?” The mayor cocked her head as Emerald finished shrugging into his dress coat, then shouldered his saddlebags. He took exceptional care to make sure all of his hoof-boots were snug, because the last thing he wanted to do was leave anything out of Sheeping Beauty that could lead back to him.

“No,” he stated plainly. “I never met her last time, and that’s fine. Come on, out you go.” With one last look around to make sure there were no stragglers left inside, Emerald ordered the lights off and closed the door to the tree, feeling the sharp bite of the locking spells as they secured the building behind him. At least this time, there was no chance of Twilight Sparkle coming to the mistaken conclusion that there was any kind of romantic intent in his visit. With luck, she would never even realize he had been here.

“I’m behind on my studies, so I’m headed for the train station, Madam Mayor. Unless you have anything else for me.”

“Well, I could use some help taking the sleeping bags back to be stored in the Town Hall,” mused the mayor.

“We can get that! Hey, Sparkler!” called out Dinky as she galloped out from behind the library tree where she had been putting the trash. “Come help!”

“Nopony should be this cheerful in the morning,” grumped Sparkler as she followed her sister in a slow trudge. With little effort, the three of them managed to get the lumpy bags organized and headed in the general direction of the Town Hall, leaving Emerald to give them a cheery wave and head out for his own departure via train.

“She’s still using her back instead of her magic,” mused Emerald with an over-the-shoulder glance at the happy foal bouncing along beside her sister, each carrying a sleeping bag. “Still, her magic is coming along nicely, like most of the rest of them. Not a bad day after al—”

The whistle of an airborne pony was something Emerald was used to in college, since pegasus students liked to swoop down on him and try to knock his hat off. They never actually hit him, like Derpy managed with a flurry of flailing limbs and an anguished “Oops!”

“Miss Doo,” managed Emerald when he had gotten turned right-side up and determined nothing was broken. And although the suit was showing the stress of the last day, and seriously needed some seams restitched, his hat was still where it needed to be, but scrunched a bit. “Did you have something you needed to speak with me about before I left?”

Well, that’s what he tried to say. He suspected what came out was slightly less coherent from his growing concussion.

“I was just…” started Derpy. “I thought… If you have time… I have a question,” she finished.

A few pieces of loose homework had slipped out of his saddlebag, but once they had gotten stuffed back in and the latch closed, Emerald took a look across town at the train station, and the relative lack of train within. “I suppose, if we talk while we walk. Are you wanting to discuss Dinky’s magical progress?”

“Oh. Well. No. Oops.”

Whatever the mailmare had tripped over on the path was too small to see, and Emerald picked himself up off the ground again, trying to keep in mind what the packet had said about Derpy not trying to be such a road hazard.

“I was watching her corona density when I was telling the story,” continued Emerald, walking a little further away this time. “All of the unicorn students flickered during the stressful parts, so she seems to be above average for her peer group. I can write you up a series of exercises for her to do at home, if you like. Wait. No?”

“I wanted to ask about the story you told,” started Derpy while nodding. “It was really, really good. Did you find it in a book?”

“No, I wish. I was just pulling… I mean making it up as I went.” Emerald scratched the back of his mane while walking, trying not to grimace. “I may have gone a little overboard at the end, what with the students screaming all over the library and Snails hiding under the kitchen table. But it certainly kept them out of Twilight Sparkle’s bedroom,” he finished with a chuckle.

“I admit I didn’t know anything about unicorn magic before,” said Derpy. “Raising two unicorns helped. They say it’s really, really difficult to do magic with anything resting on your horn. Or covering it,” she added. “So how did you make the ghost at the top of the stairs?”

“Ah…” Emerald hid a knowing smile. “That is something very, very special. A little trick I picked up from my family. Tell me, Miss Doo. Can you keep a secret?”

Golden eyes shifted to look in all directions around them, and twice as fast as Emerald could in similar circumstances. Derpy moved closer and whispered, “Yes.”

“Well, then.” Emerald lowered his voice too. “So can I.”

