Freeze Frame

by ToixStory

First published 1st of February, 2012

A young pony named Minty Flower must make her way in the big city of Fillydelphia.

"If you can make it in Fillydelphia, you can make it anywhere," or so the saying goes. When a young mare comes to the big city with dreams of being a reporter, she is instead thrust into a world of corruption and squalor where she will need the strength of friends to survive.

Episode 1: Arrival

I had to push my way past two young ponies to get a better look from the train’s window as we came into Fillydelphia. The flat grassland had given away to hills and valleys earlier, and it was into one of those gaps that the train descended into; the hills rose into mountains and the valley floor came to meet us. Fillydelphia was close.

I was practically shaking in my horseshoes in excitement over my first look at the city. It had only been a week ago that I had received a letter telling me that my job application to the Fillydelphia Chronicler had been accepted; I was going to be a reporter! I mean, the Chronicler wasn’t anything like the Manehattan Times or the Stalliongrad Gazette (and Celestia knows the actual city of Fillydelphia pales in comparison to Canterlot and Manehattan), but it was definitely better than working in my hometown’s small newspaper or, I shuddered, working on my parents’s farm.

Country ponies gathered at the numerous glass windows on either side of me, snapping me from my reverie. Uninterested, the city ponies continued to relax in their seats. The car was crowded with ponies who had been forced out of the Pullmare cars by some bigwig who rented them to herself. I felt myself being pressed against the nearest window by the gathering crowd as the train snaked around the last hill. There!

The hills turned to wind-swept plains as we neared the city. “It’s so big!” I heard a young pony to my left say, accompanied by murmurs of agreement from the country pony crowd around me. Like most of them, I had never seen a big city either, and Fillydelphia held over a million ponies!

As the train passed into the city, I managed to squeeze my way through the crowd and back to my unoccupied seat. I slung my bag over my neck and let it hang down in front of me, where it almost touched my hooves. My parents had made me pack way too much; it felt like I was carrying bricks around my neck! It didn’t help that the “city dress” my parents made me wear kept from wearing a proper saddlebag.

The train switched tracks and sped between rowhouses and over streets, allowing fleeting glimpses of glass-and-steel towers rising above the streets. Somepony was shouting about arriving at the station over the now-vocal crowd’s noise, so I slinked over to the car’s exit door, intending to be the first one out. I sighed when I saw that I wasn’t the only pony to have that idea.

The train hissed to a stop in the crowded station, and the conductor shouted, “Everypony out!” I fought my way onto the platform and looked around to find my bearings. Unfortunately, I couldn’t make head or tail of the numerous signs lining the platforms. All around me, ponies walked to and fro like they had somewhere to be, leaving me stuck in the middle.

“Oh, what the hay,” I muttered under my breath, turning and following the nearest ponies out of the train station.

I emerged out of the station under a sign saying, “Equestria Railroad Suburban Station,” blinking in confusion at the crowded streets. The letter confirming my employment had contained an address for the Chronicler, but I suddenly realized I had no way to get there. My hoof met my face in frustration when I remembered that the map Mother had given me was at the bottom of the bag around my neck.

“Need a ride miss?” a scruffy-looking stallion with a wheel cutie mark asked, seeing my look of confusion. There was a small, yellow-painted carriage parked next to him, the reigns resting around his shoulders.

“Can you take me to...the corner of Chestnut Street and South 40th Street?” I asked. I knew the address by heart but tried to act nonchalant about it. He gave me a funny look, but nodded his head anyways.

“Standard fare is a bit per mile; hop in.” A whole bit? I didn’t have much money with me, so I hoped the Chronicler building wouldn’t be far.

Stomping his hoof in frustration, he said, “Get in or let me find other customers miss, I don’t have all day.”

“Oh, right,” I said sheepishly, climbing into the carriage. The inside wasn’t very big. It contained a floor and two wooden benches; one of which was facing across from me. He started moving before I could set my bag beside me on the bench I was sitting on, causing me to crash into the seat in front of me from the weight around my neck.

“Careful!” he shouted, trotting along the roadway. I rolled my eyes and dropped the carpet bag to the floor of the carriage, before sticking my head out of the front window of the carriage for a good look of my ride.

Other carriages streamed past us on each side in seemingly random directions; a few of the carriages didn’t even have a driver, something I hadn’t seen before. The horseless-carriages all had smokestacks in the front like the train, and smoke billowed out. The cobblestone streets gave way to a bridge over a river, and on the other side was a part of town with less towers and more factories.

“What part of town is that?” I called to him, hoping he could hear me over the noise on the road.

He seemed to have heard me because he answered, “This here river we’re passing over is the Scullyhoof River, and over it is West Fillydelphia.” He held onto the last couple of words like releasing them would physically hurt him.

“Is something wrong with West Fillydelphia?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing that a pony like yourself can’t handle,” he answered, nickering. I restrained from returning his remark.

Instead, I reached up under my dress and massaged my sore wings. They sat folded and unused under my clothes most of the time, but even they weren’t used to the tight confines of a fancy dress. It would have been nice to have a Pegasus dress, but being born into a family of poor earth ponies left my options a little bit limited. Even now, the dress I was wearing was a hoof-me-down cute-ceañera dress.

The ride grew less smooth as we moved into West Fillydelphia. The streets here looked like they hadn’t been serviced since the return of Night Mare Moon. The bouncy road reminded me of going to the market back home, and gave me a little comfort in its familiarity.

The driver pony stopped the carriage in front of a group of shabby building and checked a strange-looking device on his front hoof. “We’re here; fare’s two bits, miss.”

I barely heard, still staring at the buildings in front of me; they were old and run-down, sagging wood and cracked bricks were numerous.

“This must be the wrong street, I need to go to the headquarters of the Fillydelphia Chronicler,” I said, practically pleading. He turned his head around, curious if I was joking. Seeing that I wasn’t, he pointed to the most run-down building of the group.

“Miss, that is the headquarters of the Chronicler.” Still shaking my head in disbelief, I stepped down out of the carriage and hoofed him the coins, leaving me with almost no spending money.

Tipping his head, he told me, “Much obliged miss,” and trotted away, carriage rattling empty behind him.

I looked up at the ratty building the carriage pony had pointed out and, sure enough, a faded sign said, “Fillydelphia Chronicler: We Don’t Just Report Stories, We Make Them!”

Not much like what I had pictured the headquarters of a big city newspaper would look like. Still, my reporting would soon turn this paper’s reputation around anyway, they would see. I walked in the front door of the building, still trying to figure out who “they” were. A buzzing sound came from above my head and a bored-looking earth pony at a secretary’s desk gave a furtive glance in my direction.

The inside of the building wasn’t much better than the outside; the waiting room was little more than the desk and a few old chairs shoved in a corner. I walked up to the secretary’s desk and carefully tapped a hoof on the top of the desk. The pony sitting there reluctantly glanced up from her quarter-bit novel, but didn’t offer any words.

“I’m, uh, I’m here to see Ornate Vision,” I managed to get out, the nervousness in my brain finally spilling onto my tongue.

The pony across from me lazily flipped through some sheets of paper on a clipboard before asking, “Are you...Minty Flower?” I nodded my head enthusiastically, my once-straightened hair beginning to flop around. “It says here you have a meeting with Mr. Vision, but not for another hour,” the secretary pony said.

I couldn’t help but be shocked. “An hour?”

She rolled her eyes and picked up the book again, ignoring my question. I didn’t move, just hanging my head in silence; resigning myself to quietly waiting for another sixty minutes. For a few minutes, the secretary filly said nothing, only occasionally stealing glances over the top of her quarter-bit novel. I stood stock still, afraid to move an inch. A couple minutes later, she lay her book down with a huff and motioned to the door behind her.

“Well, Mr. Vision has always appreciated enthusiasm anyways: go ahead and go in early.” I swore I could feel the edges of my smile touch my ears as I thanked her. I was so close!

Stopping right before entering the newsroom, I barely remembered to re-straighten my orange hair (or Gamboge, as my art teacher always reminded me) and azure coat. Inwardly I groaned: I was not having a good coat-day. I could feel the secretary’s eyes burning holes in the back of my head while I fought to adjust my dress to cover as much of my coat as possible. The fifth time the dress fell back to covering only my back and flank, I gave up and pushed open the heavy, wooden double doors of the Chronicler newsroom.

As disappointing as the outside facade had been, the newsroom was everything I expected it to be. The air hummed with the electricity of frantic ponies working amid flying papers and galloping hooves. My mouth was constantly running with apologies as I shoved my way through a crowd gathered around a clapboard with news stories hanging off of it. Standing defiantly in the middle of the chaos was a large, green-orange stallion with a pair of crossed pencils for a cutie mark. He was talking rapidly with a violet unicorn, his back turned to me.

I cleared my throat rather loudly--maybe a bit too loudly--in an attempt to get him to turn around. Much to my surprise, he did.

“And just who the hay are you?” Ornate Vision asked in a deep voice, draining all the confidence I had managed to gather up so far.

“I’m, uh, your new employee...um, sir,” I stammered, wincing as I heard my voice crack.

“Right, you’re that new pony, Moldy Dandelion or something,” he said, an eyebrow raised.

My voice still squeaking I tried my best to sound assertive, “Minty Flower actuall-”

“Did you bring your camera like you were asked in the letter?” he interrupted. I felt better almost instantly: I had actually remembered to bring it for once.

“Yes, sir, it’s right here and I would just like to say-” He already had his back turned and was talking to the violet mare from before.

“Alright Grapevine, I got you a new photographer. Now for the love of Luna get out there and get me a new story!”

A new what?!

I tried to tell him how there must be some mistake and how I was supposed to be a reporter, but Mr. Vision was already on the other side of the room, talking with a couple of confused ponies at a hoof-cranked copy machine. That left the purple mare, Grapevine, standing in front of me.

An intense bout of staring followed as she appeared to size me up. Not one to be left out, I looked her over, too. Her violet coat and a roughly-cut mane colored an even darker purple were offset by a trio of white question marks on her flank.

“So what kind of a name is Minty Flower, anyway?” she asked. I felt myself blush with the same embarrassment I’d had the first day of school.

“Well, my parents are from Germaneigh, but wanted my name to be an authentic Equestrian name, but they didn’t know a lot of the Equestrian language, so...” She nodded slowly, accepting my explanation.

“That would explain the accent.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes inwardly; saying that as if she didn’t speak with an accent too. At least my voice didn’t sound like a Canterlot accent ground up with a Ponyville inflection. I was still frozen in place when she turned and began to trot toward the waiting room, back from where I’d come.

“Come on,” Grapevine said, “We don’t have all day.” Wearily I followed her, still clinging to the hope that my assignment as a photographer was a mistake.

Grapevine didn’t get any friendlier out on the streets, giving me one word commands to follow or answers to my questions.

“So why is one side of the city so much shinier than the rest?” I asked, still trying to coax her to talk to me.

“Parasprites,” she answered coldly.

See what I mean?

I sighed and resigned myself to silence for the duration of our trip, assuming Grapevine knew where she was going. The air in the factory districts stuck in my throat and stained my dress gray. I very nearly ran into Grapevine’s rear when she stopped in front of yet another dingy building, this one a pub.

“We’re here,” Grapevine said evenly, walking inside. I followed, and was trying to make my way to the bar when a violet hoof appeared in front of me.

“Not on assignment,” Grapevine hissed, “And get out that camera of yours, we need to look like we belong here.” There were other reporters in the pub, mostly just sipping drinks around the center tables. They all watched as Grapevine walked past, their expressions ranging from confusion to laughter.

“She decided to show up after all, and with a greenhorn no less!” a light red mare called, laughing. Some of the gathered reporters and photographers joined in. I tried to keep my head low on the long walk to Grapevine’s table, but smiled when I saw some eyes widen at the sight of my camera. Fillydelphia being an earth pony town, most of the reporters haven’t seen a magical, compact camera before-so different from the bulky and inefficient models I had during my days as Derbyshire Schoolhouse’s number one (and only) reporter. I sat down at the far corner booth across from Grapevine, who still refused to talk.

A light gray mare cantered up to our table. “You’re Grapevine, right?” she asked. I wished I could tell her not to bother with being nice to Grapevine.

Much to my surprise, Grapevine almost giddily spoke, “That’s me, and you must be Gray Girder?”

“Call me Girdy, please,” she said. “Girdy” sat down and looked expectantly at the bar in the center of the room.

Grapevine nudged me. “Minty, be a dear and get a drink for our guest.”

I sighed and got up out of the booth.

“I’d just like a sarsaparilla,” Girdy said.

“Make that two,” Grapevine told me as she placed some bits in my hoof. While the bartender was getting the drinks, the pony who had shouted earlier sidled up next to me.

“You the new camera pony for Old Stallion Ornate?” she asked.

I nodded. Keep it cool, Minty.

“You do know what happened to Grapevine’s last photographer, right?” the mare asked. I shook my head in what I hoped was a noncommittal way, but I couldn’t help but be interested. “Well,” the red earth pony said, “Grapevine was chasing down somepony out in Cloudsdale when she and her camera pony got a little too close to the edge.”

She used her hoof to indicated somepony falling from a great height. “Woooooo, splat!” She laughed. “The paper hasn’t been able to hire anypony since, and Grapevine can barely get a story.” Despite the cold welcome from Grapevine, I felt I had to defend her.

“Maybe she just finds stories where you can’t,” I said.

The mare reared herself to her full height, which was half a head taller than me. “Those are big words for a greenhorn. Rookies with big mouths tend to have accidents.”

I stood on my tiphooves and stuck my nose in her face. “Just what are you implying?”

Before the confrontation could escalate, the bartender coughed and tossed his head toward the shotgun leaning against the side of the bar. The red mare slowly backed down and walked back to her table.

“We’re not done,” she hissed. I rolled my eyes and retrieved the drinks after paying the barkeep. Grapevine and Girdy were deep in conversation when I came back to the table.

“What took you so long?” Grapevine asked. I declined to comment and instead set her drink in front of her. Frankly, I didn’t listen to the rest of the conversation, my mind still caught up with that mare. What little I heard from the two of them made little sense anyways, all about “Unions,” and “Scabs,” and “Bosses.”

After polishing my lens for the fiftieth time--not easy without magic--Girdy got up and bumped hooves with Grapevine.

“You’ll be there?” she asked. Grapevine smiled and nodded.

“You can count on it.” With that, the gray pony left, leaving me alone with Grapevine. She didn’t wait around long.

“Come on, time to get some real food,” she said. Famished after foregoing the expensive meals on the train, I happily agreed. Finally, a chance to visit a real Fillydelphia restaurant!

What.

Grapevine had halted--once again, abruptly--in front of the concrete steps leading up to a library. The building was much nicer than the rest of the district’s architecture, being done up in ancient Pegasopolis architecture and everything.

“This is where we’re eating?” I asked.

“Yep,” Grapevine replied, trotting up the steps. I sighed and followed her up the steep steps. I was so hungry, I was seriously considering finally finding out what paper tastes like.

Inside, the library was quiet; only a few ponies milled about the massive shelves. My neck popped as my head tilted all the way back to look at the ceiling. The worn carpet felt good under my hooves, a welcome change from concrete and wood. Behind an oaken desk sat a stark white mare, concentrating intently on the book in front of her. She yelped as Grapevine smashed a hoof on the bell on the desk.

“G-Grapevine, I didn’t see you there,” she said in a soft voice, peeking out behind her golden mane.

“Sorry about that Marshmallow, I figured I’d drop by with the new kid for some food- if you didn’t mind, that is.” Marshmallow noticed me for the first time and smiled timidly at me.

“Hi, I’m Marshmallow. What’s your name?” All I could think was: This is the kind of friend Grapevine makes?

“Oh, uh, I’m Minty Flower,” I stuttered out, trying to put a friendly smile on my face. With the look she gave me, I probably landed somewhere between stalker and clown.

“She does that a lot,” Grapevine commented, ignoring my glare. “So, food?” she asked, turning back to Marshmallow.

“Ah, yes, right. I made some just a little while ago,” Marshmallow said, getting up from the cushion she had been lying on. “I could heat it up, if you would like.”

“That would be great,” Grapevine replied, taking her by the hoof through some doors behind the library desk. “Marsh, you would not believe the day I’ve had...”

Figuring I was being left out, again, I looked around at the gargantuan wooden shelves. I’d never seen so many books in my life, and I was almost excited. My excitement quickly died when I started looking at some of the titles. An Unabridged History of Equestria? Practical Studies in Earth Pony Magic? Booooooring!

I was trying to see if the library had any good adventure books when I heard Marshmallow’s voice calling me.

“What are you doing out there? You can come inside- if you want.” Surprised, I wordlessly walked back to the door behind the front desk and followed Marshmallow to the interior of the building. The inside looked like a kitchen and an office smooshed together; pots and pans were strewn around with papers and cards from the card catalogue.

“Sorry for the mess. Feel free to look around, though,” she said, grinning nervously. I returned the smile and walked over toward the kitchen side of the room. There was an iron oven-slash-stove thingy pressed against one wall, and makeshift counters around it. A sink held a large pot of still-boiling food. What amazed me the most was what sat in the corner, however.

“What is that?” I asked. It looked like an icebox with a parasitic machine attached to its back. Sure, I had seen magical refrigerators before, but nothing like this.

“Uh, something a friend made for me,” Marshmallow replied, opening the door. Cool air blew out from the inside, despite having no visible magic source.

“That’s amazing!” I gasped, awestruck. Marshmallow looked like she was going to say more when Grapevine walked back into the kitchen from a stairwell near the back of the room.

“I got those parsnips you wanted from the upstairs freezer,” she said. Her eyes passed quickly over me as she handed the odd vegetables to Marshmallow. Grapevine sniffed the air. “Mmm, smells good! Is it nearly done?”

“It should be ready by now,” Marshmallow replied, meekly accepting the compliment. Grapevine happily filled her plate with...whatever was in the pot and beckoned to Marshmallow.

“Want to join me on the second floor? I need to get some reading done while I eat.”

“I was, uh, actually thinking about introducing your new friend to the library,” Marshmallow replied, wincing. “Would you like to join us, Grapevine?” To her credit, Grapevine hid her shock fairly well.

“Nah, I’ll let you get her up to speed; like I said, I have some reading to do.” With that, she was off.

“You don’t have to-” I began, but Marshmallow stopped me.

“I’m sorry about Grapevine, she not usually like this, honest.” I nodded my head, though I didn’t really believe her; I’d never met a more grumpy pony in my life. “Poor Spotlight was a good friend of her’s, and well...since the accident...things haven’t been the same,” Marshmallow explained. “And now that Ornate hired you...”

“Oh,” I muttered, not quite understanding, but accepting the explanation anyways. “So that’s why she’s like...?”

“Yeah,” Marshmallow confirmed. Silence.

“Could I try some of that...food?” I asked, trying to break through the newly-gathered tension. Marshmallow’s face brightened as she walked over to the pot. Her horn glowed gold and two plates floated up next to her, which she magically filled with food before floating it over to me.

“It’s called Eggplant Parmesan,” she said.

“I think I’ve heard of that before,” I lied. I looked at the glob in front of me. Gingerly, I lowered my head to the plate’s level and took a bite. My taste buds exploded with pleasure, and I began to inhale the rest of the food.

“‘s good,” I said, my mouth full. Marshmallow let out a sigh of relief and dug into her serving. I was tempted to go for seconds once I’d finished, but decided against it. “You’re a chef and a librarian?” I asked once Marshmallow had cleaned her plate. She blushed.

“I wouldn’t say chef, but I do love to cook.” She pointed a hoof to the skillet and crown cutie mark on her flank. “It’s just, after I left the castle, it was hard to find a cooking job here in Fillydelphia.” Her eyes glanced through the doorway to the ponies milling around in the library. “Or, at least, where I could cook for real ponies.” I was nodding when I almost felt a light go off in my head.

“Wait a minute, back up,” I said. “When you say castle, do you mean Canterlot Castle?” Her eyes went as wide as saucers.

“Well, um, yes I did say that.” She started to get up and gather the dirty dishes, obviously hoping I wouldn’t say anymore.

“Sooo?” I asked, holding my hoof out in front of me. Just because I wasn’t officially a reporter didn’t mean that part of me was dead.

“I’m, uh...well, it’s nothing big really,” she stammered.

“No really, you can tell me,” I said, saddling up closer to her.

“I-I’m just, uh,” she looked at me and gulped. “M-My full name is Marshmallow Bauble...Blueblood.” She gasped for air.

“Blueblood as in the Royal Family Blueblood?” I asked, incredulous. Even in Derbyshire, everypony knew about the royal families, and the Bluebloods were closest in relation to the Princesses. And to think, I’m actually meeting one, right here in Fillydelphia!

“Please don’t get mad,” Marshmallow squeaked, close to tears after I hadn’t said anything for a good thirty seconds.

“No, no, I’m not mad, not in the slightest!” I said quickly, putting a hoof on her shoulder. “It’s just not everyday I meet royalty, you know.” Marshmallow grinned a little, her tears stopping.

“So what’s a Blueblood doing here in West Fillydelphia?” I continued, trying to act nonchalant, like I met royalty everyday.

“I hated it there,” Marshmallow said quickly. “I mean, I liked the castle, but the uptight ponies and the rules and etiquette and grammar and not even caring or helping anypony...”

I laughed. “Doesn't sound like my kind of place either.”

“Oh, so where are you from, then?” she said, quick to change the subject away from her.

“Derbyshire,” I replied, a small swell in my chest. Funnily enough, it had only been a few days ago that I had told mother I couldn’t wait to be out of that “dinky, rundown town.” Marshmallow’s eyebrows shot up.

“So far away! What are you doing this far south?”

“Well,” I said sheepishly, “I was under the impression that I was coming to accept a job as a reporter for the Fillydelphia Chronicler, but, you see...” My gaze traveled to the camera still around my neck. Marshmallow giggled a little.

“That does sound like Ornate.”

“Yeah, a nice stallion, there,” I muttered.

“He doesn’t like doing that kind of stuff,” Marshmallow said. “He’s just a stallion in a mare’s position; he has to cut corners sometimes.” I glanced at her inquisitively.

“You sound as if you know him,” I said.

“Let’s just say he’s a little bit of an avid reader. And drinker. And talker.” She giggled. “At the same time.”

“Oh.” Awkward.

“Maybe we should go check on Grapevine?” Marshmallow suggested eagerly.

“Might as well.” We hurried out of the room and into the library, passing under a sign that proudly announced, “Exposition!”

We found her with her nose buried in an architectural book, her food untouched. My stomach grumbled at seeing more of Marshmallow’s cooking. Grapevine apparently read my mind and wordlessly slid the plate over to me, not even looking up from the book.

“Grapevine?” Marshmallow asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever,” Grapevine replied, waving her hoof in the general direction of Marshmallow.

“Do you need any help?” I asked. I figured that if I could provide some assistance to Grapevine’s work, she might warm up to me a little bit. Grapevine’s answer was to roll her eyes and grunt. So much for that plan.

I sat down on a cushion across from Grapevine, laying my head in my hooves. When I looked up, Marshmallow seemed to be rapidly looking back and forth between Grapevine and me.

Once she saw me looking, she asked, “So Minty, do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”

“Well, no, actually,” I replied bashfully. I knew I had forgotten something.

“Well,” she said, having gotten the answer she wanted, “Why don’t you have Grapevine take you over to Joya’s place? She’s always looking for renters, and I believe she has a room open.”

“Say what?” Grapevine asked, looking up from her work at the now-grinning Marshmallow. “I have too much work to do; I don’t have time to find a place for anypony, let alone...her,” Grapevine said, continuing. Her words only seemed to increase Marshmallow’s resolve, who slammed shut the architectural book with a spark from her horn.

“You have plenty of time to study later, Grapevine,” she said, floating the book away from the stretched hooves of a shocked, violet reporter. “Honestly, you could show a little hospitality.”

“You can’t be serious,” Grapevine said, incredulous.

“I can and I will be, Grapevine,” Marshmallow countered. “Now get going, the factory shifts end soon and there will be a lot of hungry ponies to feed.” I could almost hear the sound of teeth scraping together as Grapevine got up from her cushion and started walking down the stairs to the main floor, not even looking at me.

“Thanks,” I told Marshmallow. “For everything.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said, her smile genuine. “Oh, and see if Joya can fix up that pretty dress of yours, she’s a tailor, you know.” I thanked her again and had to gallop down the stairs to catch up to Grapevine. “Come back anytime!” I heard her shout, but by then I was already out the door and back onto the streets of Fillydelphia.

Joya’s place was even farther into the factory district; as a side-effect, the gunk in the air covered the buildings too. The building before us had a tailor shop on the bottom and normal rooms on the top. A sign over the building proudly proclaimed the store to be “JOYA’S.” A little bell jingled overhead as Grapevine and I walked in, eliciting a call of, “Just a minute!”

Her voice sounded funny; it was a different accent than most the one most ponies had in Fillydelphia. Grapevine ambled off to the back room where, presumably, Joya was working, leaving me behind. I took the time to look around the shop.

The tailor’s was nothing like the clothing store in Derbyshire; all the clothes on display were utilitarian in nature. Subdued colors and rough material were the most common, though here and there more ornate dresses and suits stood out. At least with all the drab colors my grime-covered dress fit right in, now looking more gray than white. Still, I couldn’t deny the simple style in the utilitarian; whoever Joya was, she was good.

“This is her,” I heard Grapevine say. I turned around to say hello, but the words were lost somewhere in my throat as my eyes set on Joya. Standing in front of me was a tall, brown...donkey.

“Um, uh,” I stammered, brains going to mush. To my relief, Joya didn’t take my reaction as an insult; in fact, she hardly seemed to notice. Faster than it seemed possible, she was in front of me, shaking my hoof.

“It’s so nice to meet you Minty! Grapevine’s told me sooooo much about you!”

“Really?” I asked, smiling weakly. Joya laughed.

“Well, not really, but I feel like she did!” Her smile didn’t seem to fit her head properly, being almost too big for the face it resided upon.

She’s friends with Grapevine?!

“Ooh, what a pretty dress you’ve got,” Joya enthused, running a hoof along the edge. Some of the gunk had come off the dress onto her hoof, and she looked at it curiously before wiping it on the pink-polka-dotted vest she was wearing. Speaking between measuring tape she had grabbed from a side pocket with her mouth, she asked, “Why are you wearing your dress anyways? Is it your birthday?”

She looked mournfully at Grapevine. “Don’t tell me you didn’t bring me some birthday cake!”

“No, no, it’s not my birthday,” I said quickly, putting a hoof on her shoulder.

“It’s not?” she asked. “Well then, why are you wearing it? Nopony around here likes to wear any clothes except for work or special occasions.” That would explain the designs displayed in the shop. Joya dropped the measuring tape from her mouth and ran over to a precariously-stacked pile of fabric bolts.

“I actually wore this for my job interview,” I explained. “My nonexistent interview for my nonexistent job,” I muttered under my breath.

“Did you get the job?” she called from atop the pile of fabric, comparing two samples of white cloth that looked almost exactly alike. Satisfied, she tossed one behind her and slid down the pile to the floor, causing the stack to teeter dangerously. I was about to gesture to my camera again for explanation, when I realized it wasn’t there. Inwardly, I groaned: I must have left it at the library, along with the carpet bag full of my stuff.

Grapevine answered for me anyways. “She’s my new camerapony, just started today.” Recognition seemed to light up the donkey’s eyes.

“Ohhhhh, so that’s why you’re being such a grumpy pony.” I’d always thought donkeys would be heavier on their hooves than ponies, but Joya seemed to have no trouble weaving around us as she gathered material in the shop. “Well, Miss New-In-Town,” Joya said, dragging one of those new ‘mechanical sewing machines’ out into the middle of the shop, “Do you have a place to stay?”

Grapevine harrumphed. “That’s what Marshmallow sent us over here for.”

“You’ve met Marshmallow?” Joya asked me. “I didn’t know her until Grapevine introduced us, but now she’s one of my best friends.” Joya stood next to the sewing machine looking at all the materials she’d gathered.

“Looks like I’ve got everything,” she thought aloud.

“For what?” Grapevine and I asked at the same time, eliciting a glare from the purple reporter pony. Joya looked at the both of us like we were foals asking who Princess Celestia is.

“For fixing Minty’s dress, sillies. Or did you come in here just to rent out a room?” I remembered Marshmallow’s advice.

“Well, if it’s not too much trouble,” I muttered, looking down at my worn attire. Before I knew what was happening, Joya had my dress over my head and on her sewing machine. It felt good to be out of the dress; it looked nice, but constricted way too much. As I sighed and shook my blue coat, Grapevine had her chance to stare open-mouthed at me.

“What?” I asked.

“You-you have wings?!” she half asked, half yelled. I grinned sheepishly and fanned the sore appendages out from body, glad to have them free.

“Well, I’ve had them as long as I can remember,” I replied lamely.

“You didn’t know that, Grapevine?” Joya called. “All Pegasi walk differently than other ponies. Sheesh, for a reporter you don’t pick up on these things very well.” Grapevine’s amber eyes remained locked on my wings for a few seconds more, until she noticed me returning the stare. Quickly, she averted her eyes and walked over to Joya.

“So it is alright for Minty to rent a room, then?”

Joya’s voice was practically muted over the clatter of the sewing machine, on which my dress now rested. “Oh yeah, it’s noooo problem at all! She can stay here as long as she wants; as long as she pays rent, of course.”

Rent?

“Then if she’s all set, I’ll go ahead and leave,” Grapevine continued, walking toward the door.

“Alright, see you later,” Joya replied offhandedly, her lips bunched in concentration as she worked rapidly to repair the tears my dress had gathered on the streets. I grimaced at seeing so many holes; it looked I would need to re-learn how to walk in this city. With one last look at me, Grapevine walked out the door. What startled me was that her look hadn’t been anger like earlier but...what? Sadness?

“Well, that didn’t go very well,” I said to myself once the door had shut. I sighed and turned back to Joya, still busily hunched over her machine. “I think I’m going to go up to my room,” I said.

She took her foot off the machine pedal and turned to me, peering over glasses that had appeared on her face sometime between our conversations. “You should go talk to her, you know,” she said. The cheerful tone in her voice was still there, but a little bit of force had been added to it, like a grenade in a wedding cake.

Joya didn’t wait for me to answer, and instead turned back to diligently sewing my dress back into something presentable. I looked up the stairs toward an enticing hallway that almost certainly contained a soft bed, and back at the wooden front door. Someday, I thought while carefully shutting the shop’s door behind me, I was going to learn how to ignore my conscience.

My hooves clopped on cobblestones as I cantered back through the streets of West Fillydelphia. It was weird walking around without a dress. I felt so...exposed. It’s not like, you know, everypony besides you doesn’t wear clothes.

The sun was only barely peeking over the distant mountains now, and the moon was beginning to slide into the night sky. A bright orange pony with a candle cutie mark was lighting the street lamps by hoof; electricity didn’t come out this far from the city.

I almost gave up my search for Grapevine when I found her on a street corner under a “Trolley Stop” sign.

“It’s a light bulb, like in a camera,” she said when she saw me trotting up.

“Wha-?” I asked, once again confused. If everyday was going to be like today, I was probably going to be saying that a lot around her.

“Your cutie mark,” she said, pointing. “It looks like a light bulb in the earth pony cameras.” I looked back at the picture of a glowing bulb on my flank. I’d always thought it symbolized that my special talent was thinking of lots of ideas, which would help me be an amazing reporter. After today’s events, I guess that was another thing I had been wrong about.

Sighing, I said, “Yeah, I guess that’s what it is.”

“Spotlight had one just like it,” Grapevine whispered, probably meant to only be heard by herself.

“I-I’m sorry about...whatever happened,” I said, acting as concerned as I possibly could. At this point, I wasn’t sure how sorry I should feel for the mare who had spent the better part of our day belittling and ignoring me. Sure enough, my tentative question was ignored.

“Is there a reason you followed?” she asked. “Or did you have nothing better to do?” Any sadness in her voice was gone, replaced with a tone better fitting an interrogator than a reporter.

I sighed. “I just wanted to know if you still, uh, wanted me to be partners...you know, if you don’t hate me or anything.” My voice hadn’t been so shaky since the time I was picked to narrate our school’s Hearth’s Warming Eve play.

My eyes clamped shut, ready for the inevitable speech about how we were too different to work together when I felt a hoof on my shoulder. Cracking open one lid revealed a purple face not too far from mine, and golden eyes filled with what resembled genuine concern.

“Look,” she said gently. “Ornate put us together, and like it or not, that makes us partners. I don’t abandon my partners.” A trolley unceremoniously shuddered to a stop behind Grapevine, the seats packed with ponies on their way back from the factories. Grapevine quickly removed her hoof from my shoulder and walked toward the awaiting trolley.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” I called. Grapevine turned back, but didn’t say anything; she just smiled. I decided to assume that meant yes as I walked back toward Joya’s through the coal smoke the trolley car had left behind.

Episode 1: Serenity

“Good morning, sleepy head!”

I woke up to a smiling, light brown donkey laying on top of me, her face less than a hoof away from my own. Lesson learned: look into buying an alarm clock.

“Uh, good morning to you too, Joya,” I slurred. She seemed to accept that as a sign I was getting up and rolled off of me. I sat up and realized I was somewhere that definitely wasn't my old room.

“Where am I?” I asked groggily.

“Why, you’re in your new room, silly!” Joya replied while walking over to the nearby window. “You practically collapsed after you came in last night; I had to put you to bed myself!”

“Ugh, I barely remember last night,” I said. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten!” Joya said giddily as she let up the blinds. I screamed and fell back onto the floor while desperately trying to shield my eyes from the bright sunlight.

“Warn a pony when you’re going to do that,” I moaned. Joya didn’t seem to hear me and instead hopped out of the room. The searing pain in my eyes gone, I slowly picked myself off the floor and looked around the room. There wasn’t much to see, the interior being decidedly bare; the only other furniture being a side table by the bed, a mirrored dresser opposite the bed, and a bookshelf shoved in the corner away from the window.

By far the best part of the room was the bed; white, hoof-stitched sheets and pillows with what felt like real down inside. To my dismay, yesterday’s collected grime had managed to turn the white sheets into a light gray color; I’d need to do something about that. Stretching, I trotted off to find a bathroom.

Joya was making her bed when I passed by her room, stopping to ask her about a bath. “Hey Joya, is there any place I could-”

“Shh,” she said, holding out a hoof in front of my face. She had gathered all the sheets and pillows into a big pile and rolled them into a ball. Before I could ask her what exactly she thought she was doing, Joya tossed the ball up into the air. Instead of coming down everywhere, the laundry somehow managed to come down on the bed in perfect order, making the bed.

“How did you-?” I began, but stopped myself. Better not to ask.

“Did you need something?” Joya asked, putting a few finishing touches on the bed.

“Oh, well, yes...do you have a place where somepony can take a bath?” She looked at me curiously, her head tilted to one side.

“You’ve only been in the city for one day, what do you need a bath for?”

“You mean- the ponies here don’t take a bath every day?” I asked, recoiling in horror. Joya laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

“Of course not, silly! Water isn’t cheap, and we don’t get that dirty; most ponies only wash once a week.” My dusty coat would beg to differ, but I held my tongue. “I guess you could use some of the leftover water if you wanted,” Joya continued.

“Th-That would be great, thanks,” I stuttered, trying to smile.

“Bathroom’s second door on your right,” Joya told me as I walked out of the room. I was almost at the end of the rather large hallway when she called back, “Be careful, the water might be a little cold!”

One freezing bath later, I was downstairs in the kitchen area behind the store’s main floor. Walking in, I saw Joya hunched over the room’s small, wood-burning stove, eyes fixed on two eggs in a skillet.

“You know watching the eggs won’t make them cook faster?” I said. She looked curiously at me before going back to the one-sided staring contest. Rolling my eyes, I explored the rest of the kitchen. It wasn’t very big, but was nice in a simple way; it contained a stove, an oven, a big sink in the middle of a long counter, and another one of those weird, self-cooling iceboxes. The best part of the kitchen at the moment, however, was the large basket of freshly-baked muffins sitting on the counter.

“Did you make these?” I asked, sniffing them. My stomach rumbled at their smell.

Not taking her eyes off the eggs, Joya replied, “Marshmallow brought them by earlier along with the stuff you left at her library.” My eyes snapped to a familiar carpet bag leaning against the kitchen’s far wall. I trotted over happily to make sure everything was still intact.

They were, and inside was a note that said, “Try not to forget this next time! -Marshmallow.” A crash behind me made me jump and turn around, and then I couldn’t stop giggling.

“Eggs are, uh, ready,” Joya said sheepishly, her coat covered in egg white.

Still laughing, I suggested, “Let’s just have some of those muffins.” Joya nodded enthusiastically at the notion.

“Have you heard from Grapevine today?” I asked over a plate filled with crumbs, the only remains of a once-mighty tower of muffins.

“Marshmallow said something about her going to meet Ornate,” Joya said, her plate equally empty. I sighed and got up from the cushion I had lounging on; we had decided to eat in the corner nook of the kitchen, despite the lack of a table.

“I don’t suppose she said anything about me?”

Joya grinned and patted me on the head. “Don’t worry, she said that Grapevine was stopping by after she got done with the boss.” I pushed her hoof away and smiled her same infectious grin. I was going to ask her how she knew Grapevine anyhow when the bell over her front door tinkled.

“Wait here, customers!” Joya hissed before trotting into the front room. The smile that had been plastered on her face just seconds ago slipped away like snow on the first day of spring.

My old reporter instincts got the better of me and I peeked from the kitchen doorway. Inside the shop were two donkeys, one in a miner’s hat and the other in the uniform of a butler. They were checking some of the more practical “work wear.” Once Joya realized who they were, her usual giddyness returned and she hopped over to where they stood.

The three of them began chatting rapidly in a language I didn’t understand, other than that it wasn’t Equestrian or Germane. Something certainly seemed to light up in Joya’s eyes as she showed them around the shop, still chatting in that language. She expertly led them around the confusing twists and turns of the shop, stopping every few seconds to show off another ensemble. I thought I caught her looking in my direction a few times, but I wasn’t sure.

After buying a few utility uniforms, the couple left, and Joya deposited her newly-acquired bits into a shiny, silver cash register on the back counter. She sighed and gazed longingly at the front door. “Would you mind joining me in my work room?” she said without turning around.

No point in hiding now. I sheepishly followed her to a door under the stairs, and into a small room within. The walls inside were adorned not only with the usual fashion samples, but with other posters as well. One showed a brave-looking donkey diving out the way of an enraged manticore, red cape clutched in his mouth. Another was a picture of a dashing donkey dressed from head to toe in black, and standing in front of a wall with a large Z carved into it. A couple showed pictures of Fillydelphia, accompanied by urgent messages written in a different language.

“Well, what do you think?” Joya asked, turning my attention back to her. On a work bench sat my dress from yesterday, only not. The garment she showed me resembled my old dress in the same way a tree log resembled a carved table.

