The Sweetest Music

Chapter Nineteen

I Didn't Know About You

***

On the road.

Once more, Lyra was on the road. Or was she? Being 'on the road' evoked certain associations in her mind: thoughts of freedom and unrestrictedness. But this wasn't freedom, and she wasn't on the road. She couldn't even emigrate, leaving the country altogether, getting on another road - or continuing the old one; the only one?

She was just on the train. Again.

The lyrist took a sip of her whisky - unpeated and strong, just the way she liked it - looking at her mare, who seemed to be asleep, if gentle snoring was any indication. Lyra couldn't blame her: she was in a sleepy mood as well. It was quite a long road to Chicoltgo. Quite a long way.

The rhythmic din of the wheels beating against the track slumbered her: her eyelids felt heavy, and her head didn't want to focus on anything. Chain-smoking her cigarettes, the lyrist couldn't help but fear the upcoming meeting, sudden, unscheduled. What if Alexandro wouldn't recognise her? What if he wouldn't want to see her? What if he wouldn't like to help?

Deep inside, she knew that a pony as busy as him was probably, well, busy with other affairs - it was no secret that he was connected to the marefia in a high position, and noblesse oblige and so on. But... Maybe he would remember her, and offer a helping hoof? That was her only choice. And not just because she needed information about her mother.

She also needed information on Discreet Heart.

She didn't like the lawyer: there was some antagonistic, slimy attitude about him. Something that just yelled rip-off and dishonesty. And not just because he earns money reporting in filly-foolers. But that was a point too, wasn't it, for her?

Lyra tucked away her fears and worries - for a while. She knew they would be back, as all fears and worries. Troubles never really faded away; but they could be tucked away, and then avoided. Concentrating on them all the time would drive pretty much any pony insane, no matter how resilient. And Lyra herself wasn't really that resilient, was she?

The mint mare closed her eyes, the chuck-chuck-chucking of the train singing her a sleep-inducing lullaby.

***

Lyra gulped as Bon-Bon and she stopped before a large, regal-looking mansion on the outskirts of Chicoltgo, feeling the fear - or fears - getting back to her - at her. Maybe it was just the impasse that the building seemed to be inflicting upon her: the feeling of being stuck, with nowhere to escape. And how she'd wanted to escape - her whole life! Maybe not the whole life, Lyra amended mentally, but for a relatively long time, at least. (And that notion had probably been blossoming inside her since even earlier.) Sometimes, she would even fear for her sanity: the urge to escape - abroad, it was usually associated with the Abroad - was so terrible sometimes, that she believed she would give up everything: her family, her principles - anything - just to escape. (Well, maybe apart from smoking.) However, deep inside, she realised - she knew; she did - that it wasn't true. It wasn't like that. She still wouldn't give up her mother for anything.

Mom... Once more, Lyra looked at the mansion. It held - it must! - answers. But did she want them? Of course she did. Didn't she? But she was afraid... Or, it wasn't that. Maybe it was some feeling other than fear that made her feel that way: cautious. Hesitant.

Bon-Bon placed her caring hoof on her mare's shoulder. "Lyra, come on. Let's do it."

But even Bon-Bon encouragement couldn't urge Lyra to make the step, now. Maybe it was the lack of 'honey' that she knew Bon-Bon couldn't use at the moment. Maybe it was the fact that Bon-Bon had been in her life for a short period of time, while her mother... Her mother had been her life, while Bon-Bon had been in her life. "Is" still in my life, both of them, Lyra assured herself, almost ready to take a step.

Instead, she took a look around - a look back, even - taking in the surroundings. The snow of Chicoltgo strangely resembled both Canterlot snow and Ponyville snow - in outlook if not its imperceptible texture. Or was snow the same in every nook and corner of her homeland? It felt so strange when her brain - ever so rarely - called Equestria 'homeland'. Lyra didn't have a... feeling of homeland, these ties of belonging, the plight of belongness - at least consciously. Maybe, on a genetic, involuntary level, there was a realisation of Equestria as her homeland. But she didn't like it when her mind gave in to such thoughts - just to thoughts.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Lyra was somewhat thankful for the sudden distraction in the form of a gruff, low voice belonging to an equally gruff stallion in a ridiculous black suit and sunglasses. Or were they called shades? Lyra had always needed a nudge - she still needed a nudge - to bring her out of reverie; and, while usually, now, Bon-Bon's soft touch was enough, at the moment, it was the stallion who seemed to have materialised before them, who brought her back to Equestria. Sometimes, we need an alien distraction, Lyra philosophised briefly. Sometimes a familiar nudge wasn't enough. And now that Bon-Bon's nudges had become familiar, would they fail to help?

