“Fing ish, shee...” A loud burp accompanied a heady waft of beery breath. “Itsh them changelinsh, oi reckons.”

Lyra ignored him, taking a pull on her beer.

“Ever sinsh them beetle fings beat da shit outta C’leshtia, ponies been pisht off good an’ proper.”

“Bloody right too,” another answered.

“She, SHEE!” the first one said delighted to have met a kindred spirit. “Oi knew othersh felt loik me, oi did. See here, shon, you lishen to ol’ Worzel ‘ere, oi’ll keep yer roit...”

“Oh, for bucks sake...” Another slug of beer slipped down Lyra’s throat. The green mare turned away from the old ones behind her and waved over to the bar stallion. “Same again, Chief.”

“I’ll get that.” A dark blue earth pony stallion moved up beside her from the throng. He placed three bits on the counter top and glanced at Lyra. It wasn’t much of look, not the kind of overly familiar attention she’d received in the past, and certainly not enough to get her hackles up. Unfortunately after all that crap with Mike she was far from in the mood to let herself be chatted up. Readying herself to shoot him down the moment he put the moves on her, she waited.

Any minute now, Lyra thought to herself. You come here often? Get your coat, you’ve pulled. I like your cutie mark, or any of the usual crap stallions throw at mares to get them into bed. Here it comes...

Nothing happened.

All the new guy was doing was standing there, drinking his beer without a care in the world. Whoever he was he wasn’t showing her the slightest bit of attention whatsoever. In fact other than buying her a drink he hadn’t so much as looked at her or said another word. He was either being excruciatingly patient or had changed his mind about her already. Had he gotten a closer look and decided she wasn’t his type? As much as she wanted to be left alone to drink her sorrows away, this guy had piqued her interest and simply trying to ignore that naggingly insistent curiosity would bug her until she’d satisfied it. Lyra tried to catch a glimpse of the curious fellow surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye, disguising the move as she took a mouthful of beer. He was, admittedly, a fairly decent looking kind of guy. Not bad, Lyra thought to herself. He was a stallion of average build, reasonably well dressed, sporting a cream coloured mane and tail with what may have been a few grey hairs here and there. As stallions went he was fairly unobtrusive, and no different from most of the males she’d seen over the years. He had nice eyes though – ruby red, and they suited the rest of his colouring very well indeed. She couldn’t see his cutie mark under his overcoat, but staring at his flank to try and catch a glimpse of it would have sent the wrong signals loud and clear. But… Who the hell was this guy? There he was taking another mouthful of his beer, and rather than coming out with some cheesy chat-up line he seemed to be more interested in the complimentary bowl of nuts than than her. Damn it, now she felt like she had to say something! She cleared her throat, trying to sound as if she couldn’t be bothered.

“Excuse me, do I know you?” Lyra asked.

A moment passed before the stallion, peering at her without moving his head, answered, “Maybe, I move around a lot.”

“What, you like a travelling salespony or something?” Lyra asked.

“More of a freelance reporter really,” he replied non-committally. “Work takes me all around the country so I meet a lot of ponies on my travels.”

Lyra leaned forward, staring at the bottles on the wall behind the bar. “I wish I could travel,” she sighed loudly. “I’m sick and tired of this bloody place.”

“Mmm.” The stallion’s expression gave nothing away as he said, “I thought that was the case. I could see it written all over you when I came in.”

“That why you bought me the beer?”

“Why else would I?”

“Because stallions normally only buy mares they don’t know a drink because they want to get their leg over,” Lyra sniffed. “That’s why.”

The stallion huffed quietly under his breath, “You can’t have met many good ones then.”

“Oh?” Lyra replied. She raised an eyebrow, “And that’s what you are, is it? One of the ‘good ones’?”

He didn’t respond. Lyra felt a flush of embarrassment race through her at the sarcastic tone of her voice, ruining her previously contemplative mood. She was being defensive, overly so if she were being be honest, and what was worse was that she suspected she was coming across as an ungrateful bitch. All the poor guy had done was buy her a drink, and here she was acting as if he were trying to get into her pants. If she’d been wearing any… Damn it all! She reached back and brushed her tail down, adjusting her position on the stool in case anypony got any ideas.

“Buckthorn.”

“Huh? You what?” Lyra looked at the stallion, suddenly finding herself staring at him eye to eye.

“My name,” he clarified helpfully. “Buckthorn.”

Lyra blinked at that ruby eyed gaze, quickly trying to collect her thoughts. “Oh! I’m, um… Lyra.”

He nodded politely, “I know.”

“Ah,” Lyra’s heart sank as realisation hit her. “Of course… you’re a fan.” She closed her eyes and lifted the flap of her pannier for a pen. Bloody autograph hunters...

It was the stallion’s turn to look surprised now. He shook his head slightly, lifting a hoof forestalling her, “Please, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not a fan. Not especially. I enjoy music, certainly, but I’m not what you’d call a ‘fan’ of any particular genre.” He smiled faintly as if in response to a joke only he knew the punchline to. “I saw your face on the promotional poster outside.”

Lyra froze, her blood running cold in her veins. The fresh memories of that accursed confrontation with Mic Stand, being physically dragged out by Jax, and that damned fool of a pegasus who’d nearly killed them both getting her to the Cinder Club in first place seared through her mind. Buck the Cinder Club, and buck the whole mange ridden lot of them too! After that nice little nightmare she’d stormed off into the twilight in a blind rage, letting the cooling air of the approaching evening wash over her. That was when she’d seen the tavern lights, and one thing, as they say, led to another. Or at least, to several pints.

“Hmph!” Lyra wasn’t sure what to make of the stallion’s assertion that he wasn’t a fan of hers. On some level she felt like she’d been insulted, but then maybe this guy was simply that straight forward. “To a fault,” she muttered to herself.

“I’m sorry?”

Lyra shook her head, “Nothing, just thinking out loud.” She let out another breath and started in on her next beer – the one he’d bought for her. “You haven’t asked why I’m in here and not there,” she grumbled. “At the Cinder Club I mean.” Perhaps he simply hadn’t noticed the dates.

“Does it matter?” Buckthorn asked in his measured tone of voice.

Lyra shrugged, “I guess not. Not now anyways.”

Buckthorn waved over the bar stallion for another round, “I’m sure you have your reasons for being here, much the same as I have mine.”

Lyra raised an eyebrow, “Which is to buy me a pint, apparently.”

There was that faint smile again.

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude here, Buckthorn, but why did you buy me a drink?” Lyra asked. Pushing against the counter she turned to face him. “And don’t say something stupid like ‘Do I need a reason?’ or some bollocks like that, okay? I’ve seen the ‘cool guy’ act more times than I care to admit, and I can assure you I’ve been chatted up by the best of them.”

Carefully, with near mechanical slowness, Buckthorn put down his beer and met her gaze. “I bought you a drink because you look like a mare who needed one - like a mare the world’s just taken one giant yak-sized shit upon.” He snorted, turning away from her again. “And because you remind me of a mare I once knew.”

“Aha!” Lyra clopped a forehoof on her thigh. “There it is! That’s the old biscuit!” She barked out a laugh, “I look like the jilted girlfriend, line. I knew there was something behind it.” She took a mouthful of her beer, satisfied that her curiosity had at last been served.