“It looks amazing, Joya,” I said. I ran my hooves over the soft fabric, newly-adorned with a few sprinkles of pearls. Wearing it, I wouldn’t have looked out of place at the Grand Galloping Gala. Not counting my actual looks, of course.

Joya sighed in relief and plopped down on a velvety cushion beside her sewing machine. “I started with just trying to fix it up, but well...” she said.

Clutching the farbric to my chest, I asked, “Can I put it on?”

Joya thought for a moment. “Well, it’s not really done yet,” she said. She paused and tapped her chin with one of her hooves. “Come to think of it, though, I could use a model.”

“So what were you and those donkeys talking about?” I said. Joya stopped circling around me for a second and shifted the pins in her mouth so she could speak.

“I don’t know, just stuff about home.” She tugged at the hem near my right leg. “Turn a little,” she said. I was standing on my hind legs so Joya could get a better look at the underside of the dress, so turning took some difficulty.

“You’re not from around here?” I said.

She used some scissors to cut off a section of loose fabric and pinned the rest back in place. “Nope; Maneican, born and raised,” she said.

“Then that language you were speaking was Maneican?” I said. I’d grown up speaking Equestrian and Germane, but I hadn’t heard anything like she had been speaking before.

Joya laughed. “Of course not, silly! Back in Maneico, we spoke Caballian.”

Right.

“Well, uh, why did you move to Equestria, and Fillydelphia of all places?” I asked. Not that I was one to talk, given the circumstances.

Joya gave a sort of noncommittal shrug as she fastened a few more pearls to my dress. “Not a lot of jobs for mares back in Maneico City, and it’s cheaper to get a business license in Fillydelphia.” She smiled. “Besides, Fillydelphia is super-duper fun, and back home is so boring!” The part about home I could sympathize with: if I never had to look at another crop of oats again, it would be too soon.

My back knees had started to wobble from prolonged standing, and I had to struggle to keep balance as Joya began to tug at the dress’s hemline. I recalled that my mother had once tried to enroll me in an etiquette class that taught this sort of thing, but I had refused on the grounds that being proper is boring. I straightened my spine and stopped pin-wheeling about like a rodeo clown if only to prove that she was still wrong.

“H-How much longer?” I asked.

“Just one more second, dear,” Joya said. She made a couple more snips and cuts before stepping back to admire her work. I couldn’t help but blush a little, having so little experience as the center of attention. She was interrupted by a knock on the door.

A voice came from the other side, “Joya, you in there? The sign outside said gone to lunch, but you never go to lunch so I thought-,” Joya threw the door open to reveal a startled Grapevine on the other side.

“Oh, so you're in,” she began, before her eyes got to me. “I see you found a new model?” Grapevine asked, smirking.

“She’s been so helpful!” Joya gushed while I did my best to not catch Grapevine’s eye. She looked like she was trying hard not to laugh as Joya showed off the ensemble she had trapped me in. She’d called it “Pega-chic,” or something like that. Whatever it was, it felt good to wear something that let my wings breathe a little.

“...and I used extra-light fabrics so she could move normally; Pegasi bones are hollow and extra light, don’t ya know?” Joya was saying, seemingly never stopping to breathe. Finally, thankfully, Grapevine held up a hoof in Joya’s face to stop the stream of chatter.

“This is great Joya, really great, but Ornate gave me and Minty a new assignment and we can’t be late!” Joya’s odd, pink eyes lit up.

“Mr. Ornate finally gave you another assignment? Don’t let me keep you here, you need to go!” As agonizingly slowly as it was put on, Joya had no trouble pulling the dress back off me and scooting us out the door. I remembered to grab my camera before Grapevine and I were deposited outside the bouncy mare’s store.

I blinked harshly in the daylight and tried to look away; the sun hadn’t gotten any darker since I woke up. Grapevine eyebrows rose when I turned away and looked at her.

“What’s with you?” I asked.

“Your mane, it’s, uh-” She stopped and just giggled a little. I tentatively reached a hoof and felt my hair. My eyes widened when I realized I must look like I’d just jumped off the ugly tree and hit my hair on every branch on the way down. I shook my head back and forth, but it only helped a little. It almost made me envy her short-cropped, dark magenta mane. Almost.

“Satisfied?” I said.

Grapevine snorted and started walking toward the middle of the city. “C’mon,” she said. “We have an airship to catch.”

Hurrying to catch up, I panted, “Airship? Where are we going?” Grapevine gave me that funny look, again, and pointed a hoof at the sky over downtown Fillydelphia.

It was hard to see through the haze and smoke of the factories, but there was indeed something up there. My heart skipped a beat when the clouds parted and revealed what Grapevine was pointing at. High above the cement and glass towers of the steel barons and railroad kings was an airship. Not just an airship, though, more like a flying city.

Sure I’d seen Cloudsdale on holiday in Canterlot before (Derbyshire being too small to warrant a Pegasus city above it to manage weather), but this was nothing like the famous Pegasi city. Instead of riding on captured clouds, the metropolis sat atop numerous gasbags from dirigibles, all strapped and welded together. That wasn’t the only difference, either: the thing was big, easily a couple times larger than Cloudsdale. All around it, I could make out the tiny shapes of transport balloons, cargo airships, and passenger dirigibles flitting around the city like bees around a hive.

Taking my eyes off it, I asked, “Any reason why that wasn’t there yesterday?”

“Serenity stays above cloud level most of the time,” Grapevine said. “They only come down on days like today to suck up some pollution from the financial and business districts.”

“Serenity? What kind of a name is that?” I said.

Grapevine shrugged. “It was just the name of the first airship they started building on.”

“Oh,” I said, looking up at the city one more time. “And we’re going to go up there today?” Grapevine nodded.

We made it to the airport without incident; well, other than Grapevine telling a loud-mouthed street vendor exactly where she could put her boiled carrots. The airfield was set close to downtown, and the skyscrapers of the center city towered above us as we walked into the main terminal. Ornate had already given her tickets, so we skipped the lines and headed onto the concrete airfield. It seemed so strange to me to have such a wide open space in the middle of a city, though the field certainly wasn’t empty: airships of all sizes, from balloons to dirigibles, were moored at docking towers or sitting on the tarmac.

“Whoa,” I said, gazing up at the nearest dirigible; a big, gray monster with a crimson stripe running its length, under which was written, “Wind Chaser.”

“Never seen one of the big ones?” Grapevine asked.

I shook my head. “I took a balloon ride, once, when I was little. Derbyshire never had anything like this.”

Grapevine shook her head and led me over to a waiting airship sitting on the concrete causeway. To my untrained eye, the ship looked like a smaller version of the dirigibles moored all around us, though Grapevine informed me that our airship was a blimp, not a zeppelin. Apparently since zeppelins were invented in Germaneigh, I was supposed to know all about them.

At any rate, our blimp was called the Jenny Haviner, whatever that meant. The cabin of the Jenny was small, with two rows of seats designed to fit twelve ponies. Somehow, the airship had managed to take on twenty. Grapevine and I sat at the back, squeezed into our seats by two, er, hefty mares standing in the aisle. The ship groaned from the added weight it took, though it didn’t break, thank Celestia.

“So,” Grapevine said, eyeing my wings, “Why don’t you just fly up to Serenity?”

“I thought that we should, um, stay together,” I lied. Currently, I was focused on trying to keep my camera from being crushed between the seat in front of me and my chest.

“Just how are we supposed to sit in these chairs?” I grumbled, shifting myself, again. The chairs seemed to want us to sit on our hindquarters, with our backs straight against the seat. “Who invented these things anyway?”

Grapevine, comfortably settled back in hers, answered, “Somepony in Ponyville invented them; they’re supposed to be space-saving.” I muttered a very sarcastic thanks to that pony and tried to stop my fidgeting. Grapevine rolled her eyes and looked out the window to her right, her saddlebag safe on her lap.

We both kept quiet for a few minutes, despite being squeezed practically nose-to-nose. It looked like she was almost afraid to say anything.

I decided to speak first. “Grapevine, about last night…”

She held up a hoof before I could say anything else. “Look, we’re partners: you’re the camerapony and I’m the reporter. Let’s just keep it that way.”

I don’t know if I was expecting an apology or for her to break down and tell me her whole life story right then and there, but her quick dismissal stung. “That’s just what I was thinking,” I said with a huff. We didn’t talk for the rest of the trip.

“Oh, there’s the city!” shouted somepony a few minutes later. I strained my neck to look past Grapevine out the window. At first I couldn’t see anything, but gradually the entirety of Serenity revealed itself from behind cloud cover. A far larger number of airships buzzed around it than were visible from the ground.

“Is it always this busy?” I asked, finally breaking the ongoing silence.

“Only around this time of year, due to the Summer Sun Celebration and all,” Grapevine replied. Either she didn’t know I had been giving her the silent treatment, or didn’t care. I also didn’t bother to tell her I’d completely forget about the Celebration, and opted instead to watch the city all the way in until the Jenny clamped onto a mooring jutting from the side of the floating city.

“Everypony out!” came the call, sounding strangely similar to yesterday’s. Being in the last row, Grapevine and I were the final ponies out, and we watched as the Jenny unclasped from the mooring tower and dropped back below the cloud cover, presumably to look for more customers. The tower wasn’t very large, and Grapevine and I quickly descended the ramp and were down into the city proper.

Serenity City spread out before us, a strange mishmash of businesses and homes squeezed between docking areas for the heavier-than-air ships constantly coming and going.

“Where are we going again?” I asked Grapevine. Her horn emitting a fuchsia glow, Grapevine levitated a note out of her saddlebag and stared at the words written on the page.

“It says we’re to meet Lightning Sprint at the offices of the Fillydelphia Weather Corps.”

“I’m guessing it’s that building,” I said, pointing to the half-steel, half-cloud tower in the middle of the city.

“I think you may be on to something, Minty,” Grapevine snarked. While Serenity City wasn’t even a quarter as big as Fillydelphia’s downtown, its size was nothing to sneeze at either. It took Grapevine and I a good fifteen minutes to walk all the way to the center tower. Along the way, the only ponies we passed were earth ponies.

“If this city is a Pegasi city, where exactly are all the Pegasuses?” I asked as we passed yet another group of non-flying ponies. They were crowding around a brightly-painted sign advertising tickets to the Summer Sun Festival Ball.

“What makes you think this is a Pegasi city?” Grapevine asked, not bothering to stop walking. Our hooves made a strange sound walking on the city’s streets, a mixture of metal and wood themselves. Here and there, I could see flashes of canvas peeking through a few worryingly-large holes in the walkway.

“The fact that we’re on a floating city?” I suggested helpfully. Grapevine laughed and shook her head, reminding me of my old schoolteacher.

“Just because it’s a floating city doesn’t mean the Pegasi own it. Sure, most of the city’s flying citizens live here, but there just aren’t many of them.” She swept her hoof around, indicating the many candy-colored earth ponies walking around. “This city isn’t for weather control like Cloudsdale; what you’re standing on is the largest airborne trading outpost in all of Equestria.”

“Oh,” I said. Looking around, I could see she was right. The constant stream of airships going to and fro were all helmed by earth ponies and unicorns, and the crews they let out were the same. Not for the first time that day, I felt a little bit more alone among these ponies.

The sign above the door to the tower read, “Fillydelphia Weather Corps - Serenity City Offices.” The “tower” itself wasn’t very tall, maybe three stories at the most. In fact, presumably due to wind, all the buildings in the city were at most two stories tall. The mooring stations were a bit taller, but were made purely from steel, allowing them to stand tall without fear of toppling over.

The interior of the Weather Corps offices was conservatively decorated; containing only a wooden secretary’s desk and a couple maple chairs. A stallion was idly flipping through reports at the desk, and didn’t bother to look up when we walked in.

“Do you have an appointment?” he asked. Grapevine levitated a press pass from her saddlebag and held it out in front of him.

“We’re here to see Lightning Sprint,” she said, her journalist’s tone returning. The secretary gave the pass a quick glance and then pointed to a door marked “Stairs.”

“Ms. Sprint’s office is on the third floor, you won’t miss it,” he mumbled, eyes returning to the papers in front of him. Grapevine quickly trekked to the stairs while I gave a hurried thanks.

Out of breath from the stair climb, we emerged into Ms. Sprint’s office to find a griffin poring over a massive overhead map of Fillydelphia.

“Hello, we're from-” I began,trying to act professional. As usual, Grapevine balled up those pretenses and threw them out the nearest window.

“You’re Lightning Sprint?” she asked. The female griffin turned and walked across the office to where we were standing, her eagle eyes never straying from us. Razor-sharp talons clattered on the stone tile as she strode up to us.

“I am she,” she answered. I gulped; I never realized quite how big griffins could get.

“They let a griffin be in charge of the Weather Corps?” Grapevine asked, incredulous. I had to restrain myself from kneeing her in the ribs. Lightning Sprint hunched down until her eyes were level with Grapevine’s. Her accent was like a guttural version of Grapevine’s, but her tone was icy.

“They don’t let anyone be in charge.” Grapevine didn’t seem much fazed by the griffin, or at least didn’t show it. I, however, had never quite forgotten the stories about griffons descending from the mountains to snatch away bad little colts and fillies in the middle of the night.

Lightning turned to me, her voice a warmer tone. “It has been a while since I’ve seen a new Pegasus in town. Tell me, what is your name, flier?”

“Oh, uh, Minty Flower, ma’am,” I hastily answered.

“Minty,” she said, letting the words roll around on her tongue. “Have you registered with the Corps yet, Minty?”

“I have to register?” I asked.

“She doesn’t know,” Grapevine called from across the room, where she was hastily copying notes from the Fillydelphia sky map on the wall. Notes were tacked to seemingly-random locations all across the map. Pictures of different types of clouds were similarly attached to the wall above.

“Every Pegasus in Fillydelphia is required to register with the Weather Corps so that they may be called upon to serve the city in times of distress,” Lightning recited, rising to her full height.

“Why?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. The griffin sighed and shifted her wings, a movement I knew to be annoyance; mostly because I did the same thing.

“There aren’t enough Pegasi in the city to support a fully-staffed Weather Corps, and few of them even want to work in the Corps full time. So instead, our staff keeps watch on the clouds, and only controls them for big storms.”

“You mean, the clouds are wild?!” I asked, flustered. Even in Derbyshire the clouds were kept tightly controlled: this was practically barbarism.

“Why do you think the air’s only clean down Broad Street?” Grapevine snarked, her hooves scrounging inside Lightning’s desk. The elder griffin glared at her before reaching over and slamming the desk drawer shut; Grapevine barely getting her hooves out in time.

“As I said, we don’t have the resources to control the weather over the entire city; we keep watch over all Fillydelphia and control the essential areas.” Lightning turned back to me. “You will need an escort to show you how we operate in Serenity City?”

It wasn’t really much of a question.

“Yes, ma’am,” I squeaked.

Lightning, with something on her beak that passed for a smile, reached over and grabbed a blue card from her desk. “It’s unwise to go alone, take this and present it to the stallion at the front desk, he will call someone to escort you,” she said, handing the pass to me. The little card had a string to loop around my neck, and it hung down with my camera.

“What about Grapevine?” I asked. Grapevine gave me an odd look.

“What did you think we’re here for? I’m here to interview Miss Sprint-y here,” she said, ignoring the griffin’s death glare. She levitated her notebook in front of my nose, rolling her eyes. “This story’s not all about you, you know.”

I walked out of the office, retracing my steps back to the secretary on the bottom floor. When I reached his desk, I used a hoof to hold out my pass, which seemed to finally get his attention. He walked back into a hallway behind his desk and spoke on a shiny new telephone. I’d seen a few of them around Fillydelphia, but hadn’t actually seen anypony use the monsters, so much bigger than the magical counterparts in Canterlot. The stallion finished his call and walked back to his desk, resuming his shunning of me.

What is it with secretaries in this town, anyways?

Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long, as after a few minutes another green pony came down the stairs. Except, unlike the secretary stallion, this mare’s coat was less green and more a deep teal. In contrast, her short-cut mane was a bright pink; an accented, winged horseshoe cutie mark completed the look. My eyes, however, remained transfixed on one particular area of the new mare.

She was definitely Pegasi, if about a hoof shorter than me, but her wings were far from normal. The base of her wings was the same as mine, but everything else was mechanical. A metal frame supported overly-large feathers. Pieces of machinery and what looked like wires ran from her mechanical appendages down into her body.

“Hiya, I’m Starshine Scamper,” she said. “I see you noticed the wings.”

“Oh, uh, what wings?” I stammered, flushing. She kept right on smiling, and I couldn’t help but do so too. It was almost off-putting, in a way.

“I’m supposed to help you until you can pass evaluation into the Weather Corps,” she said.

“What if I don’t pass?” Her wings made a very distinct metal-on-flesh sound when she laughed.

“Then you’ll be kicked off Serenity. Now follow me, I need to take you to the main area of operations.” I couldn’t decide how serious her last answer was.

We’d trekked through the bustling city to a wide open area at the northern edge of Serenity City. Most ponies on the street gave us odd looks until they noticed Starshine’s bright orange Weather Corps vest, after which they would return to their business. It was a nice enough trip, though Starshine seemed to think that silence was a mortal enemy that needed to be destroyed. That is, she didn’t stop talking. Her wings clanked when she moved, too, forcing her to talk louder to be heard over the noise. Lucky me.

“...and then I banked so low I almost hit a cabbage stand and all the ponies were like, ‘oooooh,’ and I was like, ‘yeah, that’s right,’ and then...” She paused when we reached the edge of the clearing. The clearing happened to be a grassy field, upon which various Pegasi milled about. Odd, considering the city’s base was made of metal, but I was rapidly learning not to question some things. Most of the gathered ponies had on similar bright orange vests. Unlike Starshine’s blank outfit, though, their vests had badges of rank or office sewn onto them.

“This is the staging area,” Starshine said, sweeping a hoof across my field of vision. “It’s where all the Weather Corps ponies gather to train and group for missions. Today we’ll use it for your training.”

“Training?” I asked, looking nervously at the bigger, tougher Pegasi scattered across the field.

“Well, I’m assuming you’ve never made weather before?” Starshine asked. I shook my head. Having two earth pony parents and living in a unicorn town will do that to a filly.

“Then today’s your first day,” she said. With that, she leaped into the air and beat her wings to gain altitude, and she was soon at cloud level. The unnatural wings didn’t seem to affect her flying, from what I could tell. I was still standing on the ground when she flew back, a puffy, white cloud in each forehoof.

“Come on, Minty! You have to be in the air to do this,” she called, eliciting looks from the other weather ponies around me. I laughed nervously and considered just running back to Grapevine. Under Starshine’s expectant stare, however, I reluctantly began to flap my wings.

I realized it probably would have been good to mention to her back in the city that I’m not all that great at flying. By not great, I mean I’m not sure I even know 100% how to fly. I just kind of get lucky sometimes and make it off the ground.

Somehow, my untrained wings managed to keep me aloft and I flew at a snail’s pace to the clouds on which Starshine now stood.

“You’re not much of a flier, are you?” she asked, pointing out the obvious once I was finally standing on the cloud next to her. I kept expecting the fluffy surface to break underneath me at any moment, but somehow it held.

“Not really...” I answered, shaking a little from exertion. Starshine shook her head.

“Well, it doesn’t matter; today you’re going to learn to make weather!” There was a conviction in her voice that frightened me, but I figured I had no choice in the matter anyway.

“Now, do as I do,” she said. I watched as she gathered herself and began to bounce up and down on the cloud. First one bounce, and then two. On her third she used her wings to gain altitude before snapping them shut and coming down hard on the cloud. Sure enough, the darkened puff let loose a torrent of rain onto the field below.

“Your turn.”

I gulped and checked to make sure the cloud still held my weight. Tentatively, I bounced once, then twice, then three times. Trying to emulate her, I used my wings a little to bring more weight down on my third try. Unlike Starshine, however, when I came down as hard as I could, the cloud remained fixed and rain-less.

“O-oops,” I said. “How was that?” Starshine smiled tenderly at me before answering.

“That was great, honey...” Suddenly, and unexpectedly, her voice picked up. “...if you were a little baby foal! You call yourself a Pegasus?!” I could only watch as the little mare with the mechanical wings screamed in my face louder than any stallion ever could.

“Now, you’re going to do it AGAIN. And you will keep doing it until you get it right! Do I make myself clear?!”

“Yes ma’am!” I shouted, already bouncing. Somehow, all the shouting had finally kicked my brain into gear. I kept bouncing, and Starshine kept hurling insults against me, my mental health, and my hygiene, but no rain came out of the cloud.

I wanted to take my camera off my neck, but Starshine had told me only little foals would let a camera stop them.

“Alright, here’s how it’s going to go this time,” she shouted after I failed yet again. “You are going to get it right on the next try, or I’m going to start practicing my lightning-making a few hooves above your head! Do I make myself clear?” She rattled her metal wings on her last sentence, for emphasis.

Images of trying to dodge bolts of electricity while bouncing on a cloud danced in front of my vision. “Crystal, ma’am!”

I steeled myself and once again tried to feel the Pegasus magic inside me. The same magic that let us walk on clouds would let me make rain: I just had to focus it. Naturally, it had seemed easier when I read about it than now that I was actually trying it.

“Now bounce!” Starshine shouted. I did.

“ONE!” Maybe it was fear, but this time I could feel a flicker of...something.

“TWO!” That feeling grew; I could feel a tingling coursing through my body, strongest in my hooves.

“THREE!” I flapped my wings with all my might to gain a little bit more height, desperation fueling my efforts. I strained until I felt something pop, and then snapped them shut. Plummeting straight toward the cloud, I kept my hooves outstretched, trying to concentrate the magic within. As my hooves touched the puffy surface, I felt something kick in, and flow through me and into the cloud.

Rain poured from the cloud in rapid, small drops. Unfortunately, it seemed I had let out a little too much magic, as I poured through the cloud along with the downpour.

I screamed as I fell, my brain shutting off and forgetting the whole me-being-a-Pegasus thing. The ground grew rapidly to meet my flailing body. Suddenly, a green and pink streak blew by me and positioned itself below. I landed on my right side with a sickening thump on Starshine’s metal back. The force of my landing and me being a bit larger and heavier than her sent us both tumbling the last ten feet to the ground.

Coughing, Starshine stood up. “You okay?” she asked. Besides a few scratches, she looked fine. Her wings were dented in a couple places, but looked workable.

Looking across the grass field, I saw my camera hadn’t been so lucky. Sometime during my hundred-foot fall, the beautiful ebony-cased machine had slipped off and now lay on the ground, smashed into a thousand tiny pieces, with not a single picture of Fillydelphia on its film. If I hadn’t just been so close to death, I would have felt much worse. As it was, I lay curled up on the ground where I’d fallen. When Starshine addressed me this time, her angry demeanor from earlier was gone, replaced with authentic kindness.

“Are you alright?” she asked. “Can you move?” I looked down at myself. I was bruised in a couple places, but otherwise felt fine. Great even.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I said. Feeling a little light headed, I got to my feet. “Just a little woozy, that’s all.” When I turned around to show her that I was alright, she gasped.

“Minty, your right wing...I think it’s broken.”

“What? No it’s not,” I said quickly. Just to show her how wrong she was, I proudly spread both my wings. Oddly, her expression didn’t change. I looked back at my wings, and they were still folded up at odd angles. I tried again. Nothing.

“I think you’re going to need a doctor,” Starshine said.

Indignant, I said, “What are you talking about? I’m fine!” I took a few steps forward to get my bearings back. The first couple of steps were fine, but by the third my head was cloudy. I collapsed somewhere between the fourth and fifth.

I cracked one eye open to reveal a plain hospital room. The room was bare of any sort of magic-powered machinery, and only contained my bed and a chair. In said chair sat Grapevine, who had evidently nodded off. She snored softly and shifted her head a bit, giving me a good look at fresh worry lines.

The door swung open with a crash, revealing a tan mare dressed in a doctor’s coat.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said as she cantered to my bedside. She magicked a clipboard from the front of my bed and looked at it.

“Am I better now?” I slurred. My tongue hadn’t quite yet caught up to my brain, and seemed to be doing a dance of its own.

The doctor shook her head and pointed to my backside. Looking over my shoulder, I could see my entire midsection covered in one large bandage. Clearing her throat, the doctor said, “Our head physician is away, and we don’t have the facilities to treat a Pegasus in your, er, condition.”

“A flying city can’t fix a broken wing?” I asked.

“We can repair a wing,” the doctor said, “But we can’t restructure one that’s been shattered: that’s a job for a unicorn.”

“Where can I find one of those?” I said. She shrugged, and then quickly excused herself from the room. I figured she was afraid of my reaction, though I didn’t feel mad. To be honest, it felt like just another weary step on my journey since I’d gotten here.

Once she was sure the doctor was gone, Grapevine spoke up, having woken up sometime during the previous conversation. “I know somepony who can fix your wing right up,” she said.

“And you didn’t mention this before because…?” I said.

“He’s not exactly popular with the MedCorp hospitals: he does work for free,” she explained.

More information to store away, but I couldn’t focus at that moment. My stomach was rumbling, and when I looked out the window, it was night. “How long was I out?” I asked.

Grapevine looked up from a magazine that she had presumably procured from nowhere. “Oh, only 4 or 5 hours,” she said. My eyes felt like they were ready to bugger out of my head; the longest I had ever been unconscious was a few minutes after an incident involving a scooter and three barrels of molasses. My stomach growled again, louder this time.

“Does this place have anything to eat?” I asked.

“Actually, Lightning Sprint brought over some food just a little while ago,” Grapevine said, pointing to a bedside table I hadn’t seen behind her. On it were a couple bowls of noodles, both of them full. I eyed the food suspiciously, but my hungry tummy didn’t care whether they were from a crazy griffin or not.

Over dinner, I had Grapevine catch me up to speed on what had happened since I’d been out. She rambled on like usual, but at least seemed to lose more of her usual gruff tone with a little food in her.

She was saying, “Starshine brought you here on her back by herself; you should have seen it, it was quite a sight.”

“Is she okay?” I asked once my mouth was empty.

Grapevine nodded. “She’s fine, she’s actually in the next room; the doctor wanted her to sleep here overnight too.”

“I didn’t hurt her, did I?” I said.

Grapevine shook her head. “Nothing more than her pride at letting one of her trainees get hurt.” I couldn’t help but grin a little at that. A question formed in my mind as I looked longingly at my now-empty bowl.

“So how come Lightning brought us food? I thought she hated us.” Grapevine laughed a little and rolled her eyes.

“It’s Lightning and I that have issues. As far as I know, she’s probably happy to have a new Pegasus in town.”

“Sounds like you two know each other,” I observed. If Grapevine was always as snoopy as she acted, then I wouldn’t be surprised.

“We’ve met before,” Grapevine said. She got up and stretched a little bit, and placed the empty noodle bowls back onto their tray. I watched enviously from my hospital bed, suddenly aware of the bonds keeping me from moving my wings.

“What did you and her talk about anyway?” I asked.

She sighed and said, “I guess you should know what we’re doing at some point.” Grapevine walked over to her bag and pulled out a piece of stationary with the Fillydelphia Chronicler’s logo at the top.

“Ornate got a tip a few days ago about some dealings in Serenity City; apparently somepony has been paying the Weather Corps to keep certain areas of the city clear, and this pony recently increased their payments by quite a bit.” She raised a hoof to her chin. “I tried to talk to Lightning about it, but she denied knowing of any such thing.”

“Sounds suspicious,” I said. I handed the piece of paper back to her. It was a hastily-written report of amounts paid and when: the kind of dreary stuff only a reporter could appreciate.

Grapevine nodded. “It is, but I don’t really have anything to go on right now. It could be her, or she could be covering for a friend.”

“Or, you know, Lightning’s actually innocent,” I suggested.

“An investigative journalist never assumes anypony is telling the truth, Minty,” Grapevine said as she rolled her eyes.

“Wait, but aren’t we reporters?” I asked, confused. I had thought we were doing a story on the Summer Sun Celebration or something, not politics and corruption.

Grapevine sighed and placed a reassuring hoof on the side of my bed. “We are not here as reporters, because a report only tells an event as it happened. No, we are here to investigate, and to find out why a story happened.”

She used her magic to float the magazine she had been reading over to me. Grapevine pointed a hoof to the story printed on the front page. “Preparations Underway For Summer Sun Celebration,” it read.

“See, this is reporting,” Grapevine said. She snapped the magazine up, and looked at it briefly before tossing it away. “But we’re on assignment to find out why things don’t quite match up in the mayor’s office, not just give another boring story about how many cakes will be at the reception this year.”

“So that’s what we’re going around Fillydelphia for?” I asked. The whole business seemed dreadfully confusing to me, but I was determined to prove that I could handle real journalism just as well as Grapevine could.

Grapevine returned to her seat and casually leaned back, indifferent tone returning. “That’s about the size of it.”

I wanted to say more, but a yawn cleared all the words from my throat. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I figured it must have been whatever medicine they had given me doing its job. I tried to fight it. A second, longer yawn confirmed the inevitable.

“I can see you’re tired,” Grapevine said. I could only wearily nod, my eyelids starting to flutter. “We’ll talk more in the morning,” she promised, walking toward the door.

Maybe it was the medicine or the fright of my first injury away from home, but before I could stop myself, I asked, “Grapevine do you think you would- I mean- would you mind staying in here tonight?” I winced and felt like a little foal again for saying it, but I’d never slept in a hospital before, and these places gave me the creeps.

I was afraid she was going to say no, or worse, laugh; but instead she silently walked back to her chair and sat down without protest. I wanted to thank her, or at least say something, but instead I yawned again and let my eyelids slide down as I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Episode 1: New Toys

“I appreciate you coming along and all, Starshine,” Grapevine said, “But did we have to take the Corps’s cloud scouting balloon?”

The little basket underneath the bright-orange balloon swayed for the millionth time, and I continued to keep a death grip on my side of the wicker gondola. “Oh, it was no problem at all,” Starshine was saying. “I just felt so bad about yesterday; the least I could do was give the two of you a lift.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I said sourly. Maybe it was all the potions the doctor had given me before we left the clinic or the fact my entire backside was wrapped in new, tighter bandages, but I was feeling a little snappy.

“You can fly, why are you afraid of heights anyways?” Starshine asked, incredulous. Of course she would ask, the pink-maned Pegasus hadn’t stayed in the balloon’s basket for more than five minutes consecutively.

“Plus, you didn’t seem to have a problem on the airship,” Grapevine chirped in. I just grumbled under my breath and tried to concentrate on the woven timber beneath my hooves. The truth was, I didn’t really know why I was suddenly so afraid; ever since I had woken up from my accident, I had been terrified by the very idea of flying. I tried to shake off a feeling of dread at not being able to fly again. As soon as my wing was fixed up, I would be good as new, or so I hoped.

I had to admit, using the Weather Corps balloon did have its advantages: instead of having to wait to land at the Fillydelphia Airfield, we got to moor at the Corps’s downtown headquarters. As Starshine maneuvered the airship into position, we scraped the side of a nearby skyscraper.

“Heh, oops,” she said. The ground-based office of the weather control had a much older look than the buildings around it. Instead of smooth glass and concrete, the building resembled the design of Canterlot Castle.

Grapevine saw my look of befuddlement and explained, “The Weather Corps office is one of the few old downtown buildings still standing after the parasprite infestation a few years back.” I whistled in awe; that would explain the feeling of ‘new-ness’ I got from a look at the center city. Back home, we had had a couple parasprite problems ourselves, but nothing so severe as this. What, did nopony own a tuba or something?

Our balloon was secured to the building easily enough, and we disembarked without trouble. Grapevine looked around the buzzing offices, ripe for stories, with a look of longing, but insisted we head straight to the doctor.

The interior of the building was much more modern than the outside, and we were given access to the newly-installed lift (or elevator, as they called it) by a pink Pegasus in charge of the building.

“Try not to break it,” she told us.

I’d never ridden a non-magical lift before, and I couldn’t recommend the experience after trying it out. After coming to a bumpy, gear-grinding stop in the building’s lobby, the lift doors slid open and we all stepped out.

All of us, that was, except Starshine. She pawed the ground awkwardly, looking like she was lost. “Well, are you coming?” I asked, beckoning to the building’s front doors. A smile brightening her face, Starshine galloped to where we stood and resumed walking beside us. Despite my misgivings, I figured befriending the only other Pegasus pony I knew was a better idea than leaving her all by herself. We tried walking out the front doors side-by-side, but opted for single-file after we all got stuck in the doorway.

“Are you sure we’re not lost?” I asked. Grapevine sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I’m sure. I told you, the pony we’re looking for is working uptown today, and it takes a long time to walk there from downtown.”

“Who exactly are we looking for, again?” Starshine asked from above us. She’d taken to the skies about ten minutes earlier due to “boredom.” It didn’t make a difference, however, as the sidewalks were surprisingly empty, presumably a side effect of walking around at 10 in the morning. The buildings uptown, on the outskirts of the business district, looked more like the Weather Corps downtown offices, but a bit less utilitarian. Grapevine called it, “Neo-Magicka architecture.” To me, that meant the buildings had a lot of pointy spires.

“We’re going to see an old acquaintance of mine. He specializes in medicine and owes me a favor,” she said.

“Are you sure we can’t go to a hospital?” I asked. The bandages around my wings had started to get itchy, and I was certain the potions were starting to wear off, despite the assurances the Serenity City doctor had given us.

“Do you have the money for a hospital bill?” Grapevine asked glumly.

“No...” After the cab ride two days ago and paying a deposit on the room I was renting from Joya, I had less than 10 bits to my name.

Grapevine, walking in front of me as usual, turned her head back and assured me, “Don’t worry, he’s a really good doctor; he’ll fix you up just like new.”

“If that’s the case, then maybe I should ask him when you can start training again,” Starshine called down in a tone that I hoped was teasing.

“Not funny,” I said. After my last bout of training, I was perfectly prepared to keep my hooves away from clouds for the rest of my natural life. It wasn’t like I needed to make weather anyways.

“We’re here,” Grapevine announced, derailing my train of thought. She had stopped in front of a rather large and fancy apartment building. I figured only the richest mares in the city could afford to live within.

“He lives here?” Starshine asked incredulously, before I could get the chance.

Grapevine chuckled and shook her head. “He makes house calls.”

Grapevine’s “acquaintance” turned out to be a bright red unicorn with a strikingly rainbow mane, which Grapevine assured me afterwards was relatively common in some areas of southern Equestria. The stallion’s cutie mark, a stethoscope, was clearly visible as he patched up a butler who worked in the building’s penthouse.

“Ah Grapevine, I’ve been expecting you; just give me one more second,” he said when he saw us walking into the servants's quarters. The doctor turned back to the unfortunate butler; the silver mare had a large bandage on her right, front hoof.

“Now just hold still,” he said. “This probably won’t hurt a bit.” The stallion’s horn began to glow an odd color, a sort of greenish-yellow-purple, and enveloped the butler. With a bright flash, the glow disappeared, along with the bandage. Tentatively, his violet-maned patient stood on her previously-damaged hoof. “See, good as new!” The doctor exclaimed.

The profusely-thankful butler quickly agreed to let the doctor use the servant quarters to work on me. As she galloped away, the doctor called out after her, “Hoof swelling and/or glowing in the dark is perfectly normal: do not be alarmed!”

Turning back to Grapevine, he spoke in his strangely out-of-place Trottingham accent. “Well now, what seems to be the problem? You don’t seem hurt, but I can see what I can do; at the least, I might be able to conjure up a rousing speech or two.”

Grapevine huffed and rolled her eyes as Starshine forcibly pushed me to the front of our little party, and said, “Actually we’re her for Minty: I, er, she hurt her wing pretty badly yesterday.” He turned to look at me, his eyes drifting toward my bandaged side.

“I see, I see...” He looked back at Grapevine one more time before setting himself directly in front of me, a hoof raised in greeting. “It’s good to meet you Minty; the name’s Rainbow Remedy, Doctor of Arcane Medicine from Concealed College.” I smiled weakly and timidly shook his hoof, a little humbled before him. It might not be as famous around Fillydelphia, but everypony in northern Equestria knew only the best ponies were allowed entry into the Concealed College, let alone were able to make it to graduation.

Resuming his doctoral tone, Remedy asked, “Could I take a look at your damaged wing?” I nodded and turned my bandaged side toward him. His horn glowed again and the wrappings fell away, revealing the broken limb beneath. To me, it didn’t look all that bad, but concern showed on Remedy’s face.

“I’m impressed,” he said. “A broken ulna and fractures along your radius and carpus bones; what have you been up to?”

“Making weather,” I replied lamely. I felt my wing lift up, but not the usually-accompanying pain: side effects from the magic presumably.

“Well you certainly get an A for effort if you managed this jumping on clouds,” he said idly, his eyes focused intently on the structure of my wing. My wings stretched out and retracted under his magic gaze. Starshine remained uncharacteristically silent, standing in the corner with her face pointed at the ground.

“Here, you may want to lay on this,” Remedy said, pushing one of the servants’s sparse beds into the middle of the small dorm room. I looked at him quizzically, but complied. He’s a doctor, he knows what he’s doing, right?

“Now,” Remedy said, clearing his throat “Grapevine, you and your Pegasus friend will need to vacate the room, things are about to get science-y.”

“That means we need to get out now,” Grapevine half-whispered, pulling Starshine out the door with her. As the door shut, Remedy turned back to me.

“Now, let’s see what we can do with you,” he said, clopping his forehooves together. I gulped.

“Y-You mean you don’t know what you’re going to do?”

“Well, I’ve never worked on an actual Pegasus before, but I’ve seen a lot of pictures,” Remedy replied giddily. With the room already crowded, and the extra bed added to the middle, he had to back up against the wall to give himself room for “science.”

“So what’s going to happen when you cast your spell?” I asked, getting the distinct feeling that maybe coming to a doctor who only Grapevine knew was a bad idea.

Remedy laughed, a little too maniacally, “I have no idea!”

Before I could object further, his horn glowed the same weird color as before and enveloped my entire body. The magic felt warm and soft, like being rubbed all over with goose down. A bright flash consumed my vision, much larger than the one I had witnessed earlier.

When my eyesight returned, I carefully checked myself over, making sure I didn’t have any extra or missing limbs as a byproduct of his spell. To my great relief, all I found was my injured wing was now encased within a magical field. I couldn’t feel the appendage, but I could actually hear the bones moving around. Gross.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Remedy said, a cheeky grin on his face. I glared at him, but he shrugged it off. “Come on then, you really didn’t think I would do something on purpose, did you?” he asked.

“It crossed my mind.”

Remedy laughed. “Maybe you should learn to do a little less of that.”

“Trusting?” I asked.

“No, thinking!”

No amount of rolled eyes could express what I felt. Sighing, I asked, “So, am I going to owe you anything?”

“Owe me?” Remedy asked, feigning hurt. “A friend of Grapevine’s is a friend of mine; think of it as a favor.” When he saw me looking at him strangely, he sniffed and said, “It’s not like you could afford it anyways.”

