Music drifted lazily across the lush greenery of the equestrian meadow, the rich sonorous notes inviting the listener to revel in the unadulterated joy of life, to ignore their daily hardships, perhaps even to take a moment away from their normal activities and simply... listen. It was certainly a lively refrain too, one which the mint green coated mare had instantly recognised as ‘The ballad of the prancing goat’. She’d played the popular piece many times herself, albeit back when she hadn’t been so utterly exhausted from digging all day that she was still physically capable, let alone in the right frame of mind, to even think of picking up her beloved instrument. Gods preserve her! How long had it been since she’d taken it out of its case? A week? Surely no more that two, right? Lyra Heartstrings sighed resignedly, leaning back in the earthen trench to wipe her brow only to accomplish little more than smearing her sweat soaked fur with mud from her now hopelessly chipped hoof. As she stared at her ravaged appendage a now familiar twinge of regret began to niggle at the back of her mind.

“You know you could always use magic to do that if you wanted to, right?” Lyra looked up, cocking an eyebrow at the orange coated mare addressing her. The newcomer was peering curiously at her from beneath a brightly coloured handkerchief that she’d wrapped around her head. It too, just like its wearer, was liberally covered in the ever present thick sticky mud and dark with sweat. “I mean, I don’t think Orbit will mind if you did,” the mare added. “Besides, even if he did we’re so short hoofed out here the old sod wouldn’t dare get rid of you. We can’t afford to lose anypony at the min’.”

She was right too. Every day the dig was falling further and further behind schedule despite the best efforts of the team. Lyra snorted derisively. Ha! Even calling it a ‘team’ was a stretch of the imagination. There were what, six of them left now? They needed at least twenty full time archaeologists on a site this size, and that wasn’t counting all the support staff they usually relied upon either. What a mess! Everything that could go wrong had done so right from the very start. Part of the trouble had been the time of year the so-called ‘decision makers’ had decided to commence the dig: it was the height of summer for one thing, and a particularly hot one it was proving to be too. A combination of the heat, coupled with the simple fact that interest in archaeological discovery was far from the mind of even the most dedicated equestrian academic, meant that the usual stock of volunteers had ‘inexplicably’ gone off on holiday rather than squat in an earth trench up to their fetlocks in muck and rocks. Others, such as those brought in from other digs to help out, had simply lost interest after a few days in the dirt and had made their excuses before they too left to pursue more ‘recreational’ endeavours. As the sun bathed days passed the team’s numbers dwindled ever more, no doubt following the example of the ‘less than dedicated’ individuals to make the most of the gorgeous weather. Lyra couldn’t blame them really, digging up the past was hardly a glamorous job at the best of times, especially when it was mostly unpaid. It didn’t help matters when your boss was an absolute dick too. Orbit was one of those types who never seemed to quite understand that the ponies scraping and scratching in the soil were volunteers and could, no doubt to his boundless chagrin, quit at any time without any repercussions. No, whichever way you looked at it this was all adding up to a right royal mess. Nopony was saying it out loud, but they were all thinking it: the whole project was more likely to run out of staff, or time, long before the usually spartan funding finally dried up. Apparently the local librarian of all ponies, one Miss Twilight Sparkle, had managed to arrange funds from, incredibly, the palace itself! How the hell she’d managed to pull that one off was anypony’s guess. Not that it really mattered anyway. They had been given one month to excavate, record, and retrieve any finds before the builders moved in to slap yet another supermarket right on top what was, some believed, to be one of the most important historical sites discovered in the last fifty years.

“Hey Lyra, you in there?” The orange mare waved a hoof in front of her friend’s eyes. “Earth to Lyra...”

“Yeah, I know,” Lyra replied solemnly. “I know...” The green mare closed her eyes, letting out a low weary groan, “I’m supposed to be playing at the Cinder Club tonight, Timber, remember? And you’ll no doubt remember what happened the last time I overdid it too. If I spend the day using my magic in this heat again I’ll be completely worn out before I’ve so much as put hoof on stage, let alone get halfway through the set.” She hung her head, recalling the embarrassment of that awful evening. “Goddesses, I wish I could forget all about that blasted debacle. No,” Lyra said firmly, lifting her head to the sky, “I wish everypony else would forget it! Ugh! I’ve never, never, been so humiliated in all my life!”

“Oh, come on, it wasn’t as bad as all that, Lyra,” Timber replied. She clucked her tongue dramatically, “It’s not like you fainted or anything.”

“Only by sheer luck!” Lyra snapped back suddenly. “I barely made it two feet off the stage before my legs went and I ended up muzzle deep in a sand bucket chucking my guts up!”

There was a long drawn out pause. Timber quietly watched her friend with her inscrutable blue eyed gaze that always made Lyra feel as though the motherly mare was able to read her thoughts before she’d said any of them aloud. Blast it! The girl was younger than she was!

“Why are you doing this?” Timber asked plainly. “I’ve heard you play. I know how good you are, and how you’ve mastered more string instruments than I can count.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Lyra answered simply. She closed her eyes, subconsciously brushing her cutie mark. “It’s my ‘special talent’ after all.”

“And a damned good one too,” Timber pointed out ignoring her friend’s faintly sarcastic tone. She leaned closer, placing a hoof on Lyra’s shoulder. “Listen petal, that ‘special talent’ of yours could bring you in some serious ‘readies’ if you applied yourself. Hell, I don’t even know the names of half the things you can make sing, and my dad used to make the silly things.”

“I know, I’ve got one of his mandolins at home,” Lyra agreed.

“Exactly,” Timber nodded assertively. “Lyra, listen, you’ve got the talent, you’ve got the connections, and you’ve even got the instruments for Luna’s sake. Why in Equestria are you wasting your time digging in the dirt when you don’t have to?” She shook her head sadly, “Honestly, I just don’t get it. I really don’t.”

“Because,” Lyra groaned, rubbing her forelegs before standing up unsteadily. “Because I want to, that’s all. There’s no big secret to it, Timber, I just… like doing this.” She shrugged, offering her friend a helpless smile, “Call me crazy if you want, but I always have.”

Timber chuckled quietly, “Fair do’s. Not that I’m one to talk mind, archaeology’s in my blood after all.” She pointed to her own cutie mark – a trowel and brush, crossed. “For better or worse it’s what I do. Pity it pays what we’re both covered in.” Timber nudged her friend playfully, “Crap!”

“Occupational hazard I suppose,” Lyra smiled in reply. She rolled her shoulders and motioned with her head towards the tent. Ostensibly it was supposed to be there for staff refreshments and relaxation. Unfortunately the capacious tent acted more like a sauna in the baking sun causing virtually everything inside to be warm, including the drinks. “Come on, let’s grab a cuppa before we pass out from dehydration.”

“Not a juice?” Timber asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

“You can if you like,” Lyra offered. “The chiller’s on the fritz again, and personally speaking I’d rather drink kettle water than hot carrot juice any day of the week.”

Timber paused before answering with a smile, “You know, I think I’ll go for a tea as well then.”

The two mares trudged along the wooden plank lined path which lead up to the modest assemblage of tents overlooking the dig. The white canvas domes were barely noticeable from any distance, being half buried in crates of equipment and the usual paraphernalia of the archaeologists trade as they were. Numerous measuring devices, range finders and recording devices sat alongside the more mundane items such as shoves, picks, wheelbarrows and buckets – all of them stacked surprisingly neatly, or else still languishing in their packing crates. If there was one thing that made them really stand out however, it was just how clean everything was. Lyra sighed inwardly. Archaeological digs weren’t meant to be clean! It was a dirty, filthy job at the best of times. It could be snowing, raining, or even blowing a gale and they’d still expect you to jump in a trench and get cracking. In short it wasn’t a job for those who would become apoplectic about getting a spot of mud on their coat or a chip on their manicured hooves. Uncovering the layers of history took dedication, real dedication, and no small amount of serious hard work. Above all though it required perseverance. As Lyra entered the tent she cast a backward glance at the others still working on the site alongside them. Apart from herself and Timber there were a grand total of six volunteers. Six! She wondered bitterly how long they would last before deciding to throw in the towel too. Come to think of it, how long would it be until there was just her and Timber left? Gods above, she’d never known a dig with such an attrition rate. Not even in the depths of winter.