The stallion blinked slowly. “Nopony does anything without a reason, Lyra,” he explained calmly, “even if that reason is simply to see a young mare’s smile.”

Buckthorn’s manner of speech was infuriatingly steady, as calmly measured as a metronome and somehow made Lyra feel as though she were some commoner being addressed by the lord of the manor. Was it all an act perhaps? Was he talking down to her? Or did he see her as simply that – a lowly singer who was down on her luck?

“Well, whatever the reason, thanks for the drink.” Lyra gave her mane a shake, shifting her weight on the stool as she reached for the nuts. “I’m sorry you split up with your girl, Buckthorn. You seem like a decent guy. I’m sure you’ll find somepony else some day, and-”

“We didn’t split up.”

“-find some new girl who’ll… Huh?” Lyra looked at him over a mouthful of nuts.

“She died,” Buckthorn said simply.

“Oh! Ah, shit. Look, I’m… I’m sorry.” Lyra closed her eyes for a moment. Damn, damn, damn! Goddesses above, why couldn’t she have read the situation properly and kept her blasted mouth shut? She could see it all clearly now too, see it lurking there deep within Buckthorn’s eyes; something was haunting the guy. Here he was trying to help salve his heart by buying a mare who reminded him of his lost love with a beer, and what does she do? Makes out that he’s trying to bed her of all things! What an absolute tool she was. Celestia’s backside, could tonight get any worse?

Buckthorn shook his head. It was barely a movement at all, but it was there alright. “She was killed a year ago to the day.” He lifted his beer, “It’s the only time I drink now; as a way to honour her memory and to remember the good times we shared.” The stallion took a deep breath, “I don’t even like the stuff, but… she liked it.” He grimaced slightly before adding, “She was younger than me, by several years actually. We were due to be married too.” He snorted ironically, “That was the kiss of death right there.”

Lyra found herself staring at the stallion and hanging off every word. “How did… How did she die?”

Suddenly, and much to Lyra’s surprise, Buckthorn laughed, “You know, I have absolutely no idea? She was a watch mare, had been from the very day she’d left school back in Weatherall. Her parents were in the watch back then too, and even as a filly she was determined to follow in the family tradition.” He took a sip of his beer, staring into the foam swirling in the bottom of his mug. “We’d been seeing each other for about three years before I proposed to her. Three years...” He sighed and leaned back in his stool. “Then one day she came home and said she’d been ‘promoted’ to ‘special duties’, whatever that’s supposed to mean. She was often away for days at a time after that. I hated being apart from her naturally, but it was her passion, and I cherished every moment I spent with her all the more. The last time I saw her she said she was going to be back late as there’d been an incident at a watch house in Manehattan. When she didn’t come home I didn’t think much of it. After all, her job often took her from one end of the country to the other so I wasn’t unduly worried. Two days later, and with no word from her, I contacted the watch house only to be told by the enquiry officer that ‘nopony was available to answer my enquiry at that time’. And that was that. The next day these two suits turned up at the front door. ‘Can we come in? It’s about Calico.’ They didn’t need to say anything else. I already knew. I just… knew.”

Calico. That must have been his girl’s name.

“They didn’t tell you what happened to her?” Lyra asked.

There was that shrug again. “No,” Buckthorn said weightily, “all they told me was that she had ‘Died in the line of duty’. After that I stopped listening. After that… well, what can you do? It was the end. The end of her, of us, and of our dreams of a long happy life together.”

Twelve months ago… Lyra frowned in thought. She’d heard something about some trouble in the paper, somewhere over on the east coast. Wasn’t it a fight with some changelings, or… Gah! She couldn’t remember that now! Anyway, whatever it was it didn’t mean a damned thing to poor old Buckthorn here. The guy looked like his girlfriend hadn’t been the only one to die that day. He looked like his heart had stopped and somehow he’d just kept on rolling along. Before she knew it, two more beers arrived.

“What about you?” Buckthorn asked. “If you have something to get off your chest then I can’t think of a better time or place to do it.”

“Good beer and good company, eh?” Lyra asked with an ironic grin.

“If you can call it that,” Buckthorn said absently. “I can’t say I can give you any useful advice, but I’m told I’m a good listener.”

“Heh! Why not.” Lyra rolled her shoulders back, flicking her mane to one side. “It’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to be right now...”

And so, true to his word, the stallion listened. Occasionally he’d ask a question to clarify something, nodding in all the right places and generally acting as the perfect sounding board for all of Lyra’s worries. Normally she wouldn’t open up like this to anypony, least of all a complete stranger, but the recent odd behaviour of Bon Bon, the trouble at the dig site, and the latest horror – that business with the band and Mic Stand, well… it all came pouring out didn’t it, just one blasted nightmare after another. It was all there, every last shred of it laid out like a bad hoof of cards - all the pain, all the heartache and the misery that she’d shut away in that tiny corner of her mind which held everything she didn’t want to think about. Now, Buckthorn, a complete stranger, had seen the lot warts and all. Suddenly Lyra began to regret telling him everything. After all, who was this guy? She didn’t know him, in fact he didn’t know her for that matter. Still, after tonight she’d most likely never see him again. She took a slug of her beer.

“Do you believe you’ve been pushing yourself too hard at the dig site?”

Lyra shrugged, “Hmph! Maybe.” She didn’t like to admit it, but when she looked at her hooves, at all the chips and the dirt that was stuck in every nook and cranny, not to mention the way her muscles ached, then… yeah… Kidding herself that she was perfectly fine was fooling nopony. It was something she couldn’t hide from if she were being completely honest with herself, and what was worse was that maybe, just maybe, Mic Stand had a point. She stared at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. “Gods… I really do look like shit.”

“Why do you think that?”

Lyra nickered. “You’ve got eyes haven’t you?” She lifted a hoof to her cheek, “Look at this; I’ve shadows under my eyes you could hide a bus in, and as for bags? Hell, you could do your weeks shopping in them!” She turned her head from side to side. “My eyes look bloodshot, my hooves are chipped to buggery, and my mane’s still got bits of crap in it from-” A pair of ruby red eyes, rich and shining with life, gazed into hers. “from...” Lyra swallowed. Bloody hell, he was so close! Part of her wanted to move away, whilst another part of her, that little voice in her heart that cried out for comfort, for understanding, was whispering something altogether different. She licked her lips. Had it gotten warmer in here all of sudden? A shiver ran down her spine as her heart began to race. She should stop this now before something happened, before… but… It wasn’t much to ask, was it? Just a little distraction from today’s… whatever it was. After all, he was the first stallion who’d listened, really listened to her troubles, and now…

“You’re a beautiful mare, Lyra,” Buckthorn said in that husky voice of his. “Don’t let anypony tell you different. If I were-”

Buckthorn’s eyes went wide as a pair of beery lips pressed to his. A moment, a single beat of the heart later, the mare had broken their connection. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “Lyra, please, this is-”

“Wrong?” Lyra leaned towards the bar, a smile playing across her lips. “Maybe, but I’m old enough to make my own mind up.” She gave him a sly wink, “You too I imagine. Am I right?”