Remedy walked over to where I lay on the bed and examined my wing. “Anyway, I had your friends leave the room so I could talk to you.”

“Why?” I asked, wincing as my wing was tugged around. His formally idle demeanor grew serious as he looked me in the eyes.

“I know you didn’t break your wing by yourself.”

“Whu- what are you talking about,” I stammered. My lying could stand some practice, I decided. Remedy continued to glare at me, thoroughly unconvinced. “It was an accident, I swear,” I continued. “I was just trying to learn how to make weather, and I might have tried a little too hard.”

“Did she put you up to it?” Remedy’s voice was startlingly low and monotone; the accent was gone like snow after Winter Wrap-Up.

“Oh, well yeah, but don’t get mad; it’s not like-” I began, but was cut off.

“I knew it,” Remedy said. “I think she’s doing okay, I stop visiting, and she’s at it again, and-” This time, it was my turn to interrupt.

“Wait, I thought you said you had never met Starshine before?”

“Star who?” Remedy asked. I could almost see the realization hit him like a hammer. “You’re telling me it was Miss Machine Wings that caused this, not Grapevine?”

“Well, she didn’t exactly cause my accident, and she seems like she wants to make it up to me...” I paused and got up off the bed. Remedy gave no protest. “Why would you think Grapevine did it?”

“Oh, just forget I said anything,” he said, hurriedly walking toward the door. “Speaking of Grapevine, why don’t we see what she and the Pegasus are up to.”

I stepped in front of him and tried to look as intimidating as I could. In ferocity, I may have rated at field mouse. “Tell me,” I said.

“Tell you what?” Remedy said, chuckling badly. With my gaze unwavering, he reluctantly answered, “Alright, alright.”

Remedy let out an exaggerated sigh before continuing. “You’ve heard of her, um, falling out with the Chronicler, correct?” I nodded. “Things...weren’t very good for her after that. She got into fights; pushed her friends away.” Trying to imagine Grapevine, only marginally taller than Starshine, picking fights made my head hurt.

“For a few weeks, I was the only contact with the outside world she had; I came by as often as I could to check up on her. A week ago, the last time I saw Grapevine, her boss told her that if she didn’t have another story by the end of the Summer Sun Celebration, then she would be fired permanently from the paper.”

He walked over to where a black doctor’s bag sat and dug through it, producing two small pills. Before I could ask if they were for me, he popped them in his mouth and continued, “I didn’t actually think she would pull it off, the way she was. I was preparing for a repeat of the cider incident.” Remedy turned to look back at me, his rainbow mane fluttering as he moved. I briefly wondered how he managed to keep it floppy but out of his eyes no matter which way he turned: I had to use enough pomade to grease a pig just to get my hair to keep in place.

“Now, she walks into my work and started acting like her old self again,” he said. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”

It was my turn to speak, but the right words wouldn’t come to my mouth, instead issuing some sort of grunt to the negative. I didn’t understand why he seemed to think I calmed Grapevine down; she seemed to only tolerate my presence, at best. A specter of a smile graced the doctor’s face as he watched the gears turning in my head. He didn’t follow up on the question, but instead turned to the door.

“Well, then, glad that’s settled,” Remedy said. “Now, let’s go see if we can’t find your friends.”

“Shouldn’t they be right outside?” I asked, trotting up alongside him. It surprised me how tall he was: easily a head taller, if not more.

Opening the door, he said, “If Grapevine’s old self is starting to come back, then the answer would be...” The door swung open to reveal an empty hallway.

“...and then we took one of those ele-lift things up to servants’s quarters, and there you were,” I finished. Maybe it was the giddiness of the feeling finally returning to my mended wing or the side effects of “searching” for Grapevine in the fancy penthouse’s wine cabinet, but my tongue had loosened enough to tell Remedy most of what had happened over the last few days.

For being so talkative, Remedy was a pretty good listener. That, or I didn't notice if he was talking.

We peeked our heads cautiously into another one of the penthouse’s rooms, knocking before entering. We’d learned that lesson the hard way when we walked in on two mares, er, taking full advantage of an empty janitorial closet.

The room I looked into was a plushly-decorated writing room. A lush, maroon couch dominated the room, and on it sat a shiny typewriter. The fireplace, and subsequently the room, were dark; no Grapevine in here, either.

Shutting the door, Remedy spoke up for the first time since I had started my story; his Trottingham accent had returned, to my joy. He sounded much too serious and down when his voice took the flat inflection of a Fillydelphian.

“So, if I understood your story correctly, you are currently traveling around with a pony with more baggage than a Pullmare car and a Pegasus who nearly managed to end your life the first time you met her.”

Well, when you put it that way...

Before I could defend myself, he laughed and said, “Minty, I think you’re going to fit in around here just fine.” I had to admit, his smile was almost as infectious as Joya’s. Then again, so was Starshine’s. Maybe I just smiled too easily.

We stopped in front of two large, oak doors. Their frames were inlaid with gold, and the door handles were fashioned from fire rubies.

“Oh, well, of course she would be in there,” Remedy said. I looked at him quizzically.

“This is Ms. Spoon’s room; she owns the building,” he explained. I could feel my eyes widen; Grapevine hadn’t been kidding when she gave her spiel about investigative journalism.

Remedy gingerly opened one of the opulent doors and peered in. I tried to see around him, but the room was too dark. I almost let out a sigh of relief, and figured Starshine and Grapevine had gone down to another floor.

No such luck, however, as we heard a quiet shuffling and a muffled, “Shush!” that sounded distinctly like a certain reporter. With a flicker of Remedy’s horn, the room’s electric lights lit up. They were magic lights, I noticed: expensive to get so far south of the big unicorn cities.

“You can come out now,” he said. Starshine sheepishly walked out from behind a nearby wardrobe, and Grapevine from underneath the large wooden desk in the center of the room. Clutched in her mouth were several important-looking papers.

“Grapevine,” Remedy said with a sigh. “Please, please, please tell me that you’re not stealing from Ms. Spoon, one of the richest ponies in the city and the mare who’s paying me to look after her servants.”

“I’m not,” Grapevine said adamantly between the papers. She spat out the papers and pointed a hoof to Starshine. “But she was.”

“Wha-? Are you serious?” Starshine cried.

Before the argument could continue, however, we all heard a sound that made us freeze in our tracks. Outside the door was the voice of the coal baroness herself, Silver Spoon.

Though muffled by the massive doors, we could hear her say, “Now Copper, I am going to go lay down and I am not to be disturbed, is that understood?”

I couldn’t hear the response, but I guessed it was to the affirmative. Feeling suddenly exposed, I looked around the room for a good hiding place, but didn’t see one.

“In here,” Remedy hissed from across the room, holding open a small linen closet. I doubted we could all fit comfortably, but I didn’t care. I galloped over to the closet and sprang inside, followed quickly by Starshine and Grapevine. Remedy, however, didn’t join us.

“Get in,” I whispered, looking anxiously at the door. He shook his head as the fire-ruby door knobs began to turn and mouthed the word, “Distraction.”

As Silver Spoon’s doors opened, ours was slammed shut in our faces. The linen closet’s doors and walls were thin, allowing us to hear everything that was said. It was too bad the closet was smaller than my carpet bag, forcing all three of us to get to know each other much better than anypony should.

“Oh, Rainbow Remedy, I didn’t expect to find you in here,” Silver Spoon said. Remedy laughed nervously.

“Really? Well, I finished checking out the servants early, so I thought that I would come see if you were well.”

“Oh, are you sure that’s the only reason you came to see me?” Silver Spoon replied, her voice silky. I was thinking of what other reason he could possibly have when it hit me. Oh...OH! Oh, Sweet Celestia, no! I shuddered; Remedy was around my age, but Silver Spoon was, like, 40.

To my stomach’s great relief, Remedy quickly refused, saying, “Quite certain, actually.” Silver Spoon huffed, and I could almost see her eyes roll.

“I was only having a little fun, dear; try to loosen up. Celestia knows I try, what after all those meetings on the Celebration lately. They can really zap the energy out of a pony.”

“Do tell,” Remedy said. I could hear the conversation begin to drift away as he led Silver Spoon away from our hiding place.

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it dear, it’s always shutting out the unions this, and good impressions on the government that. Not to mention Miss Grace Pullmare going on and on about investors.” She sighed. “Maybe I am getting too old for this; I haven’t seen Tia’ in nearly a month.”

I glared at Grapevine to stay quiet when I heard the faint scratch of pencil on paper. Luckily, neither pony outside seemed to notice.

“Oh, well I wouldn’t say that; you’re just stressed, is all,” Remedy was saying. “If you would allow me a little check up, I’m sure I could find something to have you on your hooves in no time.” Silver Spoon laughed.

“I hope you’re right, doctor. I hope you’re right.”

“Right then, let’s take a look at you over here in the bathroom, because the bathroom has much better lighting than this dreary bedroom,” Remedy said, nothing suspicious about his voice at all.

“Well, you don’t have to shout; I’m not that old, dear,” Silver Spoon said. The pair’s voices grew fainter and I could hear the sound of hooves on tile. When I could hear the, presumably, bathroom door slam shut, I quickly opened the closet doors, letting us all pile out.

“I can breathe again!” Grapevine said. Starshine shook out her metal wings with a satisfied look on her face. I took the chance to similarly stretch my wings, though they didn’t make nearly the noise. My newly-healed wing felt great, so the experience was even better.

Grapevine regained her composure, and told us, “Alright, time to go; we need to get out of here before those two come back.”

As we trotted out of the room I asked, “What about Remedy?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll see him again,” Starshine ensured me. I wanted to know how she would know, but we were already focused on making our escape.

I coughed at the smoke that snaked its way back from the trolley’s steam engine. We’d decided to use a couple bits and take the nice ride home. Or, at least, I thought we were headed home until the trolley changed tracks and headed toward Zebratown, all the way out in the Northeast Fillydelphia, a nearby map told me.

“Can you please tell me why we just passed West Fillydelphia?” I asked Grapevine, having to yell to be heard over the engine noise despite being right next to her.

“Ask Starshine!” she yelled back. Starshine had been the one to suggest the trolley ride, but had kept to herself the whole ride. Mostly, she just sat and adjusted her wings under the stares of curious onlookers.

Pushing my way across the car to where she sat, I asked, “Starshine, where are we going?” She looked up in surprise to see me so close.

“We fixed your wing, but there’s one more thing that still needs to be replaced,” she said. She kept her tone at a normal level, meaning I had to strain to hear her in the noisy car.

“If you don’t mind refreshing my memory, what else is broken?” I asked. The tilt of her head told me that she thought I was crazy. By now, I was getting used to that look.

“I broke your camera, if you remember.” Now that I thought about it, my neck did seem lighter. Thinking about it more made me feel the loss even worse than before; I’d forgotten all about my former prized possession.

“Alright, so we’re fixing my camera,” I said. “Then why do we need to go to Zebratown? There’s plenty of shops all over city.” She shook her head.

“We’re not going to buy one, I know a friend who might be willing to give us one.”

“And just who might that be?” Grapevine asked, joining our conversation. I almost jumped when I heard her voice; she moved so quietly it was almost scary.

“Sterling,” Starshine answered.

Grapevine’s eyes flashed. “Sterling, as in Sterling Bristle? The inventor?”

“The very same,” Starshine answered, grinning slyly. I wanted to ask who exactly this colt was, but the two didn’t give me time to interject. “How in Celestia’s name do you know him? I heard he barely talks to anyone!” Starshine shrugged her shoulders, eliciting a groaning of metal upon metal from her wings.

“Who do you think made these?”

Taking the break in the conversation as an opportunity, I quickly asked, “So who exactly is this, ‘Sterling?’” To them, I might as well have asked who Celestia is.

“He’s one of the best inventors in the city,” Starshine answered. “Bit of a recluse, though; the only time he leaves his house is for the Zebratown market days.”

“And that would be...when?” I asked. Before Starshine could answer, the trolley car hit a bump and for a sickening second I was airborne, and ponies around me were screaming and shouting. Once the event was over however, everypony went back to what they were doing like it was nothing out of the ordinary. It was up to me, then, to look like the idiot with her hooves covered over her head. I gathered myself up in time to hear announcement that we had arrived in Zebratown.

Conveniently, the monthly market day was today. Zebratown’s cobblestone square was packed wall to wall with colorful merchandise and even more colorful earth ponies. Grapevine said something, but I couldn’t hear her over the din of ponies shouting why I should spend my precious few bits on some of their wares.

Luckily, Starshine seemed to know which way she was going and led us through the crowds, which were packed so thick that I could only follow her by looking for the metal wings. I had to dodge an overly-enthusiastic mare trying to sell me pocket watches, and very nearly got in the middle of a fight between two earth ponies arguing over whose apples were better quality. A small-mustachioed stallion even tried to get me to buy one of his hoof-drawn postcards, but I managed to push past all of them and reach Sterling’s stall.

The tent was near the back of the square, but for good reason: the maroon tent was easily twice as large as any other stall in the event. Over the entrance was a crude sign that simply read, “Sterling.” Woodwind music warbled from a shiny, new-looking phonograph right inside the tent’s entrance. Scattered technology lay across the interior in a seemingly random order, with a large, model steam engine laying right next to a display of typewriters. Astoundingly, in one corner he even had a broken steam engine on display, its too many pistons stuck out in an awkward v-shape. It was no wonder, then, that the tent was almost completely void of customers.

Starshine shushed us, and advised, “Be careful, he startles easily.”

Grapevine promptly ignored her and ran to the back of the tent, calling, “Mr. Sterling, are you in here?” An olive-brown earth pony, who had been organizing a music shelf while standing on a stool, yelped and fell down in surprise. The ebony-colored records he had been holding fell to the ground with the green-maned stallion, shattering into dozens of pieces.

“Oh, my; oh, dear,” the pony, Sterling, said. The lanky colt picked himself up from the ground and dusted off his frizzy, unkempt mane. The awkward smile he gave us when he realized he was being watched was certainly not cute, nor was his appearance. Not at all.

“Minty, your wings are doing that stand up thing again,” Grapevine helpfully pointed out.

“Yeah, you might want to get that checked out,” Starshine chimed in, giggling. I realized suddenly, stupidly, that she was a Pegasus too. Oh Celestia, she knows.

“Must be a, uh, side effect from Remedy’s magic,” I stammered, racking my brain for an excuse.

“But this isn’t the first time-” Grapevine began, confused, until Sterling cut her off.

“Oh, um, excuse me, but, can I help you with anything?” Still chuckling, Starshine walked over to where Sterling stood and carelessly put a leg around his neck and introduced us.

“Sterling, this is Grapevine, and the Pegasus is Minty Flower. Minty, Grapevine, this is Sterling Bristle.” Grapevine coolly nodded hello while I stumbled through a greeting, my tongue falling all over itself.

“Now that we’re all friends,” Starshine continued, patting Sterling with her hoof, “We need you to do us a favor.”

“Well, o- of course I could help you, maybe,” Sterling said with a nervous chuckle. “Wha- what do you need?”

“A camera,” Grapevine explained. She looked around at the interior of the stall. “You wouldn’t happen to have one lying around, would you?” Seeking his chance to get out of Starshine’s grasp, Sterling walked over to where a large worktable stood.

“I don’t have one with me today...b- but I could maybe make you one, if you wanted.” He sighed and turned back to Starshine, who was playing with some stacked light bulbs. “I- I guess you’ll want this for free?”

“Well of cou-” she began, before being cut off by Grapevine, who said, “If you wanted, I’m sure Starshine and I could help drum up some business for this place.”

“Hey!” Starshine protested, “Don’t I get a say in this?” Grapevine shook her head.

“No, but it will give us a chance to help out, and for Minty to talk to Sterling.”

Reversing her arguing, Starshine clopped her hooves together giddily and said, “Oh yes, Minty and Sterling can stay in here all alone.” I tried my best to stare the Pegasus down, but she just looked smug.

Sterling, seemingly none the wiser, was trying to say, “I don’t really care if anypony even comes in here...” Unfortunately for him, nopony seemed to be listening. Grapevine and Starshine were out the tent flap before he could say anything else. Sterling sighed wearily and turned to me.

“I-I suppose the camera is for you?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, it is,” I answered, startled. To my knowledge, Starshine hadn’t told him what happened back on Serenity. “How did you know?” He pointed to my cutie mark.

“That’s a GL1138 model lightbulb: they’re made only in Northern Equestria and only for unicorn cameras.” He seemed more comfortable talking in facts, and I was admittedly floored that he knew more about my cutie mark than I did. I always figured lightbulbs were mostly the same. “I figured with the accent and cutie mark...” I smiled and nodded politely, though my mind was still preoccupied on that he had actually noticed my cutie mark.

Sterling dragged the stool from where it had tipped over earlier and set it in front of his worktable before starting to gather supplies. “Y- You wouldn’t happen to, um, know anything about steam engines, would you?” I shook my head to the negative as I watched him work, bent over the table and with a screwdriver in his mouth. His voice muffled, he asked, “Do you k- know how to use a wrench?”

I amused myself by listening to Grapevine and Starshine trying to draw customers to Sterling’s shop while I tightened bolts on a pile of model steam engines. I had been assured that they weren’t the real thing, but they certainly felt heavy enough.

Sterling himself was currently grunting over his workstation, trying to shove too-large parts inside a too-small case. To me, it looked like he was doing his best to break my new camera before it was even built.

Outside, Grapevine was trying to coax ponies away from their bits, saying, “It doesn’t matter if your record player is only a year old, this new model has blast receptors; it gives you twice the sound!”

It was easy to make out Starshine’s voice, coming from just a little further away. Suffice to say, she took a different approach. “You think your steam engine is good enough? Think again! You’re not even worthy to use these engines, but we’re giving you the special privilege of buying one!” The pony she was shouting at apparently mumbled something.

Through the canvas I heard, “What do you mean your carriage doesn’t need an engine? If you ever want to pick up a stallion, you’re going to have to look like a real mare, mare.” The pitching went on for a good half hour, yielding exactly zero customers for each. As I moved on to patching up the older record players in the tent, Grapevine and Starshine devolved into bickering with each other.

“It’s your yelling that’s driving away the customers, you’re too loud!”

“Yeah, well, you’re not loud enough!”

“You’re too bossy!”

“You’re too smart!”

“Pegasus!”

“Unicorn!”

I was afraid I was going to have to break them up when some hapless pony showed up, and was immediately bombarded with sales pitches.

An hour later, I was done fixing up most everything in the shop. Strangely, Sterling insisted that the steam engine I had seen earlier wasn’t broken at all, so I tacked it up to him being one of the eccentric inventors the newspapers always raved about.

Bored, I walked over to where he sat with my camera, now starting to look more like something that could actually take pictures. Currently, he was vigorously polishing the case with an rag.

“Anything else I can do to help?” I asked, startling him. The cloth slipped from his hooves and onto the floor.

“Here, I’ll get it,” I said, reaching for it at the same time as him, our hooves briefly touching. I quickly yanked my hoof away.

“No, nothing that I can think of,” Sterling finally answered as restarted his work.

“So, what do you do around here?” I asked, trying to make conversation.

He didn’t look up, but answered, “I invent things; s- sometimes I sell them.”

“All by yourself?” I asked, idly playing with a small, metal gear. Sterling shrugged.

“Usually; Starshine comes by every once in a while so I can maintain her wings.” I got up and walked just a little bit closer to him.

“Must get lonely,” I oh-so-unsubtly observed. I was just glad Sterling’s cluelessness saved me from my big mouth. At any rate, he sighed and squirted some strange liquid onto a new oilcloth and began polishing the camera lens.

“It does, sometimes,” he said, then smiled. “N- Not that you would know, of course.”

“Huh?” I asked, dropping the shiny, new record I’d been holding, which luckily landed on a display pillow.

His ears drooped as he answered, “Oh, uh, sorry, are you and the unicorn keeping it a secret? I’m sorry- I won’t tell anypony, I swear.”

Wait, he thinks me and Grapevine are...oh no. “No, no, it’s not like that,” I began, stuttering nervously. Of course, now it sounded like I was denying the truth. “We’re just friends...”

Sterling went back to his work with a knowing nod. I groaned and walked over to the farthest corner of the shop to sulk.

Some time afterward, Sterling let out a deep sigh of relief and announced he was done. The declaration caught me by surprise, not least of which because I had nodded off to sleep on a pile of mattresses with fancy, steel springs.

“Already?” I asked. He excitedly shook his head, clumsiness replaced with pride. I trotted over to his worktable to get a view of the completed product, and I was impressed. It wasn’t nearly as glamorous as my magic camera, but was a step above the other earth pony models I had seen around Fillydelphia.

The case was an ebony metal, and was taller than it was long. A large lens occupied the front, and an even larger light bulb was positioned on a sort of crane on top.

“It’s based on a newer model I received from an associate in Stalliongrad,” he explained. “This camera can take three shots without needing to be reloaded, as opposed to one.”

I didn’t feel the need to mention the unicorn models could take fifteen. “Ca- Can I touch it?” I asked.

“Go ahead.” I pulled it closer to me to get a better look at it, and was happy to see my face on the cover of the case.

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you,” I said. He looked startled.

“Oh, well, it was nothing really...”

“Hey, your camera’s done!” Grapevine exclaimed as she and Starshine barged back into the tent. Thanks to her, I nearly dropped my brand new camera in surprise.

“Not too bad,” Starshine commented. Shaking her wings, she continued, “Not as good as your other handiwork, of course.”

I would have cared, but I was trying to fit a leather strap around the camera so it could hang around my neck. Sterling, still awkwardly proud, was explaining to an uninterested crowd of Grapevine and Starshine how the camera worked.

Finally managing to get the strap on, I slipped the camera over my head. The leather taught and the camera hanging at just the right height, it felt perfect.

We left Starshine back at the tent, where she said she needed some work done on her wings. She promised to get in touch later for more “lessons” once my wing had healed. Oh, and she’d winked when she mentioned having Sterling work on her. Of course she winked: I’d never be able to live that one down. Also, that wasn’t jealousy I felt in my stomach, I was obviously just hungry.

It didn’t help that Grapevine didn’t stray more than a hoof or two from my side the entire time, giving Sterling’s theory more and more credence. I almost wished that she would return to her grumpier self.

The journey back to Joya’s shop was a long one, even with the trolley ride; it was around midnight when I finally made it back. The final leg of the journey had been the worst, too, as Grapevine had to ride a different streetcar back to her house. She left me with a promise of more excitement tomorrow, and finally something to do with reporting.

The shop was dark when I entered, remembering Grapevine’s advice to get the key from under the welcome mat. The clothes hanging on racks and folded on shelves were as neat as ever, almost reminding me of home.

As my eyes adjusted, I saw that there was a light coming from beneath the door to Joya’s work room. Quietly, I made my way over to the door and slowly peaked inside. A single candle burned on a wooden desk next to the sewing machine, casting long shadow’s across Joya’s sleeping face.

She lay sprawled out across the tabletop, snoring softly. I tiphoofed over to her, but decided not to wake her. Under Joya’s prone form lay my dress, though I could hardly call it that anymore. She’d woven patterns on the dress inlaid with gold, including an outline of my cutie mark for each flank.

It was something that was best suited for the Grand Galloping Gala, and my heart caught a little when I realized that she must have not stopped working since we left yesterday. All this for me, a pony she barely even knew: it was enough to make me tear up a little.

Doing what I could for her, I managed to sling the sleeping donkey across my back, ignoring her weight. Slowly, steadily, I carried her up the stairs and into her room, much messier than I’d seen it last. I’d meant to lower her onto the bed and then go to my room, but the day’s built-up exhaustion finally hit me, and I collapsed onto the bed, donkey and all. By the time my head hit the sheets, I was asleep.

Episode 1: The Meeting

When you hear somepony knocking rapidly at the door, it’s always a gamble if you choose to answer it. It might be a policepony to ask you about outstanding parking tickets, a salesmare who just wants to assault you with a living version of annoying newspaper ads, or sometimes it’s just somepony who’s plain old crazy. Standing on Joya’s front step was a smiling Grapevine holding up a butler’s uniform.

“So the third one, then,” I said, shutting the door. She got her proverbial hoof in the door by putting her actual leg in the in the path of the swinging door.

“You said you wanted to do some real investigative reporting,” she said, eyebrows rising and falling.

“I don’t seem to recall,” I began, but was pushed back into the house/store by a determined Grapevine.

“Look, just put the uniform on, we need to hurry,” she said. The “uniform” was little more than a tuxedo vest with sleeves for my fore hooves.

“Fine, fine,” I muttered, walking to the changing rooms at the back of Joya’s store. I admit, I was grumpy: a cold shower and burnt breakfast can do that to a pony. I sighed. At least I’d been able to re-straighten my coat and mane, though my tail refused to do anything but flow everywhere, as usual.

I carefully peeked through the door to the small, carpeted changing room to make sure no one was watching before getting dressed. The tuxedo vest was itchy, and a little tight around the waist, but I guessed it would be alright. At least it felt good to be wearing something again.

“It’s a little snug around the middle,” I said as I walked into the main room. Joya, hyperactive as ever, was trying to put out new designs for the Summer Sun Celebration.

“So it is,” Grapevine observed.

Was she blushing? I pushed the thought away. I was still just feeling sour about Sterling’s “conclusion” about Grapevine and I. In my absence, she had changed into a gray-blue deliverypony’s uniform; a very loose, comfortable-looking uniform in contrast to my own.

Trotting between clothes racks to the front register, I asked, “Is there any reason I’m wearing the tux?” Grapevine stood at the front counter, pen floating in a magical cloud next to her, marking up prices on Joya’s older lines.

She looked me up and down and replied, “Because it would look suspicious if two butlers walked in at the same time.”

“Because you’re the only pony she knows that doesn’t look like she sleeps on the street,” Joya clarified, calling from her perch on top of a large display cabinet. Grapevine huffed and rolled her eyes before setting the pen down.

“Let’s go,” she said.

I followed her out the store, and told Joya, “I’ll try to be back tonight.”

“Just try not to break anything else!” Joya yelled back, waving.

Walking toward Fillydelphia City Hall up Broad Street at noon was like swimming through a tsunami. Businessmares, street vendors, and tourists filled the sidewalks like massive waves, and caught anypony foolish enough to go the opposite direction in their wake. At least I didn’t have to worry about looking out of place anymore; strangers didn’t seem to give anypony besides themselves any attention.

“Can you tell me exactly why we have to sneak into this meeting or whatever?” I asked, squeezing around a scruffy-looking stallion pushing a shopping cart. “It’s not like we’re spies.” Whereas I tried to move around and dodge the oncoming ponies in my way, Grapevine chose to keep to a single path: forcing everypony to move around her.

When I caught up to her, she replied, “The Summer Sun Celebration meeting is always off-limits to the press.” She smirked. “So we’re going to have to cheat a little.” I struggled to keep up with her through the street; not helped by the midday sun beating down on me and my wool tuxedo.

“Isn’t that, you know, wrong?” I asked, panting. She chuckled and turned around to look at me.

“From a certain point of view,” she said.

The city hall was what Canterlot would have been if it was designed by earth ponies. Fillydelphia was renowned for being an earth pony city, so I assumed I wasn’t far from the mark. A tall, concrete spire rose up from a massive stone base, itself several stories tall. We stood in front of the flat, undecorated facade and looked around like two foals on their first day of primary school.

“Hey, you two, you coming or what?” a voice called out to us, breaking the stupor. It belonged to a harsh, aged mare, her uniform a flashy version of mine. We trotted over to where she stood: the top of a flight of marble stairs, her back to a massive set of wooden doors. “You’re late,” she said sourly.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered, trying to keep a control on myself. Since I was a foal, I had always been terrible at disguising myself; nopony had ever been fooled by my Nightmare Night costume. Instead of accusing us of spying or seeing right through our flimsy facades, the silver-maned mare opened the door and reprimanded us for taking up her time.

“Alright, time to ditch,” Grapevine announced as soon as we were out of earshot. The interior was ornate in an earth-pony way; which was to say lots of high ceilings, chandeliers, and tile. I admit to being a little intimidated, walking across the big rugs under the watchful, stony gaze of Fillydelphia’s past mayors; though I don’t admit to my knees knocking so loudly Grapevine had to tell me to be quiet.

“Do you even know we’re going?” I whispered. We took a right turn in the front atrium, our hooves clacking on the tile.

“Like the fall of my fetlock,” she whispered back as she opened a new door. Walking into the next room was like stepping into a different world. White-clothed tables were piled high with serving trays, and every few seconds a pony dressed identically to me would swoop in and carry one off through a set of double doors at the far end of the room. Cooks and supervisors bustled through the hastily-constructed kitchen, sweat pouring from their brows.

“Oh thank Celestia you’re here!” a tuxedo-clad stallion cried as we walked in. He galloped up to me and threw a clean apron to my feet. “They moved the meeting at the last minute to the Caucus Room, and we’re having a nightmare of a time trying to serve all the delegates...” he carried on, not looking my direction anymore. “Oh, if only the cakes would arrive,” he said as he cleared a path back to the serving table. I sat back, stunned.

“You, get those hay fries in there at once!” a nearby chef snapped at me, breaking through my pause.

“But I’m not...” I began, looking back at Grapevine for support. The only thing behind me was a wooden door slowly swinging shut.

“Now!” the white-coated stallion yelled. I got my hooves moving and ran over to the comically-large tray, struggling to balance it on my nose.

“No mother, only stallions take etiquette lessons; what would I ever need those for?” I muttered under my breath as I somehow made it out of the room and into a nearby hallway. No luck slipping away, though; the causeway was lined by waiting, well, waiters. The tray I was carrying kept wavering worryingly, and for a minute-long second, I thought I had almost dropped it.

“Hey!” a fellow server cried, trotting up to me. A sense of dread swept through me, and I already started making an excuse.

Well, no, you see I just like wearing tuxedos everywhere I go, and was a big mix up...

My fears were assuaged when the mare reached over fastened my apron. “You want to look your best for the delegates,” she said with a smile. I returned the gesture, but it quickly faded when I got a good luck at her. The “server” I was talking to was a very distinctive, light-red mare.

“You,” she whispered, her eyes wide in shock, but her face in the same mean sneer she had shown in the bar on my first day in Fillydelphia. “You’re that greenhorn,” she growled.

“And you’re that bit-” I began, but was cut off.

“It’s against the rules for the press to be in here,” she sneered in a sing-song voice.

“And you’re just in here to serve tables?” I shot back. If looks could kill...I’d probably be in a coma; she honestly looked like she thought I was going to turn her in.

“Just stay out of my way,” she said. She bumped my shoulder and moved on, while I managed to not drop the sterling-silver tray balanced precariously on my nose. I gave a quick thanks to Luna and her lucky stars that my wings let me keep my balance as I delved further into the City Hall.

The Caucus Room held little more than a giant, polished table with chairs all around it. A couple marble busts looked down on the gathered delegates, and it was easy to tell who was whom. The scruffy, worn-looking mares and stallions were there to represent the unions, and the corporations had sent their best-dressed, foal-facediest representatives that they could find. At the head of the table sat the mayor, and the richest mare in the city, herself, Grace Pullmare.

A sigh of relief escaped my mouth when nopony so much as glanced my way when I walked through the wooden double doors.

“You can’t just start charging for the festival! Not only is it unfair, but it goes against tradition,” an age-worn mare shouted; her indigo flank bore the mark of a hammer and anvil.

“That may be so,” Ms. Pullmare began, “But a Summer Sun Celebration hosted by Princess Celestia herself is not a tradition.” She huffed, having to squint her eyes from atop her high-and-mighty pedestal. “It goes without saying that we can’t let the common ruffians into such a historic event.”

“But at 50 bits per ticket?” another union representative questioned, this one an orange stallion with three green apples on his flank.

“A small price to pay for the event we put on,” Ms. Pullmare said dismissively. Maybe it was something in her eyes, or a slight flicker of her horn, but that vile mare pulled everpony’s attention toward her. I’d grown up with a healthy distrust for anypony who made more than what my town was worth, and even I couldn’t help but gaze into those big, blue, crazy-looking eyes.

“But we haven’t done anything,” the indigo mare, apparently the union reps’s leader, said. “You and your committee are the only ones who have done anything to organize this event, and the unions haven’t had a part in anything.” Like a trance broken, the old delegates around the table returned to a combination of shouting and making rash accusations about each others’s loyalties. Bedlam almost ensued when one of the reps challenged a glorified accountant to a brawl. The encouraging shouting was only ended by a direct, Mayoral intervention.

Banging the judge’s gavel with one hoof, Ms. Pullmare brought the room to order and, frighteningly, turned right toward me.

“Well, Violet Mallet,” she sneered, “It looks like your group’s h’orderves are here.” I was desperately hoping at that moment that Grapevine would burst in, or I would have a heart attack, or, while I was thinking about it, Celestia herself would come down from on high and grant me a thousand wishes; just anything to take the eyes of three dozen ponies off of me. All smiles, I politely shoved the food tray off my head and sent it skidding across the polished table towards Violet Mallet.

Opened, the simple dish of deep-fried hay covered in salt looked fallow next to the opulent salads in front of Ms. Pullmare and company. The silver-coated mayor didn’t even try to hide her contempt when the union reps grabbed for the food. My heart’s rhythm had returned to normal with the return of disinterest towards me. Trying to make myself scarce, I crept along the edge of the room, heading toward the door, and then hopefully to a bathroom to get out of the stupid, scratchy vest.

It was that time that Grapevine chose to finally intervene, knocking my heart back out of sync. Without a care for subtlety, she ambled up to the windows around the Caucus Rooms and pretended to clean them, her eyes locking onto mine. I gestured toward the door, and she adamantly shook her head no. She pantomimed writing and thinking: I was supposed to stay there and study what was being heard, of course.

I was trying to signal that if she wanted to so badly then she could do it herself when a lime-green mare in a suit asked if I needed to use the little mare’s room. When I answered that I didn’t, she shoved an empty food platter at me, ordering me to fetch more.

A brief trip back to the kitchen, and I was emerging into an entirely different world, again. If Fillydelphia was a zoo, then the city hall’s Caucus Room was the reptile house, and I’d just brought them a platter of alcohol. I made myself scarce and tucked into a corner near the bust of Mayor Hollytree, watching the spectacle before me. If there was one thing the two parties had in common, it was their dedication to defending their side of the argument. A few sharp strikes of the gavel brought the crowd to a silence as the wine was passed around.

“You all know the city’s coffers aren’t as bursting as they used to be,” Ms. Pullmare continued once drinks were served. “Why not let the corporations hoof the bill, and we use the taxes for the city?” Sharp tones of agreement were heard from the side with the suits and spectacles. I noticed a significantly larger number of the officefillies were unicorns than on the union side. From the anger I had seen poured on their kind by the earth ponies at the table, I remembered why I kept my wings tucked away so much of the time.

“What, does ‘the city’ need another skyscraper, or is Broad Street getting too narrow again?” Violet Mallet shot back. She placed her hooves on the table and rose in her chair to face above the gathered delegates. “The Summer Sun Celebration is a tradition, and so is cooperation between the unions and the corporations; surely we can work something out.” She turned and glared right into Ms. Pullmare’s eyes. “Nopony ever had any trouble remembering that until you took office, Ms. Mayor.”

“Nonsense,” the mayor rebuffed casually, through the beginnings of sweat were formed on her brow, “I only want what’s best for my city, our city.” Addressing the entire table, she said, “A Celebration to impress our great Princess is what we all strive for, isn’t it?” In private, I had heard the earth ponies casually dismissing Celestia and her sister, but if any of the delegates did, none dared to do so in public. This time, the nodding heads weren’t all from the prim and proper side.

Ms. Pullmare sat down as the arguments began again, a satisfied smile on her voice. It looked like Violet Mallet was doing her best to contain herself from giving the mayor what she had coming. One of the corporate delegates raised an empty glass, reminding me that I was supposed to be doing a job.

“Coming,” I said, hastily grabbing a wine jug with my mouth. The mare didn’t look at me as I arrived at her side; which was a good thing, because I almost dropped the bottle when I saw who she was. Marshmallow Bauble slumped forward in her chair, her head resting boredly on one hoof. She turned around, glass in hand. Her eyes widened briefly before returning to normal; she shook the wine glass toward the bottle.

I poured her drink, feeling like somepony had bucked me in the gut. For some reason, I thought she’d recognize me, though we’d only met for ten minutes a few days ago. Foolish thinking on my part.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling sweetly. I moved on around the table, serving the gathered ponies. The meeting was still going, but it was really only a formality: the major arguments were long since past and anything now was just going to be stalemate. Grace Pullmare herself looked positively bored, her eyes fluttering open and closed. I moved back toward one of the room’s windows, but Grapevine was gone. I hoped she hadn’t gotten herself into more trouble; the last thing I needed at that time was a trip to the city jail.

Ms. Pullmare announced that she was going to take a private recess from the meeting, and the others seemed happy to let her leave. Just having the Fillydelphia Mayor in the room was enough to turn all attention toward her; I imagine the junior officials wanted their own shots at the spotlight.

Conveniently, the union reps had finished off the platter of hay fries, so I excused myself out the door, hot on the heels of the mayor, or so I thought. By the time I ditched the heavy, silver tray, she was gone.

Grumbling to myself the whole time, I wandered around in search of a bathroom. The place was definitely bigger on the inside, I decided after spending ten minutes getting lost further and further into the city hall. There was plenty to look at, at least: whoever built this place hadn’t spared any expense on the interior design. The many paintings and pottery adorned throughout the building turned my attention gradually from finding...something; I couldn’t remember what.

I was stopped on my quest by being dragged roughly into a small hallway. My instinctive scream was cut off by a violet hoof over my mouth.

“Shh, stop squirming” Grapevine said. She removed her hoof and I spat out a few tiny hairs.

“Was that really necessary?” I hissed. She shrugged and wiped her leg off on her maintenance outfit. “What are you doing here anyways?" I asked.

“Looking for Pullmare’s office, duh,” she said. “Why, were you doing something else?”

“What, no, of course not,” I stammered. Had I forgotten about looking for her? No, just a little distracted, I assured myself.

“Actually,” Grapevine said, “Her office should be close.”

“How can you tell?” I questioned, suspicious. With a spark of her horn, a sign behind me that said, “Mayor’s Office,” lit up; it had an arrow pointing to the left. “I knew that,” I said. She led me down twisting hallways until we came to a rather large door. She pushed it open before I could protest and plunged inside.

Our dumb luck hadn’t run out yet, and the room was empty.

“I thought we were looking for Ms. Pullmare,” I whispered, still afraid of being heard by somepony.

“And do what, ask her if she has any secrets she has? Maybe get her to tell us the real reason she’s accepting the union tax money without telling anypony?” Grapevine laughed when she saw my expression. “You don't think I got this job because of my good looks do you?"

She whistled a three-note tune as she started to root through the mayor's big desk in the middle of the room. I tried to keep myself from looking at the doorway every three seconds to see if somepony was coming. Drawer after drawer was opened, flipped upside down, then put back in place; all with apparently no avail.