“Hoy, buck up there, misery guts.” Timber plonked a mug of tea in front of her friend. “Get that down you and give us a smile for Luna’s sake.” She took a sip of her own tea, but her eyes never left Lyra’s. “I don’t like seeing you like this, Lyra,” she said weightily. “You’re usually the one who’s all upbeat and chipper about everything, and if you’ll pardon the pun, you really do wear your heart on your sleeve sometimes.” Timber treated her to a surprisingly gently smile, “What’s eating you? It’s not still that business at the club, surely?”

Lyra shrugged, “It is a bit, but… I don’t know. Things are just piling up a bit, that’s all.”

“Bonnie okay?”

The green mare’s eyes dropped, staring into the steam curling up from the barely touched beverage. “Yeah… I s’pose.”

“You suppose?” Timber replied, trying to keep the surprise from her voice. “I thought you two got on like a house on fire!” She leaned forward, placing a gentle hoof on Lyra’s. “You want to talk about it? I may not look it, but I’m a good listener. Honest!”

Lyra gave an ironic laugh and brushed her mane from her deep yellow eyes. “There’s not much to ‘talk’ about,” she said flatly. “It’s probably just me being miserable anyway. I mean, we’ve been friends since way back in junior school, even going to the same college together, but…” She screwed up her face in thought, “Something’s… Something’s just a bit… ‘off’ about her lately. I can’t put my hoof on it really, but she’s become so moody for some reason, snapping at me over the slightest thing!”

“Has this been going on for long?”

“A few months now,” Lyra answered glumly. “Ever since she got that promotion at work.”

“Pressure of the job getting to her, do you think?” Timber suggested.

“Maybe...” Lyra mumbled. “She won’t talk to me about it, that’s for damned sure.

Timber shook her head, “That’s not good, Lyra. Burying your feelings like that and pretending they don’t exist just makes matters worse in the long run.”

“Don’t I know it!” Lyra snorted. “But what can I do? I can’t force her to tell what’s bugging her, and when I even so much as hint at the subject she flies off the bloody handle at me!”

“What does she do again?” Timber asked. “Her job I mean.”

“Ah, now that’s the million bit question isn’t it?” Lyra lifted her cup up and took a sip, staring past her friend to the jar of flowers on the counter top. Although well watered, the once vibrant blooms were wilting in the intense heat of the tent’s interior. In a way she felt as if it were some terrible metaphor for what passed as her life right then. She cleared her throat, looking her friend in the eyes. “I haven’t got a clue.”

Timber’s cup paused halfway to her mouth. “What, you mean you don’t know what she does for a living?” She blinked in surprise. “How in Equestria can you not know!”

“All she’ll say is that it’s a ‘local government agency’,” Lyra huffed indignantly with an exaggerated shrug. “Other than that she never says anything about it, saying that she ‘Can’t disclose personal information’ and that it’s ‘Government policy’, or some such gibberish. All I know is that she goes to work the same time every morning five days a week and has weekends off. She takes her lunch with her despite there apparently being a canteen ‘at the office’, a set of light panniers, her purse, and some stationery: pens, pencils, ruler – that sort of thing.”

“Well, it does sound reasonable,” Timber reasoned a little doubtfully. She thought for a moment before adding, “My cousin, Blueberry, works for the local council in Fiddlestone. She’s worked in their accounts department for years and won’t talk about anything she does there because of ‘client confidentiality’, or something like that. It’s a bit like your doctors and their oath not to talk about their patients. If Bon Bon’s working for the same kind of organization I’d expect she can’t tell you about it for exactly the same reason. Don’t see why she couldn’t tell you what her job title was though. That seems like she’s going a bit overboard with it all.”

“More than her job’s worth, huh?” Lyra took a sip of her tea.

Timber leaned back in her chair, nodding sagely. “More like ‘official secrets’,” she said over her steaming cup. Her eyebrows suddenly shot up, lending her an almost comical air. “Hey, you don’t think she’s a spy, do you?!”

“Pfff! Bon Bon? Of course not!” Lyra snorted. “What, ‘Licence to bore?’” She chuckled, flicking her mane out of her eyes. “No, you’re right, Bonnie’s probably just some regular old clerical worker like that relative of yours. Jobs like that are boring anyway, and I mean super boring.”

“And digging in the muck for old tat isn’t?” Timber asked with a smirk.

“Well,” Lyra sniggered, “you’ve got me there.”

“That’s the old Lyra smile I like to see.” Timber winked at her friend and leaned back in her chair which creaked alarmingly. “Nah, look Lyra, if Bon Bon’s stuck in a crappy job then I wouldn’t worry yourself too much about it. That one’s got more than enough brains to get something else if she wanted a change of scene.” She shrugged, “Sometimes ponies just don’t want to talk about work when they leave the office. Hell, who’d want to hear all about paperwork, filing, and all that office politics rubbish when they got home? Put the radio on, take up a hobby, or go out for goodness sake.” She barked out a laugh, “Or go and hear some decent music down the pub!”

“Amen to that!” Lyra smiled broadly.

The two sat quietly for a while listening to the gentle flapping of the tent as the light breeze played with the canvas. Some might find the constant noise annoying, but to others, like the two mares, it was uncommonly soothing. Lyra closed her eyes, letting the stiffness in her joints from the weeks of digging slowly drain away in the delicious warmth. How long had she been here now? It hadn’t been that long compared to other digs she’d been involved with, not by a long shot, but this one was really taking its toll on all of them both physically and mentally. She’d always considered herself to be a very driven mare by and large, dedicating herself fully to whatever it was she working on at the time. ‘No half measures!’ she’d cheerfully say to herself, even when she was soaked to the skin during a downpour or shivering in the snow. And yet despite her enthusiasm, in spite of the fact she’d pushed herself day after day, this time… this time something was different. No matter how much she tried to put a brave face on it, all their hard work was proving to be depressingly pointless. There simply wasn’t enough time to do even a cursory inspection of this ancient site, let alone the full in depth excavation one normally required for such a historically important location. What a bloody cock-up! Lyra thought to herself bitterly. Still, it wasn’t anypony’s fault really. What with the weather, the time limit, and the fact that the site had only been discovered during the initial test boring by the construction company, meant that they’d been hamstrung right from the beginning. Hell, they’d been lucky to get as far as they had; the construction ponies had been ready to level the ruins they’d unearthed and use them as part of the foundations for the new supermarket before somepony with more than six brain cells stopped them. These things happened occasionally with archaeology. It sucked, but it happened, and there was bugger all you could do about it. Lyra sighed, blocking out her concerns and listened instead to the world around her: to the wind, the rustling of the trees… It all had a music of its own, a timeless ethereal song that changed with the seasons - changing, flowing... In her mind’s eye she could imagine herself relaxing on the deck of a ship, one of those old sailing galleons from history, lying in a hammock whilst the ancient wooden vessel rested quietly at anchor with only the lapping of the water on the hull and the soft sea air rippling the furled sails, lulling her to-

“Oh I nearly forgot, here’s that book you loaned me.”

“Huh?” Lyra started at the sound of the well worn book thumping onto the table in front of her. She screwed up her eyes, staring at the familiar text.

Humans: Fact or Fairytale?

An in depth examination into the legends and myths of this enigmatic race by renowned explorer Hidden Path, with foreword by Prof. Cinnamon Crackers

The book they didn’t want you to read!

“You alright?” Timber asked. “You looked like you were nodding off there.”

As if in answer to her question, an expansive yawn escaped Lyra’s throat. “I was…” With a smack of her lips she finished the last dregs of her tea. “So, what did you think or it?”

“Of the book?” Timber shook her head with an expression of mild disapproval. “I thought it was a load of old rot to be honest with you.”