For a moment Lyra wondered if she’d overstepped the mark. Buckthorn looked… well, not so much surprised by her forwardness, but in actual fact appeared completely unphased by it. Had he been expecting this, or was he simply that inscrutable? Hell, the guy had been through the mill emotionally, and moping in the bar pining for his lost love forever more wasn’t going to help him move on with his life. As for her, well, she’d been on her own since this job had started, and who was to say she couldn’t finish the evening with a little fun to help her unwind? She was lonely - lonely, upset, angry, and thoroughly pissed off at life in general. For now anyway. Carefully she finished the last of her drink, put down her mug, and slid off the stool. Without a word, without breaking their mutual gaze, Buckthorn did the same.

“I have a room for the night,” the stallion said simply.

Lyra chuckled throatily, “That’ll do.”

Sunlight filtered through the curtains illuminating a mint-green muzzle. It looked like it was going to be another scorcher today. Lyra blinked, trying to get her eyes adjusted to the brightness. Smacking her lips she reached over to- Ah, well, what did she really expect? The cooling space beside her, the feeling of emptiness in the room… Well, it probably for the best. A one night stand like that was never going to lead to anything. By the looks of things, Buckthorn had left a little while earlier, and no wonder! The clock clunked round as though in answer to her surprise. It was it nearly half past eight!

“Oh, crap!”

With a heartfelt sigh, Lyra pulled the covers off and slid her hind legs over the side of the bed, letting them hang there for a while as she yawned. Gods, she felt good! A fuzzy sensation of wellbeing rushed through her, adding a pleasant momentum to her movements. Last night had been absolutely amazing. Buckthorn had known exactly what to do, and boy, he’d had her melting into his gentle ministrations like chocolate in the sunlight. He was experienced alright, she’d give him that. It was a shame he’d already left of course, but being a musician, liaisons like last nights were part of the lifestyle: a quick fling, a release of tension, and a good nights sleep were a perk of the job. What more could you ask for? Besides, she kept up with her hygiene regimen to ensure she didn’t get anything unpleasant, nor, perish the thought, pregnant. Kids were something that happened to other ponies. The very thought of having her own had always been rather alien to her, but… who could say? Maybe one day…

There was a knock at the door, “Hello? Taxi for Heartstrings.”

A taxi? Lyra jumped down and opened the door, flinching at the barrage of intense sunlight. Silhouetted in the brightness a uniformed figure stared at her.

“Good morning, Miss.” He looked down as his notepad, “Taxi for Miss Lyra Heartstrings?”

Lyra rubbed her eyes, “I… Yes, that’s… that’s me.” She swallowed, licking her dry lips. “I’m sorry, who booked you again?”

The taxi driver looked a little abashed, probably at the wild look of the sleepy mare standing in the doorway. He took a note out from his pocket, “The taxi was booked by a Mister Buckthorn, Miss.”

Ha! Would you fancy that? She knew Buckthorn was one of the good ones. Lyra smiled, “Thanks. Could you hang on for a few minutes while I tidy up?”

The driver nodded, “Of course. The gentlecolt said to give you all the time you wished. It’s on account.”

On account? Well, he said he travelled a lot, so it wasn’t that unusual for business types to have accounts with taxi companies. Personally she was just grateful that he’d thought enough of her to book one. She had a vague recollection of telling him work started at nine on site, and even with the travel time he’d booked the taxi to get her there comfortably early. A ‘good listener’ indeed!

“The good ones always slip away...” Lyra murmured to herself.

“I’m sorry, Miss?”

Lyra shrugged, “Nothing. Won’t be long.” She closed the door.

Magic sure came in handy at times. Levitating the duvet was child’s play. It settled nicely on the bed, and with the pillows plumped up, in no time at all she was in the shower washing the evidence of the previous nights frolics from her fur. Warm water ran down her mane, the soap lathering up nicely and returning a sense of equilibrium to her mind after what felt like an eternity of living in filth. Days up to her fetlocks in dust and dried mud, followed by evenings singing in a smoky club, had really taken their toll. Gods, Buckthorn must have thought she never washed! How he’d managed to… to do what he did… She shuddered. Even just the memory of it made her tingle! Chuckling to herself, Lyra washed herself off, towelled off, and collected her panniers. That was when she noticed something was missing.

Putting her brush away, the space where her treasure normally sat was noticeably empty. That was odd… She checked again. No! Quickly she took off the panniers and lay them on the bed, checking the other bag with a similar result. Lyra’s heart began to race. Had she left it with Timber? No… No, she’d put it back in her pack straight away, and they were the same ones she had now. She hadn’t left it on the table had she? That new guy had come in and distracted her, and… She shook her head; no, she had put it in her pack, she was sure of it!

“Oh, no… Oh, damn it all to-” Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, there it was. “Oh, thank Celestia!”

The book was there, laying open on the dresser. How the hell had she missed it? Lyra snatched it up, holding it to her chest as she let her heart rate return to normal. Years ago she’d searched high and low for this scarcest of publications, and to find another copy nowadays would be nigh on impossible, especially after they’d been ‘recalled’. Hell, lending it to Timber had been a foolish thing she’d regretted almost immediately. Considering how that narrow-minded mare had reacted she was surprised it hadn’t ended up as latrine paper. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again!” Relieved, Lyra lifted the dog-eared book, noting that her book-mark was still in place – a home made one Bonnie had given her – and was just about to put it in her pannier when a small piece of paper caught her eye. Curious, Lyra almost pulled it out.

There was writing on it.

Lyra,

Forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye, however you were sound asleep when I awoke and I needed to be away early. I have taken the liberty of ordering you a taxi to take you back to your encampment.

Thank you so much for last night.

Buckthorn

“Short and sweet,” Lyra muttered. Still, she didn’t have any room to talk, she was the one who’d instigated things last night, and at least Buckthorn had bothered to leave a note. In any case he was right about one thing – she’d needed the sleep alright. “Not that I got much!” she chuckled under her breath.

By the looks of things, Buckthorn had been having a quick read before he’d left. Specifically, ‘Chapter Twelve. Trans-material Teleportation, Quantum Thaumaturgical Engineering, and Other Lost Marvels of the Human Age.’ Ah, so he’d been reading one of her favourite chapters too had he? Lyra leafed through the next couple of pages, noting where a few rogue biscuit crumbs had snuck into the binding from her last read through. It was certainly a page turner alright. The general thrust of the author’s claims followed years of investigation into his belief that the various portals which littered the land were the invention of a lost civilisation. A civilisation of creatures known as ‘Humans’ to be precise. The fact that nopony had ever seen one, let alone found any mortal remains of one of these elusive creatures, had been explained by Hidden Path as an example of the humans cremating their dead – a practice also followed by her own race. According to Hidden Path and Professor Crackers, the age of the humans had come to an end in an extinction level event known as the ‘The Time of Fallen Sky’. Exactly what it was, he admits, is pure conjecture. Be it war, a plague, or some other civilisation ending event, the final result was that the human presence on Equestria came to an abrupt, and very final, end. This naturally lead to other questions on the subject, not least of which was exactly how did they escape? The answer has been alluded to in fragments of texts found in ancient ruins. The humans had apparently constructed a portal, but not one that merely linked to another on this world, but to another world altogether. If Path was right then the humans had simply gotten up and walked away, never to be seen again. Outside of academia and the odd group of nut job conspiracy theorists, if you were to ask anypony who humans were, most wouldn’t have a clue who, or what, you were talking about. Those who had heard of them would most likely think you were talking about mythical creatures as if they’d actually existed. To this, Lyra would usually answer “But what about the faerie folk? Remember the Breezies? They were considered no more that a myth until a few decades ago, yet now ponies take their friends and family to witness their mass migration.” It was, she believed, as compelling an argument for the existence of humans as any. Unfortunately for her there were those who considered even the remotest possibility of an ancient civilisation of ‘two legged hairless alien creatures’ having inhabited Equestria before ponies to be the stuff of not only fantasy, but bordering on heresy. After all this world had been created by the ancient gods, the parents of their own living gods, Luna and Celestia. It had been made for them - for ponies. The other races who lived here, such as the griffins, hippogryphs, llamas and yaks for example, were of little to no concern for the majority of the land’s equine inhabitants. Those foreign types probably had their own pagan version of the gods anyway, if they had any at all of course, but even if they did they were as grains of sand beneath the hooves of the eternal princesses. Lyra sighed. Such was the fickle, and extraordinarily insular nature of her people.