“Ugh, nothing,” Grapevine mumbled as the final desk in the room proved as unfruitful as the last. She slammed the drawer shut.

“Is that it?” I asked.

She nodded and plopped down on her rear. “Back to square one," she said. I walked over to where she sat, shoving papers back into desks.

“It sounds like you already know what she's doing,” I said. “Why do you need more?”

“What's she doing isn't technically illegal; it's not even much of a story," Grapevine said, sighing. “Besides, without anything else to go on, her lawyers could sue the paper.” I tried to smile for her, but she turned away.

I considered trying to hug Grapevine when my worst fears came true- voices could be heard outside in the hall. I turned to Grapevine, who was already scrambling toward a bookcase in the corner; she'd heard it too. I looked every which way, but didn't see anywhere that yelled, “Hiding place.” Of course, the richest mare in Fillydelphia had to have the most boring and plain office in the entire city. The voices grew closer and the doors started to open. No other choice, I dove beneath the Mayor's desk.

The doors creaked open and two sets of hooves walked across the room. One set stopped in front of the desk, and the other eased into the creaking leather chair only a hoof or two from my face. I made myself as small as I could in the crawlspace beneath the desk, trying my best to keep out of reach.

Though panic gripped my heart, my brain acknowledged that I, a lowly daughter of Germane immigrants, was a short distance away from one of Equestria's richest mares's...special bits.

Crossing her legs, she said, "I would like to thank you for joining me, Ms. Peece."

"No, no, it is my pleasure, Madame Pullmare," a familiar voice answered. My blood boiled when I heard her voice: of course it was the same mare from earlier, the same as at the bar. I should've known something was up from the start; there was no way somepony like her came up with the same plan as Grapevine.

"What do you have to report?" the Mayor asked.

"Nothing important," Peece said, then her voice soured. "Though that Grapevine and her new photographer were seen sneaking around."

"Yes, that reporter you told me about," Ms. Pullmare said. "She's not a threat; she couldn't report her way out of a paper bag."

"But-" Peece began, but sharply was cut off.

"But nothing, Ms. Orange Pinyin Peece, we have to focus on the real threat: Violet Mallet." Ms. Pullmare growled and leaned back in her chair. "She knows something’s going on, and won't stop until she gets to the bottom of it. Worse, those union heathens follow her every command, and hang onto every word; if she turns against me, so will they."

No argument from Peece, and certainly not from me.

"Do you need her to be...'dealt' with," the mayor’s stooge asked. Ms. Pullmare laughed like a friend had told her a bad joke.

"No, I'll take care of her myself." She paused and leaned forward in her chair, and I could hear her hooves rest atop the desk. I had to tuck myself into the right corner to keep away from her prying legs. "There is one thing I need you to do, however. Go up to Serenity and make sure our contact within the Corps is still with us; it is imperative the skies be clear where we want them on the night of the Summer Sun Celebration.”

"Yes ma'am," Orange Peece answered. My stomach sank. I didn't want to believe it, but could Lightning Sprint really be a traitor? I wanted to smack myself for thinking it, but it made sense: no wonder she had gotten to be commander of the Weather Corps so quickly. My head was reeling so much that I couldn't control myself when I coughed.

"Did you hear that?" Ms. Pullmare said, sitting up suddenly.

"What?" Peece asked.

"It sounded like...somepony coughing." The Mayor got out of her chair and stood up. "It almost sounded like it came from under here..." she said, getting close to my hiding place. I cringed; the jig was up.

Just before she could check, a loud banging noise rang out from outside the room. "Now I know I heard that," Peece said. The two of them trotted out the door for a brief moment, giving me a much-needed respite. I peeked my head out of the crawlspace, looking for Grapevine. I didn't see her until I noticed one of the bookshelves was swinging open.

Grapevine stood in the entrance to a dark tunnel, hoof on a lever. Her horn was still glowing, presumably controlling whatever had made a noise outside. "Come on," she hissed. I looked back at the office door and took my chances, galloping to the passageway. I made it just in time for the returning Mayor and stooge to see the bookshelf closing, but couldn't spot either me or Grapevine personally.

"I knew somepony was in here!" she shouted. "After them!"

Grapevine and I galloped down the stone passageway, taking hairpin turns around corners into more hallways. Where they led, I didn't know.

"Where are we going?" I shouted as we took yet another corner.

"Just follow me!" Grapevine yelled back. I could hear hoofsteps getting closer behind us, and tried to increase my speed. With my shoulders and flanks burning, we finally came to a door, and promptly barreled through.

I blinked my eyes in the harsh, contrasting light of the room we were in. Looking around, we were on the second floor of a large library. A few ponies milled about, but mostly it was deserted.

"Great, now they'll have no problem finding us," I said.

"Not if I know a certain somepony couldn't resist coming in here," Grapevine replied. She galloped toward a stack of bookshelves on the first floor, flying down the stairs. I followed her as closely as I could. We heard the secret door slam open behind us as two very angry mares came through. From the railing above, they spotted us.

"Stop!" Mayor Pullmare cried. Reflexively, I froze in my tracks. We were caught. Galloping up to us, I had never seen somepony as angry as Orange Peece was.

"What are you doing here?" she growled.

Marshmallow stepped out from behind a nearby bookcase, Grapevine in tow. "Ms. Grapevine and her associate were just helping me locate a very rare book," she explained.

"Daring Do and the Keepers of the Philosopher's Stone?" Ms. Pullmare asked, reading the cover of the only book Marshmallow had in her saddlebag.

"It's a collector's item," she replied with a straight face.

"Well," the Mayor said, "I will still need your two...cohorts to come with me; I must speak with them in private."

Marshmallow shook her head. "No, you will not. We were just leaving."

"But-" Ms. Pullmare protested, but was met with a death glare by our librarian friend.

"Is a simple mayor trying to defy the orders of a Princess?" she intoned. Mayor Pullmare and Peece grew very silent, and only stared menacingly at us as we walked out.

"That was amazing!" I exclaimed once we were out of earshot. Marshmallow blushed. "How did you know she was going to be in there?" I asked Grapevine.

"Educated guess," she answered. She had been leading us back from the library to, presumably, the front entrance. I didn't know how she did it; to me every other hallway looked exactly the same. Even all the paintings and sculptures started to blend together after a while.

"Well, then, how did you know about the secret passageway anyways?" I asked. Grapevine laughed.

"They should really put a lock on the records door: somepony might want to take a nice, long look at the blueprints." Marshmallow and I both giggled a little.

We emerged into the front lobby of the city hall, and a few delegates were still standing around. The corporate types nodded to her. The union representatives ignored her, but looked curiously at Grapevine and I. I realized Grapevine and I still had our disguises on; it must have been quite a sight.

A stallion in a chauffeur's uniform pulled a carriage up to us when we got to the outside sidewalk. "Hop in," Marshmallow said sweetly. The interior was opulent in the only way unicorns knew how; lots and lots of pretty stuff.

"Where to?" Marshmallow asked once we had taken our seats.

"Oh you don't have to-" I started, but she cut me off.

"I only take this thing out once a year, you know," Marshmallow said.

"Then do you mind swinging by the Chronicler?" Grapevine asked. Marshmallow told the driver the address and he set off with a grunt. Grapevine seemed to be having trouble adjusting to the plushness of the seats, but I had no such hindrances. I sank into the comforting cloth with a contented sigh.

"Sorry about in the conference," Marshmallow said once we were on our way. "Grapevine is...known for getting into the meeting every year, and I didn't want to blow your or her cover."

"You didn't even know where I was this year," Grapevine sniffed. Marshmallow laughed.

"Maintenance worker washing the windows for the, what, 3rd time?" Grapevine rolled her eyes. I looked outside, through the coal smoke of the steamcarriages, and was amazed to see that it looked like it was only sometime around noon. Had we only been in there for an hour or so? It felt much longer.

“So what now?” Marshmallow asked. I shrugged.

It was Grapevine who answered, “I’m going to try and see if Ornate will let us get this story out.” She sighed. “The only problem is our lack of facts; he hates editorials, and won’t let this story through if we don’t have at least something to back it up.”

Marshmallow thought for a moment, then said, “You could interview me...if you wanted to.”

“No, no, you don’t have to,” Grapevine replied quickly. I was puzzled; it seemed like a pretty good deal to me. Not to mention, word from a Princess was probably worth more than interviews from a hundred ponies.

“Oh, that’s fine, it would probably cause trouble anyways,” Marshmallow said quietly, eyes fixed on the floor of the carriage. Grapevine looked sad, but said nothing. As for myself, I watched as we crossed the Scullyhoof River back into West Fillydelphia and headed for the newspaper office.

"Rubbish and superstitions!" Ornate Vision exclaimed as he threw Grapevine's notes down on the table. The meeting was going about as well as we had hoped. "We need facts, not guesswork!" Grapvine stood indignantly against our excitable boss while I bravely backed her up from the corner. We were in his corner office, separated from the newsroom by only a thin layer of glass and wood.

"Look, with just the word of you and photographer, it's not enough for something on Page D, let alone a headline," Ornate explained.

"What about Marshmallow?" I asked. She'd dropped us off a few minutes earlier and said her goodbyes, as well as promising to help in any way she could. I hoped she knew what she was getting into.

"An interview with Fillydelphia's infamous, exiled Princess?" Ornate huffed. "Give me a break."

"Hey, don't talk about her like that," Grapevine said.

"Exile?" I asked at the same time. Grapevine turned to answer me, but Ornate clopped a hoof on the table.

"Enough!" he shouted. We both shut our traps as fast as we could. "I'm going to be straight with the two of you," he said. "I know it's not easy working with a new partner, but if you want the front page you're going to need a real story. Get me some proof: a solid interview, some hoof-written notes, something." He turned to me. "And you, little missy, get me a picture for Celestia's sake! What do you think I’m paying you for?”

I tried to back further into the corner, my face turning red. It was only now I remembered my camera was safely tucked away inside Grapevine's saddlebag, still unused.

Grapevine snorted. "Pay? Since when have you paid us?" Ornate turned back to her.

"I will pay you when I have a story that's worthy of the front page! Don't forget, this is a trial period; if you don't start giving me good stories again, you're off the paper, by order of the CEO." He kicked open the door. "Now get out, we have a Sunday edition to finish by tomorrow, and you're not in it." We left unceremoniously, dragging our feet the whole way.

I kicked a pebble off the sidewalk and it went, bouncing, into the street. We were standing outside the office, nothing better to do.

"So what now?" I asked.

"Hold on, I'm thinking," Grapevine said. She tapped her head several times before raising a hoof. "What about her house?"

"You want us to infiltrate the Pullmare Mansion, the most heavily-fortified home outside of Canterlot?" I asked.

"You're right, she probably wouldn't keep anything good there anyways." Grapevine mused while I kept down the urge to slap myself in the face. "I got it!" she said suddenly. "Her office over at the Pullmare Factory; there's bound to be something there!"

I snorted. "Okay, even if there is, how are we going to get in?"

"Leave that to me," Grapevine said. She stood up and reached out to hail a cab. "Do you feel like a drink?" she asked.

Episode 1: Caught

The bar was just as dingy as the last time we had visited, if a little more empty. It was just past the lunch hour, so only the drunks and castoffs were left; it was our kind of place.

Grapevine passed me a few bits and ordered, "Get me some rum." I grumbled a little, but complied with the request. The bartender eyed me with concern while I ordered, his eyes flicking to the shotgun behind the counter a couple times. Apparently, I had already made a little reputation for myself. At least Peece wasn't here this time, or things could have really gotten messy.

My throat was dry, but alcohol didn't seem very appealing at only an hour past noon, so I only got a drink for Grapevine. Walking back to the table, I saw that Grapevine had already found somepony to talk to.

"Minty, you remember Girdy, don't you?" she asked as I walked up. I nodded cordially to the gunmetal-gray mare. More than a few empty glasses were in front of the steelworker.

"Girdy here was recently classified as expendable by the Pullmare Company," Grapevine explained.

Girdy slammed at hoof down on the table, almost tipping over Grapevine's rum. "Those motherbuckers fired off my entire crew!" she slurred. "We were the best, and now we have to compete with those Germanes and Zebras for new jobs!"

Grapevine placed a comforting hoof on the drunk mare's shoulder. "I was just about to tell her how she can get revenge about her old boss," she said to me.

Girdy's head shot up at the mention of revenge. "You can help me get back at Buckmare?" she asked.

"Why sure," Grapevine said. "But it's actually your help that we're going to need."

Girdy stopped slumping across the table and sat up. "My help? How can I do anything?"

"Well," Grapevine said, "You still have your shift key, right?"

"Yes..." Girdy unsteadily replied.

"And they haven't changed the locks yet, right?" Grapevine continued. Girdy, in her stupor, couldn't see where the violet reporter was going, but I certainly could.

"We're going inside!" I exclaimed, a little too loudly.

Grapevine winced. "Yes, Minty, that's exactly what we're going to do."

"Oh hay yes," Girdy said uproariously. "This'll be easier than...well, something that's really easy!"

"So you'll tell us how to get in?" Grapevine asked.

Girdy nodded, but looked mournfully at the empty pitchers in front of her. "Could I get another drink first?"

A couple drinks later, and she would've given us the factory keys if we were complete strangers. As it was, Grapevine and I walked into the Pullmare Company's main facility virtually unopposed. The half-asleep guard didn't question us when we unlocked the gated worker's entrance and stepped into the main facility.

Unlike some of the more refutable factory owners, Grace Pullmare liked to keep everything about her employees under control. For the workers who were new to the country or just plain poor, their only option was to live on the factory site in small housing units, and were paid in script that could only be exchanged in on-site businesses. Girdy and her crew had been the lucky skilled labor who averted the system.

Of course, the only reason I knew anything about the subject was Grapevine deciding to give me an earful while we snuck around to one of the laundry houses.

"...and all the stores make sure to keep everypony in debt," she was saying. Continuing her rant, Grapevine casually walked up to the front door of the laundry hut and knocked.

"What do you want?" a grumpy mare answered, peering through a flap in the door.

"We need new uniforms," Grapevine said. She began to ramble, "We lost ours when we were searching for my cat, Sheila, who was born not 3 months ago, and whose poor, dear mother-“

The pony equinning the laundry house shut the flap and came back with two crisp uniforms as quickly as possible. She shoved them through a slot near the bottom of the door without a word.

"Thank you kindly," Grapevine said, smiling sweetly.

We put on our uniforms in some bushes.

“Do you mind?” I asked when Grapevine decided to change right next to me.

“Stop being such a baby,” Grapevine whispered.

The pale-blue outfit draped over me like a burlap sack, but it would do. “Don’t we need employee badges to get into the factory?” I asked.

“Badges?” she began, “We don’t need no-,” she paused and looked at the trio of burly guards in front of the brick warehouse. “On second thought, maybe we do.”

We walked openly through the dusty lot surrounding the Pullmare factory, looking among the tattered employee huts for one that looked unoccupied. Grapevine spotted one such house off in the corner of the fenced-in lot.

We galloped over and knocked on the door. No answer.

Tenderly, Grapevine pushed open the termite-infested door to reveal a dark interior. Electricity was rare in that part of West Fillydelphia, and employee housing was last on the list for most of the companies. The inside of the housing unit was simple: two cots in separate corners, a simple kitchen, and a potbellied coal stove. The stove’s chimney snaked through the room, letting out hisses of steam from holes in the pipes, before exiting through the roof.

“Alright, let’s just grab a couple badges and go,” Grapevine whispered.

“Why are we whispering?” I asked, though my voice, too, was kept low. She ignored me and walked over to a battered wardrobe, pushing open the creaking door. I looked hungrily at the meager kitchen; a couple burnt pieces of toast weren’t nearly enough to tide over anypony for a full day, much less a Pegasus.

I weighed the options of leaving an IOU on the counter when a timid voice cried out from behind me, “P-Please take whatever you want, just don’t hurt me!” I thought that maybe if I didn’t turn around, I could pretend I hadn’t heard anything; for all anypony knew, I could be deaf. Even better, maybe I was deaf and mute, so I couldn’t respond, either.

“Oh, no, no, it’s nothing like that,” Grapevine said quickly. I sighed and turned around. The mare who’d spoken was lying on one of the dirty cots; we hadn’t seen her because her coat blended in with the bedding. She slowly raised herself to laying on one knee, and coughed; her young face looked sickly.

When she spoke, it was not quite what I was expecting. “Please don’t tell the overmares I’m here,” she said, her eyes full of desperation. “I-I lost my job, but I don’t have anywhere else to go, and if it wasn’t for Iron Trolley letting me stay here...”

“Don’t worry, we’re not here to hurt you,” Grapevine assured her.

“Promise you won’t tell,” the brown-maned mare pleaded.

“We promise,” I said.

She visibly grew less tense and straightened up further from her position on the bed. “Who are you?” she asked slowly.

“Friends,” Grapevine said.

“We’re here to stop Ms. Pullmare,” I explained. That certainly caught the ex-steel worker’s interest, but elicited a sharp look from Grapevine that practically screamed, “Nice job blowing our cover!” I shrugged.

“Well, uh, how can I help?” the now less-timid mare asked, scrambling out of bed.

“Well, Ms...,” Grapevine began.

“Brassity,” she offered.

“Right...Ms. Brassity,” Grapevine continued. “We could both really use an employee badge.”

“You know, if you’re not using one or anything,” I said.

Brassity sighed and shook her head. “Not anymore.” She swung herself out of the bed and reached into a nearby dresser drawer. Inside, there had to have been at least 10 badges. “It’s 8 bits to buy a replacement if you forgot your badge; it’s just easier to make copies,” Brassity explained.

She brought out two of them, and gave them to us. Brassity was shorter than both of us, so the badges on their lanyards rode a little high against our fronts, but looked official enough.

“Thanks so much,” Grapevine said once we were done putting them on.

“Hey, anything to get back at Pullmare,” Brassity said with a weak smile. “Just make sure the guards don’t get too good of a look at you; the badges still have my name on them.”

“Will do,” Grapevine said. We turned and showed ourselves to the door.

I waited until Grapevine left and said, “If there’s anything we can do to help after this...just let me know.” I hastily wrote the Chronicler address on a stray piece of paper and hoofed it to her.

Brassity’s eyes widened. “T-Thank you,” she said. I left her looking at the ground, and met Grapevine outside.

“You’re a big softie, you know that, right?” she said.

I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”

The strong, serious-looking facade the guards put up melted under the view of official employee badges, and we were let into the factory without a problem. We followed a group of similarly-dressed ponies through a side door and into some sort of employee lounge. The room stank of sweat and oil, and the walls were covered in grime. None of the ponies milling around gave us a second look as we made our way to a big set of double doors marked, “Factory Floor.”

The mares in the room looked just as ragged as Brassity had, and their uniforms looked tattered to the point of hanging on by individual stitches.

“One problem at a time, Minty,” Grapevine whispered as she turned around to face me and the look on my face. “Now, can I trust you to be a big mare and not ruin our cover while I look around for a map?” I nodded, and she smiled. “Good, be back in a few.”

I was left in the middle of the room as she hurried through a side door, and I could hear her hooves clopping down a hallway. That left me, alone, in a room filled with unfamiliar earth ponies. Great.

“You’re new here,” a voice said. I turned around, but didn’t see anypony. “Down here,” it said. Standing in front of me, barely reaching my chest, was a young, cyan mare.

“Uh, yeah, this is my first day,” I lied. “How can you tell?”

She wiped off a grease-stained hoof on my uniform. "You don’t have many of those,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Yes...that’s right,” I offered. I waited to see if she would move; she didn’t.

“Where are you working?” she asked.

“Oh, over in the, you know, on the main line, place, thing,” I said.

The maroon-maned pony before me raised her eyebrow. “You don’t look like a line worker.”

“Well, uh, neither do you,” I said quickly. A flicker of a smile crossed her face. Before we could say anything more, a large stallion poked his head in and barked that break time was over. Dutifully, the ponies around the room filed out of the break room and back onto the factory floor.

“You coming, Pegasus?” the short mare asked.

I looked back at the door Grapevine had went through, but there was no telling if she would be back soon. “Uh, right,” I said, jogging to catch up with her. “The name’s Minty, by the way.”

“I don’t remember asking,” she said. Her voice softened and she offered a hoof. “Herald.” We bumped hooves and walked out onto the factory floor.

The main floor of the Pullmare Factory wasn’t anything like I had imagined; it was worse. Conveyor belts ran from wall to wall in the massive room, and ponies were packed on each side of them. Hunks of metal and precisely-cut parts rolled down the lines, shaped and molded by the mares working them. The room was oppressively hot, and stank of ozone.

Herald led me to the end of one of the lines, and instructed me that we were to pick random parts coming down the conveyor belt for quality. Small nuts and bolts were carried down the belt toward us, and Herald deftly grabbed part after part for inspection.

Mistaking my glances around the factory floor for exits as nervousness, she said, “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. You remind me of myself on my first day, and I can tell we're a lot alike.”

“How exactly are we alike?” I asked, picking up a bolt with a crack down the center.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” she said, “Neither of us exactly fit in.” I looked around and saw that our end of the line was deserted but for the two of us. “We’re outcasts; I haven’t grown since I got my cutie mark, and you’re a Germane Pegasus.”

I looked around quickly. “Is it really that noticeable?”

Herald laughed. “You walk like you’re about to take flight at any second, and your accent is thick enough to cut with a knife.” I sighed and shuffled my hooves on the conveyor belt, causing some machine parts to shift and tumble.

The conveyor belt began to speed up, and I could barely keep up with Herald’s pace. “You sure you’ve done this before?” she asked. “I know Pullmare hasn’t hired greenhorns in a while.”

Was that suspicion in her voice: did she know? I couldn’t tell. “Oh, well, I’m just a little rusty,” I said. I chuckled a little in hopes she would think I was joking. At least I didn’t have to disguise my heavy breathing; the humid air on the main floor kept everypony taking huge, gulping breaths.

We worked for a few more minutes in silence. I was still trying to work up what to say next when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I tensed and turned around, ready for whoever had managed to see my disguise.

“You, worker, come with me,” a deep voice said. I turned around, wincing, only to behold...Grapevine. She’d managed to change into an overseer’s uniform, and even wore the official cap low over her eyes.

“Oh, I get it now,” Herald said.

“No, no, this isn’t what it looks like,” I stammered, trying to explain myself.

Instead, she looked past me, and said, “Long time no see, Grapevine.”

“Likewise,” the Grapevine said.

“Wait, what, huh?” I sputtered.

“You didn’t really think somepony named Herald would be a factory worker, did you?” she asked. “I’m here for a story on working conditions for the Times.” She turned to Grapevine. “What about the two of you?”

“Oh, just a little piece on Pullmare,” Grapevine said dismissively. “Nothing big.”

Herald smirked. “You never were one for the easy stories.”

I stuck myself between them and interjected, “Wait a second, you two know each other?”

“Grapevine and I were partners on the Saturday Evening Tribune for a couple of years,” Herald explained. “Good times.”

Grapevine nodded her head in agreement, but her eyes were on the guards positioned around the room at all exits. “As much as I’d love to catch up...” she began.

Herald held up a hoof. “Say no more; you’ve got your story and I’ve got mine.” She returned to her work, but not before looking up and telling me, “You watch out for your partner, you hear?” I hastily agreed and hurried to catch up to a rapidly-walking Grapevine.

She carved a path through the factory workers lining the conveyor belts, her “official” status keeping her from being questioned. I did my best impression of a foal on the way to the Principal's office, following close behind her.

Another guard checkpoint later, we climbed a flight of stairs to reach the factory’s second level. There, the the walls were lined with offices, all of them empty. Most of the overhead lights weren’t even working.

“Where is everypony?” I asked.

Grapevine walked on the beaten path through the room’s gathered dust. “This room is just for show during the semiannual inspections; Pullmare does all the office work outside the company grounds.”

“You know this how?” I asked, stepping around a fallen ceiling tile.

Grapevine snorted. “Honestly Minty, it’s like you’ve never heard of research.” We reached a wooden door, and she gently opened it. No guards waited for us on the other side, just a catwalk stretching over the factory floor to where Ms. Pullmare’s office lay.

“Careful not to let the guards see you,” Grapevine warned. Through the metal grating of the suspended walkway, I could see some directly below us. Grapevine and I slowly snuck across the catwalk, careful to keep it from swaying.

We were almost across when my foot slipped, causing the walkway to swing back and forth. I clutched the railing for dear life and silently prayed the guards hadn’t heard anything. None of them looked up, though I thought I saw some ears perk up at the sound of the catwalk swaying.

With Grapevine’s insistence, I slid the rest of the way on my belly. “That was too close,” she chided. I got up to see Grapevine levitating a keyring in front of her, and started inserting random keys into the lock.

“Can’t we go anywhere without you stealing something?” I asked. She didn’t respond. Eventually, one of the keys fit the door, and Grapevine pushed it open.

Inside was a small, dark office. Grapevine switched on the lights to reveal a room that looked like a paper tornado had hit it. Overflowing paper cabinets abounded, and the only furniture was a large, messy office table pressed against one wall and some filing cabinets.

“Jackpot,” Grapevine said. She got to work digging through the papers while I stood back, feeling awkward again. “Here,” she said, tossing me my camera. “We can’t take any of these papers with us.”

I tried to act cool, but on the inside I was giddy; I was finally getting to do my job! We set up a little assembly line of our own: Grapevine would sort through a pile of papers, pick up one that looked usable, and pass it to me where it would be photographed. Luckily, she had filled her saddlebag with plenty of spare film, so I wouldn’t run out anytime soon.

“So you were getting chummy with Herald, eh?” she asked once we had settled into a rhythm.

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” I said. Flash went the camera, and another sloppily-written note was recorded.

Grapevine laughed. “I’m just joking Minty, lighten up a little.”

I took another picture and asked, "Where do you know her from, anyway?"

I didn't expect her to answer, but she sighed and looked somewhere far away. “Herald and I used to be close, but she got an offer from the Fillydelphia Times, and I got one from the Chronicler back when times were good.” Grapevine paused. “You know the rest.”

I recorded a supply ledger, then nodded my head in agreement. I remembered watching many of the mares in my class catch the first train out of Derbyshire after graduation, heading for places like Manehattan and Canterlot. We continued our documenting routine until Grapevine stopped to hold up one of the notes. That one, unlike the others, seemed to be very recent, and written in the hoofwriting of somepony besides Pullmare.

“Now let’s see what we have here,” Grapevine said, holding it up to the light.

“What’s it say?” I asked.

“It says shut up and let me read for a second,” she said. Her eyes scanned the page, and her brow furrowed. Grapevine finished reading and levitated the paper over to me. “It’s a list of steel and coal companies, and next to their names is written whether they agree or not.” She tapped her chin with one of her hooves. “Too bad we don’t know what they’re agreeing to.”

I took the offered paper and looked at it for myself. Sure enough, Grapevine was right. Most of the companies on the list were so small I didn’t recognize them, but some were pretty big; I saw both Bridlehem Steel and Cantersol Coal mentioned on the list, and both “confirmed,” whatever that meant. It looked like EK and Trottingham Steel were not only out, but their names were sloppily circled. I took my camera out again, and with a flash the piece of paper was documented.

I handed over the camera to Grapevine. “That was the last of the film,” I said. She took the camera and rolls of pictures and placed them in her saddlebags.

“See, that wasn’t so bad at all,” she said. We were just re-messing up the room and about to leave when Grapevine spotted something else. “What’s this?” she asked aloud. Pushing aside a large filing cabinet, she revealed a small door.

Practically giggling, Grapevine said, “Now we’re getting somewhere!” She pushed the door open, revealing a very small closet.

“Do you really need to look inside?” I asked. “We’ve already been here a while as it is...”

Fumbling for the light switch, Grapevine said, “Don’t worry so much; if it makes you feel better, go stand watch at the door.” I sighed and walked back to the center desk; I didn’t particularly feel like poking my head out every time I heard the slightest noise. I opened the desk drawers to look for something to occupy the time while Grapevine rooted inside the closet.

Unfortunately, what was inside the desk wasn’t nearly as interesting as the papers lying around; the ones I couldn’t touch if we wanted it to look like nopony had been here. I started picking through the old newspaper reports about the return of Princess Luna, but couldn’t concentrate when the racket of hoof on metal started.

“Would you mind keeping it down?” I yelled toward the closet door.

“I’m not doing anything,” came the muffled reply. I shook my head, but stopped and looked toward the office door, my paranoia getting the better of me.

Peering cautiously from behind the desk, I looked out across the catwalk. At first, I didn’t see anything, and felt relieved. Then, one guard pony emerged onto the walkway, and another followed. I even saw Ms. Pullmare join them. Hurriedly getting away from the window, I yelled to Grapevine, “It’s Ms. Pullmare; she’s coming!” but didn’t get any reply. Hopefully, she would know enough to hide.

No better option, I jumped under Ms. Pullmare’s desk. I muttered under my breath about being interrupted twice in one day. That day just wasn’t our luck day, I decided. The door clicked open, and two sets of hooves came in, followed by somepony with a lighter step. I tucked myself into the crawlspace beneath the desk once again. If I was lucky, today I would be a two-trick pony.

“Are you sure they were coming here?” I heard Ms. Pullmare ask.

Instead of the gravelly voice of a guard, the reply was soft. “Positive.” My ears shot up: I knew that voice.

“If the two are really in here, then I would gamble that one of them is hiding right here,” Pullmare said. Astoundingly, frighteningly, the desk above lifted up several hooves off the floor, leaving me sitting in the middle of papers cascading off the table. My heart was caught in my throat, and I desperately tried to back away from Ms. Pullmare’s party.

“Oh, there will be none of that, now,” she said. A steel-gray field of magic enveloped my body and dragged me across the floor. “Well well well,” she said. “If it isn’t Grapevine’s stooge.” Pullmare pulled me in close until our faces were almost touching. “Now tell me, crony, where is she?”

“W-who?” I stammered. My hooves left the ground as Ms. Pullmare lifted me in the air and shook. Her voice was cold.

“Tell me, or things will get...messy.”

My legs hopelessly scrambled for purchase, but I found none in the magic field. “I-I don’t know,” I said. “She left me here.”

Pullmare growled and turned back to the mare who betrayed us. “Is she lying?”

Brassity looked pleadingly at me, like she was asking for forgiveness, then turned back to Ms. Pullmare. “No,” she said. “Grapevine must have left her here to explore somewhere else.” I nodded my head enthusiastically, using all my willpower to not look at the half-hidden wooden door.

“I see,” Pullmare said. Her eyes narrowed. “Well, this one will do.” She released me and I dropped to the ground. “Take her away.”

She handed Brassity a small bag. “Here’s your payment, traitor,” she scoffed. “Thirty pieces of gold.” I had never seen anypony so ashamed to take money in my life, but the bits exchanged hooves anyways. The guards picked me up and dragged me out the door.

The jail cell I had been shoved into stank of urine and mold. I’d been given a cell to myself, but that was the largest hospitality I was offered. The guards had dragged me outside, where policeponies had been waiting to haul me off to jail for breaking and entering.

I sat inside the cell and tried not to think about a life in prison. Grapevine was still free, at least. She would know what to do, or at least I hoped.

My wing of the jailhouse was empty, so the echo of a door opening was almost deafening. An overweight policemare led Ms. Pullmare to my cell, and unlocked the door.

“You have thirty minutes,” she whispered.

Pullmare stepped into my cell with a triumphant look on her face. The guard took one last glance at me and left. Once she was gone, I felt myself being lifted up in the air again.

“It’s good to see you again, Minty,” Pullmare said. She flung me against the back wall of the cell, and stars exploded in my vision. “Two times in one day you invade a private office of mine,” she said, stepping toward where I lay crumpled on the ground. “Did you really think you would get away with it?”

“I’m not going to tell you anything,” I said, sounding more brave than I felt. My head was slammed against the wall again.

Ms. Pullmare laughed. “Oh Minty Flower, I’m not here to find out whatever idiotic ‘plan’ you and that reporter came up with.” She gingerly picked up my head in one of her hooves, forcing me to look her in the eyes. “No, no, I’m here to punish you; to make sure you never set foot in my town again.” She slapped me across the face, though this time I had at least been expecting it. Ms. Pullmare backed up and let me pull myself from the ground. She laughed. “Do you know what they say about chains, Minty?”

I coughed and tried not to put undue pressure on my head. “Does it matter?” I asked wearily. This time when she levitated me in the air, it was only by my throat.

“It would be wise to play along,” she growled. Pullmare let me drop to the ground, gasping for air.

“I don’t know, what do they say?” I coughed. She slapped me, though from the look in her eyes, this time it was just for fun.

“There is a chain stretching from you all the way up to Marshmallow and Grapevine.” She smiled gleefully and said in dark voice, “They say a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, and intend to break that link.”

Before I could say anything else, a rope of Pullmare’s magic extended from her horn and wrapped itself around my midsection. My mind began to panic as I lost the ability to move, or to breathe.

“And so, the weakest link breaks,” Pullmare said. The magic tightened harder and harder, like a vice clamping around my stomach. The scream I’d been holding in erupted out of my mouth as I felt a rib break with a resounding crack, and then another and another. Tears streamed from my eyes even as her hold on me broke, depositing me into a crumpled mess on the floor.

I wanted to look strong, to be strong for my friends, but I all I could do was lie there, crying. I coughed, and only blood came out. “W-Why?” I whispered in shuddering gasps.

“Because somepony needs to be taught a lesson,” she said, “And what better pony than you: the weak, spineless follower?” I couldn’t talk, but she must have seen the message in my eyes.

“Oh, don’t delude yourself into thinking you have friends,” Ms. Pullmare said. She sighed. “Ponies like you have an annoying tendency to latch themselves onto the first mare that gives them the time of day.” Pullmare laughed. “Do you know why Grapevine continues to hang around an insipid twat like you?” she asked.

If I hadn’t been lying in a small pool of my own blood, I would have sarcastically told her that I couldn’t answer while lying in a small pool of my own blood. Not that she needed input from me, anyway: she continued right along as if I wasn’t even there.

“You’re not her friend,” Pullmare said. “You’re her surrogate! Her photographer and lover nearly dies, he leaves her when she ignores him for her job, and only now she’s back to normal when she finds his replacement!” Her accent had begun to slip from an educated, Canterlot mare to somepony fresh off the streets of Trottingham.

“She doesn’t see you as an equine being, Minty,” Pullmare continued, talking to me like I was a child. “To her, you’re just a stand in: a reminder of her good, old days.” She laughed. “Not that things are any better with the ‘Princess.’ Do you really think she’d risk what’s left of her royal reputation to help a reporter and photographer if she wasn’t hoping for a story to get her back into good graces with the Royal Court?”

My brain was so cloudy at that point, that I didn’t even know what to believe. I didn’t care. I figured, no, knew I was going to die in that cell at the feet of a monster. I closed my eyes and gasped, “Why are you telling me this? Just end it.” I tried to look brave.

Instead, Pullmare pulled me across the slick floor. My head was raised so I could look her in the face through my blurry eyes. “Oh no, I’m not going to kill you, Minty,” she said. “I’m not that bad. Instead, I’ll give you one chance.” Under the effects of her magic, my head twisted around until I was looking out the cell’s window.

“Go home, Minty,” Pullmare said soothingly. “Leave this city and never come back. We can both forget this little mess ever happened, and everypony can return to their normal lives.” My head rotated back to face hers. “How does that sound?”

Before leaving Derbyshire, I don’t think I’d ever made any decision that put me in actual danger. I’d spent most of my days indoors, playing out my fantasies through writing about them. My parents called me “timid.” They told me they were so proud that I never got in trouble, never put myself in danger.

“No,” I croaked.

“What was that?” Pullmare asked. She cocked her ear toward me, like she already knew my answer.

I coughed up another spittle of blood and managed to growl, “No.”

Ms. Pullmare’s brow darkened, and her eyes danced with fury. “I didn’t want to do this, Minty, but you’re not leaving me another choice,” she said coldly. “It’ll only cost a little extra to cover up your disappearance: fire doesn’t leave much evidence.” Somewhere, my brain registered that it looked like her eyes had caught on fire. A tongue of flame extended from her horn, and began to tickle the edges of my coat, singing it black. “Just close your eyes, dear,” she cooed. “It’ll all be over in a moment.”

The heat and pain grew, and I started devoting my final thoughts to hoping the afterlife was somewhere cool. Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the heat was taken away. When I peeked from between the hooves crossed in front of my face, I saw Fillydelphia’s mayor pressed spread-eagle against the iron bars of my cell.

“There will be quite enough of that, sister,” a voice growled. Rainbow Remedy stepped from behind the figure of Ms. Pullmare. She tried to struggle against the magic field, but it didn’t budge. Remedy gasped when his gaze swept over me. I must have been quite the sight: a broken and bruised Pegasus lying in her own blood. Springing to action, his horn glowed that greenish-yellow-purple color again and my body was enveloped by a soothing, rainbow-colored, magic bubble.

From inside the magic field, I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Remedy looked like he was giving his sister an earful. The bubble began to glow brighter and I could feel my body start to heal, again. Ribs snapped into place and scars closed themselves. When the bubble popped with a burst of seven colors, I was still in bad shape, but unlikely to die anytime soon.

Remedy looked at me before turning back to Pullmare. “You’re lucky we’re in a police station,” he growled. “If you come near me or Minty again, you’ll regret it.” His sister stared defiantly at him, unable to speak. Remedy shook his head and walked away, head held high. I, having no ideas of taking the high road after being mercilessly beaten, settled for quickly giving Pullmare a swift kick to the babymaker and hurrying out of the cell before the magic field could wear off.

“You’re bond’s been paid,” Remedy explained when I caught up. “You’re free to go.”

The policeponies in the station refused to look at me, still covered in bruises and slowly-healing scars, as we walked out.

Down the front steps, a battered steamcarriage waited for us. Once we were both strapped into the worn-carpeted seats, a flash from Remedy’s horn set us off with coal smoke pouring from the front smokestack.

“Grapevine told me what happened,” Remedy said once the police station was out of sight. “She wanted to come, but I persuaded her to allow me instead.”

I grunted a thanks. With the adrenaline flow gone, I just felt...tired. I didn’t want to think anymore, or try to figure out what happened: I just wanted to sleep. Outside, the city was dark save the fancier houses around the financial districts. When I had last looked at a clock, it had been sometime early in the morning.

I could sense that Remedy wanted to talk, but I kept my back turned to him and preoccupied myself with looking out the carriage’s window. Boredly, I traced a hoof around the edges of my scars.

Remedy noticed. “She wasn’t always like that, you know,” he said.

I snorted. “I find that hard to believe.”

He winced and I felt bad, but I wasn’t going to just forgive his sister because she wasn’t always an evil monster.

“We used to call her Golden,” Remedy whispered. He didn’t say more. Looking at his slumped-over form, I could hardly believe he could possibly be related to my tormentor. Worse, it looked like he was blaming himself for what happened. I wanted to reach out, to say something, but I couldn’t find the words.