“What?! Oh, come on!” Lyra snorted. “Hidden Path is a noted authority on ancient history, and Cinnamon Crackers is-”

“As mad a march hare!” the orange mare cut in. “The hint’s in the name, Lyra? As for Hidden Path, the guy’s a moon-addled conspiracy nut through and through. You must have heard what ponies were saying about some of his more wacky theories on ‘Lost civilisations’, surely? His name was all over the history journals a few years back. What was it now – ‘The lost penguin cult of the Germanian mountains’?” Timber guffawed, “Fetlocks and feathers! As if it wasn’t mad enough to think that flightless birds were somehow living in a mountain range, but that they actually worshipped a chocolate wrapper left there by a mountaineer as well? I don’t know what was more insane: that he actually had the balls to publish this rubbish or that dull witted ponies bought his book thinking it was a genuine study based on facts!”

“It was a best seller!” Lyra protested, ignoring the jibe.

Timber snorted, “Ha! Which only goes to prove just how gullible some ponies really are!”

“I’m not gullible...”

“Eh?”

“Nothing!” Lyra quickly slipped the book into saddle bag, secretly thanking the goddess that she’d got her prized possession back safe and sound. What in Equestria had she been thinking loaning it to Timber in the first place? She must have known the kind of response she’d receive from her friend. After all, the whole subject of ‘humans’ was one that was usually met with derisive comments or stares which generally suggested that any proponent of such views had more than a few metaphorical screws loose in their noggin to believe any of it.

“Lyra, that book was removed from sale for a reason, you know?” Timber gave her friend an almost pitying gaze, a gaze Lyra did not like one bit. Sadly it wasn’t the first time she’d encountered it either. It was just… it was just that she’d hoped Timber of all ponies would… Lyra sighed; she’d hoped at least one pony might have shared her more ‘unorthodox’ interest in these creatures. Sadly, it wasn’t to be.

“So you don’t think there was anything unusual in that then, do you?” Lyra asked. “You’re a historian; tell me, when was the last time anything like that has ever happened before, Timber?” She rolled her eyes. “Good grief! The government themselves come steaming in to lean on a major publishing house, forcing them to remove one of their best ever selling books, and at the same time release a press statement to the effect that Hidden Path’s best seller was ‘in fact’, a ‘work of science fiction, callously passing itself off as a meticulously researched evidence-based book to fleece the unsuspecting public.’”

“Which is exactly what it was!” Timber nickered loudly. “He was a charlatan for goodness sake.”

“Not a very good one then. Hidden Path was ruined!” Lyra thumped her hoof on the table. “Professor Crackers only kept his tenure because he told the press he’d been hood-winked into writing the foreword!”

“It just goes to show how much of a con-stallion he is then,” Timber replied coarsely. “He’s lucky the government didn’t make him pay back all his royalties. All that half-arse conjecture and supposition. I mean, a race of intelligent six foot tall bald monkeys? It’s as bad as the bloody penguins.”

“Yeah?” Lyra paused, looking her friend in the eye. “And how tall did you say they were again?”

“The penguins?”

Lyra clucked her tongue, “No, the humans.”

Timber screwed up her face in thought, “Well, ‘six foot’ your learned writer said if I remember correctly.”

Lyra felt a wry smile pass across her lips, “And exactly how much is a ‘foot’ then?”

The orange mare rolled her eyes, “Well, twelve inches of course. Everypony knows that, Lyra.”

“Not the length of a hoof then?”

“Ha! Of course not!” Timber barked out a laugh, “You’d have to have something seriously wrong with you to have a twelve inch hoof, Lyra! Either that or be the size of a small house.” She frowned, noticing the expression on her friend’s face. “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but -what are you getting at?”

“That word. ‘Foot’.” The green mare raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curling into a knowing smile. “The unit of measurement: Foot, or the plural - Feet. Ponies don’t have feet, Timber.”

“Oh, gods...” Timber groaned, leaning her muzzle into her hooves. “Lyra, it’s a word, that’s all, a word that’s used to describe a standard unit of measurement. There’s no hidden meaning to it.”

“So why not a hoof then?”

“How the hell should I know?!” Timber exclaimed in exasperation. “We don’t have a ‘Bakers dozen’ on the end of our legs, do we! You could just as easily say humans bounced around on pogo-sticks for all the sense that logic makes.” She shook her head, “Look, just because your nut job scam artist friend says humans walked around on ‘feet’ doesn’t mean that it has anything at all to do with some mysterious cover-up by the government. Monkeys have ‘feet’ too, don’t they? Think about it!” Timber wiped her mouth on her foreleg before slumping back in her chair. “Besides, what difference would it make even if humans had existed? They sure as hell ain’t around nowadays, I can tell you that much.”

“Bah!” Lyra sniffed, “You don’t know that for certain.”

“Oh no, of course I don’t,” Timber snorted loudly. “They’re probably up on that mountain with the bloody penguins aren’t they!” She waved a hoof sarcastically, “Scratch that, they’d probably freeze to death, what with them being ‘bald monkeys’ and all. Nah, they’ll have most likely skinned the penguins and turned them into tuxedos with matching ties long ago.”

Lyra couldn’t help stifle a chuckle, even if her friend was making fun of her. “What about the artefacts then?” she asked. “There’s that wheel they found in the river over in Thimble, remember?”

“Oh yes, the so-called ‘unicycle device’.” Timber groaned, finishing her own cup of tea. “Who could forget that whole chapter on ‘Unicycling humans’ travelling up and down smoothly paved roads.”

“Not convincing enough for you?” Lyra prompted, half expecting the answer.

“No!” The orange mare pushed back her chair and put her empty cup on the table along with her friend’s. “I’ve seen unicycling ponies in the circus, Lyra, so the whole theory behind them being invented by bipeds as a source of locomotion just doesn’t hold water. Besides, that rusted thing they uncovered could have been anything: part of a larger machine, an early cart wheel design-”

“A cart wheel?!” Lyra chipped in. She got up and stretched her back. “How many cart wheels have bicycle chains and pedals?”

“Pfff, it’s all conjecture, Lyra,” Timber huffed. “And before you say it, yes, I know that’s what we do for a living. Well, kind of.”

“Not in my book it’s not,” the green mare replied. “You can ‘conjecture’ all you like, I’m telling you that Hidden Path was onto something.” Lyra picked up her trowel, knocking the dried mud off it before shoving it back into her pouch. “You only get that kind of interference from up top when-”

“Um, hello?” A purple coated stallion’s face appeared around the entrance to the tent, interrupting Lyra’s defence of literary freedom and the good name of, apparently, the rather unfortunate author Hidden Path.

“Oh, you can come in if you want, we were just leaving,” Timber said pleasantly, quietly relieved to have a change of tone. “Weren’t we Lyra?”

“Of course!” her friend replied a little reluctantly. She turned to the newcomer, “There’s tea in the pot, and milk in-”

The stallion shook his head, interrupting her once more. “Um, no...” Lyra noticed he was one of the latest volunteers, one who hadn’t yet succumbed to the siren call of the beach and a refreshing cold beer. That said, how old was this guy? The fresh faced fellow barely looked fifteen. She repressed the urge to ask if he had permission from his parents to be there. They were short on ponies as it was without chasing them away. Hell, she didn’t even know his name!

“Well, what is it?” Lyra asked impatiently. “I may be a unicorn but I can’t read minds, kid.”

“Heh heh...” The young stallion laughed nervously as a blush rose to his cheeks. It’s quite endearing really, Lyra thought to herself as the newcomer rubbed his face. “Er, Amphora sent me to ask you to have a look at something we’d found in trench three?” he explained. “She said it was really important…” He frowned in thought, obviously trying to remember something. “Oh!” he suddenly exclaimed, “And you need to bring a camera.”

The two mares shared a glance.

“I’ll get the camera, Lyra, you get yourself along,” Timber chirped up. She looked forlornly at the pile of boxes and crates. “Once I can find the bloody thing.”

“Fine...” Lyra groaned, reluctantly turning to follow the youngster to where the other junior archaeologists were working in the not-so-originally named ‘trench three’. She and Timber had privately named it ‘The Forlorn Hope’ right from the beginning, although of course neither of them would have ever dreamed of telling the newbies that. The last thing they wanted was to put off the few volunteers they had left through some careless remark. That said, the two friends were more than happy to leave those rather ‘less than dedicated’ to their own devices in a trench where they couldn’t do any real harm, whereas for their own part the two senior members of the team could work in relative peace.