The clock on the wall clicked around to-

“Shit, the time!” Quick as a flash the book was safely secured back in its place in Lyra’s pannier.

“All set, Miss?” The taxi driver was strapped in and waiting patiently for his fare who all but leaped into the back.

“You know where we’re going?”

The driver nodded, “Yes, Miss. The archaeological dig site wasn’t it?”

“And don’t spare the mules!”

The flight back took no time at all. The coaching house they’d been staying at had been a lot nearer to the dig site than Lyra had realised. In all fairness she probably could have walked it, but why wear out your own legs when you could arrive, all expenses paid, in a pegasus sky taxi. No terrifying dash through the sky this time. No digging her hooves and teeth into whatever she could grab hold of to stay inside the careening, infernal device. Nope! This journey was smooth, professional, and decidedly more civilised. Being told by the driver that the tip had already been taken care of added an extra bit of pep to her already buoyant mood. Now this was how to start your day the right way!

“Hey, ho! Any brekkers going?” Lyra trotted through the flap of the tent and right into a room full of ponies all sitting around in their respective groups and tucking into what smelled like haybacon, toast and eggs. As always the newbies sat together, whereas the ‘old hooves’ kept to their ever decreasing cadre.

“Oh, thank Luna you’re here.” The familiar face of Timber peered up at the green mare from under bloodshot eyes. Damn, she looked terrible!

Lyra eyes went wide. “Bloody hell, girl, you look like crap! What the hell were you up to last night?”

Timber groaned and leaned back in her chair, “More than you, apparently.” She huffed under her breath, barely hiding the sarcastic note to her voice. “You look like you’ve been to the salon.”

“Eh?” Lyra paused. What was she…? Oh! “Ah, you mean that I washed my hair?” Lyra chuckled, helping herself to a bowl of cereal along with a large mug of tea. “That, my dear Timber, is what stallions will do for you when you give them the right incentive.”

Timber frowned, “What, they give you a shower?”

Lyra grinned, “Mmm. Well, you could call it that.”

“Forget I asked!” Timber rolled her eyes, “I suppose this is what I get for working with a pervert.”

“But at least I’m honest about it,” Lyra replied sipping her tea. She waggled her eyebrows comically, “Anyway, where else was I going to get a bit of fun around here? A night in a decent bed, a good wash, and a lift to work topped it off just nicely.”

“While we were up to our fetlocks in muck.”

Lyra nodded, pointing a piece of toast at her friend, “Exactly!”

Timber groaned, leaning her head on the table. “So, how did it go last night then?” She blinked, quickly amending her question. “Other than what happened after your turn I mean. There’s youngsters here, and listening to an in depth analysis of your x-rated exploits this time of the morning isn’t good for anypony.” She rolled her shoulders, “Least of all me.”

Lyra waved off the question with a shrug of her own.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” At first Timber appeared irritated by Lyra’s response. The green mare had always been difficult, often moody to the point of being downright obtuse, but she suspected there was a depth to her friend that… Wait… Oh, gods… “Oh, Lyra,” Timber said, lowering her muzzle. “They did it, didn’t they? They-”

“Yup.” Lyra burped loudly, taking another mouthful of her cereal before meeting her friend’s concerned gaze. “Shafted me good and proper too.” She gave a decided raunchy chuckle. “The first one that evening as it-”

“Lyra, for Celestia’s sake!”

“Bah! You’re no fun...”

“No fun?” Timber shook her head, rolling her eyes at the green mare’s obstinacy. “You’re being deliberately evasive, and you know it.”

Lyra’s reply was as typical of her as it was expected, “You’re damned right I am, and you know what? I can’t do buck all about it, and so I went out and got ridden senseless by the first decent stallion I’ve met in years. Now he’s gone, and I’m here.” She supped that last of her tea and slammed down the mug, loud enough to make the others turn to look at what was going on. “Enough said I think. Now then, what’s been going on while I was away?”

Timber stared at her for a while. She knew all too well there was no reasoning with Lyra when she had the bit between her teeth like this. In truth she’d been expecting something like this to happen for a while, particularly after the last incident of Lyra being helped off stage due to excessive fatigue. At least, she hoped that was all it was. These musical types had a reputation, and well deserved it was too, for excesses of all kinds – and not the good ones either. As her friend she prayed that Lyra wasn’t doing anything ‘foolish’ to try to mask the pain of what must have happened last night. It probably had something to do with that new girl too. Lyra was young, but not that young. Moreover she was not the kind of mare to be used and pushed around by the more manipulative characters that milled around the music scene like ancient vultures looking out for the young, the immature, and the comely. Goddess help you if you were all three. Success in the music industry, and in fact the arts in general, usually came after somepony influential had helped you up the ladder – after helping themselves to what you had to offer them. Lyra had alluded to it on several occasions, admittedly after a few drinks, but from what she’d said it appeared that nothing of that nature had happened to her. Or at least if it had she had never mentioned it. Timber had never asked either. Sometimes ignorance truly was bliss – and she hated herself for it.

“Ahoy, Timber! Anypony in?”

“Eh? Oh!” Timber gave herself a shake, “Yeah, quite a bit actually.”

Lyra waited for her to elaborate, “Well?” She gave an exaggerated shrug, leaning towards her friend. “Don’t keep it all to yourself, girl. Out with it!”

Timber shuddered slightly, then closed her eyes. “You know that new guy?” she began. “The one we were talking to yesterday?”

Lyra thought for a moment, then leaned back in her chair with a wave of her hoof. “Purple coat, nice arse? Whats-his-face. Paper, Vellum, Sticky Note or something, wasn’t it?”

Timber sighed. “Parchment,” she corrected.

Lyra nodded, “That’s the fella. What’s up? Buggered off already, has he?” She wouldn’t be surprised. They were losing ponies all the time, but as a rule they told you when they’d had enough. Usually anyway. Mind you, Timber was acting a touch cagey for some reason. Not only that… Lyra looked over at the others. They were staring at her. All of them, without exception. Timber looked like she was having a hard time finding the right words, and that was damned unusual to say the least. That girl never knew when to shut up normally. “Ooo-kayyy. There’s something a bit fishy going on here, and I don’t think I like where it’s taking me.” Lyra stood up, making sure she had their full and undivided attention. “I don’t mind going for a ride, guys, but I’d appreciate knowing what the bloody destination is.” She paused, feeling the silence flowing over her. “Luna’s arse! Is somepony here going to spill the beans or am I going to have start thumping your numb heads together?”