We rode quietly over the cobblestone streets, Remedy letting his magic guide the carriage.

My head must have still been messed up, because I didn’t notice where we were until the steamcarriage stopped in front of Broad Street Station. “Why’d we come here?” I said.

“You heard my sister, didn’t you?” Remedy said. He pointed to the station. “If you don’t get out the city, she’ll just come back for you again.”

“What about you threatening her?” I asked. If he had looked at me the same way he had his sister, I wouldn’t have wanted to even see him again, let alone make him even more angry.

Remedy shook his head. “I’m just one pony, Minty. My sister controls half the city: as long as she’s in power, there isn’t anywhere you can go in Fillydelphia that she can’t follow.”

“So what, that’s it: your sister wins and I leave without a word” I said. “Aren’t you going to tell me to stay, tell me that my friends need me?”

Remedy shrugged and opened my door with a flash of magic. “There’s only one pony who can decide what you should do.” He handed me a ticket. “Your things will be shipped to you.”

I looked down at the golden ticket. It was my trip out of here: my escape. I could go home and forget all about Fillydelphia and Grapevine and Pullmare and Sterling. Back home, I would be safe. If I was lucky, I could land a job as a photographer for the Derbyshire Gazette.

I peered through the open door of the steamcarriage at the massive entrance to the train station. Looking down at the ticket again, though, I couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness. For all its golden promises, the idea of leaving the city behind felt sickeningly wrong. I’d worked my whole life to become a reporter, and I had even made it onto the staff of a big city newspaper. Sure, I was a photographer, but I could work my way up. If I turned back now, then what was the point to everything I’d ever done?

Resolutely, I hoofed the ticket back to Rainbow Remedy. “I’m staying,” I said.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Pullmare won’t likely show any leniencey next time.”

I slammed the door of the carriage and pointed out across the city, over dirty rooftops and under skyscrapers gleaming in the moonlight, to West Fillydelphia. “Let’s go.”

We rode back over the midnight-blue Scullyhoof River and back into the factory district. Most of the houses was dark, but Joya’s shop shined like a diamond in a cave.

“Seems they’re waiting for you,” he said. The steam-car pulled to the curb near the shop, and he let me out.

“Will I see you again?” I said. He kept the engine running, and I had to shout to be heard over the noise.

“Find me if you need me; Grapevine will know where,” Remedy said. He took off with a stutter from his steamcarriage's engine, leaving me alone on the sidewalk.

I looked through windows discolored with smog into Joya’s shop, and saw Grapevine curled up on a chair, asleep. I couldn’t see Joya around, but assumed she must have been somewhere inside.

I reached out a shaking hoof to the doorknob, but when I tried to open the door, it refused. I wanted to ignore everything Pullmare had said and rush inside, forelegs open wide for a great big hug. I tried to open the door again, but something in my mind stopped me. What if Pullmare was right? What if I was only being used?

No, I decided. I couldn’t do this tonight. My hoof lowered from the doorknob to the ground. Everything had gone so wrong...I needed time to think. I needed time to decide what to do. Profiled in front of the moon, I could spot Serenity floating serenely in the sky. Something clicked inside my head, and I knew what I was going to do.

I started walking back to the center city, back to the airport. It was just about time I had another talk with Lightning Sprint.

Episode 2: Overkill

I stepped off the airship on to Serenity’s dockyard. The docks reeked of coal and oil, and the walls were stained with grime, so far from the more luxurious docking stations for passenger ships. I looked around, blinking in the light of high-powered work lamps; it was still early in the morning and the sun hadn’t quite yet made its way up to the city.

“Last stop, kid,” the blimp’s captain said with an Appleoosan drawl. His brown duster, a few shades darker than he was, flapped in the wind as he stepped off his ship. “You got the bits?”

“Not exactly...” I said. Before he could object, I added, “But I do have them, just not on me.” I’d convinced the captain to let me ride in his cargo bay up to Serenity in return for a generous sum of money; which I now had to convince him would be given to him on the Chronicler’s account. I hadn’t really had much of a choice at the time: his ship had been the last one in dock and the passenger blimps didn’t start running for hours.

“Is that so?” he said. “Then just how am I supposed to get paid if I let you off my ship?”

I looked around before grabbing a clipboard that was hanging from a nearby wooden post. On it was the schedule for incoming and outgoing cargo dirigibles. I held a grubby pencil attached to the clipboard in my mouth and quickly scribbled down the Chronicler’s address.

I spat out the pencil. “Here,” I said, hoofing the clipboard to him. “Go to that address and ask to speak to Mr. Vision: he’ll have your money.”

A burly, gray stallion ambled up beside the captain. “We’re not getting paid?”. He stepped forward menacingly. “Do you need me to ‘persuade’ her, Mal?”

Mal shoved the stallion with one hoof and said, “We’re not having any of that, not on my ship.” The blue-maned stallion just rolled his eyes and walked off. “And call me Captain around the passengers!” Mal shouted after him.

He turned back to me. “Here’s how it is,” he said, tucking the slip of paper into one of many pockets on his duster. “I don’t want to cause any trouble, so I’ll hold you to your word.” Mal turned around and walked back into his ship. “Don’t make me regret it,” he called back.

I looked back one last time at the rickety airship before walking into the dockyard proper. At such an early hour, most of the ships coming and going from Serenity were the smaller, private boats. The crews, with nothing better to do while the dockworkers unloaded their cargo, concentrated around a group of buildings haphazardly built in the middle of the landing platforms.

The perimeter of the larger buildings were clogged with ponies hawking their goods from a variety of stalls. I hadn’t spotted any signs that could point me in the direction I needed to go, so I tried asking some of the vendors. The ones with customers brushed me off when it was clear I wasn’t going to buy anything.

I groaned and rubbed my head in frustration: my plan wasn’t going to work if I couldn’t find where I was supposed to go. I looked around the shops one more time, and spotted a carrot stand that was empty except for its owner. I trotted over, hoping that I could get directions without her being distracted with customers.

“Hi,” I said.

The bright-orange mare running the stand had been laying her head on one hoof, but sat up quickly as I approached. “Why hello there,” she said brightly. “Would you like to buy anything?”

I coughed and shook my head. “Well, uh, no,” I said. “I was actually wondering if you could give me directions?”

Her face fell, and she sighed wearily. “Where to?” she said.

“The Weather Corps Barracks,” I said.

While riding in the damp, dark cargo bay of an airship on my way to Serenity, I had realized that I had no idea what I was going to do. My plan up to that point had consisted of confronting Lightning, a griffin twice my size, alone, and over charges of bribery and treason: not the best idea in the world. So, I had decided to recruit Starshine to my cause.

The mare with the carrot stand turned around and pointed across the marketplace square, down one of the larger side streets. “The Barracks are near the end of that street; it’s the building with the clouds around it, you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” I said. I turned and started to walk off, but she stopped me.

“Wait!” she said. “Would you like a carrot for the road?” She held up one of the vegetables to my face.

I looked down at the carrot in her hoof, and recoiled at the sight. The vegetables were obviously past their prime, and already starting to rot. “Where did you get these?” I asked.

“A deliverypony comes by every morning,” she said. “Why? Is something wrong?”

For once, it was my turn to look at somepony else funny. “They’re too ripe,” I said. To prove my point, I took the carrot and dropped it onto the stand’s counter, where it splattered into orange goo across the wooden surface. “Whoever is selling you these is ripping you off.”

The mare looked darkly at the bins of vegetables stacked behind her. “Well business has been slow...” she said. She poked at the remains of the carrot I dropped. “But how do you know for sure?”

I shrugged. “I grew up on a farm; we mostly grew oats, but we planted carrots from time to time.” I looked back at her. “Why does somepony selling carrots know so little about them?”

She blushed and rubbed the back of her neck. “I used to work in downtown Serenity, but the last owner was selling this stand for so cheap...” The mare chuckled. “I guess I know why, now.”

I smiled. I remembered days back home spent trotting around Derbyshire’s marketplace, learning how to sell our farm’s goods. “Well if you want the best produce, go to the deliverers instead of waiting for them to come to you,” I said. “We used to do the same thing all the time.”

“Thank you,” she said enthusiastically. “I’ll make sure to remember that.”

“No problem,” I said. I trotted off, leaving the carrot seller looking curiously at her unsold stock.

I picked up my pace as I entered Serenity City to make up for lost time. Despite her distracting me, it had felt good to talk to somepony about vegetables; for a second I had almost felt at home.

The further away from the dockyards I got, the darker the city became. I gulped. The unlit windows of the houses and businesses lining the street made the buildings look like skeletons: just empty husks.

I shook my head and increased my speed once again. Don’t think about dark, about death, or about Pullmare. I had just one goal: find Lightning Sprint and expose her for taking bribes. Then, everypony would know I wasn’t the weakest link.

A shuddering moan derailed my train of thought. I started and looked around me, up and down the empty street. Another moan, louder this time, brought my attention to a small, dark alleyway. I was afraid to investigate, but my own curiosity won me over and I cautiously approached the source of the noise.

The shadows spread across the alley kept me from seeing anything. Well, almost anything; I could see a faint metallic sheen coming from one side. My stomach sank as I drew closer; I had seen the way light hit that special kind of metal before.

I increased my speed as the details began to grow sharper. A teal body, spiky, pink mane, and big metal wings materialized out of the darkness. “Starshine!” I cried as I reached where she lay. She wasn’t moving. “Starshine, Starshine, are you okay?” I said, shaking her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she coughed.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she said hoarsely. She tried to raise herself up on one hoof, but her leg gave out and she collapsed back to the ground. She coughed and sputtered again. “Okay, maybe not.”

“What happened?” I asked, but before she could answer I shook my head. “No, never mind, we need to get you out of here.” Starshine didn’t protest. Her eyes were closed again, and her breathing was raspy.

With no better option, I marehandled Starshine onto my back and slowly made my way out of the alley and back onto the street. It was slow-going through the city. Not only was I already trying to go slow so I wouldn’t drop or jostle her, but with the weight of her wings Starshine had to be at least as heavy as I was, despite being so much smaller.

I had wanted to take her back to her house, but she had lapsed out of consciousness almost as soon as she was on my back. Not that it mattered; I had realized that with her injuries, there was only one place on Serenity to go. I looked down the road in front of me to the building at the very center of the city: the Weather Corps building.

The sun was just starting to peek over the clouds by the time we reached the front door to the Weather Corps tower. Around the city square, some of the more colorful shops and galleries were starting to come alive. Still, there weren’t many ponies out on the streets.

The interior of the tower was lit, and the doors were unlocked. I shoved open one glass-paned door and spilled myself inside, almost falling to the ground. On my back, Starshine remained quiet except for her faint breathing. I pressed a hoof to her chest to make sure she wasn’t in danger of falling off before looking around.

The secretary’s desk was empty, and the doors leading to the upper levels were closed and, presumably, locked. I breathed a sigh of relief; Lightning Sprint must have still been at home.

I continued to look around, and saw that the back hallway was brightly-lit and very much open. A sign on the wall with an arrow pointing in that direction read, “Clinic.” Not that I needed directions; I clearly remembered my stay in the ward just a couple days before.

“Come on,” I said to Starshine, who couldn’t hear me. “We’re going to get you to a doctor.”

I plodded down the stark-white hallway and through a large pair of swinging doors into the hospital area of the Weather Corps building. The front desk in the waiting room was as empty as the other, save for a shiny, silver bell on top.

I mashed my hoof down on the bell as Starshine’s breathing become more and more labored. “Hello, is there anypony here?” I called.

“Hold on a second,” a familiar, gruff voice called. Doors marked with a red sun symbol swung open as the owner of the voice stepped into the room. My heart almost stopped when I realized why the voice had sounded so familiar; out into the room stepped Lightning Sprint.

“Wha- ?” I sputtered. Lightning, however, didn’t pay any attention to me for the moment. Her focus was solely on Starshine.

“What happened?” she asked in a low voice. She walked over to where I stood and used one of her claws to lift Starshine off my back.

“I found her that way,” I said. Once she was off of me, I got a better look at Starshine in the light. When I saw the condition she was in, I almost wish I hadn’t. Huge purple welts covered her face and the forelegs that she must have tried to defend herself with. One of her eyes was swollen shut.

Lightning didn’t say anything more, and instead gingerly scooped Starshine up in one arm and walked back into the room she had come from. With no better choice, I followed her.

The interior of the Intensive Care Unit looked exactly as I had last seen it: clean, white, and lined with empty hospital beds. I guess I was supposed to be creeped out by how sterile it was, but hospitals had never really bothered me; maybe because a place so clean was nice after growing up in a dirty farmhouse.

Lightning gently laid Starshine on a vacant bed before springing up and running over to a nearby cabinet.

“What are you doing?” I asked. I trotted over to Starshine’s side.

In response, Lightning began pulling out beakers with different-colored liquids inside. She held several of them up to the light before deciding on one with a purple liquid inside, and another that was green.

She arrived at Starshine’s bedside and ordered, “Hold her mouth open.” I complied out of necessity, deciding that my dispute with her could wait until Starshine was better.

Lightning took care to pour the entirety of both beakers down Starshine’s throat, and made sure she swallowed every last drop. The effect of the medicine was immediate: the areas around Starshine’s injuries began to glow with healing light.

“What were in those?” I asked.

“Healing potions, stronger than most,” Lightning answered. “It’s only a temporary measure, though. She will require real healing magic once the doctor returns.” She touched one of the glowing spots and sighed.

“Is your doctor ever in?” I asked. First he couldn’t help me, and now he was gone when Starshine needed him most: it was getting kind of ridiculous, really.

“There was a large fire in the union headquarters earlier this morning,” Lightning said. “Every available doctor in Fillydelphia and Serenity was called in to treat the victims.”

“Okay...” I said. “So why are you here?”

“I fill in for the doctor sometimes,” Lightning said. “If somebody gets hurt during a major storm, there isn’t always time to get them to a professional doctor.” She looked away. “I’ve had to learn how to fix many injuries.”

Lightning reached over me and grabbed a clipboard that was attached to the bed. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the form on the clipboard and Starshine as she began to write with a pencil taken from a nearby table.

“So tell me, Minty Flower,” she said, carefully examining one of Starshine’s hooves and scribbling down what she saw. “What brought you to Serenity?” She looked at me. “Judging from your condition, you were neither in the fight that did this to her, nor do you seem to have known what happened before arriving.”

I paused. Could I risk saying anything? With Starshine in her condition, she was vulnerable to whatever Lightning could do if the mood struck her. Then again, she might not even know what had happened between me and her boss; she’d seemed nice enough, but it could be just an act.

“Well...?” Lightning said.

“I know you’re working for Ms. Pullmare,” I said slowly. I decided that I might as well tell her; if she didn’t have orders from Pullmare about me already, she would soon enough. I closed my eyes and waited for what she would say.

To my surprise, she answered with a flat, “Yes, I know, but what does that have to do with why you’re up here?”

I blinked. “You mean, you don’t see anything wrong with that?”

Lightning tilted her head to the side like she was speaking to a particularly dense student. “Why would I? The mayor of Fillydelphia is in charge of the Weather Corps: you’ll be working for her too if you pass flight training.”

I smacked my forehead with one hoof. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Lightning’s eyes narrowed. “So how did you mean it?”

“Uh, well-” I stuttered. “I meant like help her out with extra jobs...and stuff,” I said shakily. For some unexplainable reason, I found it difficult to talk to a griffin whose forelegs ended in razor sharp talons that could tear me in half.

“You mean, you meant to ask me if I sold my dignity and respect for extra bits on the side,” she said icily. While she spoke, her gaze didn’t waver from my eyes.

I gulped. “Maybe...”

Lightning sighed. “I would have thought Grapevine would teach you better.” She held up a claw to my face before I could speak. “Tell me, Minty,” she said. “If Pullmare needed someone to, presumably, do her her bidding in the Corps, who would she choose? Would she choose the non-equine leader whose every action is scrutinized, and has to periodically report to the City Council and hold meetings with the Corps officers...or would she choose a pony who holds no rank other than trainer, a position which allows them to go as they please inside this building with impunity, and requires frequent trips from Serenity down to Fillydelphia?”

“Wait, are you trying to tell me Starshine is working for Ms. Pullmare?” I growled. I expected her to be angry from my accusations, but not for her to insult me and my friends.

Lightning shrugged and reattached the clipboard to front of the bed. “Ask her yourself.”

I looked down in time to see Starshine peaking at me through one half-open eye. “Oh, look, I’m awake,” she said weakly. She tried to smile, but ended up coughing instead.

“Is it true?” I said evenly. I wanted so badly for her to say no and denounce Lightning Sprint as a liar, but I could see her answer telegraphed across her face before she opened her mouth.

When she answered as expected, I didn’t hear her. Instead, all I heard was Pullmare’s voice in my head, repeating over and over, “...don’t delude yourself into thinking you have friends.”

Starshine gave a hoarse cough, and looked away. “Don’t look at me like that,” she grumbled.

“I just want to know why,” I said slowly.

Starshine tried to sit up, but had to settle for leaning on her forelegs after a gentle push back from Lightning. “For the money,” she answered simply. She rolled her eyes when she saw me staring at her, open mouthed. “What? Not everypony has a deep, dark reason behind everything they do; I just wanted extra cash without having to put in the extra effort.”

I turned to Lightning. “And did you know about this?”

“I’d started to suspect something was going on,” Lightning said her face as blank and unreadable as a concrete slab, “But I wasn’t sure until yesterday.”

“So you saw nothing wrong with working for Pullmare?” I said, turning back to Starshine.

She shrugged. “She told me to keep the skies clear where she wanted, and I made it happen. No big deal.” Starshine met Lightning’s death glare. “Oh like downtown needs so much rain; what are we watering, concrete?”

“That’s not the point!” I said. That got her attention. “Pullmare’s doing something big and terrible and...and you helped her!”

“Geez, Minty, you make it sound like I’m the bad guy here,” Starshine said. “Sure, maybe it was ‘illegal’ and ‘immoral’, but all I did was move some clouds; it’s not like anypony got hurt.”

Oh, she did not just say that. “You think nopony got hurt?” I yelled. I rose on my hindlegs so she could get a full view of the area around my ribs that was still covered in slowly-healing bruises and scars. “While you were doing whatever idiotic thing it was that got yourself hurt so bad, I was sharing a cell with Pullmare, who was trying to finish off the job that you started!” I even surprised myself with the amount of venom in my voice.

Starshine’s eyes widened in surprise, then moved through betrayal and hurt before settling on indignation. Without another word, she rolled over on her side until she was facing away from me. I saw her wince when she had to balance herself with one of her injured hooves, but she didn’t complain.

I sighed. “Did you want to add anything?” I asked Lightning bitterly.

“No,” Lightning said, “I think you did a fine job stepping into that mess all by yourself.”

I huffed in her general direction and walked out of the ICU and back into the waiting room. I sat down on a hard-backed, wooden chair to think. Well, to mope, really. Moping was easy. I’d been through enough in the past twenty-four hours to give me enough supply to open up my very own angst shop.

I growled and rubbed my temples. Focus, I told myself. What would Grapevine do? I tried to put myself in her horseshoes. My plan to confront Lightning had backfired horribly, and I hadn’t really thought of any backups. Grapevine would probably go talk to her friends, a nagging voice in my head told me. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t disagree. Instead of listening to the voice, though, I just tuned it out.

Morning started at some point, and the clinic’s doctor returned. He looked calm, despite the fact that his doctor’s coat was covered in burn marks. The doctor didn’t say a word to me, and instead walked straight into the ICU. Nurses and orderlies trickled in while I stayed glued to my seat. A few patients arrived later in the morning as well.

I passed the time by coming up with ever-more ridiculous plans on how to get at Pullmare. My latest plan was to commandeer the entire city of Serenity and ram it into her mansion; that would certainly get her attention.

“I thought you could use this,” Lightning said, startling me out of my reverie. I looked up to see her holding out a steaming cup of tea.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the drink. Now that I noticed it, my stomach was whining for me to put something in it. I took a sip before asking, “Is Starshine going to-?”

Lightning nodded. “She’s going to be fine.”

“Oh,” I said. I looked down at the cup in my hooves. “That’s good. Great, really.”

“You look worried.” Lightning observed. I didn’t answer. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped as two giggling nurses, just arriving for their shifts, walked past us. She looked around and asked, “Perhaps you would like to talk somewhere else?” I nodded and gulped down the tea before throwing it in the general direction of the trash can.

Lightning led me out of the clinic and up through the Corps tower, unlocking doors as we went with a large, gold key. The office workers hadn’t arrived yet, so we had the rest of the building to ourselves. I was led up, past the third floor and her office, and out through a plain door onto the building’s roof.

I gasped when I emerged onto the top of the tower. The Weather Corps building was the tallest in the city, giving me a striking view of the entirety of Serenity and beyond. The floating city had just broken through a cloud bank, and I could see the whole of Fillydelphia, just starting to come alive in the mid-morning light, spread out below me.

“That’s...amazing,” I said. With my hooves still firmly on the roof, I forgot that I was supposed to be scared of heights, if only for a moment.

Lightning chucked. “I thought you would enjoy the view,” she said. She closed and locked the access door behind us. “I also believed it might be more comfortable to talk up here, away from prying ears.”

“Right, that,” I said. I tore my eyes away from the view and focused on Lightning.

“What Starshine said still troubles you?” she asked, though she was really just framing her statement as a question.

I shrugged. “I guess it shouldn’t,” I said, “But I just thought of her as a...you know...”

“A friend,” Lightning finished.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“And who said that she isn’t?” Lightning said. “Certainly not myself, and I don’t believe Starshine ever said anything on that topic.”

I tried to tell if Lightning was joking or not, but I didn’t know enough about griffin expressions to figure it out. “Did you not hear her in there?” I asked, incredulous. “Not only was she working for the mayor, the mare who used me as her own personal bucking bag last night, but she didn’t even feel bad about it!”

“Was working for,” Lightning corrected.

“Huh?” I said.

“Why do you think Starshine’s down in the clinic, laying unconscious on a hospital bed? She told the mayor’s henchmares she was quitting, and they wanted to make sure she would regret her decision,” Lightning said, a mix of regret and venom in her voice.

“Why’d she quit?” I asked. “She sure didn’t seem too shaken up about taking the money.”

Lightning began to pace near the edge of the roof, but kept her eyes trained on me as she spoke. “Did it ever occur to you that she was lying?”

“Well...no,” I said. “But why would she? She didn’t really have a reason to.”

“Pride,” Lightning answered simply. “She’s far too proud to admit she was ashamed of what she was doing.”

“Oh, and how would you know?” I asked. “Maybe she’s lying to you, too.” My words came out bitter, but only because I felt insulted that Lightning could so easily judge me and somepony who was supposed to be my friend.

Lightning turned away and looked out over Serenity. “I only know because it was that same pride that kept her from telling me what had happened until yesterday.” She sighed. “And again, it was why she refused to let me accompany her to meet with Pullmare’s contact.”

“Oh,” I said. I joined Lightning where she stood, leaning on the brass rail that ran around the perimeter of the roof. “So is she still in the Weather Corps?”

“No,” Lightning said. “She quit the Corps as well.”

“How come?” I asked. A commotion down by the docks drew my attention; a massive zeppelin painted in the official black, white, and red of the Germane Empire was coming into port.

When Lightning didn’t answer for a few seconds, I thought she was watching the docking as well, but when I looked up at her, her eyes were instead focused beyond the city: somewhere on the horizon. Just when I was about to ask my question again, she spoke up. “That question is one that you will need to ask Starshine for yourself,” she said.

I sighed. “Alright.” I wanted to press the issue, but from the look in her eyes it wouldn’t have been a good idea.

Instead, I stood next to her in silence, for how long I didn’t know. I looked over the edge and tried to see what Lightning saw. Puffy, white clouds floated lazily above and below us, and a light breeze blew through my mane. From up high, Serenity and Fillydelphia looked so...peaceful. It was easy to forget about the conspiracies, the hurt, and the loss from the top of the Weather Corps tower. The only noise between us was the gentle thrum of the city’s engines from far below.

“So, what are you going to do now?” Lightning asked finally. The little quiet time had softened her expression a bit, and her voice had lost some of its edge. I realized that I was seeing for the first time what she looked like when she was in a good mood.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I thought I was coming up here to confront you about working for Pullmare, but, well, that didn’t turn out like I expected.”

Lightning, still in her jovial mood, snorted. “Grapevine must have taught you her legendary skills of deduction.” She drummed her talons against the tower’s railing, making a loud clinking sound. “I don’t suppose you’ve told her of your meeting with the mayor yet?”

I kicked a pebble off the roof, and watched it tumble down to the street below, narrowly missing an oblivious businessmare. “Maybe...” I said.

Lightning laughed. “If you had told her, there wouldn’t be a chance in a thousand years that she would have let you come up here alone.” I nodded; she was right, of course. “So, why?” Lightning said.

“Why what?” I said.

“Why haven’t you told her yet?” Lightning asked. “You’re partners, are you not?”

I shrugged. “After my meeting with Pullmare last night, I don’t know any more.”

“Got under your skin, did she?” Lightning said. She smiled. “Did she use the ‘weakest link’ speech again?”

I stared at her. “How did you know?”

Lightning puffed up her chest and said proudly, “Because you are talking to the weakest link in the chain between Serenity and Fillydelphia.” She chuckled. “Pullmare uses that speech on everyone she doesn’t like; the trick is to not let it affect you.”

“But what if she’s right?” I blurted out. I wanted so bad to believe Lightning, but part of me still held on to Pullmare’s arguments like they were a lifeboat from the Hindentanic. “What if I’m just being used?”

“So what if she is right?” Lightning said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “It doesn’t change the fact that you need to talk to Grapevine about it, instead of running away to Serenity to tell me about it.” Lightning leaned in close to me. “Pullmare only wins if you and your friends stay divided.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know; friendship is magic and all that. I’ve listened to Trixie’s seminars too, you know.”

“Well if you do know,” Lightning said, “Then you also know what you need to do next.”

I looked down one last time at Fillydelphia; my eyes found the Scullyhoof River and traced their way to the road on which Joya’s shop lay. “Yeah, I do,” I said.

“Good,” Lightning said with a smile. She walked over to the roof’s access door and took out her golden key. “I’ll phone one of our airship captains; they’ll be able to take you back to Fillydelphia.”

She unlocked the door and stepped inside. I wanted to let her go, but something still nagged at me. “Wait,” I said. The door stopped closing and Lightning poked her head out. “What if it ends up like last time and I lose my nerve?” It only occured to me after I’d spoken that Lightning had no idea what I was talking about.

She walked back onto the roof, deep in thought. She kept looking between me and the clouds below, which was a bit disconcerting, to say the least.

“I have an idea,” she said at last.

“Uh, good...what is it?” I said.

Rather than give me a straightforward answer, she instead cryptically asked, “Do you trust me?”

I tilted my head to the side. “Yeah, I guess-” I never got a chance to finish my sentence.

Before I knew what was happening, Lightning had tucked me under one arm and leapt off the roof. She unfurled her wings, caught an updraft from the streets below, and soared above the city.

“What are you doing?!” I screamed. I held onto her for dear life as I watched Serenity fly by beneath us.

“Taking the direct route,” Lighting called back, having to yell to be heard above the wind. She dropped lower and glided between some of Serenity’s buildings before reaching the edge of the city platform. She buzzed the Germane zeppelin, and soared away from the floating city.

“Why are you doing this?” I yelled, refusing to open my eyes.

“You said that you weren’t sure if you could work up the nerve to talk to Grapevine,” Lightning said calmly. “So I figured it would be best to accompany you.”

“You could have accompanied me on an airship!” I shouted.

“Why use an airship when you have wings?” Lightning said, laughing. “Besides, it’s fun.” I had to admit, peaking through one half-closed eyelid, Lightning did look the best she had since I had first seen her; almost like some heavy burden had been lifted off of her, and now she was free.

“So unprofessional,” I muttered, though only half-heartedly. With no better choice, I clung to Lightning as hard as I could and opened my eyes. Hanging below her, all I could see were clouds in every direction. Off in the distance, a few Pegasi were guiding a few darker-looking ones into a set position.

“Hey, this isn’t so bad,” I said. In fact, I thought, I could get used to this.

Lightning clutched me tighter to her barrel chest. “Hang on!” she said, and dove through the cloud layer, me screaming the whole way.

We emerged over West Fillydelphia, the view somewhat obscured by the pollution in the air. Even the air smelled like oil and steel, which didn’t help my stomach that was already doing flip-flops from seeing how high up we were. I closed my eyes again and tried to bury my face in Lightning’s chest.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” she said. “You’re a Pegasus, heights come natural to you.”

“Not if you grow up around earth ponies and unicorns,” I said, my voice muffled by her feathers.

We soared on for a few minutes before Lightning tapped me on the head. “I know you don’t want to, but I’m going to need you to look down and give me directions; I don’t actually know where we’re going.” She laughed, while I growled in return.

Still, I complied and hesitantly leaned my head down to try to spot Joya’s shop. My eyes scanned the city for a minute before finding the familiar landmarks. Focusing all my attention on the task also helped my stomach. “The street’s about two blocks north of the road we’re over!” I called up to Lightning.

She nodded and began to glide down at a sickening speed while I tried not to lose my lunch. Gradually, the vague shapes of buildings became more detailed and I could make out figures of ponies on the sidewalks, which helped my fear somewhat. By the time I had guided her to Joya’s street, I didn’t have as much of a problem watching the city fly by.

“That’s the shop,” I said, pointing at the building. Lightning didn’t say anything in reply, but instead eased up on her descent until we were gliding smoothly towards the building, finally landing on the sidewalk with a loud thump. Bewildered ponies gathering around looked from us to the sky and back again.

I jumped from Lightning’s grip and hugged the ground. “Land!” I cried.

She rolled her eyes and walked across the sidewalk to Joya’s front door. I picked myself off the ground and followed her, if a bit reluctantly. Then, moving too quickly for me to protest or have second thoughts, she reached out and knocked on the door.

“Yeeeees?” Joya said, swinging open the door. My heart leapt a little in my chest; it felt like it had been forever since I had seen her last. As usual, she had measuring tape strung around her neck and a random piece of ribbon stuck in her hair; she must have been working on a project.

The sight of Lightning towering above her gave her pause, but only for a second. “Oh, I don’t get many griffins,” she chirped. “But I bet I could find something just perfect for you!”

Lightning coughed and stepped aside so Joya could see me.

I waved and smiled sheepishly. “Hey.”

“Minty!” Joya yelled, galloping up to me. She wrapped me in a hug so tight, I had to fight to breathe. “You’re okay!”

“Yes, yes, I’m okay!” I gasped. “But I won’t be if you keep squeezing!”

Joya let go, though she didn’t start smiling. “Wait right here!” she said, before galloping back inside. A few seconds later, she emerged with Marshmallow and Grapevine in tow.

Marshmallow, a batter-stained apron tied around her neck, smiled and waved to me. “We were getting worried!” she said. “Grapevine told us how you left her at the factory to visit Serenity.” My eyes widened at the statement; apparently Grapevine had decided to keep everypony but Rainbow Remedy out of the loop.

When Grapevine moved out from behind the significantly-taller Marshmallow, I almost gasped. Her mane was matted and clumped to her head, and there were heavy bags under her eyes. If I didn’t know her better, I would say she had been crying. “You’re okay?” she asked wearily.

I smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Then, she did the last thing I would have expected her to do; she ran up to me before I could say another word and gave me a tight hug.

“You’re back,” she whispered into my mane, though it sounded like it was more for her benefit than mine. After a second of hesitation, I returned the hug.

“I’m back,” I said.

Episode 2: Come As You Are

When I opened my eyes, the world around me was dark and blurry. My head swam, and I could hear someone muttering something unintelligible. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and found that the bright red object almost right in front of me was a face belonging to none other than Pullmare’s personal stooge, Orange Peece. On each side of her stood a burly, blue unicorn.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart!” Peece sang when she saw my eyes fly open. “You’ve got a big day ahead of you!”

I yelped in surprise and tried to jump back, but found that I couldn’t. Looking down, I saw that my hind legs, forelegs, and wings were all tied to a wooden chair, forcing me to sit perfectly upright. I had to struggle to keep my breathing down as the Pegasi instinct to panic if my wings weren’t functioning started to rise up.

Still not quite sure that I wasn’t stuck in some sort of bad trip, I asked, “What, uh...what happened?” I looked around the dirty room, filled with piles of trash and discarded machine parts. “And where am I?”

Peece hit one of the guards on the back of his head, though it didn’t really have much of an effect. “I told you not to use so much chloroform! Ms. Pullmare will be very angry if her subject isn’t fully awake when she gets here...” She turned to me and sneered. “We caught you looking for your little inventor friend; you’re in his house right now.”

The memories of walking into Sterling’s house, only to find it dark and occupied with a very large pony holding a white rag came flooding back. They were pushed aside quickly, however, at the mention of the mayor’s name.

“P- Pullmare is coming?” I asked, suddenly fully awake and alert.

Peece giggled. “That’s right,” she said. “She was mad; even fired the entire police staff that let her brother save you. The only reason I have a job still is because I agreed to mess up the Weather Corps contact and you.” She used one forehoof to gently brush away some of my mane that had fallen over my eyes, and I shivered in revulsion at her touch. “I even have me special orders not to harm you.” She winked. “Ms. Pullmare wants you for herself.”

My thoughts straying to my recent “session” with mayor, I looked up at her pleadingly and begged, “C- could you just let me go? I’ll do anything...just please don’t let her near me!”

If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought the expression on her face was sincere. “Don’t worry,” she whispered, leaning in close to me. “I’m sure she’ll be very gentle.”

No more to say, Peece turned and walked out of the tiny room, the guards staying behind briefly before following. One of them shut the door shut with a dreadful sense of finality.

Once I’d calmed down a little bit, I turned as far around in my seat as I could and asked, “Sterling, are you awake?”

He took so long to answer that I had started to assume that the chloro-whatever was still working on him. Eventually, though, he replied with a simple, “Yeah.”

“Good,” I said. I paused. “Did you, uh, hear all of what Peece said, just now?”

“Yeah,” he said. I felt my face flush; of course he had had to witness me whimpering like a little foal. After a second, he sighed and asked, “She’s going to hurt us, isn’t she?”

I did my best to inject the same confidence in my voice that Grapevine would have in our situation; we couldn’t afford having both of us act scared. “No, Pullmare’s not even going to get a chance to hurt us,” I said confidently. “Because we’re going to escape before she even gets here.”

“Um, how?”

Thinking fast, I said, “Well, Peece didn’t tie my wings very tightly...” I pushed my wings against the ropes, slacker than the rest, for effect. “...so if I can get those free, I can grab something sharp and cut us out.”

“Okay,” he said quietly, though with a little less fear in his voice.

I got to work, trying to slip my wings up and over the bonds around my midsection. In theory, I could tuck one wing under the other and use the top one to push the ropes out far enough to get the bottom one out. Of course, the idea was harder to do in practice.

“Uh, Minty,” Sterling said, after several minutes of silently listening to me struggle against my bonds and get absolutely nowhere.

“It’s all a process,” I said, answering his perceived question. “We’ll be close to escaping before you know it, just wait and see.”

He coughed. “Well, uh, that’s good,” he said, “But I was just going to ask why you came here in the first place.”

I briefly stopped trying to escape to consider my answer. One one hoof, I didn’t want to tell a story that might make me look weak to him; on the other, I didn’t have much of a chance of getting him to like me if I wasn’t very truthful. “It’s a long story,” I said eventually, hoping he would take the bait.

He didn’t. “It’s not like we don’t have the time...” he said. “Besides, Peece already told me what, uh, happened between you and the mayor.”

I sighed. Of course she had told him, and almost certainly in the most unflattering way towards me. “Well, the story really starts when I got back to my friend Joya’s house, and I had no idea what I was going to do...”

It was truth, too; even on the flight down from Serenity I hadn’t had a clue of what I was going to do or say once we arrived at the shop.

Grapevine’s hug ended as suddenly as it had come, with her nervously brushing it off as elation that she didn’t have to find a new photographer. I rolled my eyes and let Joya lead us inside. I followed Grapevine and Marshmallow toward the kitchen, while Lightning stood awkwardly in the doorway until Joya led her in by her claw, chattering about flight harnesses the whole way.

The heat coming from Joya’s kitchen was as sweltering as plowing the fields on a summer’s day. Tins of brownies and cupcakes were set out on the crowded, wooden counters. Grapevine and I walked over to a table shoved in one corner while Marshmallow turned to tend the cooking food.

“Sorry about the temperature,” Marshmallow said. She looked sheepishly at the wood-burning stove, and the fire raging inside. “It’s been awhile since I’ve cooked on one of these, and I may have gotten carried away.” Large banks of ashes were spread in a rough semicircle around the front of the stove, further proving her point.

“Who are you making these for, anyway?” I asked, looking enviously at a pan of brownies. “I don’t think even I could eat all of these.” Most of the baked goods were too hot to eat, but I was thinking about taking the risk.

Marshmallow shook her head. “Oh no, these are for the library’s annual baking giveaway: we give away sweets to the less fortunate.” I sighed and kept my hooves off the food.

“So you came over here because of brownies?” Sterling asked, cutting off my nostalgia trip.

I groaned inwardly and mumbled, “No.” I needed him to understand, but how could the story make sense if he didn’t know the context first? I don’t know, maybe I was getting too off-task.

Before I could start again, however, my left wing suddenly freed itself from the ropes. I’d almost given up on my previous plan to get them out, so it came as quite a surprise to me. With one wing free, the bonds fell away from the other, being too loose to hold in just one.

“Alright, now we’re back in business!” I cried. “My wings are out,” I explained before Sterling could ask just what in the hay I was shouting about.

With them free, I could move on to the second part of my plan: cutting the ropes. I looked around the room until I spotted a pile of sharp-looking machine parts relatively close to the left my chair. If I could just tip myself over, I could reach them.

I took a deep breath, counted to three, and shoved myself to the side as hard as I could. I closed my eyes and waited for an impact on the wooden floor. Nothing. I looked down, only to see that the legs of my chair had been hastily melded into the floor with magic. I groaned inwardly: back to step one.

“You okay?” Sterling asked after I didn’t say anything for a moment.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m just going to have to find a new way to cut these ropes...” An idea popped into my head. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have any tools on you, would you?”

Sterling, mumbling as he tried to think, said, “Not anything sharp, no...” My heart sank until he resumed, “...but I still have a screwdriver in the pocket of my uniform, I believe.”

I scrunched my eyebrows together. “Please, please, please tell me your uniform isn’t outside with Peece,” I said. If I couldn’t free both of us soon, the situation was going to get nasty when Pullmare showed up. My best chance of defending myself at that current time was to ineffectually flail my wings in her general direction; at best, I could make her have a heart attack from an extra-strong fit of laughter.