According to some of the rarer records held in the Canterlot Grand Central Library, the site they were working on was one of several potential candidates for the location of the mythical ‘Tower of Galeus’. Whether this unearthed amalgamation of archaic cut stones was indeed one and the same was as yet to be determined. As for Galeus herself, if indeed she had ever existed at all, the elusive mage was barely so much as mentioned in any of the later texts. Naturally this in turn lead many historians to assert that both tower and mage to be no more than mere folklore or flights of fancy. On the rare occasion she was referred to by name however, it was as a near mythical character of extraordinary talent. Nothing new there of course, mythical characters were more often than not accredited with incredible supernatural powers far in excess of normal ponies, if not the gods themselves. Some of the more ‘imaginative’ sources claimed she had once been the tutor of the famed mage Star Swirl the Bearded. If this was true, and not some fantasy story conjured up by later scholars, then Star Swirl himself had certainly never mentioned this interesting fact in any of his known writings. At least, those that still existed, naturally. The desperate wars from the time of the three tribes, the conflict with the forces of Nightmare Moon, let alone the war with the Crystal Empire, had not been kind to written records regardless of who had written them. Countless historical treatise, grimoires and tomes of ancient magics had been lost forever, scourged in the flames and blood of pointless wars. Sadly, nowadays many ponies had little interest in history as a rule, and it was only thanks to a few driven individuals like Twilight Sparkle that historical sites such as the one they were working on currently hadn’t been built over and completely forgotten about altogether. At least, not yet. Part of the problem with attracting ponies to work on this particular site was that Galeus was virtually a complete unknown, even amongst those who made a living from digging up the past. Couple that with the fact that the ‘probable’ location of a site that may or may not have even existed in the first place meant that the finding of a circle of large granite blocks had been met with little enthusiasm by all but a few of the most dedicated historians. Digging in the baking sun had merely the final straw in what had proved to be an exceptionally small pile of straws from the very beginning.

Behind her, Lyra could hear Timber’s muttering as she began her search for the elusive camera. Secretly she thanked the gods that her friend had volunteered herself for that little exercise in futility. With the lack of progress on the site and the lack of hooves, most of the equipment was still sat where the movers had left it. Just as well we’re in a low crime area, she thought to herself sullenly.

“Any luck with your trench?”

Lyra, walking along beside the young unicorn stallion, shook her head, “Not much. We’ve been uncovering the granite foundation stones, but as for what building they belonged to...” She shrugged, “I don’t know for certain. It could have been a granary judging by the size of them. Fortifications perhaps, or anything really. It’s still early days.”

“Granary’s aren’t usually circular in nature though, are they?” the young chap asked curiously. “They’re a hell of a size too, more like what you’d expect from a tall structure, like a lighthouse for example.”

Lyra raised an eyebrow, “Well aren’t you the little brainiac!” she snorted. “We’ve barely been here five minutes and you’ve cracked the code already.” She cocked her head to one side, “There’s one tiny problem with your assessment however.”

The stallion met her gaze, “Oh?”

“A lack of sea perhaps?” Lyra suggested, making a show of looking around at the acres of open land, road, and the local town. “Unless you’re taking into account the town pond of course?”

The stallion gave Lyra a stare that suggested just what he thought about her sarcastic wit; more so than her knowledge of any actual archaeology. Lyra sighed inwardly. She wasn’t herself today. The heat must be getting to her. The poor lad was doing his best, and, she had admit, he had stayed on long after many others had buggered off to have fun and frolics with a cold beer and… Ugh! Gods, how she wanted a cold beer!

Taking a breath she asked, “So, any thoughts on the site as a whole?”

The stallion paused a moment. “Um… Well...” He cleared his throat, “As I said, judging by the size of the granite blocks and the circumference of the site, which is approximately fifty five feet in internal diameter, if you take the tower at Falixus as a guide, then I would estimate a height of around one hundred and sixty to one hundred and seventy feet.”

“Hmm… I think you’re counting the diameter of the overall foundation,” Lyra said simply. “The internal diameter, if I remember correctly, is just over thirty feet isn’t it?”

He shook his head, “If you factor in the eight foot wide blocks, then-”

“Got it!” Timber appeared in a flurry of dust, panting for breath and yet smiling broadly, the prized camera hanging around her neck. She glanced at the two of them in turn, “What are you two gassing about? Did I miss something?”

“Just debating the dimensions of the tower,” the stallion replied.

“Assuming it actually was a tower,” Lyra corrected, shooting him a look. “And even if it was, it doesn’t mean it was the Tower of Galeus. Galeus is more myth than historical fact after all.”

“Only because there’s very little remaining documentary evidence from the first epoch,” the male chipped in. “Absence of evidence doesn’t necessarily disprove the existence of the thing in question.”

Lyra rolled her eyes with a snort. She’d heard this sort of ‘reasoning’ before - ‘Just because you can’t prove something existed doesn’t mean it never did’, eh? Ha! If you applied that kind of screwed up logic to other fantastical personages or events you could claim anything your heart desired had existed once! Maybe even… maybe even... humans? But then there was evidence of them, wasn’t there? Come to think of it there was far more written about them than this so-called sorceress whose ancient home they were supposedly poking around in. Well, at least that was what Twilight ‘Clever Clogs Sparkle’ believed at any rate. Lyra gave herself a shake; wandering across a dig site when you weren’t paying attention could end up with a sudden, and rather painful, discovery of how gravity affects ponies when they carelessly step into an unexpected trench. Thankfully Timber and the new fellow were chatting away beside her, oblivious to her musings.

Timber nodded to something the youngster had said, “The age and cut of the blocks does suggest they’re from the correct period.”

“The fit is quite exceptional too, you see?” The young lad sounded enthusiastic. It was a rarity these days. Lyra felt a touch of jealousy at that too. She could remember how she’d been when she’d first discovered the thrill of uncovering the past. Nowadays she was worried she was becoming jaded, and, perish the thought, older. “There’s no evidence of any mortar being used in the construction, suggesting they went for a friction fit,” the stallion continued. “Using the weight of the stones themselves to provide stability is typical of other sites where magic was used in preference to physical tools. You’ll notice that there’s been no signs of any tooling marks on any of the blocks we’ve uncovered thus far.”

“Well, I’m no engineer,” Timber replied, “but I wouldn’t want to rely on the weight of stone alone for stability, especially if it was a tower.” She frowned in thought for a moment. “You could be right though. If Galeus was indeed the expert mage the writings claim, then she may well have used magic to help bond the stones.”

Lyra shook her head, joining the conversation, “I don’t think so. Even after all this time there’d be a residual trace, and the detectors didn’t pick up anything other than the usual background radiation.”

“You don’t think this is Galeus’s Tower then?” Timber asked, a little surprised by her friend’s response.

Lyra shrugged, “Let’s just say I’m keeping an open mind and keeping any conclusions to myself until all the facts are in.”

“All the same, the evidence is compelling,” the stallion suggested. “This site is exactly where Twilight Sparkle said it would be, and-”

“Tch! She only found it after they’d started surveying for the supermarket!” Lyra interrupted. She held up a hoof forestalling him. “Look kid, I know you’re keen to believe we’re standing on the site of some legendary Equestrian character’s home, hell, I am myself, but you need to rein in that enthusiasm of yours and think with your head instead of your heart.” Noticing his crestfallen expression she felt her heart thump in her chest. It was like kicking the proverbial puppy. She decided to change tack, “Listen, all I’m saying here is to avoid trying to make the evidence we find fit what you want it to fit. If you do that then all you’ll end up doing is set yourself up for disappointment, and believe me I’ve been doing this long enough to know all about that!” She winked at Timber. “I’ll tell you what my tutor told me: ‘Archaeology is all about finding the fragments of history and putting them back together, showing us an image of our past. The picture is already there, all we need to do is to let the past speak for itself in its own time. If we’re patient, if we take our time and record everything we do, then we may discover many wonderful things about ourselves that we have long forgotten.’”

“And to remember the past is to enrich the future,” the stallion quoted.

Lyra chuckled, “You’ll go far, kid.”

“Parchment.”

“Huh?”

“My name’s Parchment,” the stallion said, lifting his muzzle. “Not ‘kid’.”

“Feisty!” Timber laughed. “Reminds me of you at his age.”