“Lyra, I-”

Lyra lifted a hoof, stalling her friend. “Nope, I wanna hear it from this lot. I’m guessing from the expectant look on their iddy-biddy faces that they’re expecting us, me rather, to be able to answer a question that I likely don’t know the answer to.” She jumped up onto the table and sat down on the side, letting her legs dangle over the edge in a decided un-ponylike fashion. “Well then, is somepony going to tell me what’s been happening here?”

After a lot of murmuring and staring at one another a familiar mare cleared her throat and stood up. It was the maniac driver from the previous evening! Lyra felt like giving the silly little fool a kick for that stupid stunt. But then she was the only one who had the balls to stand up and say her piece.

“It’s Parchment,” she began hesitantly. “He didn’t come back to the tent last night after we’d down-tools for the evening.”

Another of the group nodded his agreement, “It wasn’t like Parchment to be late for tea, but he was so engrossed in uncovering as much as he could he told us to go on ahead and he’d catch up when he began to lose the light.” That sounded about right. The evenings were long this time of year; so much so they hadn’t bothered to set up the portable floodlights that were still languishing in their packing crates outside.

“We thought he’d be back as soon as he got a whiff of food,” one of the mares continued. “Parchment loves his grub.” A round of nodding asserted that the missing Parchment was most assuredly not the kind of pony to miss out on a meal. Unfortunately it didn’t do much to help clarify what was causing so much consternation.

“I’m guessing at some point you noticed he hadn’t come back in, right?” Lyra prompted. One of the mares, a pale blue girl with white socks on each leg, let out a barely disguised sniffle as she was comforted by one of the others. Ah… So that was the girlfriend, was it? Either that or a sister maybe? The one doing the comforting looked up at Lyra, “When it started to go dark we went looking for him. We...” She swallowed, “We found his tools in the trench, and...” Whatever it was she couldn’t continue.

A slim stallion, a unicorn, shook his head, “I said we shouldn’t have been cocking around with that thing. The magical energy coming from it was like a cook-house fire.”

“Not a first it wasn’t,” another chipped in.

“But you don’t know what you’ll trigger!” the unicorn retorted. “I told all of you to-”

“Wait a minute,” Lyra interrupted, her mind trying to sift through everything they were saying. “‘Cocking around’ with what, exactly.” She had a horrible feeling in her gut about what they were going to say next.

The unicorn confirmed her worst fears. “We’d carried on excavating trench three after you’d gone, and Parchment-”

Lyra exploded, leaping to off the table. “You did WHAT?!” She couldn’t believe it. “An unknown ancient magical energy source and you lot carried on excavating it after I told you specifically to leave it alone?!” She turned her enraged gaze on Timber.

“I didn’t know,” the orange coated mare replied levelly. “I’d left them in trench four. Shortly after you left I went inside to write up the daily report to Twilight Sparkle on our discovery. The first I knew about Parchment vanishing was when Crème Brûlée came to tell me.”

The quietly sobbing white socked mare at the other end of the table pushed her muzzle into her friend’s neck. No doubt this young piece was the extravagantly named Crème Brûlée. Judging by state she was in, Lyra doubted she’d get much out of her. Mind you, it was all starting to add up in her mind, and none of it lead to a happy ending.

“You inspected the site?” Lyra asked.

Timber nodded. “We found his tools,” she explained, “and Ambrosia noticed the residual magical field right in front of the artefact.”

“The artefact...” Lyra’s heart sank for the second time that morning. Damn it all, and she’d been in such a good mood too! “So let me get this straight,” she said, tapping the table before her. “You lot decide, for whatever bloody stupid reason you concocted, to continue excavation in a trench you knew was potentially dangerous, and then buggered off for your grub leaving Parchment alone in said trench. Am I missing anything so far?” The general muttering and staring at the floor said it all. “Okay, so you go and search for him and he’s nowhere to be found. His tools are in the trench and there’s a high magical field, or a residual one rather, right where he was working.” She fixed them with a hard stare. “Yes?”

The whole group nodded glumly.

“We searched the area,” Timber explained. “We found nothing.”

“Did you call the local Watch?” Lyra asked.

Timber nodded, “I did, and I sent a message through trans-aether to Twilight Sparkle as well. She hasn’t replied yet, so I don’t know if she’s aware of our situation.”

Those two words echoed in Lyra’s mind.

Our. Situation.

Our situation.

Why did it have to be ‘Ours’? Lyra thought to herself bitterly. But of course, we all had collective responsibility for young Parchment, didn’t we? Questions will be asked. One of which is bound to be ‘Where were you when the lad went missing?’ Goddess help her career after that question materialised. Teamwork was all well and good, but the reality of it was quite another. Ostensibly there was no real hierarchy on an archaeological dig, especially since many of their volunteers were exactly that – volunteers. If they didn’t feel like part of the team or felt like they were being bossed about they’d be quite within the rights to up sticks and leave at a moments notice. As for the reality of it all, there was always the ‘senior archaeologist’ on site to make sure everything went to plan. They were, in turn, backed up by their deputy, and then by those who’d made archaeology their profession. In Lyra’s case it was one of her two professions, but that was down to simple mathematics. Archaeology was seasonal, and paid like shit. Music was all year round, however it depended upon what gigs they could get and where. Of course that little income stream had just gone right out of the window. If she didn’t think fast then the archaeology job could go the exact same way – right down the proverbial toilet.

“Oh, shit...” Lyra shook her head resignedly. “What a bucking mess. What the hell possessed you lot to continue digging in that damned trench?” But of course she knew the answer already didn’t she? They were, almost without exception, brand new volunteers. Most of the experienced ones had left early on, or else simply hadn’t turned up in the first place. Other than herself and Timber, this lot had barely held a trowel or brush in their lives. Gods above! Why the hell had she gone off for that damned singing slot at the club when they’d just unearthed something so significant? And not to mention dangerous! Come to think of it, Timber had been the senior one here when Lyra had gone off site, and she’d gone off to do paperwork, trusting that the nervous nature of ponies wouldn’t draw them to something so ‘unknown’ as that thing in trench three. Unfortunately what Timber hadn’t reckoned on was the other prominent equine trait – inquisitiveness. Couple that with the fact that youngsters tended to believe they were all indestructible and you had a real recipe for disaster. Goddesshelp her, it was like the proverbial big red button with the sign ‘Do not press’ written on it in large friendly letters. You just knew some silly bugger was going to have to give it a go to see what would happen. Either that, or… maybe Parchment wanted to be the one to discover something amazing, something he could use to impress a certain light blue mare with white socks?

“Timber? A word…” Lyra took her friend to one side, leaving the others to throw the inevitable accusations amongst themselves. “Don’t sugar coat it,” she said quietly. “Is he dead?”

“Why would-?”

“The Mountain of Shards,” Lyra said simply. “Desk Top’s excavation six years ago? Remember?”

“Oh...” Timber shook her head, paling slightly at the memory. “No, there was no… um, ‘remains’ this time.”