“I’m actually, uh, wearing my uniform right now,” Sterling said.

“What?” I half-yelled, trying to turn around in my chair. “Why didn’t you try to escape earlier?!”

“T- Those guards-” he said. I stopped him and shook my head.

“Which pocket is the screwdriver in?”

“Back right,” he said, then added, “My right.”

“Alright, just give me a second,” I said. I concentrated on stretching out the wingtips on my left wing and moving them along the chair to the edges of Sterling’s uniform. It was always a weird sensation when I tried to use them like a dragon with his claws; I had to focus on feeling each feather as its own appendage, instead of a larger part of my wing.

I tentatively reached down and felt around to find the right area. Sterling coughed. “That’s, um, not a pocket,” he said when I missed my mark by going a little too low. Totally by accident, of course.

“Oh, right,” I said, trying to force a laugh. I refocused my efforts and reached into the uniform until I felt the wooden head of the screwdriver.

“I got it,” I said. I pulled the tool out and dragged it back to my chair before dropping it into my outstretched hooves, still tied behind me. “See, I’ll have us out of here in no time,” I said, starting to saw away at the rope with the metal end of the screwdriver.

Marshmallow eventually extinguished the stove with a little help from Grapevine’s magic, and we all settled around Joya’s kitchen table. The donkey herself escorted Lightning into the room, who was now sporting a very frilly hat topped with a large, black feather.

“Not. One. Word,” Lightning growled when she saw Grapevine and I struggling to control our laughter.

Once everyone was seated at the table, the attention turned to me. I wasn’t quite sure why, but I was picking up some bad vibrations. I knew that, by then, Marshmallow and Joya weren’t buying the story they had been fed: they’d seen the scars. Grapevine, too, knew that I had done more than simply come back to Joya’s. Of course, Lightning stayed silent through the whole affair.

“So we were, um, wondering about last night,” Marshmallow began quietly.

Taking the reins as usual, Grapevine blurted, “What the hay happened to you?” Lightning cringed for me, but I shook it off. I’d made up my mind: if I wanted Pullmare’s voice to stop nagging at me from the inside, I’d have to tell my friends what happened. Once and for all, I would know where they stood; or, that was my plan anyway.

So, I took a deep breath and told them. I told them everything, from my capture in the factory to my arrival at Joya’s. Their faces showed the proper reactions--anger in Pullmare, elation at my rescue by Rainbow Remedy, sadness from the breaking of Starshine--but they all remained uncharacteristically silent the entire time. Not the peaceful, harmonious kind of silence, mind, but the kind of silence that comes when laying in bed late at night with the realization that something important was forgotten, but you can’t remember what.

Of course, my less-than-enthusiastic response may have been due to the fact that I glossed over Pullmare’s insults to my friends like Princess Luna when asked about her past. Indeed, the first words out of Marshmallow’s mouth, once the period of silence had finally passed, were, “Did Pullmare say anything about us?”

I grinned, badly, and said, “Uh, what do you mean?”

Marshmallow smiled sweetly. “Ms. Pullmare has let Grapevine and I know several times how much she, um...really, really doesn’t like us.”

When I didn’t answer for a few seconds, I saw, from the corner of my eye, Lightning take a step toward the doorway. It was a subtle move, barely noticeable, but it sent a clear message: I was going to have to tell them, or I wouldn’t be going anywhere.

I sighed. “Okay, yeah, she said some...things.”

“Like what?” she asked. Though she still spoke gently, her tone was rough; more forceful. It was like a queen giving kind orders to her subject; or, in this case, a princess.

“Well, like, uh...” I said. I bit my lip. “Like you were, kind of, using me to get back into Canterlot...” I winced, and braced myself for the worst; that nagging doubt was practically ringing in my ears.

Instead of either quietly denouncing Pullmare’s claims or brazenly accepting them as fact, Marshmallow began to giggle; softly at first, then rising in volume. Briefly, my eyes flicked between Joya and Grapevine to try to tell if I had missed out on the joke. When she had calmed down a little, Marshmallow explained, “I’m sorry Minty, but Ms. Pullmare has been saying the same thing about me since I arrived in the city.” She scratched the top of her head. “She seems to be under the impression that I never wanted to come here in the first place, and that I’ve been trying to go back.”

“But...weren’t you actually banned from going back?” I asked.

Marshmallow smiled. “Technically; though, that was mostly my doing.” She puffed out her chest a little. “I was the one who gave the speech about Canterlot’s homeless at the Princess’s Ball.” She tapped Grapevine on one shoulder. “Don’t you remember? You were there, after all.”

For the first time since I had stopped talking, I really noticed Grapevine. Her face had grown hard, showing even less emotion than usual. Her hooves kept a tight grip on the wooden table, which she stared down at with such intensity that I was afraid the entire thing was going to catch fire. When her head snapped up so she could look at me, I jerked back so hard in my chair I almost fell over.

“What did Ms. Pullmare say about me?” she said evenly. Her face and tone remained neutral, and I almost answered the same as I had with Marshmallow, until I looked into her eyes. Something in them told me that she already knew exactly what the mayor had said, and was pleading with me to lie to everyone else so they wouldn’t know what had been said--because they couldn’t know.

“Oh, she just said that you wanted to use Marshmallow and I to get your position on the Chronicler back,” I said as convincingly as I could. “Pretty silly, huh?”

A smile finally fought its way to Grapevine’s face as she said, “Yeah, pretty ridiculous.” The tension in the room almost visibly eased as everyone began talking at once, while Lightning stepped away from the doorway and back to the kitchen table.

Lightning smiled. “It seems our mayor is not as clever as she thinks she is,” she said, putting one taloned-claw on my shoulder.

Briefly, my gaze met Grapevine’s. “Right,” I said. “Far from it.”

“So it was Grapevine that brought you here,” Sterling said. “Correct?”

I sighed. “No, I haven’t gotten to the reason why yet.” I was able to speak easier, as my forehooves had finally been let loose, and I had begun work on the heavier ropes around my back legs. Once they were undone, I would be free.

“Shouldn’t you just skip ahead?” he said.

“Well, I could,” I said. “But then you wouldn’t know the context.” I had to keep switching between hooves for sawing the ropes so neither would cramp up.

“Seems like a silly way to tell a story,” he mumbled.

I rolled my eyes and began talking again. With any luck, I could free myself before I was done.

Though a more jovial mood had settled in the kitchen, there was still one question that hung in the air, begging to be asked: What were we going to do about Pullmare? From Starshine’s condition, it was obvious that something had to be done about the mayor sooner or later, lest she find a way to strike at all of us.

The others seemed happy to ignore the question, but I eventually forced myself to ask it. I, after all, had a vested interest at getting the mayor before she could get me. For some reason, thinking of that almost had me feeling courageous.

“So, how are we going to take down Pullmare?” I finally asked. The current conversation, a debate between Marshmallow and Grapevine about the merits of living in Canterlot, ceased while all eyes turned to me once more.

“You’re planning on taking down the mayor? Are you crazy?” Joya said with an exaggerated surprise. She knew it had been coming; I guessed she was just surprised I had been the one to suggest it.

Marshmallow nodded. “You’re right,” she said, “But Joya does have a point. How are we going to kick out the most powerful mare in the city?”

Silence reigned as everyone fought to come up with a good answer, but found they didn’t have one. After my period in the jail cell, I didn’t want to even think about confronting her head on.

It was Grapevine who was the first to speak, asking, “Why don’t we set a trap?”

“What do you mean, a trap?” I asked, quick to latch on to any new idea.

Grapevine leaned back and crossed her forelegs. Just talking about bringing an end to Pullmare had put her in a better mood. “There’s no way we could ever remove her in the usual way: with elections, lawsuits, or just plain threats,” she said. “But, if we could get her to confess how bad she is in front of, say, the Princesses, then maybe we could force her out of power.”

“And exactly how are we supposed to do that?” I asked.

Marshmallow answered for her. “The Summer Sun Festival!” she said. “It’s being held in City Hall: she has to show up.”

Grapevine smiled. “Bingo.”

I scratched my head. Technically, that could work; if we did it right, anyway. There was one problem, though. “How do we get her to admit she’s doing something wrong?” I asked. “We don’t even know what exactly it is that she’s doing that’s so bad.”

Grapevine smiled. “We use you.”

“M- Me?” I said. I gulped. “Uh, why, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“You’re good at making Pullmare mad,” Grapevine said simply. Lightning, who had up to that point been stoically listening in, nodded. “We get her talking to you, ask the right questions, and we can get her to say anything,” Grapevine finished. I started to get the feeling that it might have been better to have kept my mouth shut about the whole affair.

Marshmallow, idly tracing one hoof through her blonde mane, asked Grapevine, “Have you ever been to one of Fillydelphia’s Summer Sun Festivals? They’re so loud it’s hard to hear the pony next to you, let alone get everypony, the Princesses included, to hear one mare.”

The statement gave Grapevine pause, and from the look on her face, she didn’t know how to respond. I had just assumed that we would get her to confess near the Princesses, but I when I thought about it, I knew Pullmare wasn’t that dumb.

Lightning picked up the slack when she suggested, “What about that inventor-friend of Starshine’s: the one who made her wings?” She tapped one talon on the wooden floor, letting the sound echo through the room. “Can he not come up with something to amplify her voice?”

Grapevine and I looked at each other. We both shrugged. “Yeah, probably,” I said. “We can always ask him.”

“Then it’s settled,” Lightning said with what passed for a smile.

“Yay, we have a plan!” Joya cried, flying out of her chair and hoofpumping the air. Suddenly, she looked around and her lower lip quivered. “But what’s my part?”

Marshmallow put one hoof on her shoulder and gently lowered Joya back into her chair. “You can make the dresses,” she said brightly. She turned to the rest of us. “And I’ll get the tickets to the festival; I’m sure I still have some of my father’s money lying around somewhere.”

I nodded. “What about you, Lightning?” I asked.

She stretched her wings a little before answering, “I will do exactly as Pullmare expects me to do: keep the skies clear over City Hall. We don’t want her to expect anything is unusual,” I agreed with her, but I wished that she could come with us; it would have been nice to have a griffin backing me up when confronting Pullmare.

One by one, everyone broke off from the table, promising to get started on their separate jobs. Eventually, only Grapevine and I were left alone in the kitchen. I had been waiting for her to move, but she didn’t budge.

Eventually, once everyone was out of ear range, she said, “Thanks...back there.” She twiddled her hooves. “I just, uh, didn’t want everypony to know.”

“You act like you know what I was going to say,” I said. I briefly wondered if unicorns could read minds.

Grapevine sighed. “She told you I was using you as a replacement for Spotlight, right?” I blinked. I started to think that maybe mind-reading wasn’t that far-fetched.

When she saw the look on my face, she said, “Rainbow Remedy talked to me for a while before he went to find you.” She looked away. “He told me what she would say.”

“Well then what’s the problem?” I said. I tapped one hoof on my skull, which made a worrying, hollow sound. “She was just trying to get into my head; you saw, she even lied about Marshmallow.” I tried to smile, but it didn’t have much of an effect on her.

I must have developed mind-reading powers, too, because I could tell what Grapevine was going to say before the words came out of her mouth. “Not everything Ms. Pullmare says is a lie, Minty,” she said.

When the conflict raging between my brain and my tongue--whether I should try to comfort her or yell at her--kept me from speaking, Grapevine looked down and said. “I’ll go find Rainbow Remedy and tell him what we decided: he’ll want to know.” I didn’t act to stop her while she walked out of the kitchen.

I waited until she had left before walking into the shop’s main room. Joya herself was nowhere to be found, though I could hear the whirring of her hoof-powered sewing machine coming from behind her work room’s door.

Lightning Sprint was waiting for me, standing on her hind legs and leaning against the sales counter with her arms crossed. “Good job,” she said, half-sarcastically. “You managed to skip having a confrontation with Grapevine...again.”

I shook my head. “I’ll get around to it; we just need time to talk, and we don’t have that right now.” I started walking toward the front door.

“You’re going already?” Lightning asked, though she didn’t try to stop me.

Without looking back, I nodded. “The Festival’s the day after tomorrow, I might as well let him know as soon as I can.” I think Lightning might have tried to say something else, but the door shut behind me before I could here.

“And that...” I said, finishing cutting the last length of rope keeping my tied to the chair, “Is how Equestria was made.”

“What?” Sterling asked, confused.

“Sorry,” I said. “It’s an old joke; I don’t think anypony’s found it funny in a long time.” I kicked away the cut ropes and heaved myself off the chair and onto the floor. To describe how it felt to be free after being tied up for hours would have been foolish. Simply said, it was amazing.

“Alright, time to get out of here,” I said. I walked around the room until I was face-to-face with the young inventor. Besides his green mane looking disheveled, though not much different from the last time I saw him, he looked fine.

He blinked when he saw me, before using his head to indicate the binds that still held him. “I’m, uh, still a little tied up here...”

Instead of trying to use the screwdriver again, I rooted around in a pile of scrap metal in one corner of the room until I found a suitably sharp piece. Taking care not to cut myself, I grabbed the shard and sliced through Sterling’s ropes like a plow through wet earth.

He shook himself off and stood up. “Thanks,” he said. He looked around the little room. “So what now?”

I crept toward the door and smiled. “Now, we escape.”

Slowly, carefully, I creaked open the wooden door. Mercifully, Sterling had kept the hinges cleaner than the room the door guarded. Outside, I couldn’t see any sign of Peece. The only thing in front of me was a wide hallway that stopped just a few feet ahead.

“You want to show me where to go in, you know, your house?” I whispered when Sterling lined up behind me. His face reddened as he took the lead and led me down the unlit hall. We reached the end and, together, peaked around the corner.

The hall opened up into a large, central room lit by a half-dozen loose lightbulbs hanging on chains from the ceiling. In the middle was a smattering of mismatched furniture amid more piles of trash and old machine parts; it seemed his spare closet was just a microcosm of his entire house. Even the paint on the walls, a once-calming blue, was chipping and peeling all over the place. In the middle of the wall farthest away from us was the front door: our ticket out.

“Follow me,” Sterling whispered. He crept softly into the room, keeping as low to the ground as possible. I followed, keeping an eye out for Pullmare. We stuck close to the far left wall until we reached one of the room’s many trash piles and hid behind it. I kept myself continuously on the lookout for one of the guards. Though I didn’t spot them, I gradually realized that I could hear a faint snoring coming from one of the thread-worn loveseats. I stuck my head slightly above the top of our cover, and could barely make out Peece, sprawled across one couch with a magazine resting on top of her face.

“She’s asleep,” I whispered to Sterling, sticking my head back down. “If we keep quiet, we’re home free.”

“Do you see any of the guards?” he asked, his voice so low that even sitting next to him I had to strain my ears to hear.

I took a quick look above the trash before saying, “No, but they’re probably close by; we need to hurry.”

Sterling nodded in agreement and we both snuck around the trash pile and moved along the wall until reaching our next cover. We used the same pattern to move low across the wooden floors of the main room until, finally, we had passed by the furniture with the sleeping Peece and reached the front door.

We hid behind a stack of unread newspapers, sneaking glances at the still-snoring mare on the couch. “She’s probably going to wake up when we open the door,” I said. “So we’re going to have to run for it.”

Sterling looked down at his hooves then nodded. “Alright, let’s do it.”

Glancing back one last time for any sign of guards, tiphoofed to the door and slowly opened it, gently pulling on the brass handle. I breathed a sigh of relief as the hinges on this door, too, made no sound as they swung open. I almost thought we would make it.

Unfortunately, our opportunity to escape was as short-lived as clean clothes on a farmer; when I opened the door, I found the two unicorn guards standing watch on the front porch. Before I could get out of the way, or at least slam the door shut in their faces, they turned to face me. Instantly, I was lifted off my feet and shoved across the empty space of the living room as the two walked inside.

“Boss, we got ‘em,” one of the unicorns said in a thick Manehattan accent.

Peece awoke with a start, throwing the magazine across the floor. “What do you want?” she growled. Her expression changed when she saw Sterling and I floating in the air. Her face didn’t fill with anger, though; it was consumed with absolute glee. Suddenly, I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Well, well, well, what do you have here?” she said, casually cantering over to her guards. “Minty and her little inventor friend trying to escape from me? On my watch?” She pretended to act surprised. “I guess it’s more likely than I thought.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know the whole spiel; just put us back in the room and we promise to play nice.” Betting on the idea that Peece wouldn’t hurt us as long as Pullmare told her not to was dangerous, but I was willing to chance it just to make her mad. Unsurprisingly, the plan backfired almost immediately.

“Boys?” Peece said, turning to the guards. “Fry them.”

I hadn’t noticed before, but each guard now wore a small machine on their back, almost hidden by their manes. The little, black boxes sputtered to life, and the aura around the guards’s horns changed. The usual, soothing colour of magic was replaced by sparks of lightning.

The sparks spread to the magical fields Sterling and I were trapped in. When the reached us, I prepared for the worst. Instead of hurting, however, I just felt a sort of tingling sensation; like I was a lightbulb being screwed into a socket. Though it didn’t hurt, I lost most of the feeling in my body.

After a few long seconds, Peece ordered them to stop. We were unceremoniously dropped to the ground, where we laid like rag dolls. I couldn’t move anything more than my head from the neck up.

“You like these?” Peece asked me, patting the mechanical contraption on one guard’s back. “It’s a new magic amplifier, shipped straight from Canterlot.” She smiled: a very frightening affair with her face lit up by the steady glow of small lights on the metal boxes. “It creates a magic field to allow a unicorn to use their horn as an amplifier for electricity, which they can use against anything, or anypony.” She sighed. “It’s too bad Ms. Pullmare is only letting me use them on the stun setting until she gets here...” Peece winked. “We could have so much fun.”

“So, what, you’re just going to use that...thing on us until Pullmare gets here?” I spat. Slowly, feeling had started to return to me, though I still couldn’t move my extremities. I shuddered at the thought of the machines being turned to full power.

Peece shook her head. “Stunning you with electricity is only fun for a little while, and Ms. Pullmare wouldn’t be very happy if she arrived to find damaged goods.” She waved to the guards. “Throw them in the basement and guard the door; if anything tries to come through, zap it.” The burly unicorns nodded and one flung me across his back.

They carried us down a side hall I hadn’t seen before, not stopping until we reached an out-of-place metal door. The guard carrying Sterling’s limp form kicked open the door and tossed him inside, and I followed soon after.

Still numb, I tumbled down the wooden stairs, powerless to stop myself. Once I slid to a stop at the bottom of the steps, the door above us shut with a clang, and the room went dark.

“That’s going to hurt,” Sterling moaned.

The effects of the electricity eventually wore off; just in time for the feeling of being tossed into a basement to take hold. Slowly, I stumbled to my feet and tried to look around. There wasn’t much to see; the entire room invisible past the end of my nose. Standing as still as I could to avoid bumping into anything, I called, “Sterling, where are you?”

“Over here,” he answered, his voice carrying from somewhere closer to the stairs. I was going to ask if feeling had returned to him, too, but dozens of lights mounted on the ceiling turned on simultaneously, bathing the entire basement in a harsh, white light.

When I took away the hoof shielding my eyes, I could see Sterling standing by the stairs, next to a large, red lever. Glancing around the now-lit room, I realized just how large the basement was; it was almost like a small cavern. Though it was just as crowded as the house above, the mess consisted of scattered, unfinished projects rather than trash. Steam engines without pistons, half-done wing contraptions like the ones on Starshine’s back were the only ones familiar to me; I couldn’t even begin to guess at the purpose of the rest.

“Sorry, I’ve been meaning to clean up in here for a while now,” Sterling said sheepishly. He walked over to a nearby table and sat down on a bench beside it after clearing away a pile of rusty tools. “I could try to clean up, if you wanted I mean...”

I sighed and shook my head. “It’s not like it matters; Pullmare’s going to be here any time now to take us away.” I growled and kicked the blackened concrete beneath my hooves. “It’s not fair; we were so close!” I looked up to the door at the top of the stairs. “How did I let her beat me?”

“Maybe it was the huge unicorns with the magitek devices?” Sterling suggested helpfully.

“Not helping.” I absentmindedly traced a hoof in a figure-eight pattern on the floor. “There just has to be some way out...this can’t be how it ends between me and Pullmare,” I said.

Sterling used a wrench to fiddle with some strange machine on his worktable. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he said brightly.

“Yeah, sure,” I said. I continued to idly trace patterns on the floor while I tried to think of a plan, until I coughed when something gritty entered my mouth. Confused, I looked down to see black dust rising from where my hoof scratched the dark spot on the floor. When I inhaled again, the powder smelled familiar; almost like Derbyshire when they cleared land for a dam...

“Hey, uh, Sterling?” I said. “Where did this black mark come from?”

He looked up from his work. “Oh, that?” he said. “That was just from trying to test out some new types of explosives, but I never got the formula quite right.” He shrugged. “I scrapped the project a while back and handed it off to a contact in Stalliongrad.”

“Well do you still have the materials?” I yelled, running over to his worktable.

Startled, he replied, “Um, well, yeah; I’m sure they’re around here somewhere...why do you ask?”

I stared at him. “You have explosives. In this basement. That you’re trapped in.” I waved my hoof around. “That could help us escape...”

The proverbial light turned on in Sterling’s head, and his eyes widened. “Ohhh, I get it!” he said. He scrambled up from the wooden bench and ran over to a group of metal cabinets in one corner of the basement.

I followed Sterling across the room and watched as he began to root through one of the metal lockers, pulling out various boxes and vials. When he kicked the door to the cabinet shut, his forehooves were piled high with the stuff.

“Don’t you have any, like, sticks of dynamite?” I asked.

He shook his head and set the supplies down on the ground. “I never got around to placing them into wrappings; I only tested the mixed powder.” He opened one vial and sniffed the contents before putting it to one side. “Besides, this isn’t dynamite.”

I looked at a beaker that appeared to, for all intents and purposes, be glowing. “Then what is it?”

He smiled. “The client, a construction team from Canterlot, ordered them specifically.” He shook the glowing vial. “Magically-activated high explosives.”

The few minutes I’d thought Sterling would need to create the explosive had turned into an hour, and my neck was growing sore from constantly switching between watching the basement door and watching him work.

“Are you close to finishing?” I asked. He was biting his lips in concentration, and I had to shake him and ask the question again before I got a response.

“Yeah, pretty close,” he said. “I think...”

“You think?” I asked nervously.

Sterling scratched his head. “Remember, I never quite got the formula right; the explosion was always too large or too small, and it depended on the unicorn I got to try it...”

I looked at the, now glowing, pile of powder spread on a mat at his feet. “Well, I’m sure this will cause at least enough of a distraction for us to get out of here and back to Joya’s.”

He went back to work, carefully mixing ingredients. Not looking up, he asked, “Speaking of your friends, didn’t they have something for you to ask me?”

I gulped as I remembered the supposed reason for coming to see Sterling. “Oh, uh, we wanted to know if you could help us build something.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“A machine to amplify somepony’s voice,” I said. “Could you build us one that’s small enough to be carried around, but powerful for an entire crowd to hear?”

He looked up and gave his familiar, awkward smile. “Once we clear the henchmares out, I’ll see what I can do.” He began to wrap the gray-ish explosives powder into a paper tube. “Though, I’ll probably need to teach somepony how to use it before you all go to the festival,” he said.

I coughed as I remembered the other reason I had wanted to see Sterling. “Or, you could accompany me, I mean us, to the Summer Sun Festival and teach, um, somepony how to use it while we’re there.” I flicked a hoof in the air. “You know, so nopony forgets how to use it.”

“Alright,” he said with a nonchalant shrug, while I tried to contain myself from shouting for joy. Sure, he hadn’t agreed to go with me specifically, but he hadn’t not agreed to go with me.

He finished wrapping the powder and inserted some little piece of metal into the top, which he referred to as a “blasting cap.” He assured me it was magically activated, and wouldn’t go off in my hooves unless I spontaneously grew a horn.

I took the offered the explosive into my hooves and smiled. “Let’s do it.”

“Okay, you ready for this?” he asked nervously as we stood at the bottom of the stairs. I nodded as I peered up at the metal door. According to him, it only locked from the inside, so we would be able to open it, if only for a moment.

“Remember,” he said, “Open the door, toss the stick, and quickly close it again; that should be enough to shield you from the blast. Though you probably won’t have to worry too much; I made sure that magical stimulant was only enough for a small, stunning explosion.”

I turned to him. “And once it’s over, be ready to run.” Our general plan hinged on the fact that the guards would be too bewildered by the blast, and Peece too surprised by our plan, to stop us from bursting out the front door that we hoped was unlocked. It was a reckless plan, but we couldn’t afford to wait any longer with Pullmare almost surely close to the house.

Taking a big gulp to try to calm my beating heart, I began to climb the wooden staircase. Slats groaned under the weight of my hooves, and I was glad for the heavy, metal door to block sound to the outside.

Finally, I was gripping the cold, steel door handle. “Okay, just like Sterling said,” I whispered to myself, “Open and toss, open and toss...” I let out a deep breath that I hoped wouldn’t be my last and opened the door. Quickly as I could, I threw the stick of explosives through the crack and slammed it shut again.

Pullmare had ordered her guards to zap anything that came out of the basement with their magical electricity, and they dutifully followed their orders to the last. Waiting at the top of the stairs for the sound of the small explosion proved unwise, however, as I was blown back down into the basement as the house erupted.

Instead of a small blast to stun the guards, Sterling had created an explosion so massive it seemed like Celestia herself was bringing the sun down on our heads. I had barely managed to avoid being hit by the metal door as it went flying past me, imbedding itself into a concrete wall. Somehow, my Pegasi instincts had taken over and I had used my wings to slow my rapid acceleration towards the basement floor. Even with slowing down, I still felt like I was going to bruise at the base of my tail.

Parts of the house had fallen into what was once the basement but was now a hole in the ground, but most of Sterling’s home had been blown out. When the roar from the explosion subsided, I stuck my head out from beneath a piece of plaster that I had been hiding under.

“Sterling?” I called across the wreckage. A full moon shone down on the remains of his house, showering the basement in natural light for the first time. Luckily, Sterling lived relatively secluded from the rest of Fillydelphia, so no houses were destroyed in the blast, though I could see lights begin to flicker on all around the now-vacant lot.

To my relief, the young inventor popped his head out from underneath one of his work tables not far from me. “Minty, are you okay?” he asked.

I made my way over to him, mindful of the wreckage, and helped him out from beneath the wooden furniture. We crawled out of the remains of the basement together, using a pile of what used to be furniture as a ramp.

Standing on the lip of the hole, looking out across the wreckage, Sterling said in a dazed way, “M- My house...it’s gone!”

“Well, um, yeah...it is,” I said, trying to steer him away from the smoldering crater. “But hey, we beat Pullmare’s stooges, right?”

I expected an answer, but not the one I received. Instead of Sterling acknowledging my brilliant tactic of using my own achievements to take his mind off the destruction of his home, a regal voice answered, “And you did such a wonderful job!”

My eyes widened: I knew that voice. I spun around to behold Pullmare standing no more than two feet away from us. She stood tall, like my worst nightmare come to life. The effect was helped by the small tongue of flame that she kept lit at the end of her horn, making her silver coat sparkle. An idling steamcar was parked a dozen or so paces behind her, painted all in black.

“Y- You?!” I sputtered. I was already too surprised to move, but if I wouldn’t have been able to if I had wanted to. The glow of Pullmare’s magic surrounded mine and Sterling’s feet, keeping us rooted in place.

“Well of course me,” she said, pouting. “What, did you think because you dispatched a few of my henchmares that I would suddenly back off?” She gritted her teeth and concentrated on something before laughing. “Though it appears you didn’t quite finish the job.” With a pop, the limp, but still breathing, body of Peece appeared beside her. She glared down at the unconscious mare before turning to us. “I’ll deal with her later...but first, the two of you.”

No matter how hard I pulled, I couldn’t break the magic that kept my legs from moving. “What, uh, are you going to do to us?” I asked nervously. “I mean, maybe we could just call this one even?”

Pullmare saddled up next to me and patted me on the head. “I’m sorry, Minty,” she cooed, “I would really like to; and if this was the first time we had met, that is.” Her magic clenched around my neck and brought my face so close that it was touching hers. “But you, you didn’t take my advice to leave town: you listened to my brother.” Her eyes started to glow like a burning inferno was lit from within. “And now you will pay.”

Struggling to speak, I asked, “W- What are you g- going to do?” I glanced over at Sterling, but it looked like his entire body was held in place by her magic.

Pullmare grinned in a gleeful, maniacal way at me. “Oh, I don’t know...” she said, “How about we see how hot it can get before your brain starts to boil? She lightly kissed me on the forehead, an act I didn’t even notice while I tried to register what she had just said. “I’d like to see how long before you stop screaming,” she whispered.

My body was shoved to the ground as Pullmare stood over me, triumphant. She laughed as her horn began to glow, and a magical field started to encase my head. I tried to beg and plead for my life, but my tongue refused to make words as my brain reacting in terror and fear.

“I wish all of your friends could see this,” Pullmare crowed. “Minty: the mare on fire!”

A fiery pain started at my temples, and began to slowly make its way inward. The pain continued as I tried to think colder thoughts, and struggled not to give her the satisfaction of screaming for mercy, which I just barely held back. Any longer, though, and there wouldn’t have been any willpower in me left to resist.

However, Luna must have been looking out for me that night, because I could vaguely hear a voice calling out from somewhere, “Hey, I think somepony over here survived!”

The pain stopped and the magical field died away as a colorful group of ponies came running up the hill, lanterns swaying in their hooves. “Are you folks okay?” one of them asked. “We saw the explosion and just thought...”

Pullmare, stepping into the light, replied with an official-looking smile, “These two are going to be perfectly okay; I pulled them out of the fires just in time.” Sadness and regret passed over her face with such realism that even I would have had a hard time doubting it. She pointed to Peece. “Alas, I wasn’t able to reach her until the flames had already reached her.”

“Oh no, Miss Mayor, I’m sure you did the best you could,” a stallion said quickly. “We can find sompony to take her to the hospital for you.”

“No, no,” Pullmare said, holding out one hoof. “I consider this my responsibility; this is what you elected me for, after all.” She indicated to where her new-looking steamcar sat. “I’ll take her to the hospital personally in the official car: we’ll get there faster that way.”

Compassion for their duly elected official shone on the faces of the ever-increasing crowd of onlookers as Pullmare gently gathered Orange Peece on her back. Murmurs of encouragement followed her until she reached the car, where she looked back at us.

To the ponies in the crowd, it would have looked like a gaze of joy, happy for us to be alive. I knew better, though. When she looked at me, her eyes told me that now no matter how I spun it, she was the hero of the day; no one would believe me if I said she was a psychotic monster. She knew that, despite every setback Sterling and I had given her, she had still managed to come out victorious.

I sighed and walked over to where Sterling stood as the mayor’s car pulled away. He watched it disappear into the sea of rowhouses before whispering, “Should we tell them?”

To avoid anypony listening in, I only very slightly shook my head. He gave a slight nod, so I hoped he had gotten the message.

A chuckling stallion walked up to us. “Boy, you two sure are lucky the mayor got to you in time,” he said. “Our mayor’s a real hero, she is.”

“Yeah,” I said, looking out over the dark suburbs to the glowing city center. The building that stood out as the brightest-lit of them all was the city hall, its massive, ivory tower visible from all over Fillydelphia. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I hadn’t been spared from Pullmare’s wrath because of luck, but because the burning remains of Sterling’s house wasn’t the place our final confrontation was supposed to be; if we were to have a last battle, it was going to be in Fillydelphia City Hall on the night of the Summer Sun Festival.

“The mayor is a hero,” I continued for the waiting stallion. “The exact kind of hero this city deserves.”

Episode 2: Learn to Fly

I woke up the next day sometime around ten, just as the blinds over the window that had been shielding me from the land of the living finally failed as the sun rose high enough for light to stream through. It wasn’t just my room getting brighter that woke me up, though. Joya had worked through the night on dresses for the Celebration; I’d spent most of my sleep listening to the gentle, steady hum of her sewing machine as, stitch by stitch, she turned bundles of fabric into her own little works of art. For the past half-hour, unfortunately, she’d switched off the machine and turned to some sort of tool that made a loud click every few seconds. It was maddening; every time my brain managed to pick out a pattern, the rhythm would change and I would stay awake a minute longer. The symphony of mechanical noise rose louder and louder until it reach a cresendo...and then it was silent again.

It felt like as good time as any to get up, so I yawned, swung myself out of the silky sheets of my bed, and set my hooves on the cold, wooden floor. My back popped as I stretched it and my mouth, as usual, tasted like I’d spent the night licking the side of a mining cart. I fumbled, blurry-eyed, for the hairbrush on top of my dresser before giving up and giving my mane one good shake and stumbling out of my room. Marshmallow was gone, but the house still smelled like a bakery; probably helped by the fact that neither Joya nor I were any good at cooking and, since we had been left with a good supply of leftovers, had no desire to give it a try.

Across the hall, the door to Sterling’s new bedroom was open, and the bed was empty. When we had arrived at Joya’s around midnight in the back of a police carriage, Sterling had been in some sort of muttering stupor that had left him all but dead to the world as we pulled him inside and assured the policemares that we were going to be fine. When they’d taken us into custody I’d been worried that we were going to be put into jail, but Sterling had made something of a name for himself in that area for causing accidents, and to them the explosion had been nothing more than a steady escalation of his previous failures. Nopony was hurt, and with his house gone, they let us go free.

I shut Sterling’s door and walked to the bathroom. What was supposed to be a quick once-over of my coat with a washrag and maybe a short dunk in a washbasin for my mane turned into a long soak in the tin bathtub. The city had turned the hot water back on, and I decided to take full advantage of their act of generosity--even if they had only been motivated to do so in the first place because of the prestigious guests arriving from all over Equestria for Princess Celestia’s presentation of the Summer Sun Celebration. Pullmare couldn’t have any part of Fillydelphia not looking its best, even the slummier ones.

I plunged as much of my body as I could underwater, and kept only the parts of my nose necessary for breathing in the air above. With any luck, my mind would drift back to the times before I had to worry about a maniacal mayor trying to off me.

An hour later I stepped out of the tub, refreshed and looking like an overly-large prune. I toweled off as best as I could and headed downstairs, unsure of what to do with myself. Everypony else was busy with the preparations while I, so far, didn’t have much to do besides make sure my camera was working--an experience only rivaled in stimulation by watching paint dry. The floor of the store was covered entirely in pieces of fabric and discarded sheets of paper with designs drawn haphazardly on them. “Joya?” I called, trying to find her in the mess.

“Over here!” her voice answered from the back workroom. Inside, Joya worked at the center of a circle of ponnequins; dresses and a couple suits hung loosely from them. She had resumed the use of her clicking machine, and somehow managed to hum along with the unsteady beat. She looked up as I came in. “Well, what do you think?” she asked.

I recognized my own dress, of course. It looked much the same as it had before: white satin gown with little jewels that weren’t quite diamonds sewn onto the hemline. The other dresses, though, I hadn’t seen before. “Did you do all this in one day?” I asked.

“Sure did,” Joya chirped happily.

Puzzled, I ran one hoof over the neat, uniform stitches and ordered lines of jewels on one of the gowns. If we were going to impress the high-class junkies from Canterlot and Manehattan, these were our best bet. “So...how?” I asked.

“Did I do them all so fast?” Joya said, appearing at my side. She smiled and turned to me. “Why, by staying up all night, of course!”

I recoiled at her sudden appearance. Her mane, normally in a neat bun, had fallen into a tangle of split ends and snarled curls. The eyes perched behind her sewing glasses were bloodshot, and bags hung heavy beneath them. “Are you, uh, sure that was a good idea?” I said. “The Celebration isn’t until tomorrow...”

“Well of course it is, sweetie,” she said, “that’s why I’ve stayed up so long; this isn’t my first Summer Sun Celebration.”

“But shouldn’t you be making outfits for, you know, customers, instead of a group of ponies you’ve only just met?” I said.

“Most customers order their dresses or suits weeks in advance,” she said, “so I have no problem taking a little time off to make a dress for you.”

“I didn’t say it was for me.”

“You didn’t have to.”

I rubbed the back of my head and mumbled a thank you while Joya sat down at her sewing machine. One hoof pumped the machine’s pedal at a steady beat, and two others guided a piece of satin through the electric needle. I looked around for something to do, and spotted a large box underneath a half-finished skirt.

“What’s in here?” I said. I walked over to the box, but resisted the urge to shake it.

“Oh, Sterling brought that up earlier,” Joya said. “I think it’s for you.”

“For me? Really?” I said. I tore open the top and found my camera lying inside. It looked better than when I had last seen it at the factory: the case was more shiny and sleek, and the flash guard was larger--something I had meant to ask him about after the last stint of photography left me seeing spots for hours.

There was a note attached. It read: Minty, replaced the film, cleaned the viewfinder, and found a new, better light bulb. Should work better now. His name was signed in a quick, scratching way as if he had been unsure of whether the letter was supposed to be formal.

“What’s in the package?” Joya asked over the din of her machine.

“It’s my camera--Sterling fixed it up just for me,” I said.

“Awe, well that was awfully sweet of him,” she said.

I clutched the note to my chest and sighed. “Yeah, it really was.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Are you okay?” she said. “You look like you’re trying to inhale that letter.”

I snapped the note away from my face as quickly as I could, crumpled it up, and through it on the ground. “I don’t know what you’re talk about.”

“You know, Minty,” she said, waggling her eyebrows, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you had a little crush on Sterling.”

“I do not,” I snapped. “How could I? He’s weird and awkward and only knows how to talk about machines...” My sentence petered out when I looked up and saw Joya still grinning at me. “What?”

“You’re face is so red that it’s turning your coat purple,” she said. She laughed. “And your voice keeps squeaking...”

“It does not!” I said, intending to sound forceful. Instead, my vocal chords chose that moment to betray me, and my voice pitched so high I could have broken glass.

“Dear, there’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Joya said. “It’s perfectly fine if you’re crushing on Sterling. Though I never really imagined he’d be your type.”

“Alright, alright, so I might like Sterling--a little,” I grumbled. I looked down at my hooves and sighed. “Doesn’t really change the fact that he doesn’t return the feeling.”

“Oh, and how would you know?” she said. “He fixed the camera just for you, didn’t he?”

I snorted. “So now if someone does something friendly for another pony, that means they like them?” I carefully picked up the discarded note and smoothed it out before placing it beside my camera. “If that’s the case, then he might just be right about there being something between me and Grapevine.”

Joya gave me a look, but didn’t follow up on it. She wiped her brow and fed another piece of cloth into her machine. It whirred into motion as she spoke, “Well, that’s not the only thing he’s done.”

“Oh yeah, what else?” I said. “Did he offer to pick up my mail? I’ve heard that’s a sure sign a guy’s madly in love with you.”