Lyra’s eyes went wide, “I’m the same age as you, you cheeky bugger!”

“Pfff! Dream on,” Timber smirked wickedly. “I’m as spry as a filly in spring. Look at my fur: so silky smooth and lustrous. I bet I’m making young Parchment here get hot under the collar just standing near him. Am I right?” She grinned lasciviously at the younger of the trio. Parchment blushed furiously, staring at the ground.

“Ah, how I love the sound of sexual harassment in the morning,” Lyra said with a shake of her head. “Reminds me of college.”

Timber tutted loudly, “Oh, for Luna’s sake, come on, Lyra! If you can’t have a laugh with your mates now and again you’re going to grow into an old and embittered hag. And don’t go getting all preachy with me either. I know what you were like in college too you know. You were no saint, my girl.”

“Never said I was,” Lyra muttered. She hung her head and rolled her shoulders. Looking up she saw Parchment pull ahead, his firm muscles moving under his deep purple coloured fur. He does have a nice arse though, she thought to herself. For a moment she thought she saw Timber notice her staring at the stallion’s rear, but thankfully she wasn’t. Instead, Timber had stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes locked onto where the others were gathered outside of the third trench.

“Oh! Now would you look at that,” Lyra breathed.

To most outsiders looking into this earthen scar on the equestrian landscape, the regular pattern of stones would have looked nothing short of completely unremarkable. Around twenty four inches long, twelve inches wide and the same deep, the neatly cut stones sat silently beneath the baking sun, still damp with the earth so recently brushed from their surface. Nine had been uncovered before the archaeologists had retreated, and not without good reason either – one of them was glowing with a faint, yet distinct, purple light.

“How long has it been doing that?” Lyra asked, leaning forward for a closer examination.

One of the other mares swallowed, casting Lyra a sidelong glance whilst managing to keep a wary watch on the stones. “Um… It started right before we sent Parchment to fetch you. As soon as it started we got out.”

“And bloody quick too!” another chipped in.

The stallion who spoke was rubbing his horn and grimacing as he did so. Lyra frowned, resisting the uncomfortable urge to do the same. Sure enough her own horn was itching beyond itself, a sure sign of a strong magical field building up nearby, or more specifically, right in front of her. Even to those unattuned to magical frequencies, the glow of magic was strong enough for the earth ponies amongst the number to see it clearly. It wasn’t growing in intensity – thank the goddess – but it was disconcerting how it was so strong after all these years in the ground. Privately she was thankful that the ponies here had been given at least a modicum of training before they’d started. Digging willy-nilly in an unknown site where magic had potentially been practised could be extremely dangerous for the unwary, or clumsy. Six years ago a young mare had been working on a site where they believed a battle had been fought during the war with the Empire. Virtually nothing existed from that time nowadays. Ruins were few and far between, and certainly never anything more than a few courses of foundation stones survived. It was ironic that many ponies believed the Empire was nothing more than a myth, and perhaps that was a good thing considering what could happen to those poking around in old forgotten places that had been lost in the depths of time. In this particular instance however the site had been considered to be safe, even ‘boring’ by those who had been conducting the initial survey. And so, as fate would have it, some bright spark set it up to double as a training area for up and coming archaeologists – kids, for Luna’s sake. The youngsters, and their parents, had put their trust in those more experienced, with many coming along during the summer holidays for a bit of an excursion – all expenses paid of course – so they could have some time with their friends away from home.

Lyra hadn’t been there, but she’d heard what had happened.

Balefire.

It was, by all accounts, a highly volatile magical explosive long since banned under the Celestian Convention on Destructive Magics, the tenets of which were dutifully observed by every known nation on the planet. Back then however, there had no such qualms about inflicting mass death on your enemy. Everypony had used it, and lain waste to half of Equestria in the process. Ostensibly it had last been used during the invasion of the self-styled ‘goddess’ Nightmare Moon and her Legions when it had been refined by mages to be more controllable, and unfortunately, more durable. Magical Annihilation Devices, also known as Balefire Eggs, Tartarus Bombs or Hades Grenades, still turned up to this day – usually by some poor sod innocently tilling the field or taking the air along some little used forest path. Most were duds of course, either through a fault in their manufacture or the simple act of nature slowly breaking the constituent parts down, time had more often than not rendered these lethal reminders of the past no more dangerous than an interestingly shaped paperweight. Yes, considering how long these had been in the ground it could generally be assumed that these fascinating relics were about as dead as their creators. But not all of them. Some merely slept, waiting for the careless, or simply unlucky, to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Numerous conflicts spanning the length and breadth of Equestria meant that despite the best efforts of the Royal Ordnance & Explosives Corps, there would always be something sitting there where it had been dropped more than millennia ago - waiting...

It was no surprise therefore that the number one rule amongst archaeologists had been the same for as far back as anypony could remember: if in doubt, don’t touch! Anything egg shaped, glowing, giving off magical radiation or a peculiar smell, was supposed to result in a rapid evacuation of the area until a safety assessment could be made. It was also why every earth pony or pegasi on the dig would have a unicorn in their party. Earth ponies could often sense ‘something’ was wrong, but a unicorn had that goddess given gift of having their horn feeling like it was being sand-papered when strange or strong magic was nearby. The case of Quiche, the hapless young earth pony mare who had decided to keep digging whilst her comrades knocked off for lunch however, had gone down in infamy as the veritable ‘case in point’. The crater was still there to this day. Quiche, Luna have mercy upon her, had simply ceased to exist.

Lyra could feel the eyes of the team watching her. As designated Safety Officer and Senior Archaeologist, it was her job to make a determination as to whether to proceed or put the trench on lock-down until the ROEC could be called in. In this case however, the glowing stone in front of them appeared to be far from anything that could be considered ‘explosive’. But that didn’t mean it was safe by any means.

“Any idea what it is?” one of the volunteers asked.

“Buggered if I know,” Lyra muttered.

“Eh?”

Timber gave Lyra a nudge with her shoulder, giving her the kind of look parents reserved for disobedient foals.

“Oh, er...” Lyra cleared her throat. “I’ll need to make a full assessment before I could say for certain. With the age of this place it could be anything.”

“But how could it be still active after all this time?” one of the youngsters asked. “Magical energy decays at a steady rate defined by the Claudian Thaumaturgical Index, doesn’t it?”

“Not all magic,” Timber chimed in. “Constructs, for example those from the Unification Period, decompose at a rate dependant upon the strength of the originating spell matrix as well as the vessel they’re affixed to.”

“Yes, but you’re talking about the grand mages, like Star Swirl, Clover and-”

“Galeus?”

Timber cleared her throat, “Well, of course, but we don’t even know if he – or she – was more than a storybook character, do we.”

“Oh, come on!” the student snorted, “After all this, why would...”

Lyra stepped forward, letting the conversation wash over her. Right then, right at that moment, all she could see was the mysterious blue light before her. It didn’t… It wasn’t… She closed her eyes for a moment, sucking in her bottom lip as she mentally leafed through her memories. No… It didn’t feel… Malevolent? She shook her head in frustration. She’d seen more than her fair share of oddities during her years of field excavations, more than a few of which had been traps of various descriptions – and lethality. Like their creators, these deadly relics had been left behind long ago for an enemy that had vanished into the depths of time, forgotten by all but a few. On one occasion Lyra had come across a rotting cache of balefire eggs during an excavation of what was supposed to be an ancient farming settlement. Admittedly they’d been so rusted the frightening things had leaked out their deadly payload into the earth long ago, but the shock of finding them had still scared the life out of her at the time. That aside, it was the ‘feel’ of them that had left the true lasting impression on the young mare. Even decayed, even rotten and rusted to no more than lumps of vaguely egg shaped corrosion, the memory of what these things were had left behind a sensation that she could never forget. It was a ghost of a thing, an echo from the depths of time. They felt… evil. Naturally many of her colleagues or those of a more scholarly persuasion would scoff at such a simplistic evaluation of an ancient artefact. They liked to note specifics, such as wavelengths, thaumaturgical radiation levels, chemical compositions, and other more scientific descriptions. Lyra would certainly never be so foolish as to contradict such learned individuals who had spent their lives studying magic in far more detail than she had ever been able to manage. And yet… And yet it was still there… that feeling. Evil. Death. They had been created with a singular purpose, and one that was simply undeniable. Traps held a similar sensation, radiating a sensation of ‘patience’, an indefinable aura of anticipation as though they were waiting for something, or somepony, to trigger them.