“Total evaporation?”

Again Timber shook her head, “I don’t think so. I’m no expert, but the residual magic field suggests it wasn’t anything aggressive.”

“Or deadly,” Lyra added half to herself.She was all too aware of how ancient traps and military grade ‘leftovers’ could still be potent enough to turn some poor sod into paste. Or worse...

“Okay,” Lyra said quietly, trying to think. “Let’s go and have a look at what the stupid idiot was messing about with.” Grabbing her panniers, Lyra turned to the others, “You muppets stay in here while Timber and I have a look at the trench. If any of you so much as put a hoof out the door before we get back then I’ll have you booted off the site so fast your arse will leave skid marks. Understand?” She didn’t bother to wait for a response, their look of resigned melancholy said it all. They felt guilty. In Lyra’s mind they damned well should too. “You had a look at the area, right?” she asked Timber. “So, what did he uncover? As if I need to ask...”

Timber grunter under her breath. “You don’t need to.”

Lyra tossed her mane irritably, “Luna’s bucking arse! I told those dimwits to cone it off and keep clear of the area until we’d done a full safety evaluation.” She shot her friend an accusatory stare, “Didn’t you supervise them at all, Timber?”

“Of course I did!” the orange coated mare snapped back. “They’re not foals, Lyra. I made sure the area was properly cordoned off and left them all working in the other trenches. Oh, and in case you’ve forgotten, we are still contractually obligated to write up reports every day. Since we’ve got hardly any bugger working here you may have noticed a distinct lack of office clerks!” She shot her friend a scathing look of her own, “Since you weren’t here I had to do it myself.”

“Oh! So it’s my fault now is it?” Lyra huffed.

Timber nickered irritably, not making any attempt to hide her anger at the situation. “Well I’m sure you had much more important things to do last night,” she said sarcastically. “You told me about it as soon as you arrived, remember?”

Lyra said nothing. Timber was right of course, and not only that but anypony looking into this matter was bound to interpret the whole situation in pretty much the same vein too. In a nutshell it was the complete lack of supervision on the night in question that had played a pivotal part in this creating this mess. Supervision, she hated to admit, that she was supposed to have provided. Unfortunately, whether off duty or not, the most senior one on site would be right in the bloody firing line so far as the authorities were concerned. Whether that was herself or Timber remained to be seen, and that tiny seed of selfish self interest was wriggling its way into her consciousness. Something else was in there too, something that she didn’t want to admit. Was this her fault? Had she been romping in the sheets with Buckthorn while Parchment had been-

“HEY!”

Lyra’s head shot up. Timber was shouting at somepony ahead of them.

“Hey, you there!” The orange mare began to pick up her pace, “Keep away from that! What the hell are you doing, that’s dangerous! Hey! Are you deaf?!” The two mares broken into a run, charging across the ground until they drew up short before a group of ponies they didn’t recognise. Timber ducked under the hazard tape they’d strung up between the warning cones. “Goddesses almighty, is there something wrong with you? Can’t you see the bloody tape?”

Lyra held up a hoof, stopping her friend. “Timber, I don’t think you should-”

“Should what?!” Timber barked. “We’ve already lost one pony, and these clowns have come barging in here ignoring all the safety tape without a care in the world. What the hell do you think we put that up for? For shits and giggles?!”

Slowly and deliberately, two of the suited characters in the trench turned to face the archaeologists. Matching sunglasses caught the rays of the early morning sunlight. An effect that wasn’t reflected in their wearers cold and impassive expressions. Lyra had seen ponies like this before, “Timber, for Luna’s sake, shut up!” She tried to catch the angry orange mare, only to have her push past her.

“Hey, you!” Timber rose up to her full height, looking for all the world like a mother berating her children. “Now you see here,” she began. “I don’t know who you are, but this is an archaeological dig site, and this trench has not been safety cleared for visitors. Now, you can all just turn around and get your nosy carcasses out of that, right-” She paused, staring at the small wallet and badge hovering in front of her muzzle.

“Agent Lazarus,” the slim lilac coated mare said coldly. “Celestian Bureau of Investigation.”

Hot anger was quickly replaced by confusion as Timber tried to take in what she reading and who was saying it to her. “The who-?” She took in the group of black suits, the sunglasses, the ponies in lab coats in the trench setting up what appeared to be some kind of monitoring equipment. “Oh,” she amended, clearing her throat. “I see. Well then, I must say you turned up a lot quicker that I expected. Still, you should have spoken to me first before charging in here. Like I said, the tape and cones are here for a reason. Now, if you’ll just-”

Lyra gave her friend a shove, moving in between the orange mare and the black overcoated agent. “You were expecting them?” Lyra asked in amazement. “Timber, you do know who these guys are, don’t you?”

“Well of course I do!” the orange mare retorted. She took a step back, irritated by Lyra’s questioning. “I told you I’d contacted Twilight Sparkle, didn’t I? She must have got my message and called in the plod.” She motioned towards the silent ponies staring at them. “This lot look a lot more on the ball than your usual watch characters, I’ll give them that.”

Lyra frowned, examining her friend’s expression, “Timber, these ponies... they aren’t the watch.”

“Oh? And who do you think they are then? A travelling morris group perchance?”

“Um, the CBI?” Lyra shook her head in disbelief at her friend’s blank expression. “What, you’re seriously telling me you’ve never heard of the CBI?” No response. “Equus? Bloody hell, girl, you been living under a rock or something?”

Timber sighed and face-hoofed, “Why should I have heard of them?” She glanced past her friend at the milling mass of official looking equines. “Look, they’re obviously here because of my call to the watch, Lyra. What other reason could there be? These guys didn’t just happen to be passing and call in for a nose ‘just in case’. It must be to look into young Parchment’s disappearance, right?” Timber raised her voice for the agent to hear. “Right? You’re here investigating the missing stallion, right?” The black coated mare looking back at her said nothing. At least she thought she was looking at her, those sunglasses gave very little away after all.

Lyra groaned. Carefully she approached the over-coat wearing mare. “Agent Lazarus, wasn’t it?” She waited for a reply which never came. “O-kayyy…” Lyra took a breath, composing herself. Since these ponies appeared to have the collective ‘rods up their arses’, she’d try speaking to them in a manner which might have a chance at getting through to the grey matter inside their thick heads. “I would like to speak to whoever is in charge, Agent Lazarus,” she began as clearly as she could. “My name is Lyra Heartstrings. I am the senior archaeologist at this dig and I may have vital information you require.”

A pause which could only be described as exceptionally pregnant, hung in the air between the two ponies. Just as Lyra was about to walk away to find somepony more communicative she heard a faint voice, right on the very edge of her hearing. However it wasn’t so much that it was faint that gave her pause, but rather that it appeared to be emanating from the agency pony’s ear. Her eyes focussed on the furry appendage, noticing the small artificial contraption that was sat there with a corresponding wire leading down to the mare’s muzzle. Due to her dark coat, Lyra hadn’t noticed it at first, but it certainly seemed to be a communications device of some sort. She’d seem similar ones used by singers at the larger concerts, but this one was so small as to be all but invisible. Oh, how she’d like one of those things! Now then, if she could link it into her instruments and the new amplification devices that were coming onto the market then she could really take her music to the next level! Lyra grinned wickedly, imagining herself banging out some serious power chords, drowning out that miserable excuse for a ‘band’ and especially that little tart who’d pushed her out of her own-

“Miss Heartstrings?”