He resumed his brisk trot to his destination, although Derpy did not seem to get the humor of the remark as she trotted alongside, to the point where she actually looked irate. Or at least one of her eyes was glaring at him.

“Look, Miss Doo.” Emerald slowed to a walk, although he noticed other ponies out in this early hour of the morning were giving them both considerable space so there was no real collision risk. “It’s a joke. Do you really want to know why you saw an image on the top of the stairs?”

“Um… Yes. I think,” hedged the mailmare.

Giving a shrug to get his stuffed saddlebags properly situated, Emerald continued in his best lecturing voice, “It’s an optical effect. Everypony stared at the bright candle, then when they looked up the stairs, the bright spot stayed on their eyes for a few moments. That’s probably why some of them thought it was chasing them through the library,” he added.

Derpy shook her head, making her blonde mane fly in all directions. “I know that. I wanted to know how you made a glowing unicorn up there.”

Emerald stopped. “Glowing unicorn?” After a few moments thought, he cautiously added, “Perhaps one of the foals was—”

Derpy shook her head again. “I was watching. Even Sparkler. None of them had a glowing horn with a cordova.”

“Corona,” corrected Emerald. He shrugged off the shiver that went down his back and started walking in the direction of the train station again. “Probably just a figment of your imagination. I really had all of the students going, didn’t I? Nightmare Night is coming, so they might as well be ready.”

“I suppose.” Derpy fell in alongside again, nearly tripping him again in the process. “It could have been a spell to reflect your image, because it was a unicorn like you. Only without the hat. And all white, with a pale blue mane. It really looked like a ghost.”

Emerald stopped again. “All white, with a pale blue mane? Younger than me, perhaps?”

“Yes,” confirmed Derpy. “You’re really talented to be able to—”

“It’s Frost, my younger sister,” said Emerald, turning around to look for a trailing pony. “The little genius is in Celestia’s school. She could have followed me to town, snuck into the library without anypony seeing her, hid upstairs all night… and not left? No, that can’t be her. She loves being around other fillies her age. And she can’t keep from giggling when she’s trying to pull something off. It must have just been your imagination.”

“Is she as good at magic as you are?” asked Derpy. “Because she had to be really good to not be spotted.”

“No,” said Emerald firmly. “It wasn’t Frost. I wasn’t casting a spell. It was an afterimage from the candle and your imagination.”

“I don’t have much of an imagination,” said Derpy slower than before. “And I was only watching the candle with one eye, since I can’t even do that right. So you had to be using a spell,” she finished with a sharp nod that spilled mane down over her eyes. “It was very special. Can you teach it to Sparkler sometime?”

“No!” Emerald stopped and took a shallow breath. The train station was fairly close, and still no train, so unless he did something, Derpy was going to continue pestering him. Of all the unicorn families (of a fashion) in Ponyville, she was most likely to be accepting of his ‘disability’ unlike Missus Bradel, for example. Besides, when he graduated at the end of next semester and went out to do his student teaching, he was going to have to face this kind of cognitive dissonance over a non-unicorn teaching unicorn magic anyway, so it would be good practice.

“Miss Doo. Can you keep a secret? And I mean it this time. Not just a secret from everypony else, a secret from Dinky and Sparkler too?”

That seemed to set the mailpony back a step. “Is it a bad secret?”

“No. Well, some stuck-up unicorns in Canterlot think it’s a bad secret, which is why I don’t tell them,” hedged Emerald. “I don’t think it’s a bad secret. It’s just that unicorn parents want their children taught unicorn magic by the best unicorn teacher available. I think the results are more important.”

“You’re a good magic teacher,” said Derpy, although drooping a little. “A lot better than me. Dinky has been so happy since your last visit, jumping around and making tooting noises with her horn. Before, she had trouble even getting it to spark, and I didn’t know what to do.”