Some called it Divination Magic, although exactly what it was had never been studied so far as Lyra knew. As a rule it was usually looked upon as akin to deja-vu – in other words, some ponies had an idea that it existed, although exactly what it was didn’t particularly matter very much, it just… was what it was. Lyra’s mother, a unicorn like her daughter, had the same magical trait which had doubtless been passed down the family line for who knew how many generations. In essence, whatever this magic was, it helped Lyra only in general terms by tipping her off as to the ‘intent’ of the magic’s creator. As to exactly what it was however, was something she left to those more qualified – and less likely to explode like poor Quiche. Even so, the magic before her was compelling to say the least. The stone was the upper most of an arch of others of similar dimension, itself similar to that of a keystone in the arch of, say, a bridge or…

“Oh my gods...” Realisation hit Lyra like a thunderbolt.

Timber stopped in mid flow, turning to face her friend. “What? What is it? Do you know what this is?”

In answer, Lyra took a breath and leaped into the trench.

Timber’s eyes went wide as a collective gasp went up from the assembled ponies. “LYRA! For Luna’s sake, what the hell are you doing?! That magic needs to be tested before-”

Lyra held up a hoof, “It’s alright, I don’t think it’s dangerous.”

“You don’t think?!” Timber looked over her shoulders to see the others rapidly backing away. She was suddenly and also very acutely aware of standing on the edge of a trench mere feet away from an unknown, and doubtless equally powerful, magic source. “Have you lost your marbles?” she shouted down into the trench. “Don’t bugger about with that thing until we know what it is!”

“We don’t have time, remember?” Lyra shook her head, letting out a pent up breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding on to. “This is the first solid piece of evidence we’ve come across since we started this dig, and if we don’t make some headway now they’ll concrete over this place and we’ll lose this opportunity forever.”

“But we don’t know what it is!” Timber replied in exasperation. “It’s more than just a glowing stone, Lyra, I can feel the bloody thing from here. The diggers must have triggered it when they were exposing the rest of-”

“It’s a keystone.”

“-the masonry, and...” Timber blinked in surprise at Lyra’s interruption. “What do you mean ‘it’s a keystone’?” She leaned closer to the edge. “It looks to be part of an arch, I’ll give you that, but it’s free standing by the looks of it. Why would...” She trailed off. “Oh, goddesses...”

Lyra let out a low chuckle. “You see what I mean?” she grinned over her shoulder. “You want to leave this now, do you?”

Timber suddenly noticed how dry her lips were. “I… No… I think-”

Approaching hooves pulled at her attention. “Any idea what it is?” Parchment asked. He bobbed his head towards the stone. “I’ve never seen anything like it before myself, but I’m getting the impression you two have. Am I right?”

Timber nodded but said nothing.

Lyra glanced back at the young stallion before returning her attention to the stone. “It’s a keystone,” she said simply. “The keystone, my dear Parchment, in what appears to be a magical portal.”

Parchment’s eyes went wide. There was a long pause before he offered in a quiet voice, “I’ve heard of them, seen illustrations of them in books and other historical documents.” He swallowed before adding, “I thought they were all destroyed.”

“They were,” Timber explained. “At least the network connecting them was. The Princesses saw to that.”

“Or so we were told,” Lyra muttered. “I guess they missed one.”

“You think it’s active?” one of the other team members asked.

Another answered, “I doubt it. I’ve seen loads of these over the years, and none of them have been anything more than a nicely made archway into nothing.”

“No residual T.R?”

“Not a sausage.”

“It sure as hell looks live to me,” Lyra spoke up over the increasing chatter. Silence fell like a pall over the assembled archaeologists. “If that’s residual thaumaturgical radiation then I’ll eat my hat.” The blue light reflected in her eyes as she stepped nearer, ignoring the feeling in her horn. “This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Then you shouldn’t be near the bloody thing!” Timber said loudly. “Lyra, get you arse up here and we’ll get the area cordoned off until we can get a full team in here to-”

“Pfff! Yeah, right, like that’s going to happen!” Lyra snapped.

“Eh? I don’t-”

Lyra rolled her eyes, “You want some other team to nick our discovery do you? Come on, Timber!” She rounded on her friend, staring up at her from the trench. “I know you’re sceptical. Hell, I think we all are to some degree, but whether this is Galeus’s tower or not we have the first potentially live portal we’ve ever uncovered. This is the holy grail of archaeology, mare! You know damned well what would happen if word of this got out before we documented it.”

Her friend didn’t seem quite so convinced. “Lyra, we’re dealing with something we know absolutely nothing about,” Timber pointed out. “We don’t know what the hell will happen if we go poking around with the thing any more than we have already. You of all ponies should know what can happen if you muck about with ancient magic.”

“Um...” Parchment raised a hoof. “Pardon me for interrupting, ladies, but don’t you think we’re all being a touch premature here?” The two mares both turned to face him as one. “I mean,” Parchment continued after clearing his throat, “we’ve only uncovered a few stones of an arch. To say it’s a portal at this stage is a little, um… ‘premature’, don’t you think?”

“Seems to be a lot of that going on here at the minute,” Lyra mumbled, earning a scathing look from Timber. She rolled her shoulders as she turned her attention back to Parchment. “So, what do you suggest, newbie?”

Apparently surprised to be asked, Parchment glanced at the others. They were, without exception, watching him with the kind of intensity normally reserved for a predator studying its prey. “I… Um…” He licked his dry lips, unsettled by all the attention. “I’d suggest we do as Timber suggested and cordon off the area.” He held up a hoof forestalling Lyra’s protest. “With the intent,” he said assuredly, “to come back in the morning and continue where we left off. Miss Heartstrings can warn anypony of any changes in the magic and the rest of us can make sure we’ve got a clear evacuation route should we need it. Once we’ve uncovered enough of the stones to be sure of what we’re dealing with we can document it and produce our findings. In the meantime I’d recommend writing to Miss Sparkle to appraise her of the situation.”

“Huh! She’d pinch all the credit too, that one,” Lyra snorted.

Parchment’s grin was infectious,“I didn’t say we had to send the letter straight away.”

Lyra beamed back at him. “You know, I like the way you think, kid.” She chuckled, “Parchment, I mean.”

Timber’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know, Lyra,” she opined. “I honestly don’t think we’ve got anywhere near the kind of resources we need to deal with this sort of thing. If it really is an active portal then we’re playing with fire, and with these kids here somepony’s going to get burned sooner rather than later.”

Lyra shrugged her shoulders at her friends dire prediction. “If that’s the case,” she said with a wry smile, “then that pony should be me. No reason why anypony else should be put in harms way.”

Timber’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “What? What in Celestia’s name are you talking about?”

“It’s simple. I’ll run the excavation,” Lyra said with conviction. “You guys can do all the documentation and photography while I do all the graft.” She smiled wickedly, “I’ll be the one in the trench. The only one in the trench.”

“Oh, for Celestia’s sake-!” Timber protested.

Lyra stomped a hoof, pulling her attention. “Never mind invoking the goddess, I’m the senior archaeologist on this job and I’ve made my decision. If you want to make a big song and dance about it then complain to the university.” She clambered up from the trench, brushing the soil from her coat. “And that’s the end of the matter.” Lyra froze suddenly, “Song… Oh, gods! I’m supposed to be performing tonight. I completely forgot the time!”

Timber quickly looked down at her watch, “You’ve still got half an hour, you’ll make it if you get a shake on.”

“I don’t know about a shake, I’d need a bloody miracle!” Lyra took off running towards the main tent. “Timber, lock down the site and keep a guard on it so nopony goes blundering into it!” she called over her shoulder. “Damn it! I thought I’d booked a bloody taxi? Where the hell are they?!”

One of the newcomers, a lemon coloured pegasus mare raced over. “If you don’t mind travelling with a load of tools, I can give you a lift,” she shouted heading for the parking area.

“I work with a load of tools every bloody day,” Lyra called back. “Get yourself hooked up while I try and wipe this crap off my hooves.”