“Huh?” Lyra gave herself a mental shake. Either the agent had miraculously split into two like some bizarre furry amoeba, or else another of this be-suited group had walked up without her noticing. It shouldn’t have come as that much of a surprise anyway, as almost without exception they all looked like exact clones of one another. Good grief, didn’t these guys have any suits in their wardrobe other than plain old black ones? “Oh, um, yes,” Lyra fumbled, trying to regain the initiative. “That’s me. And you are?”

“Agent Sai,” the stallion said simply.

The unfamiliar accent threw Lyra for a moment, and she’d been all over Equestria when she’d been on tour with the band. She’d met Griffins, Llamas, even yaks, but this was a new one on her. She also noticed that this fellow wasn’t wearing the seemingly obligatory sunglasses the rest of them sported. Was this the one in charge? He had a certain bearing that gave the impression that he was, and not only that, but he had look about him that suggested a heritage other than purely equine. The guy had narrower eyes than the more common equestrian, and he had a short clipped manner of speech that was not so much robotic like the other agent she’d spoken to, but more akin to somepony reading off a cue card. She’d have to tread carefully here…

“A pleasure to meet you, Agent Sai,” Lyra began. “I believe your agent here may have already informed you that I’m the senior archaeologist on this site. I presume you are aware that one of our team went missing last night?”

There was a long drawn out pause before the agent intoned, “Mister Parchment from Tin Pan Cottage, Hallowed Conifers.” The agent nodded as if listening to some voice only he could hear. “We understand that his disappearance would have been approximately nine thirty last night, correct?”

Lyra glanced at Timber who nodded, “We believe so.” The orange mare cleared her throat. “He was last seen around tea-time, but we didn’t notice he’d gone until-”

“This would have coincided with the portal’s activation, yes?”

“-about...” Timber’s voice trailed off. The agent’s officious tone of voice had clearly unsettled the normally unflappable mare, and it was no wonder. These suited ponies gave off a distinctly authoritarian air which ran completely contrary to the friendly, casual way in which dig sites normally operated. This was only made worse by the fact that the two were coming together under highly unpleasant circumstances. They were here to help of course, there surely was no doubt about that, but even so she couldn’t help but shudder under that relentless, and utterly emotionless stare. “Portal? What are you-?” she stammered. Helpless, Timber stared open mouthed at Lyra as if she would be able to somehow explain how this strange pony knew something they’d only themselves found out about mere hours earlier.

Lyra’s heart sank in sympathy with her friend’s predicament. She’d been dreading this, and despite all the evidence pointing to the possibility that yes, it was a portal. Yes, there was residual magic around it. Yes, as unlikely as it may be it could have still been active, and yes, that fool Parchment had been uncovering it when she’d explicitly told them to leave the damned thing alone! Celestia’s arse, why had she gone off to that damnable singing venue when she’d come across something so blasted dangerous! Lyra’s heart was in her mouth, beating so hard she thought she’d pass out. Instead she gave herself a mental shake, took a breath, and asked, “Let me see it.”

The agent appeared to hesitate. “You haven’t seen it?” he asked curiously. “You did uncover it, did you not?”

Timber rallied magnificently and jumped right in, “No. As per standard operating procedure we cleared the trench and coned it off as soon as we detected thaumaturgical radiation. Parchment, unknown to us at the time, had returned to trench four and continued uncovering the… um… the...”

“Portal,” Agent Sai finished for her. “So, neither of you knew that this was a portal, nor that that it was active, correct?”

Lyra shook her head. “I’d detected some residual magic around the top of the archway,” she explained honestly. “As Timber said, we followed established protocol, coning off the area and-”

“You did not post a guard on the site?” Sai asked, interrupting her.

Lyra blinked at him. “A guard?” She glanced at Timber, knowing the answer already. “Agent Sai, this an archaeological dig. We weren’t expecting a live portal.”

“But in your line of work that is a risk, correct?” Agent Sai asked in his peculiar accent.

Lyra swallowed, “Well, of course, but we’ve never yet-”

“-And you have, on occasion, uncovered military grade weapons, explosives, unstable thaumaturgical anomalies etcetera, etcetera?” the agent continued.

Lyra felt as though she were being interrogated, “Yes, yes we do. But we-”

“-And on none of those occasions have you posted a guard, despite the clear and present danger to the work teams or the public?”

“No, we...” Lyra hesitated, waiting for him to interrupt her again. When he didn’t she answered, “In each case we followed established archaeological protocols, whereby we-”

“-These would be the same established protocols that were in place during the Mountain of Shards excavation, correct?”

“NO!” Lyra roared. “No, it is bloody well not correct!” Her gander was really up now. She stood tall, convinced her ears and cheeks were burning bright red. It was no wonder either! Who the hell did this guy think he was?! He comes barging in here, talking to her as if she’s some sort of common criminal, and she could see right where this load of bollocks was going too. Ho, yes! They were after a scape goat, and she was well and truly in this snide little shit’s sights. Keep calm, Lyra old girl, she thought to herself. He’s just trying to goad you into saying something you’ll regret. She took a calming breath before stating, “The inquiry into the Mountain of Shards incident proved that established protocols were not adhered to.” She took a step forward, meeting Agent Sai’s emotionless gaze with a hard stare she normally reserved for smart arse students when she was giving a lecture. “Now you listen to me, sonny Jim,” she rumbled. “If you have a problem with the protocols of archaeological digs then you speak to Twilight Bloody Sparkle about it. Not me, and most certainly not my ponies. If you’d bothered to do your homework before barging in here like a herd of hormonal yaks then you’d already know that she’s the one in charge of regulations and planning for all official archaeological digs in Equestria. Aside from that I can say with authority that we do not have the time nor the pony power to ‘guard’, as you put it, ever square foot of a dig just in case some damned idiot deliberately ignores flashing warning signs, a rope barrier, and bright orange cones.” She looked past the agent’s shoulder and pointed at his suited brethren. “JUST LIKE THOSE CLOWNS!” she bellowed. “Celestias rump, what the hell are those idiots doing in there?!”

The apparently unflappable Agent Sai was knocked aside as Lyra broke into an impressively standing gallop, leaped the trench, and charged right up to the edge of trench four where a semi-circle of ponies were gathered. That in itself wasn’t all that surprising considering the circumstances, but it was what was happening in the trench that had grabbed her attention. Three suited ponies were in there now, each of them attaching bright yellow packages of ‘something’ to the stonework. She knew what they were too – her father had been a hard-rock miner in his youth, and he’d taken Lyra to work one day when she’d been a young filly so she could see what he did for a living. It had been Lyra’s birthday, and her father had let her push the lever to blast the rock face for the next stage.

The next stage…

Amidst shouts of alarm, Lyra jumped down into the now surprisingly deepened trench four. Beside the exposed stone lay a shovel, and barely noticeable amongst all the other more recent activity a set of hoofprints heading straight towards the simple stone arch and the mud wall behind it. Despite not being active now there was a distinct feeling in the air, an indefinable sense of energy, of power, just on the edge of her consciousness. Her horn itched horribly.