“If everypony knew what to do,” countered Emerald, “you wouldn’t need teachers, and I’d be out picking apples somewhere. Teaching talented children like yours is the greatest blessing I could ever receive, and not just because I’m a lousy apple-picker. Teaching requires absolute trust between the teacher and the parent.” He lowered his head to look Derpy right in the eyes, or at least close. “Do you trust me to teach your child?”

“Well…” Neither golden eye looked at him, and her voice choked up. Reading wings was one thing Emerald had learned well from his father’s business connections, and if Derpy’s wings had been any more tense, they could not have been pried away from her flanks with a crowbar. “It’s hard to trust unicorns,” she admitted reluctantly through her teeth.

“I know how that is at times,” said Emerald with a nod and a short glance around to make sure there were no snooping nearby ponies. “Sometimes, unicorns can be terribly cruel without meaning to be. I’m in a unicorn fraternity at college, and wealthy stallions are not the kindest creatures in the first place. Even my siblings sometimes did not know how much they hurt me. Were you… hurt by a unicorn?”

“After what he did… I mean I thought he… abandoned me,” she finished in a short burst of quiet words that struggled to make it through clenched jaws. After a few short breaths she added, “Abandoned us. I think about him every time Dinky… And then Sparkler needed us too, and I brought her in. Sometimes, it’s so hard to keep from hating him. I see his face in every unicorn. Every sneer when I misplace a piece of mail. Every time they shout at me for breaking something. Every day I expect him to walk around the corner and take my Dinky away from me because I’m such a terrible parent.”

“That would not end well,” said Emerald. “For him. I’ve seen the way you love your daughters, adopted and natural. I suspect the face you keep seeing would be missing a lot of teeth afterward. Maybe with a flattened nose, and two black eyes.”

The relaxation that swept across Derpy was a welcome relief for Emerald too, and her subdued giggle made him go on further. “Did I tell you that when I was a foal, somepony tried snatching me from a park in Canterlot once? My own dear, sweet, formal mother, the overcivilized unicorn who refused to go out in public with a chipped hoof or unbrushed mane, who insisted that I wear a jacket whenever there was the least little breeze, she grabbed him by the tail, and… Well, it was educational, and for weeks, I insisted I was going to become a professional wrestler, but that’s not important right now.”

Taking a deep breath, he continued with no small hesitation. “I made up the librarian ghost story. I’ve always been good at making up stories. I once had a report in college with thirty-five pony tribe myths, from the Sasquash to Cloud Fleas, and found out at the last minute I was short a few pages, so I just made one up and threw it in. The teacher was a unicorn, the myth I made up was an earth pony story, so he didn’t care and I still got full marks. There was no ghost in the library.”

“Of course not,” said Derpy, which gave him a moment of relief until she added, “You were casting a spell. So can you teach it to Dinky?”

“I was not—” Taking a deep breath, Emerald spoke in short words. “Ma’am, it appears there is only one way I can convince you I was not casting a unicorn spell.”

With a little extra effort to overcome the stictation spell he had on all his hats, he lifted his formal top hat, gave her a short bow, and put it back on.

“Oh,” said Derpy.

Since Emerald had determined the mailmare was not stupid, just slow, he stood there and waited for the mental gears to finish grinding and the little flag to pop up.

“When did you lose your—”

Admittedly, the little flag popped up in an unexpected spot. “I never had a horn.”

“So…” After another long pause, Derpy leaned over and peeked at his sides.

“Or wings,” added Emerald.

“Oh,” added Derpy again. Then after a period of more thought, “Oh!”

“So…” started Emerald, “do you still want me as Dinky’s unicorn magic teacher whenever I’m in town? Which I’ll admit isn’t on a regular basis, but if my student teaching curriculum gets approved, I’ll have Ponyville as one of my regular stops next year. If you want me.”

Derpy nodded vigorously, paused to toss the mane out of her eyes, then nodded again. “Why wouldn’t I want you to teach my daughter? You’re a great teacher. You’re funny, and smart, and tell wonderful stories that teach lessons, like not to abuse books. I’ll see you when you return and see if you can teach her some more. She likes learning as much as I am!”