The green unicorn mare raced into the tent, threw off her equipment belt and panniers, then quick as a flash snatched up a scrubbing brush to give her hooves as fast a clean as she could manage. Moments later she was outside leaping into the back of the cart.

The pegasus pulled on the last of the straps and looked over her shoulder, “You all set?”

Lyra nodded, wrapping a loading strap over herself in lieu of a proper seat belt. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll give you a shout if I fall out!” With a lurch the sky carriage began to move. Seconds later the awful contraption left the ground at break-neck speed, throwing Lyra back. “Or a scream,” she muttered to herself.

“Sorry!” the pegasus called back. “You okay back there?”

Lyra gave herself a shake, or at least tried to. Right then she was hanging on for what felt like dear life. “I’m okay!” she yelled to her maniacal pilot. “You just keep your eyes on the road, or the sky, or whatever it is you guys do.”

The pegasus laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” she replied jovially. “I’ve only ever crashed the once.”

Lyra nearly choked, “Once?!”

“Yeah,” the winged mare laughed. “Re-lax, all the passengers survived.” She paused, frowning to herself as she shrugged, “Mostly anyway. Hell, they even managed to reattach everything too… once they’d found all the pieces...”

“EH?!” Lyra thought she was going to throw up.

The pegasus grinned wickedly. “Just kidding, it’s all good.”

“It’s all good...” Lyra felt her blood run cold. “Goddesses above,” she groaned, “I nearly defecated myself.” She cleared her throat, “Hang on, do you even know where we’re going?”

“The Cinder Club, isn’t it?” came the reply. “I heard you talking about it the other night.” She thought for a moment before asking, “Hey, you don’t think you could get me a complimentary ticket for me and my fella, do you? We’ve not been out in ages, and the poor bugger’s been stuck with the kids since we started this job.”

“Get me there in one piece and I’ll see what I can do!” Lyra shouted over the rushing wind.

Gods, how could the girl take flying this high over Equestria with such a sense of calm? Oh sure, she’d used pegasi taxis loads of time over the years, but at least they’d stuck to some sort of speed limit. Not like this loopy creature. She had only two speeds by the looks of it: ‘Terminal velocity’, and ‘Dead stop’. The latter of which came a hell of a lot faster than Lyra had expected too.

“Luna’s blue arse!” Without warning the green mare was lurched violently forward, her straps barely holding her as the carriage pulled up into a nigh on vertical climb. The wood creaked alarmingly, timber groaning loudly in protest at the abruptness of the manoeuvre. With no small amount of effort, Lyra heaved herself back, pulling in a deep breath ready for a well deserved protest.

The pilot beat her to it, “That the place?”

“Why, you-! Huh?” Her tirade halted before it was barely off the starting blocks. Surprised, Lyra poked her head over the edge. With such a clear sky it didn’t take long to get her bearings. Not all that far below them were the unmistakable brightly coloured lights of the Cinder Club, already lit despite it only being early in the evening. She shook her head; they were there already?! They’d barely taken off a few minutes ago! “Um… Yeah,” she managed. “That’s the place. Take us in behind the- ARGH!”

Without another word from her erstwhile pilot the carriage was off once again, accelerating at ridiculous speed, only this time in a wide banking spiral towards the ground. Lyra closed her eyes, trying, in vain as it transpired, not to imagine the crazed contraption she was currently strapped into ploughing pegasus first into the ground. Fortunately for both her body and current state of mind the descent lasted mere seconds before she became aware that the wind blasting through her mane and ears only seconds ago… had stopped. Tentatively she opened one eye, just a crack, but just enough to see.

“Oh, dear gods!”

“You okay back there?” The pegasus chuckled looking back over her shoulder, “You look a little green around the gills. No pun intended.”

“You! YOU-!” Lyra’s hooves fumbled with the strap, her magic pulling furiously at the buckle. “Don’t you damned well move, you… you lunatic!” Sweat stung her eyes as the strap mercifully came loose. In a trice Lyra pulled herself from restraints. Her legs nearly gave way when she dropped, quite literally, onto the hard packed earth. One shake later she was advancing on the pegasus. “What the hell were you playing at?!” she roared. “Were you trying to kill us?” The effect of Lyra’s tirade was somewhat spoiled by the fact that her mouth had dried out from the terrifying ride. As a result, what came out was more of an infuriated croaking than the full on blasting the pegasus pilot rightly deserved.

The young pegasus however, shook out her wings, quite unabashed by her passengers vocal protest. “Well, you did say you were in a hurry,” she pointed out pleasantly. “Didn’t you?”

The green mare’s eyes went wide, her teeth grinding in barely restrained fury. That cheeky, insolent, feathered maniac! Right then! She was really going to give her a piece of her mind now. She licked her lips, took a breath, and, “I-”

“Lyra?”

Lyra paused mid-roar. Who had said that? The voice was familiar too. Turning her back on the smirking pilot she turned to face the newcomer. He was a beige coated earth pony stallion, about middle age roughly, wearing a smart dinner jacket and had a cigarette poking out of the corner of his mouth. By the looks of it he’d been enjoying a smoke break when the careening cart had made its appearance only a few feet away from him. He’s lucky to be alive, Lyra thought bitterly.

A cheeky voice called, “See you tomorrow!”

“Huh?” Lyra looked back just in time to see the carriage hurtling back up into the dusk sky. Damn that mare! She’d have a few choice words to give her in the morning! Still, at least she was there on time. In fact she was actually early for once. Huh! Fancy that! She turned back to the stallion, “Hi, Jax. You okay?”

“Better than you apparently,” the large fellow observed. “That was quite the entrance. Who the hell was piloting that thing?”

“The demon driver you mean?” Lyra asked. She barked out a laugh, “She’s one of the volunteers at the dig would you believe. Bloody nut case nearly killed us both flying like that.”

“Probably thought she was being clever,” Jax snorted. He shook his head in dismay, “That’s teenagers for you.”

“Teenage pegasi, you mean,” Lyra corrected. “They’re all hormones and attitude if you ask me.”

“You weren’t a bit rebellious at that age?” Jax asked with a half grin.

Lyra sniffed, “Of course I was, but I didn’t scare ponies half to death for cheap kicks.” She shook her mane, clucking her tongue in irritation, “Ah, sod it! Look at the state of this! It’s going to take ages to get the knots out.” Her hoof moved up to the dishevelled mess of two-tone hair that now hopelessly tangled. As for her tail… She groaned; As far as that was concerned, the less said the better.

The large stallion took one last drag on his cigarette, tossing the remains onto the hard earth before stubbing it out. Grey smoke plumed into the air around his muzzle. “Well,” he said pleasantly, “don’t go getting yourself worried about it now.” He rolled his shoulders and yawned, “You get yourself a drink and enjoy the performances, pet. You look like you could do with something to help you relax. A night off’ll do you the world of good.”

“Sound good to-” Lyra paused, her hoof halfway to the door. “Hang on, what do you mean ‘a night off’? I’m playing tonight, Jax. Planks and Solid Start are already here, aren’t they?” She motioned to the familiar looking battered chariot that Planks habitually used to move their gear around despite the motley contraption looking like it was held together with little more than baling twine and sticky tape.

For the first time since she’d known him, the large form of Jax actually looked surprised. Normally nothing shook the indomitable fellow. Nothing dared. “Um, I thought you weren’t playing tonight?” he rumbled. His eyebrows drew down like two mating logs. “Mike told me he’d arranged everything and...” He blinked in surprise. “Lyra?” Jax stared at the empty carriage park. “Bugger me… How’d she do that?”

“Mike, you slimy bastard! Where are you?!” Despite the early hour the venue was already starting to fill up with dozens of expectant patrons, the murmur of whose conversation echoed loudly down the brightly painted hallways. All of this flowed unnoticed over Lyra in her frantic search for the source of her ire. “MIKE! Get your miserable carcase out here!”