"We need to see senor Philarmonico," Lyra said, remembering to use the proper form of addressing preferred in the Philarmonico family, reminiscing the way ponies addressed Alexandro Philarmonico when he was in the company of her father. The very notion of turning to one of her father's friends - or so-called "friends" - was a little sickening to her. Her father had never been a good pony, and his friends... Probably neither had they. But were there really good ponies and bad ponies, Lyra had to ask herself. Sure, she had got used to thinking that she was one of the good ponies and all... Actually, no. She didn't think of herself as a good pony. Maybe seldom. She hadn't considered herself a bad pony either. Most of the time. She just lived her life.

"Is he expecting you?" the stallion wondered in what seemed to the mares a suspicious manner.

Bon-Bon instinctively thought of a response: a believable one, an intricate lie that the pony in a black suit would believe. For a moment - as she did often - rather often, to think about it, if not quite often - she thought how lies had become an essential part of her life. She lied not just because she wanted to - even though that was a deciding factor too - but because it just came out naturally. With the lies mixing up with the truth, she couldn't really tell any more. Or could she? Had she lied to Lyra, on some occasion? Had she even noticed it? Or, noticing, disregarded it as non-vital? One thing or another, this was her life. And Lyra's life is Lyra's life, Bon-Bon had to remind herself. Overprotectiveness could be dangerous not only in public, but in general. It could push her mare away from her. Bon-Bon bit her tongue (literally, letting out a muffled moan at the pain in the gentle organ) and just waited for Lyra's response. Bon-Bon's mind, she mused ironically. Where the truth lies.

Lyra considered lying - after all, she was no stranger to lies - but decided against it. After all - sometimes - honesty was the best policy; at least, if she remembered Alexandro's attitude correctly. "No. But he must remember me. My name is Lyra Heartstrings, and-" Lyra began, only to be interrupted by the stallion.

"Senor Philarmonico is a busy pony. If he is not expecting you, you won't be let in," he rapped out with the kind of cold disrespectful respect only security could have - though, it was not limited to them.

Bon-Bon almost opened her mouth, her legs pushing her to take a step forth, but Lyra pierced her mare with her pleading gaze - but for a second; but it was enough - and the cream-coloured mare stopped, falling behind a little.

Lyra sighed, glancing at the snow-erupting sky. Well, it was worth a try. But what would they do now? Go home? See the police? Wait here till Alexandro came out in the garden and saw them? The security stallion seemed to be getting impatient already...

"Heartstrings," a voice reached the mares' ears from the garden, a brown earth pony emerging from around the corner of the castle-like mansion, his light mane neatly cut, his fine narrow tie hanging around the neck loosely. "Now that's a name I haven't heard in a while." For the love of Celestia, Lyra couldn't remember - or guess - the stallion's name; and she was pretty sure she hadn't seen him before. But the simple, regal attitude with which he carried himself, and the way the black-suited stallion stepped aside, nodding his head respectfully, made her realise the importance of this pony. "You must be Lyra Heartstrings. Pleased to meet you." The stallion kissed the mint hoof as he stepped out of the garden, making Bon-Bon's heart twitch in a pang of jealousy that she didn't dare to show. "As far as I know, our fathers were well acquainted, but I never had the pleasure to meet you in person."

"Pleased to meet you too," the mint mare said quietly, taking in the information as efficiently as her brain allowed her. "And it's just Lyra."

"Tom," the stallion introduced himself, proceeding to kiss Bon-Bon's hoof. Lyra just watched. "And you are?"

"Bon-Bon," the confectioner supplied, quickly realising who this stallion was, putting the pieces together - utilising both the information she'd got from Lyra and just now from Tom, and logic. "Just Bon-Bon."

"Pleased to meet you, Bon-Bon." Tom paused for a moment. "How may I help you today?"

Because, apparently, you help us all the time, buddy. Lyra cleared her throat. "I need to see senor Philarmonico. It is..." she searched for a right word - the right word. "It's a family matter."

"A family matter." Tom chewed on his lip. "Para la Familia." His gaze became unfocused for a moment. Suddenly, he snapped out of it. "Please, be my guests!" He led the mares into the fine, neat garden.

"I am sure Father will be glad to see you."