“Do,” corrected Emerald.

“And you call me Miss Doo instead of Derpy,” she bubbled. “You’re such a sweet stallion.”

Derpy leaned in close, kissed him on the cheek, and tripped. Thankfully, he was ready for that portion, and caught the pegasus before the two of them wound up in the dirt. “Whoops,” she added. “I better get to work. The letters won’t deliver themselves, you know. Because if they did, I wouldn’t have a job.”

“A tragedy indeed,” said Emerald. “Thank you for your trust, Miss Doo. Hopefully, we will run into each other again soon.”

“I like flying into you,” she said with a giggle as she ascended up into the cloud-dotted morning sky. “And I won’t tell anypony about the secret ghost in the library.”

“But…” By the time Emerald could say anything, the mailmare was far out of shouting range, leaving him to make the short trip to the empty train station by himself.

“I hope she’s not going sweet on me,” he murmured to himself after buying a ticket and sitting down on an empty bench. “I’m not sure if ‘likes flying into you’ is a warning sign for pegasus dating.”

Derpy was a premade family, after all. Cute single mother, unicorn children, guaranteed to drive his father into the third heart attack that would be his end… Well, maybe not that tempting of a dating prospect to consider while wasting his time waiting on the train.

The pegasus who ran the device repairshop would be more of a practical prospect. There was just something attractive about a mare who had a few dabs of grease on her face and a sincere need for being brushed. Something familiar, in fact. Dad would flip over having a pony in the family with an equiportant diagram on her flank, but he could not remember for the life of him ever meeting a pegasus so Marked. Maybe a few minutes back at the frat with a copy of Twerp’s Peerage would shed some light on her identity.

Of course, if he were feeling particularly suicidal, he could expand his matrimonial search to some of Twilight Sparkle’s friends. The photographs in the newspapers had shown one to be a fashionable unicorn, pretty enough to meet his parents qualifications… No, make that pretty enough to meet his qualifications. His parents had attempted to pair him with some real peaches recently. Rarity seemed to be a perfect bit of pretty side-candy, enough to make the other stallions stare… and probably as shrill as a saw with the personality of a mink. It seemed to go naturally with pins and measuring tapes, after all.

The idea of the fashonista’s perfect white coat next to his own dismal green hide only hammered the depression in deeper, and triggered some curiosity about last evening’s overnight stay in the library. It was entirely too easy to dismiss the goofy pegasus mare as somepony with a head that rattled when shaken, and who saw ghosts in mirror reflections. The only thing was, Emerald had firm memories of his foalhood where bigger ponies refused to even consider the strange things he had seen, so he had sworn never to blow off anypony else’s odd perceptions. Even odd perceptions from eyes that did not want to focus on the same thing.

It was troubling enough to keep him from working on his homework during the cheerful morning train ride back up the mountain. The sun felt cold against his thick green coat, unable to penetrate below a few hairs, while the normal thinner air of his childhood home left him strangely lethargic.

There was a possibility that Derpy saw somepony in the library other than his younger sister, although that was quite impossible. His family had always been protective of their goofy earth pony sibling, even if his parents never harped about their sacrifices for his good. They suffered in silence, in a way that each child knew darned good and well meant the same thing, only stretching back through the generations long past away to dust and decay. It was an unspoken responsibility given to each child from their parents, and expected to be given to their child in return, and then another, growing heavier with each transfer until he felt the entire mountain on his shoulders.

There were more than enough photos of Emerald’s birth and first year of life back in his parents’ albums, and he understood perfectly why. As a newborn, he had been a spindly-legged, hollow-eyed shadow of health, only regaining his normal weight and activity after his younger sister was born. There had been such a thin thread tying him to the world of the living for so long, and if he had died, the only thing his parents would have to remember him would have been some pictures and a few ashes behind a brass door in the family crypts.