Attracted by the shouting, one by one ponies began to poke their heads out from behind half open doors to see what all the commotion was. Arguments, drunken fighting and lovers quarrels were a common enough occurrence at the Cinder Club. In fact it was notorious for them all across Equestria, but this early in the evening? Wide eyes stared in open fascination. What was going on out here? What was this? It was a young mare by the looks of her, and quite a pretty one too. The irate girl was charging around the place shouting at the top of her lungs for someone! Now this really was something new! The inexorable pull of equine curiosity began to take its toll as members of staff started to appear in ever increasing numbers, each one of them hopeful of seeing some sort of exciting confrontation that they would doubtless use as a talking point for days to come. Lyra pointedly ignored them. Occasionally somepony would recognise her and wave or call a greeting, but for Lyra, she only had eyes for...

“Mike!”

One of the many dressing room doors opened to reveal a smartly dressed stallion in his mid twenties. He was a sleek blue-grey coloured fellow with a snow-white mane and tail which he was currently brushing out of his eyes. It was those very eyes, as blue as the morning sky, that had always attracted Lyra. She’d found out early on in her involvement with the tall male that he was more than aware of how others reacted to him too, and had no qualms about using his striking appearance to his financial advantage whenever, and however, he could. Particularly with mares. The microphone stand, his namesake, was clearly visible on his flank leaving little room for doubt as to his occupational talent.

“Lyra?” The stallion blinked in surprise. “What’s all the commotion?” He looked her up and down, a look of concern spreading across his impeccable features. “Are you alright?”

“No I am bloody well not alright!” Lyra snapped. She closed her eyes a moment as she caught her breath. “What have you done? Why did you tell Jax I wasn’t singing tonight?”

“Why did I...?” The tall male stared impassively at Lyra for a moment, his gaze never leaving hers. Suddenly he closed his eyes, nodding slowly as if listening to some inner voice on he could hear. “Ah, I take it you didn’t get the message I sent you then.” He shook his head resignedly, “If you want a job doing properly...”

Lyra had had enough. She’d dealt with this stallion more times than she cared to remember and decided to cut straight to the heart of the matter, “You’ve got another singer haven’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question. “You’ve replaced me.”

“Lyra,” Mike began in his soft, placating tone, “you do remember what happened the last time you were on stage, don’t you?”

He looked like he was going to say more, but Lyra beat him to the punch. “Of course I damned well do,” she snorted. “It was one time, Mike. One bloody time!”

Mike shook his head. “It wasn’t the first time, Lyra,” he replied quietly. “This has happened before. Several times in fact, and you know it.”

“Gods above, you make it sound like I’m some sort of basket case!” Lyra snapped with a cluck of her tongue. “I told you I was working on the archaeological dig and we were short hoofed. I was exhausted for bucks sake!” She began scrubbed her mane in frustration. “This isn’t the only job I have, Mike. I mean, I can’t survive on singing alone, you know that. The pay barely covers my cut of the bands expenses and accommodation!”

The green unicorn mare’s words appeared to have little impact on the incalcitrant host of the Cinder Club. “Some of the ponies here thought you were...” He sighed, a little overly dramatic for Lyra’s taste. “That you had a… a drinking problem.”

The green mare paused, her eyes going wide in outrage, “You… You thought I’d been drinking?!” Indignant anger began to boil over. “How can you say that?! You know damned well I barely touch the stuff, and I sure as hell don’t drink when I’m due to go on!” Heavy hoof-steps echoed up the corridor behind her, but in her current frame of mind Lyra barely registered them. “What’s really going on here, Mike?” she asked, leaning towards him. “What’s your angle, huh? That younger piece you’ve been chatting up taking my place is she? And what about Planks and Solid Start? They in on you little scheme too?”

Of course, Lyra didn’t know what the devious little Mic Stand was up to, and she doubted he’d tell her in any case, but she could hazard a guess. She was well aware that the Cinder Club’s owner had been promoting a younger mare for some time now. It was hardly a secret. In fact she doubted if there was anypony who didn’t know about it. What was her name again? Semi… Semi… Semi something-or-other. It didn’t matter. What did matter was that she had the feeling that this slimy rat standing before her had been trying to wriggle the newcomer into the good graces of the other two musicians in her band: Planks the percussionist, and Solid Start the oversexed horn player. Naturally the cute young thing, all giggles and coy little eyelash batting nonsense, had turned their heads in a trice. Lyra on the other hoof had never been looked at that way by the others. In fact she’d always been treated like ‘one of the guys’, and in fairness that had suited her just fine. Until now. Now she was beginning to wonder if that had had something to do with what was happening here. Things she’d heard, snippets of whispered conversations and muttered comments, began to replay through her mind. She’d generally ignored them of course, but she wasn’t ignorant of what others thought. She was well aware that some had begun to whisper that she ‘didn’t like stallions’, that she was a ‘filly fooler’, and… Gods above, why couldn’t ponies keep their bloody big muzzles out of her business? This was about Bon Bon, wasn’t it. Luna’s Ears! Couldn’t she live with her best friend, a friend she’d known for years, without being labelled as a… as a… Hell fire! Even if she was, even if she did… do that… with her… then why would anypony be interested even in the slightest? What damned business was it of theirs who she liked? Why did everypony seem to think you needed to have your entire life laid out for their personal inspection? Goddesses in their heaven, maybe she should have a business card printed with all her details on so she didn’t have to endure all this damnable speculation! She could picture it now:

Name : Lyra Heartstrings

Occupation : Musician

Age : Does it matter?

Sexual Orientation : MIND YOUR OWN BUCKING BUSINESS!!!

But of course they wanted to know, didn’t they. In fact, more and more she’d begun to pick up on ponies where she lived hinting, suggesting, and even encouraging a more ‘intimate’ relationship with her best friend! It was no wonder her blood pressure was up. She felt like she was going to burst right-

“Lyra?” A large hoof, surprisingly gentle for it’s size, took her shoulder. “Come on now, this isn’t helping.”

Jax towered over the green mare, dwarfing her like a liner looming above a tug boat. Lyra had seen the enormous door stallion throw drunks out into the street as though they were no more substantial than a bag of crisps. He’d never shown her anything but kindness all the time she’d known him, but she was under no illusions that he would eject her in much the same way if push came to a quite literal shove.

“I want to speak to Planks and Solid Start,” Lyra stated, lifting her muzzle imperiously.

Mike, however, was having none of it. “No,” he said simply. “It’s out of the question. You’ll have to wait until we close.”

“But… But that’s not until two in the morning!” Lyra exclaimed. “They’re got my instruments, and-”

“Jax will get them for you,” Mike cut in. “He can deliver them to the dig site in the morning. I’m sorry, Lyra, but you’ll have to leave. Jax?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“See her out, will you? And… be gentle with her. She’s had a hard day.”

Lyra’s cool evaporated in a heartbeat. “You! You lousy RAT!” Her hooves dug into the wooden floor, scraping against the hard surface even as she was being carefully, yet firmly, dragged to the back door, “I’ll get you for this, you shit house rat! You and those turncoat vermin!”

Mic Stand turned away, sighing as he began to head towards the rear of the stage.

“You haven’t heard the last of this!”

“No,” Mike murmured under his breath. “No, I very much doubt I have.”

The curtain swished aside revealing the two regular band members, and a certain pale pink and cream mare, barely more than a filly really, tuning their instruments. They weren’t the only band on tonight, but they were by far the most popular. At least, they had been before Lyra started rolling around on stage like some rum-soaked sailor. Despite what she thought of him he did like her, irrespective of what some of those rumours he’d heard had suggested. But whatever personal feelings he may or may not harbour towards her, he was still first and foremost a business stallion. Stories about drunken singers on stage falling over their own hooves, be it through exhaustion, alcohol or otherwise, could tarnish the good name of the Cinder Club, and that could never happen. He’d worked too hard to build this place up from the ramshackle country tavern it had once been to see it all fall apart because of one mare. He shook his head. No… No, if he had to take decisive action, as unfortunate as it may be to do so, then he would simply have to do it. He took out his hip flask and took a draught, closing his eyes as the fiery spirit slipped down his throat. The three of them were looking at him expectantly.

“Get yourselves ready,” he said quietly. “You’re on in thirty.”

Somewhere in the distance, or perhaps it was no more than a figment his imagination, the sound of a wooden door slamming shut acted as a heavy counterpoint to the leaden weight in his chest. The show, after all, had to go on.