Instead of answering, she tossed a suit at my head. I missed the catch and had to pick it up off the floor. The outfit was silky-white and had gemstones for buttons and cufflinks. In fact, when I looked closely, it almost looked a lot...like...mine. Oh no.

“Joya,” I said, “please, please, please tell me that you didn’t make him a matching outfit without asking.”

“What do you mean, without asking?” she said. “He requested it himself; he seemed to be under the idea that you asked him to the Summer Sun Celebration.”

The tops of my ears burned. “He- he said that?”

“Sure did,” Joya said.

Suddenly, everything I had thought about Sterling and the Celebration was different, and for once in a good way. It was a dizzying sensation, to say the least; the most I’d hoped for was to ask him to dance. Now, it went without saying that I could afford to get into the freakier aspects of our suddenly-elevated relationship.

“Maybe I should, uh, go talk to him,” I said.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Joya said. She didn’t look up from sewing machine, but I could still feel her eyes--somehow--boring into me.

“Why not?”

“I tried to take him one of Marshmallow’s leftover brownies,” she said, “and, well, he’s not exactly in the greatest mood to talk. Kept yelling about needing to finish some project.” She smiled and rubbed the back of her head. “Plus, Grapevine may have, uh, wanted me to tell you something.”

“Is it about what happened yesterday?” I said.

“No, nothing like that,” Joya said. “She just wanted you to come down to the Chronicler office, is all.”

Right, I still had a job. Probably. I snatched my camera up and threw it around my neck, where it hung on a brand new strap. “Then I better get going,” I said. “If Grapevine still wants me with her, it’s probably important.”

Joya nodded. “She did look a little frazzled, come to think of it.”

I gathered myself up and walked out of her work room, mindful of the mess spread across the store. A couple muffins sitting uneaten on a nearby plate were claimed, and I made my way to the front door.

“Do you need money for the ride to the paper building?” Joya called before I had a chance to get out the door.

“No, I should have plenty,” I said.

Plenty, as it turned out, was one and a half bits, which was only good enough to get me a few blocks closer to the Chronicler building, despite making sure to pick out the cheapest cab I could find. The driver had muttered obscenities the whole ride, which were directed at me once he realized how little cash I had.

The rest of the trip turned into an endurance test as I marched on a sun-beaten West Fillydelphia sidewalk with ponies who had caught the Summer Sun fever. They were already wearing some of their best clothing, and even in the worst parts of town colorful posters advertising this great city of Progress covered entire walls.

In my younger and more vulnerable years, I would have been caught in the romance of such a big event, and a few weeks ago would have spent every day leading up to the Celebration in a hurried frenzy of preparation to make sure everything was just right. Now walking down West Fillydelphia with a few days’ education in city life, I found myself far more interested in the amount of dust wafting up from the streets with the massive influx of traffic from outside the city.

In fact, I was so caught up in surveying the traffic that I didn’t take notice at first when a black steamcarriage pulled up beside me. It wasn’t until it’s side door opened that I started to grow nervous and consider backing away. When a voice from the interior hissed, “Minty!” I was ready to make a run for it.

I would have run, if it hadn’t been for Rainbow Remedy stepping out of the car at the last second. He smiled and walked over to me, his rainbow mane thrown every which way from the wind whipped up by passing cars.

“Minty,” he said, “it’s good to see you again!”

I smiled back. “Same here,” I said. “But what are you doing in this part of town?”

“Oh, just got done making a house call over at the Factory,” he said. “Saved my patient’s life, no big deal.” He looked at me, then up and down the sidewalk. “Though I may be asking, what’s a pony like yourself doing walking in this neighborhood? Unless you’re just the kind who likes long walks on the dirty city streets...”

“I was heading to the Chronicler building,” I said. I coughed. “Though I may not have, uh, brought enough money for the cab.”

He laughed and put a hoof on my shoulder. “How would you like for me to give you a ride?” he said. “We can get there faster than you can say acetylsalicylic acid.”

“I don’t think I could ever say that.”

“Exactly!”

I placed a hoof on the bridge of my nose and shook my head before climbing up into his car and scooting into the passenger seat. Rainbow Remedy climbed in and slammed the door shut behind him. I got a good look at the interior that I hadn’t been afforded the last time I had ridden with him. Though from the outside his car resembled the one his sister drove, the interior was a different story. The ceiling was too short--so much that he had to crouch a little to avoid hitting his head--and the carpet on the seats was tattered and frayed. The dashboard was cracked in several places, and the steam engine rattled and sputtered when he turned it on and pulled away from the curb.

I hacked and spat at the dust that flew in through the open windows when we pulled into the main traffic. If I finished the trip without becoming half sand monster, I would count myself lucky.

“So tell me, Minty,” Remedy said, interrupting my thoughts on what sand monsters used for food, “how was it being saved by our wonderful mayor from that explosion yesterday?”

“Oh, so you saw that?” I yelled over the engine noise. “Let’s just say it was less than pleasant.”

“Really? I never would have guessed,” he said. He grew serious. “This puts her at an advantage, you know.”

“How do you figure?”

“She now has the trust and thanks of thousands of ponies in the city who see her as somepony who defends her citizens, even at the risk of personal harm.”

“Okay,” I said, “how does that make a difference to our previous situation?”

“Look at you, using the big words,” he said. He coughed. “Right, anyway. Our plan before was to get her to confess to the Princess, yes? Yes.” He ran a hoof through his mane. “But, now it’s not so simple.”

“Why not?” I said. “Make her sing like a canary to the Princess and our job is done.”

“In theory,” he said. “The only problem, however, is that before we could just call a surprise audience and get her to talk right then and there. Now, her confession is going to have to be very explicit, and very public.”

“And that’s because...?”

“Ponies in this town aren’t very ambivalent towards Canterlot and the royalty,” he said. “Here, magic is rare and the Princesses are two very old and lucky ponies who managed to convince an entire country to worship them. A Princess’ word against their now-beloved mayor wouldn’t hold any weight; if we can’t convince the populace directly that Pullmare is bad, she’ll never lose power.”

I sank back in my seat. “Wonderful, just wonderful.”

Remedy steered the car around one corner, then another. Each time, he briefly looked behind him. After another turn and another look, his eyes narrowed. “I think we may have one other problem,” he said.

“What problem would that be?” I said. I looked behind us out of my window, but only saw a sea of uniform steamcars, and occasionally a carriage or two.

“I believe my sister knows our situation, too.” He pressed the accelerator and the complaining of the steam engine turned into a high pitched whine as the car leapt forward. “We’re being followed.”

I tried to look again, but a look from Remedy held me back. Instead, I grabbed the edges of my seat as he began to weave his rickety car in and out of the traffic. “Is this really necessary?” I cried.

“Completely!” he said.

He barreled through a left turn and onto one of the few streets in the city that I recognized. “Hey, there’s the Chronicler,” I said. We whizzed by it without slowing down. “...which we just passed.”

“No time to stop,” Remedy said. Just hold on to something and try to put your head between your legs.”

“Why would I do tha-” I began, but was shoved into the position by gravity as the steamcar rose on two wheels as Rainbow Remedy took a right turn at around forty miles per hour.

The rest of the ride was a blur of somepony shouting and screaming while the doctor took his car to the absolute extremes a colt can take a machine. We zipped around and through traffic, and I’m pretty sure at one point caused a minor accident.

The noise eventually died down, mostly after I realized I was the one screaming and shut my mouth. The car slowed down, too, as we reached the outer edges of the city. Remedy didn’t protest when I stuck my head out to get a good look around.

Coming into Fillydelphia, I hadn’t gotten a very good look at where the countryside became the city, only the two extremes. In this area, the rowhouses moved further apart, and little, miniature pastures appeared in front of them. Most of the building materials were wood, instead of brick. I saw trees, real, big trees, for the first time in a week.

“Ah, Chestnut Hill,” Remedy said. “The city hasn’t quite made its way here yet, so it’s nice to come up here every once in a while to relax.”

“And to hide from Pullmare’s minions?”

He smiled. “That too.”

Rainbow Remedy brought the car to stop in front of a large, grassy hill with a few park benches at the top. The area was empty, save for us. I got out and enjoyed the feel of real, on-the-ground, grass under my hooves again.

I followed Remedy up the hill until we reached a large oak tree which shaded fully half of the top. Birds chirped from high up in the branches, and insects buzzed around the flowers at the base. Funny that I hated the big idea of moving back to Derbyshire, but it was the little things I missed.

“Well, this is the spot, but I don’t see her anywhere,” Rainbow Remedy. The illusion of a normal day was popped like the balloon of an annoying child, and I snapped back into reality.

“Who’s her?” I said.

Remedy reached into his hair and pulled out a small pocket watch. He checked it, looked up at the sky, looked at me, and carefully backed away. Before I could ask what the hay he was doing, I heard a loud sound coming from above me.

I only had time to look up and see a blog of teal and pink before I was hit and knocked to the ground. “Ow,” I groaned.

“Sorry about that,” Starshine said. She stood up and shook herself off. “Landings are still a little shaky.” Except for a few bandages still wrapped around her head, she looked like she was back to normal, a far cry from the...thing I had witnessed in the hospital bed a few days ago.

“No, it’s fine,” I said. I stood up and stretched my back. “Shouldn’t you still be in the hospital, though?”

She shrugged. “I guess; but it’s way more fun out here.” To prove her point, she spread her metal wings and leapt into the air, not stopping until she was perched on the highest branch of the oak tree.

“Besides,” she called down. “Rainbow Remedy wanted me to meet you here.”

I turned to see him desperately trying to figure out how to whistle, but instead emitting some sort of spitting motion. “I thought you said we came here to escape whoever was following us,” I said.

“Well,” he said, “I may have exaggerated a bit.”

“How much is a bit?”

“Everything after ‘I think we have one other problem’,’ he said. “But all that about my sister being on to our predicament? That’s true.”

I groaned. Great, Rainbow Remedy had dragged me out of Fillydelphia, not that I didn’t mind that little bit, to meet with Starshine when I could have been with Grapevine actually figuring out exactly what was so important that she called me for. It went without saying that I couldn’t stay, so I started to walk back.

“Wait, Minty, where are you going?” Remedy called.

“The Chronicler,” I answered. “Maybe if I start walking now, I can get back before Grapevine blows a gasket.”

A bright white flash went off in front of me and suddenly Rainbow Remedy was there, less than a foot from my face. “So it’s Grapevine you’re worried about,” he said.

I, on the other hoof, had lost my balance and fallen over in surprise in his sudden appearance. I rubbed my head. “Ugh, don’t do that,” I said. “I swear, Ponies weren’t meant to teleport; it’s just unnatural...”

“More unnatural than flying?” he said with a sly smile. I grumbled, but let him help me up.

“So what was that about Grapevine?” I said.

“I just thought, if you’re so worried about what she’ll think if you’re late, then why not bring her back something important--like information, for example,” he said.

“And I’m guessing you’ll give that to me if I stay here and do whatever it is that you brought Starshine for?”

“Now you’re getting it!” he said. “And here I was, thinking I was going to have to resort to bribery or blackmail.”

“Uh, thanks?” I said. I resumed the walk back to the city. “The only problem is,” I said without looking back, “if Grapevine spent yesterday with you, I’d doubt she knows less than I did. Unless, of course, you lied to her.”

“I never lie,” he said quickly. “Besides, I wouldn’t have needed to lie yesterday; I hardly got a word in edgewise. I’m not even sure I said anything beyond ‘I agree’ and ‘You’re so right’.”

“Alright, alright, I get the picture,” I said. “So what is it that you’ll tell me that’s so important I’ll just have to stay.”

He pawed the ground rolled his head a little. “Oh, nothing special; just a little bit of history about my sister that might help yours and Grapevine’s investigation.”

I glared at him. “So you’re going to withhold information from us unless I do your job or whatever?”

“Not likely,” Remedy said. “I just won’t tell you until, say, tomorrow, right before the Celebration.” He shrugged. “It’s not like you need to know right now, it’s just if you want to. I’m sure a pony with instincts can go twenty-four hours without knowing some of the secrets her nemesis.”

I took one last look at urban Fillydelphia before lowering my head and facing Remedy. “What was it that you had in mind for me, again?”

“That’s the spirit!” he said. He laughed.

Back at the top of the hill, Starshine waited patiently for us. She seemed amused enough with seeing how fast she could open and close her wings. The sight was unsettling; every whip of the metal feathers looked like somepony unsheathing a dozen swords all at once, and right next to our faces to boot.

“Oh hey, you decided to show up after all,” she said to me when we reached her. She turned to Rainbow Remedy. “Did you threaten to blackmail her, like I said?”

Remedy shot her a look. “No, I convinced her in perfectly rational manner to come join us.”

“You used your sister as a bribe, didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer, and instead clopped his hooves together and stepped in front of me. He looked less like a doctor, and more like an overly-enthusiastic public speaker. “Alright, Minty,” he said, “you’re here today for one reason, and one reason only: to learn how to fly.”

He looked at me like he expected some sort of response to the affirmative, if not outright applause for such a high-brow idea. Rather, I chose to flap my wings and jump straight up, settling for hovering a few feet off the ground.

“Okay, lesson over,” I said. “Can you tell me about your sister now?”

“Points for the attitude,” Remedy said, “but no, that’s not what you’re learning today.”

Starshine bumped him out of the way before I could respond. “What he’s trying to say,” she said, “is that you can fly, but you can’t fly.”

“What?”

She sighed, then pointed at me. “What you’re doing right now, you would count as flying, right?”

I nodded.

“Well,” she said, “this is flying.” My protests fell on deaf ears as Starshine leapt off the ground, grabbed me around the waist, and soared into the air. We sped to the top of the tree, where she set me down gently on the highest branch.

“P- Please don’t do that,” I said once my hooves were safely on something solid again. “And what is it with you Weather Corps ponies and picking us normal folk up by the waist?”

I regretted what I said just a few seconds after the words left my mouth.

Starshine winced, but tried to smile. “It’s okay, really,” she said. “I started too fast again, didn't I?”

I looked down at the ground that looked like it was swaying far below. “Maybe a little.”

She sighed. “Sorry, I just...” She looked around, and leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “...I just felt really bad about last time. I failed you, Minty, and you almost died because of me.”

“That’s not the whole story, and you know it,” I said, stepping back a little. Not because I didn’t want her to whisper, but because she had a habit of spitting when she talked, and some of it was getting into my ear. “I’m the one that messed up, remember?”

Starshine shook her head. Her pink hair fell over her eyes, but she didn’t try to brush it away. “My mom was an instructor for the Weather Corps, and she always used to tell me, ‘There are no bad students, only bad teachers.’”

“She obviously never met me,” I said. When Starshine didn’t reply, I said, “If you really thought you were a bad teacher, you wouldn’t have shown up here in the first place.” I walked to the edge of the tree branch and spread my wings. “Now come on, I thought you were going to teach me how to fly."

A flicker of a smile appeared on her face, and Starshine joined me at the edge. “Alright, you want to really learn how to fly?” she said. Her wings snapped open with the precision of a well-tuned engine.

I bent my legs and flapped my wings a bit. “Oh yeah, I’m ready,” I said.

“Good, let’s start,” she said. She tapped me on the back. “For starters, your stance is all wrong...”

It was a good fifteen minutes before I was allowed to take flight, and another ten before we really got moving as Starshine took her time to explain to me how to fly, mostly through showing me the exact opposite of what I was doing.

“You’re trying too hard to imitate how a bird flies,” she told me. “You have to remember that not only do we have four legs, but our wings are attached to our backs; it gives us a different center of gravity.”

All of it was news to me, and I was afraid to tell her that I really had learned to fly by watching birds. Derbyshire wasn’t known for its Pegasi, and really the only other ones around were in the Weather Team, which was considered a Flight School wash up dumping ground by Cloudsdale. Not that anypony new in town would have known that. Despite their low position, or maybe because of it, the Derbyshire Weather Team held itself to a sort of standard that meant no mingling with the Lower Species, even another Pegasi who was raised in their midst.

Starshine spent the next few minutes teaching me about updraft and how to optimize how much I flapped my wings. “If you’re smart and know where to find the best thermals,” she said, “then you can go anywhere you want without having to tire your wings out.” She pointed at me. “You’re lucky that you’ve got natural wings; mine don’t catch air very well.”

She guided me over to a spot above a row of clapboard houses lining a quiet street. “Pavement always provides really good air pockets,” she explained. She slapped me on the back. “Now, I want you to try to fly over the entire road without flapping your wings even once.”

I wanted to refuse, but I didn’t want to let her or Rainbow Remedy, and by extension, Grapevine, down. Plus, it would be nice to actually learn how to properly fly. So, I took a big gulp and started to fly toward the street.

As Starshine had instructed, one I reached the air over the pavement, I spread my wings as far out as I could and stopped flapping. Instead of dropping like a stone, to my surprise I actually rose a little as I rode the thermal. “Woohoo!” I cried as I glided back and forth, finally feeling what it was like to be a real Pegasus.

Naturally, I chose that moment to fly out and away from the pavement and its lifting air. This time, I really did start to fall. There was a moment of terror before I flapped like mad and righted myself, taking big gulps of air as I did so.

Starshine appeared at my side. There was anger spread across her face, and it looked like she was about to yell at me. She must have realized it too, because instead she took several deep breaths before responding in an even voice, “Okay, that wasn’t that bad; we’ll just need to do it again.”

And we did. For another hour. And once she was begrudgingly satisfied that I could ride a thermal without turning myself into pavement decoration, we moved on to other techniques.

Next, she taught me how to bank and fly in a tight circle with all the precision of a falcon. It would have been easier to learn if I had managed to wrap my head around the idea that I had to almost close one of my wings for a fast turn. My brain seemed to have the idea that, shockingly, shutting down half of what kept me in the air while flying was a bad idea.

Of course, when I voiced the concern to Starshine, she looked at me like I had told her it would be a good idea to fly toward the sun sometime.

We practiced a few other techniques; mostly the simple stuff that I had never really been able to figure out on my own, but nothing that really required a heap of skill to do. After all, as Starshine informed me, “At best, we’re pushing you the level of a Cloudsdale schoolfilly today; if you want to really learn how to fly, it’ll take longer than one day.” She tapped a hoof to her chin. “Or longer than a month, really.”

It was jarring, but Starshine kept calm through the session, not having to raise or lower her voice the whole time. Not that she needed to change how she spoke to get across when I did something really bad, but it was a startling departure from her attitude back on Serenity, especially when I could tell it almost pained her to have to explain concepts even most young Pegasi know instinctively.

When I asked her about it, she said, “After he came back, Lightning and I had a little...talk. He told me about Rainbow Remedy’s idea; that if I could teach you, really teach this time, to fly and make weather, then Lightning would consider letting me back in the Weather Corps.”

“Glad Rainbow Remedy gave me a choice in the matter,” I said.

“Did you really expect him to?”

She had a point. “So,” I asked, “if you have to be a real instructor now, does that mean I won’t get to see the old Starshine anymore?”

She batted her eyes. “Maybe not in the air, but when we’re back on the ground don’t expect anything different.”

I smiled. “Never would have wanted you to be.”

For the rest of flying practice, Starshine spent her time explaining to me exactly why I couldn’t learn how to make weather for at least a few more weeks of regular practice. I tried to argue a little--mostly because of my inability to perform last time--but she wouldn’t budge on the issue. She said she wanted to make sure that if I ever had a repeat of the incident on Serenity, she would know with certainty that I could fly well enough to catch myself.

The sun was beginning to droop in the sky when we flew back to the hill with the oak tree where Remedy lay asleep on the park bench. I showed it more in my outward appearance, but I could tell that Starshine was beginning to tire. We came in for a light landing, or Starshine did anyway. My tired and overexerted wings finally gave in halfway through, and I fell into a heap at the foot of the wooden bench Remedy occupied.

He snorted and drowzily sat up, blinking in confusion. “What’d I miss?” Starshine filled him in while the doctor got up and stretched. “Sounds like the two of you had quite a time,” he said.

“You could say that,” Starshine said.

“How’d she do?” he said.

“She can fly a little better than a baby sparrow; in a few months, I might be able to make something of her.”

“Splendid!” Remedy said. He pulled out his pocket watch and checked it again. “Are you going to stay around much longer, by any chance?”

Starshine snorted. “Are you kidding me?” she said. “I’m off the clock.” She nodded to me before leaping into the air, doing a backflip, and soaring off in the general direction of Serenity.

Once she was out of sight, Remedy said, “Well now that that’s over, why don’t we see if I can’t get you back to the paper office before they send out search parties, eh?”

“What about telling me about your sister?” I said. “I held up my end of the bargain.”

“Oh come on, there’ll be plenty of time for that on the ride over,” Remedy said. He beckoned to the car. “Best to get going before we start, or we’ll be here all night.”

I reluctantly followed him back to the steam car and remained quiet as he peeled away from the hill and back onto the roads of Fillydelphia. They were much less crowded at this later hour, so the ride was almost pleasant in his claptrap car.

“So,” he said after we reached the main street that fed back into Fillydelphia proper, “what do you want to know?”

A thousand questions popped into my mind, but I chose the obvious one first. “What was the point in me learning to fly today?” I said. “I mean, is it really going to make a difference when we confront Pullmare?” Okay, so two obvious questions. Along with flying, I’d never really been good with math, either.

“My sister has always been, er, powerful in magic,” he said. He took a slow right turn where earlier he had sped around the curve so fast we had ended up in the oncoming lane. “Not talented, mind you; they never called her that. When she went up to the same board I did to enter into the Trottingham School for Talented Young Unicorns, they told her that she had raw power, but no way real way to control it.”

“The fire,” I said.

“Exactly. She’s never been able to do any other spells or tricks or conjugations, but her power in fire is unrivaled. When I went away to the School, and later to Concealed College, she stayed home and focused on her one and only strength, which she became very adept at.”

I gulped. “So how exactly is flying supposed to help me against that?”

“Oh, it’s not,” he said.

“What?” I said. “You dragged me all the way out of Fillydelphia, and away from Grapevine for nothing?!”

“Not for nothing,” he said. “The point wasn’t to teach you how to fly--we can do that any time--but to get you a little bit of confidence, which is something, according to Grapevine, that you’re lacking.”

I told myself that I would need to talk to Grapevine about that later. “And just how does learning how to fly build my confidence?”

“Well, for instance-” he began. His horn glowed and flashed, and suddenly I was twenty feet above the motorway, and falling fast.

I caught myself halfway down and glided to where Remedy had parked the car beside the road. I glared at him the whole time. “Not funny,” I said.

“Well, how do you feel?” he said.

“Annoyed and angry,” I growled.

“But are you afraid?”

I paused, and when I thought about it a little, wanted to slam my head against the side of the car rather than respond. “No, I guess I don’t feel afraid,” I managed.

“See, confidence!” he said with a cheeky grin.

I gave him one more angry look before letting it go and climbing back into the car. After he started off again, I said, “Alright, so you have a point about that; is there anything else that you know that can help us against Pullmare?”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, I haven’t talked to her much since she came to the city a few years back, so nothing very recent.”

“How did a unicorn from Trottingham make it all the way to Fillydelphia, anyway?” I said.

“It was when I was still at Concealed College, and Golden was staying with our parents,” Remedy began, using what he had given for his sister’s real name. He looked down. “They died aboard the Celestia’s Grace, the first--and so far, last--passenger aeroplane. After that, my sister must have seen her chance, and took both of our sizable inheritances and fled to Fillydelphia.”

I touched a hoof to his shoulder. A look from him kept from saying more about that issue, though. Instead, I asked, “So how did a moderately-rich mare just arriving in the city become the richest business owner and mayor?”

The lines around his face relaxed. “You’ve heard of the parasprite infestation about thirty years ago, correct?” he said. I nodded. “Well, for almost twenty years, the city didn’t recover. The little buggers had wiped out almost every business and industry in Fillydelphia and most companies, rather than rebuilding, simply chose to move their business elsewhere.” He paused. “It wasn’t until my sister came that she got the city back on its feet. She was the one that talked the then current mayor into lowering business taxes to almost nothing to attract more companies, and easing up on immigration so those same companies could hire the cheapest workers.”

“Wait, so Pullmare’s the reason the city is in the shape it is?” I said. I’d known she was important to the city, but not to that extent.

“There’s much to be said for her tactics,” Remedy said. “It helped that her love child, the Pullmare Company, was the heart of the new revitalization. When the time came to elect a new mayor, nopony even bothered to run against her.”

“If she’s so important to the city, what’s going to happen if we do defeat her?” I said.

Remedy shrugged. “Hopefully we get the chance to find out.”

The car slowed down, and I realized that we had reached the Chronicler building. With a rattling shake, the steam car stopped at the front door.

“And here we are,” Remedy said. “I hope I answered your questions satisfactorily.”

“I guess,” I said. I scratched my head. “Though not really for anything that can help against Pullmare.”

“Ah well, what can you do?” he said. He opened the door for me and I got out. The door shut and he said from inside, “And here, again, I drop you off in front of a building with your mission to go inside and talk to Grapevine.” He looked bemused. “I hope your choice is different than previously.”

I stuck out my tongue, which turned out to be a horrible idea as he roared away and dust got on to it and into my mouth. I coughed and hacked for a minute before walking inside the Chronicler.

The front room was dark, but it was late in the day so I just assumed that the secretary had gone home. I didn’t really notice anything unusual until I walked into the newsroom. The room was still lit by a row of fluorescents on the ceiling, but it had a great, dark empty feeling to it. Instead of the day-and-night hustle and bustle of ponies working to get the latest edition of the paper out, the room was silent.

What remained of the room’s vitality were a few typewriters and printing presses, empty of the paper they had once held. I was thinking hard about leaving, assuming Grapevine wasn’t there, when I heard sound coming from Ornate’s office.

I opened the door and inside was Grapevine, leaning back in our boss’ wide-backed chair, staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t tell if she noticed me come in or not, so I raised a hoof in greeting and said, “Hey.”

She didn’t move or look away from whatever corner of the office she was staring at, but she said, “Well look who decided to join us.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I got caught up with Rainbow Remedy...”

“I figured.” The room grew silent.

I cleared my throat. “Um, what happened here?” The office, like the newsroom outside, was bare save for Ornate’s desk and the chair Grapevine sat in; all the tacked up pictures and paper and the file cabinets in the corner were gone.

The chair creaked when Grapevine adjusted her position a little. “Peece came with the police,” she said. “They took everything they could get their hooves on; claimed it was for ‘Disturbing the public trust,’ or whatever.”

“What about the other staff?” I said. “Where is everypony?”

“Peece scared most of them off,” Grapevine said. She leaned forward and the chair settled back on all four legs with a thump. “They arrested Orante and a few of the other reporters; the only reason I didn’t go with them was some special order they had.” She looked up at me for the first time. “I assume part of that is your doing?”

I nodded. “Pullmare isn’t going to want any of us missing the big show,” I said.

“Great, wonderful.”

“Are you okay?”

“Does it look like I’m okay?” she said. Upon closer examination, she was right; her eyes were bloodshot and her coat was matted and tangled where it was usually so uniform and neat. Her mane, though, remained as unruly as it always was.

“They took everything, Minty,” she continued. “Everything. All the evidence we had gathered; interviews, documents, pictures, whatever. Peece has them now.”

Cautiously, I asked, “Was all that really so, um, important? I thought we were just going to get Pullmare to confess to everything on her own.”

“Of course it’s important!” Grapevine said. She looked like if she didn’t stay angry, she would break down in tears. “Without any evidence to look at, we have no idea what she’s doing, what she’s planning. If we go to the Celebration without knowing exactly what we’re trying to get her to say, we might as well give up now.”

She let her head drop onto the desk with a thud. “Even after all we’ve done, Pullmare’s still one step ahead of us,” she said. Her voice was muffled by the desk’s wooden top.

I tried to think of what to do, but couldn’t find any words. The stress and weight of everything happening was weighing down hard on her, and couldn’t help but feel like a bystander watching a one-sided kickboxing match. In fact, the way she was acting almost reminded me of how I had felt with Lightning up on Serenity...

Suddenly, an idea popped into my head. “Hey, Grapevine, can I ask a question?” I said.

“Whatever.”

Continuing, I said, “Is there a way to get to the roof?”

A stray brick propped open the door as we stepped onto the concrete top of the Chronicler building. Grapevine had reluctantly followed me to the roof, and now paced around, looking impatient.

“Okay, we’re here,” she said once I had joined her near the edge. “Now, can you tell me why I’m up here?”

“You seemed a bit stressed,” I said.

“Are you suggesting I should jump off?”

I laughed. “No, you just reminded me of how I felt after coming back from the jail a few nights ago, and I remembered how a friend helped me get over it a little bit.”

She rolled her eyes. “And that would be...?”

“When was the last time you watched the sunset?” I said. I picked my words carefully, going out on a wing. “Like really watched it, not just glance at it?”

“I don’t know, why?” she said.

I wordlessly pointed behind her. The sun had indeed begun to set on Fillydelphia, and the view was spectacular, though still trumped by the view from Serenity. Fading sunlight glinted off the towers around downtown, and made both the Delamare and Schuylhoof rivers sparkle like diamonds in a cave. We watched electric lights blink on one by one in the reddening light.

“See?” I said. Grapevine nodded, her eyes fixed on the view. I wanted to say more, to reassure her that things would turn out alright somehow and that it was best not to worry so much about such things, but I think she got the message.

After a while, I sat down with my back to the door and watched her, held still by the view of the cityscape. She stood there for a long time, long after the moon had risen and the city came alive in an electric fervor.

I was half-asleep at that point, but some time later I thought I heard her whisper, “Thank you.”

Episode 2: You Gotta Fight (For Your Right to Party)

I groaned and sat up, cradling my head in my forehooves. It felt like somepony had spent the night slamming my head into the concrete roof of the Chronicler building. I held a hoof in front of my face in a vain attempt to ward off the sunlight streaming over the rooftops and between the skyscrapers of Fillydelphia. Who was Celestia trying to impress, anyway? It’s not like she had much competition when it came to raising the sun.

My back popped and creaked when I moved onto my hooves, a result of using a building for a bed. Strangely, though, only half of my body felt sore in that kind of way, the other felt...I don’t know, rested? I looked to my left, and my heart sank when I saw the reason why. Oh no.

“Bah!” I cried, jumping away as fast as I could from the sleeping form of Grapevine. I scrambled across the roof and laid on my back, breathing hard. Calm down, I told myself. What’s the matter with two friends sleeping together for warmth? A bottle of whiskey clinked when I moved one hoof out from under me. Okay, maybe a few things.

I looked around a little before softly calling, “Hey, Grapevine...are you up?” No response. I tiphoofed over to where she lay and said a little louder, “Uh, I think it’s time to wake up.” She sniffed but remained asleep. I took a big gulp and poked her. “I think you should probably go ahead and get-”

She awoke with a start and jumped up, slapping me in the face with one hoof. “Huh, z- what, who is that?” she said. She glanced around until her eyes locked on me, lying on the ground where I fell. She scratched the back of her head. “Oh, uh, sorry Minty; didn’t see you there.”

“It’s alright,” I said, taking the offered hoof and pulling myself up. The spot on my cheek where she connected throbbed. “I probably should have expected that.”

“Probably,” she said. Grapevine popped her neck and ran a hoof through her hair, which had no visible effect on its tangled mess. “So what’s going on?”

“You tell me,” I said. I kicked one of the empty bottles and sent it flying off the roof. “What exactly happened last night?”

For the first time, Grapevine took notice of the whiskey bottles and blankets lying around her. Her eyes sped from them, to me, then back to herself, and the cycle was repeated several times over with her eyes getting wider and wider until she finally shook her head and laughed.

“It looks to me like we found Ornate’s liquor cabinet,” she said. “Sorry if I fell asleep on you; I do that sometimes.”

I coughed and looked away. “Are you, um, sure that was it?”

“You’re implying something?”

“No...”

“Good,” Grapevine said. She rolled her eyes when she saw me blush. “Don’t flatter yourself; you’re not exactly a stallion.”

“I think I’ve managed to figure that one out.”

“Just making sure you remembered,” she said. “Wouldn’t want you getting any wild ideas about last night.”

“Oh, I won’t,” I said. But that wasn’t true. Drunken memories were already coming back, and I was starting to suspect there was an entirely different reason for my soreness. Still, better not to bring it up to Grapevine, I thought. Not right now, anyway; she’d just blow me off.

“Right, well, let’s go ahead and get off this roof,” Grapevine continued. I followed her as she led the way back into the Chronicler offices.

The marks of a wild night were more apparent downstairs in the newsroom. Broken bottles and upturned crates lay everywhere, as well as their foul-smelling products. Printer’s ink was spattered on the floor into a crude drawing of Pullmare. Vulgar and suggestive graffiti surrounded the drawing, and while most of them were scrawled in Grapevine’s hoofwriting, I winced when I saw some of them written in Germane.

“Shouldn’t we, uh, clean this up?” I said.

“Would there be a point?” Grapevine answered. “It’s not like anypony’s going to show up today.”

“Well I still think we should at least try to keep it nice.”

“Fine, you do it.”

I looked around one more time at the aftermath of an exceedingly messy night and shook my head. I didn’t exactly agree with her reasoning, but didn’t want to spend part of my possibly-last day in the city cleaning up our mess. “Nah, you’re right,” I said.

We walked out of the building and Grapevine locked the door behind us at my insistence. The streets were empty save for mares, and a few stallions, making the walk of shame home after being kicked out by whoever they had spent the night with. I was ready to comment on this to Grapevine, until I realized the comparison struck a little too close to home. I shook my head, again. The cold morning air was obviously getting to me.

But that wasn’t the only feeling our trip invoked. The tall buildings loomed over us as we went, standing about and solemnly guiding us to our destination like great guardians of Tartarus. It came from the uneasy feeling that our journey, our last journey of that night would begin soon, and it was from Joya’s shop it would start.

We arrived at the West Fillydelphia store in silence. I expected Joya’s shop to be as asleep as the rest of the businesses around it, but it blazed bright as the evening star. I moved to knock on the door, but Grapevine barged through without a glance around.

The first thing that struck me when we walked in was how clean the salesroom was. The ponnequinnes once more stood bare in neat orderly rows, and outfits sat folded on their shelves. Joya looked up in surprise when we came in, but her face quickly grew a smile and she bounded over to us.

“You’re here, you’re here!” she said. We were both wrapped in side-splitting hugs as she picked us up and brought us to a circle of ponnequinnes that she had prepared. On them were five dresses and two suits. Mine and Sterling’s were right next to each other’s, of course.

I had seen them before, so while still impressed, I wasn’t quite in awe, but it was apparently Grapevine’s first time to see her dress. The gown wasn’t as flowing as mine, and really would rest just below her flank. It was royal purple, and had some sort of stylized question mark lying just below the chest, outlined in gems.

“I- it’s amazing, Joya,” Grapevine whispered, running a hoof along the silk fabric. “Did you really do all this by yourself?”

“Yep,” Joya said. She frowned. “Why does everypony find that so hard to believe?”

I put a hoof around her shoulder. “We’re just grateful, is all,” I said. She regained her smile and motioned for Grapevine to come over to the middle of the circle. Joya pulled the dress over Grapevine’s head and let her walk around a little bit, the dress flowing over her as she moved.

“Like what you see?” Grapevine said when she saw me looking. I glared at her but she shrugged it off and turned to Joya. “The dress is lovely.”

“Glad you think so,” Joya said. She let Grapevine walk around a little bit more while I saddled up to her.

“So, uh, has anypony else arrived yet?” I said.

“Sterling’s here, yes.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“More or less,” she said. “He’s in the basement, last I checked.”

I thought about saying more, but instead just mumbled thanks and walked back past the register and the kitchen to the basement door. I’d only been down there once, and it had scared the daylights out of me. Now, I was scared to go down for a different reason.

The basement was dark, and I made sure to flip on the lights before I descended the rickety stairs. Didn’t want a repeat of last time; I still had a bruise on my rump from that fall.

Her basement was similar to what Sterling’s had been; messy and disorganized. Instead of machine parts, however, bolts of fabric and old ponnequinnes littered the ground and made piles in the corner while design drawings lay everywhere.

Sterling himself sat with his head down at a bench in the middle of the clean spot in the room. He looked to be lost in thought as he peered down at something in his hooves, and every few seconds he would reach up and scratch a little spot behind his left ear.

I walked up beside him and said, “Hey Sterling, what’re you doing?”

He jumped and sent a screwdriver flying through the air. “Oh, um, hey Minty,” he said. “I was going to ask Joya to send you down, but I guess you got back faster than we thought.”

“And what exactly did you want me for?” I said. A few ideas came to mind, but weren’t exactly likely at that point in time.

“Remember the machine you asked me to build?” Sterling said.

“Yeah...”

He held out the little box he had been fiddling with. “Well, I finished it,” he said. The machine looked liked little more than a plain box, with two buttons on the top; one green and one blue.

“How exactly does it work?” I said.

“Well, the initial machine was much too large and complicated for what we needed,” he said, “that is, until Rainbow Remedy stopped by last night and lent his magic to my work. This is the result.”

“That’s great,” I said, “but I meant to ask what the buttons do.”

“Oh.” He blushed and held the box closer to my face. He pointed first to the green button. “This button activates the feature you asked for: it can amplify somepony’s voice loud enough to be heard from up to one hundred feet away.”

“What’s the blue one do?” I said.

He pressed it and said, “It records your voice...” He let it go then tapped it again, saying, “..and plays it back again.” Sure enough, the little box spoke Sterling’s exact words. “Rainbow Remedy said you might find a use for it.”

I felt my eyes widen. “So...I could get Pullmare to confess backstage, and then play it in front of everypony with the amplifier?”

“Well, yes, I guess you could...in theory.”

I grabbed him by the shoulders. “Do you know what this means?” I said.

“Um, no?”

He was wrapped in a quick hug by me before I could let my brain take over and tell me to cut it out. “It means we have an actual advantage over her for once,” I cried.

“T- That’s great, Minty,” Sterling said. He coughed. “And not that I don’t mind, but don’t you think your hugs a little tight?”

“Oh, sorry,” I said. I let go of him and quickly backed away, trying to hide my reddening face. “Just nice to know we might not be completely screwed tonight.”

“Glad to know I could be of service,” he said, then laughed. “I just hope it’ll help when you’re at the Celebration.”

“You mean when we’re at the celebration,” I said carefully. “We’re going together, with matching outfits and everything, remember?”

Sterling smiled, just for a second. “Right.”

After a few minutes of awkward silence and constant attempts to bring up our impending date for the Celebration but never getting the courage to actually say anything, I excused myself and went upstairs.

In my absence, Marshmallow had shown up, her hair done up in a rough bun and reading glasses perched on her face. “There you are, Minty,” she said.

“Yeah, here I am,” I said. “But I thought you and everyone else were going to come over later today?”

“Rainbow Remedy and Starshine are working on something before they get here,” Marshmallow explained, “but Joya stressed how important it was I showed up early.”

“How come?”

“Because of this,” she said, using her magic to levitate a box from out behind her. The box opened in front of her, revealing a variety of brushes, makeup, and other such tools inside.