He really should have headed straight for the fraternity when the train arrived in Canterlot. There was no reason to turn down the sun-dappled street to the inner section of the town, moving slower than his usual rapid trot to get from class to class. If he had encountered anypony he knew, he would have turned away, but his path remained unobstructed. Once he passed beneath the decorative wrought-iron barbican that signaled the division between the living of the city and the dead, it was too late to turn back anyway.

Slowing his steps again, Emerald strolled between rows of flowers and ornate bushes, each kept in pristine condition by the aged caretakers of the quiet place. Technically it was a necropolis, the largest one in all of Equestria, with cremated remains of thousands tucked into flowered nitches and hedged turns among the winding paths. More colloquially, it was called The Gardens, no more, no less, and Emerald walked past each bloom and leaf without the slightest urge to take a nibble, no matter how hungry he was.

In due time, he passed over the inscribed symbol of his House, a chrysanthemum in full bloom worked delicately into the cobblestoned path. To one side there were small brass doors with familiar names, great uncles and grandparents who rested at nose-height to the little colt he was during their funerals. Such a small space for deceased ancestors, all blissfully quiet compared to the squabbling chaos of any meeting between them when they were alive.

The small doors remained unmarked beyond a certain point due to innate frugality. After all, his older sister was in Baltimare pursuing a career, and if she pursued a stallion to a successful family life of her own, there would be no reason to reserve a space for her inevitable passing when she would most probably be buried with her spouse. Likewise his eldest brother and his new spouse would pass into a noble family’s embrace several flower-decorated paths from here.

There were three notable exceptions. His parents, of course, who Emerald suspected of having inscribed their doors back when his father had his first minor heart attack. Then a small door below theirs, inscribed with his own name that must have been purchased soon after he was born.

That was as far as Emerald had ever looked before. It had always given him a warm feeling to know that wherever he would pass after death, be it the Heavenly Pastures, the Great Nest, the most probable Shadowlands, or whatever else happened, he would be surrounded and protected by his family just the same as they had protected him during his life. Now when he was standing there all by himself in the cool morning sunlight, he could not shake the warm protected feeling of being with his family.

Frost had always been a ball of happy white fur, who bounced more than she walked. Mother occasionally said she had the energy of two ponies, but always turned away afterward, and withdrew emotionally. Emerald, being the nosy child he was and filled with curiosity, had nosed his way into the family keepsakes of their birth and had come across a letter from around that date in which the word ‘twins’ had been used.

Curious he may have been, but mixed with a great deal of caution. Curious noses frequently got burned. It was enough to know that his mother had been pregnant with two foals and only one survived, but ever since then he had wondered just what having a second little sister would have been like. Or even a little unicorn brother to cuddle, teach about his magic, and defend against the dangers of the world.

There were a few tufts of scrubby grass obscuring the very bottom doors, which Emerald brushed aside while crouching down to read. As expected, the doors were all blank except one.

He remained there with his chest pressed against the sun-warmed cobblestones, his nose against the dirt, and his mind slowly wrapping around a concept that he quietly moved from Impossible to Unlikely.

After a time, the Sun on his shoulders warmed. Birdsong began to echo among the fragrant blossoms, the unthinking happy residents of this place making the best of their last few warm days before winter’s snow. Life went on, throughout Equestria and the city. It was the rhythm of hope, the promise that made ponies keep going when everything had turned to horseapples, and a gift that Emerald carried in his own heart so that he could give it to others, particularly the most vulnerable and innocent.

After all, he had been given that same precious gift in his youthful infirmity. His parents, his siblings, his family had never given up on that fragile child he could still see reflected in the mirror whenever he thought about it too much. The realization filled him with a sense of completion, of purpose, and an awareness of how much studying he needed to do today. He stood back up, brushed the loose soil off his damaged suit, and turned his brisk steps in the direction of the fraternity house. He was a son of House Chrysanthemum, and there was much left to do before he could rest.

Behind him, the bent grass slowly straightened to cover the tiny brass door.

Winter
Beloved Son