“Miss Heartstrings,” Sai’s voice said from behind her, “I would suggest you vacate the trench immediately.”

Lyra looked up at him, pointing to the agents who were carrying on connecting the wires and explosives as if she weren’t stood just six foot away from them. “What are you doing?!” she hissed. “You’re not going to just ‘blow it up’ are you? Gods above, are you insane?!”

The agent said nothing.

Catching up to the others, Timber and Agent Lazarus came to a panting halt. “What… What’s going on?” Timber managed, swallowing. She blinked, looked down at the ponies placing the explosive charges, and paled noticeably. “No...” She shook her head as realisation of what the agency intended to do dawned upon her. “NO! Lyra, say something! Parchment’s on the other side of that thing!”

“It has to be done.”

“It… What?” Timber’s head turned to stare at the newcomer. He was a large unicorn stallion, almost the exact same colouring as herself, albeit mostly covered by the obligatory black suit.

“Standing orders from the royal court,” the stallion intoned. “Any and all portals not within the immediate control and jurisdiction of the Equestrian Ministirium Arcanum are to be destroyed immediately.”

“Destroyed? But we have a missing pony here!” Timber choked, wiping the sweat from her eyes. “If you blow that thing up we’ll not only lose a priceless piece of equestrian history, we’ll be sentencing Parchment to… to who knows what!”

The orange unicorn was as impassive as stone. “’Who knows what’,” he echoed quietly, “Is precisely what we intend to stop coming through from whatever lies on the other side of that thing.”

“But the portal’s inactive!” Timber tried to reason. “Come on, for Luna’s sake, we can’t just leave him there! He could be in real trouble.”

The agent lifted his head and sighed, his body language suggesting the conversation was not only tiring for him, but also utterly futile. “It may be inactive now, but whatever he did to activate the portal could happen again at any time,” he explained. “If he could go through, then logically it follows that ‘something’ could likewise return the same way. It could be nothing, or it could be something none of us are prepared to deal with.” He removed his sunglasses, fixing Timber with a withering stare. “I will not allow a risk of this magnitude in the heartlands of Equestria.”

Timber’s eyes narrowed. “You do this,” she said attempting to sound menacing, “and I will make damned sure that Luna hears of it. What’s your name, agent?”

The orange stallion didn’t seem phased in the slightest. “Warlock,” he said with a faint hint of pride. “And as for the princess, who do you think told us to come here?”

“Wha-?!” Timber was nearly shaking with rage. “I contacted Twilight Sparkle!” she managed. “She is the personal student of Princess Celestia herself! How dare you trample all over her authority! She’s the leader of the Ministirium-”

“She is on the advisory board of the Ministirium,” Warlock corrected her. “And as such she had a hoof in ratifying the orders to destroy items of dangerous unknown origin under section five of the Defence of Equestria Act.”

“Oh, don’t you dare quote that shit at me!” Timber snarled. “Don’t you move a damned muscle until I’ve spoken to Miss Sparkle, you… you bloody suit, you!” She called down to Lyra who was currently attempting to block the other agents from retrieving any more of the explosives, “Lyra, I’m going to call Twilight. Don’t let these berks do anything until I get back!”

“You got it!” Lyra called up. And with that, her friend left.

Warlock watched her go. A moment later he turned to his team who were all looking at him expectantly.

“Orders, Sir?”

“They haven’t changed,” Warlock replied. “Continue.”

“Now, wait just a minute!” Lyra yelled up at him. “We can’t just-”

“We can,” the stallion said levelly. His eyes narrowed. They were so cold, so utterly without emotion that Lyra felt her ears droop and took a step back. “I can.” Warlock closed his eyes and took a breath, “Get her out of there. If she interferes again, shoot her.”

“Shoot-?” Lyra stared up into the eyes of the agents. The ones who weren’t working were staring right at her. Oh goddesses… they’d… they’d actually shoot her?! “Y- You can’t do that!” Lyra gasped. “I’m an Equestrian citizen! You haven’t got the authority to… Ponies don’t just… You can’t!”

But they could. And judging by the manner in which they were slowing advancing on her, they had every intention of doing just that.

Lyra’s heart leaped into her mouth for the second time that morning, only this time she could feel the blood draining from her face. She was shaking, but not with anger, nor even with excitement, but with fear. Genuine, blood chilling fear. They wanted her to leave. If she didn’t of her own accord then they would drag her out bodily. If that failed, if she resisted… An image of her body lying in a pool of blood, her pitiful remains buried under a pile of destroyed stone and earth, filled her mind. One day, one day archaeologists may come here again, maybe even descendants of those archaeologists who were in the tent right now, and find the skeleton of a certain unicorn mare. Part of her wanted to run. By the gods she wanted to run! But what about Parchment? Who was going to explain to his family what had happened to him? What, that he’d simply disappeared? That the agency, those sworn to protect ponies, had blown up the only means of finding him? It was… all of this… it was madness!

The mint green mare backed away from the approaching agents. “Keep away!” she hissed. “I’ve… I’ve got this, and I’m not afraid to use it!” To her utter amazement the agents stopped in their tracks. Oh! Lyra swallowed. It actually worked! Ha, fancy that! Actually, what was it that she had and wasn’t afraid to use? She’d felt behind her and grabbed something not really thinking what it was, but that… “Oh… Oh, shit...”

The detonator floated in her magic.

“Miss Heartstrings, I think you’d better put that down, don’t you?” It was Agent Sai. “You realise what that is, correct?”

There he was with that bloody ‘correct’ thing again! Damn him! Damn… “Oh, shit...” Lyra couldn’t take her eyes off the detonator. The agents weren’t moving now, but she couldn’t really stop them, could she? But… But she could delay them long enough until-

“Lyra! LYRA!” Timber’s voice drifted over the edge of the trench. “Twilight’s on her way! She said she’ll be here in a few minutes!”

Oh, thank the goddesses! Lyra’s heart rate, dangerously high as it had been, slowly began to return to normal as relief flooded her. “Ha! See, Mister Warlock!” she chided gleefully. “Twilight Sparkle, the princess’s very own protege, is coming here right now. How d’ya like them apples, huh? Smart arse.”

“How?” The senior agent motioned to one of his agents. A moment later they were all scrambling from the trench. “Like this,” he said calmly. Carefully, deliberately, he lifted a box up in his magic. Lyra’s eyes went wide. “I always bring a spare.”

Time, as it always seems to in times like these, moved with all the speed of an arctic glacier. Timber yelled. Lyra looked up. In the distance a sky chariot was approaching, a familiar lilac unicorn standing up in the back of it yelling and waving her forehooves. There was Warlock, the detonator, the glow of magic, and the intense itching of magic building up to insane degrees. Lyra stumbled backwards as though trying to distance herself from the orange coated agent. Her back was immediately met by cold, unyielding stone, the worn ancient blocks an immovable object weighted down by the timelessness of untold ages.

And then, somehow, somewhere… something gave.

Magic - raw, unadulterated, and as wild as the most untamed beasts of the forest, burst all around her in a violent scream of pure unleashed energy. She saw the plunger fall, the silver light flooding the world...

Lyra Heartstrings: Mare, singer, musician, performer and archaeologist, simply… vanished.