“You came here to fancy yourself up?” I said. “Couldn’t you do that from home?”

Marshmallow smiled. “They’re not for me...”

I looked at Joya, who was smiling expectantly at me, and at Grapevine, who had a little smirk adorning her face. “Wait, wait,” I said, “why do I have to get done up? I’m the only one here who showers every day and everything!”

“You need this more than the rest of us,” Marshmallow told me. “The first battle you’ll fight tonight is with Pullmare over looks. If you’re going to want everypony to take you seriously when you reveal to them that their beloved mayor is a psychopath, then you’d do best not to look like a street bum.”

“T- That makes sense, I guess,” I said. “But are you sure we have to do a full makeover? Maybe just run a brush through my hair...”

Marshmallow started up the stairs. “I’ll run a bath.”

I watched her disappear into the upstairs bathroom. “Do I really look like a street bum?” I said.

“Yep,” Grapevine said from her seat behind Joya’s counter. Her eyes flicked over the latest copy of the Manehattan Times. “Like you just stepped out of a dumpster.”

“Not really,” Joya said, after giving Grapevine a look. “It’s just in comparison to Ms. Pullmare, who’s going to be all dressed up...”

“Yeah, I get the idea,” I said. I sighed and trotted up the steps to the upper story of the shop, leaving Joya to fuss over Grapevine sitting in her dress. We’d been a pretty simple family back home, and besides bathing more often than acceptable in earth pony cities, I’d never actually done anything to my appearance more than run a comb through my hair. Mother had said it wasn’t proper to dress one’s self up too much, that it wasn’t the Germane way.

I pushed open the bathroom door. Well, considering my past week, I thought, the Germane way can go take a jump into Styx. Marshmallow was waiting for me inside, her tools of cosmetic trade spread out on the room’s small counter and inside the sink. The washbasin was already filled.

“Get in,” Marshmallow said.

“Won’t it be a little cold?” I said.

She smiled. “I activated my family’s account, just for today. We’ve got hot water and the best supplies bits can buy.”

“Alright then,” I said. I took a deep breath and eased myself into the water. Like she had promised, it was warm. Hot, even. Not the kind of uneven hot that comes from boiling the water over fire, but a nice, uniform warmth that spread over the whole top.

I let myself lay back and fill out the tub. “This is nice,” I said.

“You haven’t seen anything, yet,” Marshmallow said with a short laugh. Her horn glowed and bubbles began to spread across the surface of the water while a tingling sensation began on the surface of my skin.

“What’s happening?” I said. I resisted the urge to frantically scratch at my scalp.

“Do you like it?” Marshmallow said.

Before I could ask just why she would think I was enjoying feeling like a pony-sized poison joke rash, the tingling stopped. It was replaced, instead, with a blanket of warmth that settled down my flank and up my wings. I sighed in relief. “Where’d you learn how to do this?” I said.

“A spa back in Canterlot,” Marshmallow said. “My friends and I used to go there all the time, but I was the only one who wasn’t afraid to talk to the ‘help’. They were so eager to teach me what they knew that I felt bad for them; I don’t think anypony ever spoke to them besides giving orders.”

“How come?” I said.

Marshmallow spread some foul smelling liquid in my hair that caused it to untangle and fall down around my eyes, capturing me in a world decidedly more orange. “It’s just the way things are done in Canterlot,” she said. “You just pretend the poor aren’t there.”

“But I thought Canterlot didn’t have any poor.”

“Technically, Canterlot, the city inside the castle, doesn’t have a single underprivileged pony within its walls,” she said. “But all the little towns and suburbs around the mountain are fair game.”

My face burned a little when Marshmallow scrubbed at my flanks with another, different chemical; this one apparently made my cutie mark stand out. Or, in my case, made my lightbulb shine. “So the ponies in Canterlot just pretend the poor don’t exist?” I continued, half out of actual interest and half out of a desire to take my mind off the vigorous scrubbing I was receiving.

Not that she seemed to mind one bit; her voice didn’t waver no matter how hard she worked. “That’s the big reason my family and I never really got along,” she said. “They saw it as a non-issue, and I...didn’t.”

“Is that why they kicked you out?” I said.

Marshmallow laughed. “They didn’t send me to Fillydelphia until I decided to express my views publicly,” she said, “at the Harvest Moon Ball in front of every royal family in the city.”

“So you could say they were royally pissed off?” I said. Okay, even I had to cringe at that pun.

Marshmallow gave me a short pity chuckle. “You should have seen the looks on their faces.”

I didn’t get much of a chance to talk for a little while after that. Marshmallow applied even more herbal soaps and other stuff that I have no name for, all in the name of making me presentable. My coat was thoroughly washed, my hooves polished until they shined, and my mane brushed so many times I swore Marshmallow forget I wasn’t a doll.

In the end, wrapped in a bathrobe and sitting on the edge of the sink while Marshmallow fancied up my hair again, I came to the conclusions that I both enjoyed looking like somepony who hadn’t walked right off a farm and that I never wanted to look that way again.

“Are we done yet?” I said, again.

“Almost,” Marshmallow said. “Remember, we don’t want to hurry a job like this.”

“But if we don’t go faster, the Celebration will start without us...”

She laughed and gave a little tug at one particularly pesky knot in my mane. “We’ll be done with plenty of time left,” she said. Then, she paused and said quietly, “I didn’t think you’d be so eager to go to this...knowing what’s liable to happen.”

“I’m not eager, not really,” I said, “it’s just that if I focus only on what’s coming next, maybe I can keep the fear away for a little while.” I had a quick look at the door to make sure nopony was eavesdropping before I told her quietly, “Don’t spread it around, but...I’m scared.”

“It’ll be our little secret,” Marshmallow said. “Though, I won’t tell you that you don’t have any right to be scared; underestimating Miss Pullmare is the last thing you want to do.”

“Speaking from experience?”

She nodded. “Miss Pullmare was the first pony to greet me when I came here, and she and I butt heads every chance we get. That job at the library is what I fell back on after she had my last venture closed.”

“What did you do before working in the library?” I said. For some reason, I found it difficult picture her doing anything but handing out books all day.

“It was a soup kitchen that was sitting on prime retail land,” she said. “First it was the almost-daily inspections, then paying off critics to give us bad reviews...we had to call it quits after ‘sompony’ let loose a dozen mice in the kitchen.” She sighed. “The site’s a department store now, owned by the Pullmare Company.”

“It sounds like you’re pretty invested in us beating her tonight, then,” I said.

“I don’t want you to just beat her,” Marshmallow said, “Make her regret that she ever came to the city.”

I blinked at how quickly Marshmallow came to a passionate response. Though, I couldn’t blame her, or really even disagree with her. My hair was finished anyway, and I was instructed to follow her downstairs for my dress.

It was dark outside by the time that all of us, save for a still-absent Rainbow Remedy and Starshine, were fitted into our Summer Sun Celebration outfits. Grapevine and Marshmallow lounged around in theirs, Marshmallow’s being just a touch-up of an old deep crimson Gala dress, over by the store’s register while Sterling and I stood awkwardly next to each other in our matching clothes over by the kitchen door.

Joya, meanwhile, twirled around the room haphazardly in her newly-revealed dress. It was a pink and white frilly thing, and bobbed in the air whenever she took a flying leap. “I’m done,” Joya shouted repeatedly as she pranced around. “I’m done and everything looks perfect!”

Her mood was contagious, and soon we were all smiling and grinning like it was Hearth’s Warming morning. It was Grapevine, though, who was the first to return to our usual reality.

“So where’s Remedy?” she said. “It’s getting late; if we don’t leave soon, we’re not going to get there until the party’s half over.”

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon-” Marshmallow started, but trailed off when a knocking came at the front door.

Joya leapt up and threw open the door, but instead of our rainbow-maned friend, there stood a brown-coated earth pony wearing a duster a few shades darker than he was. “Well, hi,” he said to the donkey in front of him whose head looked like it was barely containing the smile on her face.

“Come on in,” Joya cried, pulling him inside.

“Am I at the right place?” he asked in his same drawl that he had used at Serenity’s docks.

“You’re there,” I said. I took a step toward the middle of the store, closer to the airship captain who had given me a courtesy fly up to Serenity after my night with Pullmare.

His eyes widened. “Well there you are,” he said. “And don’t you look a might pretty tonight!” His gaze swept over me and rested on Grapevine, who had quietly walked up beside me to study our new arrival. “Why, your friend here isn’t too bad, either.”

“Just who in the hay are you?” Grapevine snapped.

He made as to take off his hat and sweep it across his chest, though he had nothing with which to sweep. “Name’s Malcolt, Malcolt Reinolds. But you can call me Mal; all my friends do.”

“Alright, Malcolt,” she said, “What exactly are you doing here?”

“Oh, excuse me, where are my manners?” he said. “Your friend Rainbow Remedy sent me here to pick y’all up and take you to the Celebration.”

“Take us in what, exactly?”

Mal led us, smirking, outside and onto the quiet sidewalk. Quiet, that was, except for a strange buzzing noise.

Even before Grapevine asked what the noise was and Mal answered, “Look up,” I was craning my neck up and starting to laugh like a fool. Hovering a dozen feet above Joya’s shop, buffeting the roof tiles in its wake, was Malcolt Reinolds’ airship. It looked the same as it had a few days before: gray-blue balloon surrounded by the metal struts of the superstructure, with a large cargo bay beneath.

“Well, what do you think?” he said.

“What a piece of junk!” Grapevine said.

“P- Piece of junk?” Mal said. He looked up at his ship, then back to her. “Now listen here, little miss, this ship may not be the belle of the ball, but she’ll get you where you need to go.”

“I’ll just be impressed if we reach the Celebration in one piece,” Grapevine said. “Speaking of which, how are we supposed to get up there?”

Mal was about to speak, but he turned around and stared up at his ship. “Why that-” he muttered. “Jennet, throw the ladder down already,” he called up. There was a short delay, but a rope ladder fell down to our level.

He threw the ladder to Grapevine. “You first.”

“You want me to climb this,” she said, shaking the flimsy rope and watching it sway all the way up, “in a dress?”

“It’s this or explaining to all the guards at the front door exactly why they should let you in,” he said. “So, get going.”

Grapevine glared at him but began to ascend the ladder anyway, and Marshmallow followed her up. Their dresses blew in the breeze, and I’m fairly sure Marshmallow turned a few shades whiter for most of the trip. Sterling went after them, until only Mal, Joya, and I were left on the ground.

Mal turned to me. “You ready?” he said.

“I guess so,” I said. “How did Rainbow Remedy even convince you to do this, anyway?”

“Told me I could add it to what you already owe me.”

“Wonderful.” I noticed that Joya was starting to move away from us and down the street. “You coming?” I said.

She turned. “Huh? Oh, no, I’m heading out to a fiesta uptown!”

“Um, why?” I said.

“Donkeys aren’t exactly...accepted...into Pullmare’s parties,” she said. “I mean, we’re allowed to go, but, well, I’ve had enough dirty looks to last me a lifetime already; I don’t need anymore.”

I winced. “Well have fun, alright?”

“I will,” she said, then winked. “And I’ll be waiting for your triumphant return.” With that, she trotted off down the road, away from the City Hall.

I watched her go and then started up the ladder. It swayed mightily the whole way, but I extended my wings and kept my balance. As soon as Mal was up too, the blonde-maned pilot slammed the throttle down and the airship lurched away from Joya’s shop.

We soared over the city, heading for the bright beacon that was the Fillydelphia City Hall. Most of the other air traffic that I could see was already concentrated around the building’s main tower, so the rest of the skies were ours. I stood with Malcolt and his pilot, a cerulean-colored earth pony introduced as Haygan, in the ship’s cockpit while the others lounged in the cramped dining hall or cargo bay. Grapevine and Sterling seemed set on avoiding each other, which gave me a strange sense of relief.

“So how exactly is this going to go?” I asked once the tethering spires pinned to the top of City Hall came into view. “There’s going to be guards on the landing platform too, you know.”

“Yes, but the guards at the top won’t be so resisting when that friend of yours catches their eyes with a bit of loot,” he said. “They’ll let you in just fine.”

“If you say so,” I said.

“Hey, the Captain’s great in these situation,” Haygan said. He tapped a hoof against his chin. “Well, great at getting us into them, but as for getting us out...”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Mal said. “Just concentrate on getting us to that landing spire without drawing any undue attention to ourselves.”

“Right,” Haygan said. He steered the ship onto a leisurely, round-about course toward the tower.

Before long, a foreign authoritative voice came over the ship’s radio. “Incoming craft, identify yourself and state your business at once,” it said.

“This is the airship Halcyon,” Haygan said into a small mike inlaid on the dashboard. “Our business is dropping off guests for the party.”

“You’re not on the list-” the voice said, but was stopped by a crackling sound on his side, like somepony was muting what was being said.

Eventually, a different voice came on. “Halcyon, you are cleared to land at Spire 4,” the new one said. “It’s the one marked with the blue lights.” The radio winked off, and our ship flew on toward our destination.

Malcolt took me through a hall and down a flight of metal stairs to the ship’s cargo bay. Unlike on my flight to Serenity, the bay was clean of stray parts and garbage. Everypony else was already there, including a fiery-red earth pony mare who stood protectively by her Captain once he entered. Jennet, too, was there, running his hooves testily along a massive rifle over by the bay’s door controls.

“Listen up,” Mal said. “We’re nearly to the party, and once we get there, I don’t want no funny business. When y’all disembark, you’re to keep your heads down all quiet-like and keep out of trouble until you reach Rainbow Remedy, he’ll be waiting inside.” He paused. “I’ve never had my ship impounded, and I don’t mean to start tonight, understood?”

When everypony nodded, he seemed to ease back a little. He trotted over to Jennet beside the door controls while I saddled up beside Grapevine.

“You nervous?” I said.

“No, I do this kind of thing all the time,” she snapped. When I winced, she looked away. “Just...ask me when it’s over, okay?”

I nodded. Neither of us got to say a word more as at that moment the ship ground to a metal-shrieking stop. We were there, apparently. I re-found my footing just as Mal punched a large red button on the console next to him and the cargo bay doors began to work their way open.

His two crewmates didn’t say anything to us, though the Captain himself gave us a parting, “Good luck,” that was barely audible over the sound of the door’s gears.

The doors opened all the way and the four of us piled out onto the airy landing platform. At that time, the party was already in full swing, so the area was empty save for a couple guards who refused to acknowledge our existence and a few late-arrivals dressed in ridiculously over-the-top outfits. They tut-tutted at our appearance and ship, but it was easy to ignore them. If we were going to get all riled up over some trust fund junkies, it would have been best to turn back right then. Behind us, the Halcyon raised its doors and heaved itself into the sky once more.

Rainbow Remedy was waiting for us on a landing inside the tower. The stairs were cramped and we were having a hard time of it when he stepped out of the shadow, dressed in what looked like an odd cross between a normal suit and a doctor’s coat.

“Good, you made it,” he said.

I was leading the way down, so I almost jumped out of my skin at his sudden appearance. “R- Rainbow Remedy, what are you doing here?” I said.

He looked at me like I might be daft. “I’ve come to lead you all safely to the party,” he said. “Starshine’s already waiting inside.”

“Since when is there an un-safe way to enter a party?” Grapevine said.

“Since Ms. Pullmare started posting guards at every entrance,” Remedy said. “She knows we’re coming, and she’s not going to make it easy.”

“So, uh, how are we going to get past the guards?” Sterling said.

Remedy smiled. “Just follow me.”

He led us down, down to a door at the bottom of the tower. He gingerly opened it and waved us through. The hall outside was empty of guards or partygoers alike. “I paid off the guards here, too,” Remedy explained. “But don’t expect the others to be as malleable.”

We snaked down a series of side hallways less ornate than the rest, which Remedy told us were servant passages. The walls were panelled in unadorned wood that creaked under our hooves and got my heart beating faster whenever I thought somepony might be able to hear us.

The hall ended in a plain wooden door that Remedy opened to reveal a more modern office inside. The dark room was lined with two rows of wooden desks, each with a silent typewriter sitting atop them. On a normal business day, it would have been as boring as any other office, but at night, especially on that night, it was downright creepy.

“Where are we?” Marshmallow said.

“Used to be the council meeting room until they got a new one; now this is just an accounting office,” Remedy said. “We should be safe in here, for now.”

Grapevine nodded her head. “I remember seeing this room on the blueprints,” she said. “We’re not far from the main hall, and by extension, the party.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” I said. “Can’t we just go ahead and get in there?”

“It’s not that simple,” Remedy said. “We’ve been able to avoid guards by taking servant passages so far, but even those are blocked when they enter the main hall. If we want to get in, we’re going to have to get past Pullmare’s stallions.”

“How?”

“We’re going to split up,” he said. He pointed to Marshmallow and Sterling. “The two of you will go on ahead of us; Starshine is waiting inside for the two of you to enter the hall. Once you do, meet her at the guards in front of our entrance--there, you will start a fight to distract the guards, allowing the rest of us to sneak in without anypony being the wiser.”

“But, won’t we get thrown out?” Sterling said.

Remedy shook his head. “They wouldn’t throw out any of their boss’ guests. More than likely, the guards will simply advise you to break up the fight, maybe threaten you a little with expulsion; nothing serious.”

“And if they recognize me?” Marshmallow said.

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” Remedy said. He sighed. “I know we’re moving quickly, but we have no choice. Something big is going to happen tonight, and if we’re not riding that razor’s edge when it happens, she’ll leave us behind in the dust.” He stood by the room’s far door. “Just tell me when you’re ready.”

I turned to talk to Grapevine, but Sterling tapped my shoulder. “Minty?” he said.

“Y- Yeah?” I answered, trying not to sound flustered.

He pulled the amplifying box from one of his coat’s pockets. “Here,” he said, “just in case...just in case we don’t get a chance once we’re inside.”

I wanted to tell him not to talk that way, but I carefully placed the box inside a fold of my dress. “Don’t worry, we’ll be okay,” I said slowly. He looked away briefly before leaving to talk to Marshmallow and I hoped he had gotten the message.

While he and the princess had a low talk, Grapevine slowly, reluctantly, walked up to me. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” I said back. “You okay?”

“Do you really think this is the time to ask that?”

“Sorry, I just meant-” I said, but trailed off.

Grapevine sighed. “Look, I didn’t come to talk to you to make you upset,” she said, pulling something out from a saddlebag shoved under her dress. “I came to give you this.” The object was pulled out: it was my camera, still looking like new.

I took the offered strap and placed it around my neck, comfortable in its familiar weight. “Thanks so much,” I said.

“Just remember to get a picture for the story,” Grapevine said sullenly as she walked away from me to go look at some of the newer model typewriters in the room. I contented myself with checking every inch of the camera to assure myself that all was in working order; it was.

Finally, Remedy called us all to the door and peeked his head out. “All clear,” he said. We piled out of the office and into the high-ceilinged hallway decorated that night with bright cheerful signs hailing the return of Princess Celestia to the city after so many years of absence.

Remedy looked left and right before leading us along one wall toward the steady humming sound of conversation coming from the ballroom. When we got closer, I could see the doors had been forced open, giving us a preview of the party inside.

Massive banners strung from the balconies of the second floor overlooked a sea of gaudily-dressed ponies swarming over the tiled dance floor. Buffets piled high with food stretched out along the far walls while in the middle of them was a raised table that had at its center a special high-backed throne for the Princess. My eyes danced over her as she sat there, regal and bemused by the spectacle of the party, her technicolor mane flowing gently behind her.

“She’s really here,” I whispered before being hushed by Grapevine.

“Just remember why we need her,” Remedy said with his voice low. “And try not to gawk.”

Only a single guard stood at attention around the right door when we reached the cavernous Main Hall, but we made sure to keep to the shadows anyway.

“Show time,” Remedy whispered, prodding Marshmallow forward. Both looked at each other, gulped, and strode into the light by the door.

The guard, however, took at first no notice of them. Bored, his eyes briefly touched over the two before returning to scanning the room and, occasionally, the hallway where we hid. I thanked Luna’s lucky stars that nopony had bothered to make sure the hall was properly lit.

Marshmallow and Sterling loitered near the guard for a bit, nervously glancing around for the appearance of Starshine. It felt like an age had passed before our metal-winged friend showed up while noticeably lacking a dress of any sort, bouncing along and deliberately knocking hard against Marshmallow’s side in full sight of the guard.

“Hey, watch where you’re going,” Starshine said.

“Oh, um, I’m so sorry,” Marshmallow said quickly. I could hear Grapevine groan behind me before Marshmallow realized her mistake and, taking a quick look at the guard, said loudly, “I mean, watch where you’re going, you ruffian!”

“Ruffian, who’re you calling a ruffian?” Starshine said. “You only bumped into me because you couldn’t see with your nose so high in the air!”

“Why, where does common trash like you get the idea that you’re even fit to make such an accusation about me?” Marshmallow said, louder this time and with her face pressed close to Starshine’s who, for her part, looked genuinely surprised.

The guard, finally, took notice and began to amble toward the threesome, already muttering about having to break up another fight.

“Alright, get ready to go,” Remedy said, “just as soon as his full attention is focused on them.”

It was then, however, that a burly voice from behind us spoke, “You three, what are you doing here?”

We spun around and caught sight of another guard, the one who presumably was supposed to have been guarding the other door. Hopes of him not recognizing us were soon dashed as his eyes widened and he began to speak, “Hey, you’re the one Ms. Pullmare said to-”

He never finished, however, as one wall cracked under his weight as he was thrown bodily against it through Rainbow Remedy’s magic. Immobilized in a field of fluorescent greenish-yellow purple colour, the stallion’s eyes quickly filled with fear as he struggled to move his mouth but found he could not.

“Listen up and listen good,” Rainbow Remedy said menacingly, “we’re here for a very certain purpose, and that one purpose only. If anyone disrupts that mission, the consequences will be dire, do you understand?” The guard quickly nodded his head. “If you value your continued existence, we were never here,” Remedy said. Before the guard could respond, Remedy’s horn flashed and the stallion’s eyes slammed shut and his body slumped to the ground.

“Simple anesthetic spell, should keep him out for a few hours,” Remedy said. He grabbed two of the guard’s hooves and began the process of dragging him back to the accounting office.

“Was that really necessary?” I said once the guard was safely tucked away inside the room. “You could have just gone with the knockout from the start.”

“Spells can be broken,” Remedy said. “But fear has much trickier knots to unbind. We’ll be safe, from him at least.” Grapevine didn’t object, and only nodded solemnly while I shook my head but didn’t say anything more.

Marshmallow and Starshine had, miraculously, kept the fight going while we disposed of the other guard, and we quickly slipped past the harried stallion who was trying desperately to calm down the two apparently-crazed mares. Once they saw we were through, however, they dropped their conversation with a friendly smile and went on their ways, leaving the guard to scratch his head.

Inside the ballroom, the crowd was even larger than it had first looked. It was all I could do to keep close to Remedy and Grapevine. Starshine disappeared off toward one buffet table while I lost sight of both Sterling and Marshmallow on the dance floor. Classical music warbled from a band off in one corner, led by a gray mare with a strikingly-blue mane on the violin. The ponies dancing, though, treated the music like it was a faster sort of party music, and lurched across the floor accordingly.

“How are we supposed to find Ms. Pullmare in all this?” I said to Rainbow Remedy, having to raise my voice though I was right next to him. “I haven’t seen her yet, have you?”

Remedy shook his head and tried to pop his head over a swaying couple near him. Grapevine took to simply shoving people out of our way as we tried to make it to any empty area in the room. I scanned the crowd again, but saw no sight of Pullmare, an idea that both relieved and haunted me. If she wasn’t on the dance floor, then she was definitely up to no good.

I had my suspicions confirmed as the crowd suddenly parting around us on their own venture, nearly taking Grapevine with them they moved so fast. I was going to ask why when I noticed a spotlight shining down on us from above, herding us into its circle of light.

“Rainbow Remedy, my dear brother, and his wonderful friends,” an all-too familiar voice called out over the din of the crowd from her perch at Princess Celestia’s table. “Will you not join me for dinner on this special night?”

Episode 2: The Mare Who Sold The World

The moment that Ms. Pullmare called us over to her table, the whole world froze. It was like a moment captured in time on a photograph; a freeze frame. For just a second, nothing existed but our little circle of light and the mayor’s judging, triumphant eyes. Then reality restarted and the murmuring crowd, looking at us now with newfound reverence, parted like a sea to let us walk on numb feet to the mayor’s table.

Rainbow Remedy’s sister sat atop her posh seat next to the Princess with a kind grin on her face and greeted us warmly when we arrived. “I’ll not have my own brother be subjected to the common dance floor,” she said. Three chairs were magicked from somewhere in the back of the room and brought to the table, two on one side and one on the other.

Princess Celestia looked bemused as we were guided to our spots, Rainbow Remedy and I on either side of Pullmare, and Grapevine between me and the Princess. Servants rushed out fine glass plates edged in gold and crystal glasses to be put in front of us, and silk napkins for our laps.

Once we were settled, the crowd let out its collective breath and began moving again, swaying in a gentle motion as the band in the corner struck up Waltz in the Solaris. Pullmare was quick to take any opportunity we had of getting a first word in to the Princess by asking, “Princess Celestia, your grace, you remember my brother, Rainbow Remedy?”

“The same whose antiseptic spell during the entrance exam turned the judges’ robes to dust?” she said. “How could I forget?”

Rainbow Remedy chuckled. “Who would have thought an old stallion like Berry Biopsy could jump so high?”

I stared at him in both shock in admiration. He was talking to the Princess, the Princess, like she was just any other pony. And she responded to his joke with her own melodious laughter, too. Between the two of them, I couldn’t help but feel out of the loop.

Pullmare, at least, seemed to agree with me. When Rainbow Remedy mentioned his entrance to Concealed College, her eyes narrowed and she fought for the reins of attention once more. “Yes, well, glad you two are on such good terms,” she said. She took me by the shoulders. “I would also like to introduce you to my two special guests: the esteemed reporter, Grapevine Lulamoon, and...her photographer.” The way she looked at me after she said her piece, I wasn’t sure whether it was just plain old smugness, or a little bit of malice. Probably both.

“Did the guards not have you thrown out of my study several months ago?” the Princess asked Grapevine.

“No, no, that must have been...somepony else,” Grapevine said. She quickly turned down her eyes and focused hard on the empty plate in front of her. “When’s the food going to get her anyways?” she grumbled, her hooves crossed over her chest.

The Princess only smiled and looked at her as a mother would before focusing her terrifyingly-kind gaze on me. I did my best to sink back into my seat, or even into Pullmare.

“Tell me, my little pony, what is your name?” she said.

“Mi- Minty Flower, your majesty,” I managed to stutter out before my tongue lost its nerve. Though I didn’t think of the words as such, they came out sounding more like Meenty Flauer, in an accent so heavy that I was surprised the words didn’t fall out of the air onto Grapevine’s plate.

“That is an interesting name,” the Princess said, “and a wonderful accent.” Then, before I could kick myself for letting my dialect get so thick again, she surprised me by asking, in Germane, “Do you speak in this tongue, Minty Flower?”

I coughed, and all I could give in reply was a surprised, “Ja.” I swallowed, and regained a little of my composure. “H- How do you know how to speak it, your majesty?”

“My duties sometimes require me to travel outside Equestria,” the Princess said. “Tell me then, little one, are you from Germaneigh?”

Speaking in my old language at least allowed me to regain my conversational footing. “No, but from a town near the border,” I said, “Derbyshire.”

If I didn’t stop looking at her face, I was going to run out of synonyms for “smile” by the time the night was over. As it was, her face somehow managed to smile in the same way she had been before, but at the same time give a different expression of nostalgia and remembrance. Weird.

“Ah, Derbyshire,” she said, “I remember your town well. It was many years ago that I held the Summer Sun Celebration there; and a fine Celebration it was.” After a second, she seemed to realize that she was staring off into space. “So, is this your first time attending the Celebration

I nodded. “Yes, your majesty.”

“And, are you enjoying yourself?”

My head bobbed again and I could feel my mouth form the words, “Of course,” but it was a lie. I didn’t want to upset her, of course; or worse, upset the crazed psychopath beside me watching our conversation intently.

While my mouth told the Princess and Pullmare what they wished to hear, my mind slipped away, back onto its old beaten tracks. Looking out over the swaying menagerie on the dance floor, I finally got a real sense of just how different Derbyshire and Fillydelphia were. The ponies here looked happy, sure, but they didn’t seem to be enjoying themselves. There was just something that wasn’t quite there for them, that held them back.

The Summer Sun Celebration in Derbyshire had always been the one holiday of the year that everypony looked forward to. Our farms were too far apart and the kids kept too busy to really celebrate a proper Night Mare Night, and it was hard to enjoy Hearth’s Warming or Hearth’s Warming Eve when whoever had pulled in a bad crop that year was as obviously starved as the ponies they were meant to portray in the play.

So, for one day in the summer, our entire town came together to share food while it was still plentiful and dance and play games to everypony’s hearts’ content. It had been the one day a year that I stopped looking at newspaper jobs in Manehattan or Los Celestias and just enjoyed being at home. Because there wasn’t, at least on that day, a social caste or risk of public embarrassment to worry about: just fun.

“Are you alright?” Princess Celestia asked, this time in Equestrian.

My mouth hung open when I realized I had been ignoring the Princess for several seconds. “Yes, yes, of course,” I said quickly, lapsing back into Germane.

To my surprise once again, the Princess followed me back into my native tongue for reasons I could not completely explain. “I asked if you were good friends with Ms. Pullmare,” she said. Her gaze drifted from me, to the mayor, and back again. “She seemed very intent earlier on finding her brother and his friends.”

I looked at Pullmare, seemingly content on idly chatting with her brother and paying attention to nary a word the Princess and I said. I might have tried to spill the beans to Princess Celestia right then and there, and let her figure out the details of Pullmare’s arrest, were it so easy.

Instead, I looked the Princess in the eye and told her, “The mayor and I are very...close. I don’t think I or my friends are ever far from her mind.” Not really a lie, but still.

Pullmare leaned into our conversation by putting her foreleg around me and spoke, unsurprisingly, in Germane, “Yes, I always make sure to keep them as close as, as they say, enemies.”

That seemed to satisfy the Princess, and she returned to talking to several esteemed delegates who had wandered over to our table. For all their boredom on the dance floor and around the buffet tables, they looked positively enthusiastic to talk to her.

Our food arrived at that moment, and while everypony else was distracted, Pullmare leaned in close and whispered where only I could hear, “Glad to see you’re not as stupid as everyone else thinks.”

I said nothing in return, and instead dug into the fancy salad on the plate in front of me and ignored the rest.

Grapevine spent most of the meal picking at her plate while I inhaled pretty much whatever food was put in front of me by another tuxedo-ed servant. Another trait I had picked up from Derbyshire’s Summer Sun Celebration, I guessed; to never leave a scrap of food left over. It almost made me forget that the mare sitting on the other side of me daintily enjoying her food would have more likely than not killed me if given the chance.

“You okay?” I whispered to Grapevine.

“Are you seriously going to ask me that?” she said under her breath.

“Well, I meant besides the crazy mare sitting next to me.”

She looked up at me. “Currently,” she said, “I’m currently trying to figure out just how we’re going to get Pullmare to admit anything and attempting to find just where Marshmallow and the rest are hiding.”

“Come to think of it, I didn’t see where Sterling got off to,” I said.

“They’re all in the corner, trying to hide behind one of the buffet tables,” Pullmare said sweetly, sticking her head next to mine. Grapevine and I froze. “What? I have ears, you know.”

“Uh...” we chorused in unified confusion.

Ms. Pullmare appeared to ignore our current state of mind and continued to watch the rest of our gathered group, standing awkwardly in a clump together in the far corner. “The one in the white suit looks positively smashing, wouldn’t you say, Minty?” she said.

I could almost feel my own eyes widen as I tore my lingering gaze away from Sterling, standing apart from the others though the whole group was already by itself. Even while Pullmare’s mocking gaze, loving how much she struck a nerve, kept itself on me, I could feel Grapevine’s own stare burning into the back of my head. She had seen exactly where my eyes had gone, as well.

“Why, I do believe that his suit is almost a match to yours,” Pullmare continued. “You wouldn’t be here on a date with such a handsome stallion would you?”

“Nei- I mean, no,” I said.

“Oh, you are!” Pullmare said, almost squealing in delight. “Well, what are you sitting here for? You should go dance with your colt!”

I stared at Pullmare, trying to figure what her game was. From behind her mask of civility, anything could be lurking. I didn’t come up with anything, so all I said in return was, “I don’t think that would be the best idea...”

“But of course it would be,” Pullmare said quickly. “A mare should dance with her date, isn’t that right, Miss Lulamoon?”

Grapevine returned to staring listlessly at her food, and only gave a half-hearted, “Sure,” in return.

“See, she agrees with me too,” Pullmare said.

“But-”

“And it would be especially advantageous to dance before your feet catch fire from staying still for too long,” Pullmare said in a cold tone.

I sighed. “Alright, I’ll dance.” I pushed myself out of the chair while Grapevine looked away. Before I could make it far from my seat, however, Pullmare reached her front hooves up around my neck.

“Can’t have you dancing with a camera around your neck, dear,” she said. “We wouldn’t want you to break it, now would we?”

Her hooves clumsily thumped me on the back as she removed the strap from my shoulders and I watched helplessly as my beautiful camera was placed into care of a psychotic mayor. She smirked when she saw me watching and gently ran her fetlock over it. “I’ll be sure to take wonderful care of it until you return,” she said.

I shook my head and made my way around the table out onto the dance floor. Wherever I walked, ponies stopped swaying and paused to whisper questions about the princess and the mayor or tell me about a proposition they had, some relating to business and some...not. It was a small miracle that I reached Marshmallow and the rest.

“Well look who decided to join us on the ‘common’ dance floor,” Starshine said. “How fun was it getting to sit with the Princess?”

“Pretty great, if you don’t mind the company that comes with it,” I said.

“Speaking of which, if you don’t mind me asking, why did she let you come down here?” Marshmallow said. “I mean, isn’t she afraid you’ll escape?”

“It’s not me she’s after,” I said, pointing back to the table. “She wants Grapevine and Rainbow Remedy.” I looked down at my hooves. “Plus, she took my camera.”

“Okay, that’s all fine and great, but then what exactly did letting you come over here accomplish?” Starshine said.

“Well, she wanted me to-”

I was cut off by Pullmare asking Princess Celestia, rather loudly, “Would you kindly instruct the band to play something more...jovial?” She flashed a smile that I knew was directed straight at me. “I wouldn’t want my dear friend, Minty Flower, and her date to get bored while dancing together.”

Princess Celestia smiled warmly and nodded her serene head in the direction of the orchestra. The violins sped and up and the cellos were picked to a rapid beat as the crowd began to move to the new rhythm.

“What did she mean by ‘date’?” Sterling said, speaking up for the first time.

“She seems to be under the, uh, impression that since we’re wearing matching outfits, that we must be here as a...couple,” I said.

Starshine raised an eyebrow. “Oh really now?”

I swallowed. “Yes, and she wants us to, um, dance.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic about it,” Sterling said. He lowered his head. “Is it the suit?”

“Nein, nein, du siehst gut aus,” I said quickly; too quickly, in fact, for my brain to figure out that it wasn’t time to speak Germane again. Apparently one night of frayed nerves was enough to neutralize years of training myself to speak in that language only when necessary.

The other stared at me with puzzled looks on their faces. “I mean, it’s just that she kind of threatened me if I didn’t dance with Sterling,” I said. “Threatened to set me on fire.”

They nodded. “So, I guess we should dance, then?” Sterling said, offering a tentative hoof.

“Right,” I said. I let him guide me out onto the dance floor with surprising agility, until we were almost in the center of the swaying mass. The uptake in the music appeared to have lightened the mood somewhat, though many of the ponies moving past us had expressions as dead and vacant as before.

Somewhere near the middle, Sterling turned to me and asked, “You ready?”

“I think so.”

He started stepping to the rhythm, but started to pick up at a rapid pace, until his feet were moving in sync with the beat while I struggled to keep up. My hooves didn’t want to properly obey what my brain told them to do, and Sterling had to catch me a couple times before I fell over myself.

“Where did you learn how to dance like that?” I said after he did a complicated two-step move.

“Fillydelphia Prep School,” he said. “I wasn’t always poor, you know.”

“Oh, right.”

There was another silence between us while I struggled to maintain something resembling his dance pattern, and Sterling seemed content with amusing himself by watching me. Eventually, he said, “You’re shaking.” He slowed down. “Are you okay, do we need to stop?”

I tried to steady myself and keep my knees from wobbling. “I’m fine,” I said, “it’s just the nerves.”

“From Pullmare?” he said.

“Yeah, that’s it,” I said, though it was the first time I had thought of her since we began.

Sterling sighed. “Is it because of this ‘date’ thing?” he said.

“No, no, that’s not-”

“Because, I mean, we’re just friends, aren’t we?” he said. “We’re not even really dancing together; more like just near each other.”

“Y- Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile, “and that’s a good thing, too.”

Before Sterling could drive any more nails through the conversation, Pullmare spoke up, as if she had been listening in the whole time. “Perhaps the band should play something a bit slower...more suited for all the couples here tonight,” she announced. The orchestra complied and soft concerto rang through the dance hall.

Sterling turned to me as all the other couples rose on their hind legs to put their forehooves around each other. “Should we?” he said.

I looked over at Pullmare, who was watching me intently from her seat. I could have almost sworn that the bottoms of my hooves got a few degrees hotter. “I don’t think we have a choice.”

Sterling and I awkwardly put our forehooves around each other and tried to dance. He led, but I wasn’t so good at following, and almost caused us to bump into a couple done up in diamonds and silk.

“See, this isn’t so bad,” he said.

“Easy for you to say; you’re the one who can actually dance.”

He smiled a little bit, but then his expression grew nervous. “Grapevine said she was, uh, fine with us dancing, right?”

“Yeah, she seemed alright with it,” I said. “Why?

“She’s been glaring at me since we started,” he said. To prove it to me, he spun me around so I could get a good look, though I only got a quick glimpse of her before she turned away. If I had to guess, I would say she almost looked guilty.

“Is there something wrong with us dancing?” he said. “I mean, she knows we’re just friends, right?”

There was that word again: friend. I sighed. “Yeah, she knows.”

“Then why’s she look angry?” he said. “Is there, uh, something between the two of you?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” I said.

“I mean, you two are awfully close,” he continued, “And Joya told me the two of you spent the night alone at the Chronicler...”

I stopped dancing and nearly took both of us down before Sterling got the hint and stood still. “Gee, I wasn’t aware my relationship with Grapevine was going to be put on trial here,” I said.

He winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

I rubbed my forehead with one hoof and said, “Look, I understand because, yeah, we’re close. It’s just...she’s a great friend and all, but I could never see her like that.”

“Never?” he said, with what I told myself was tentative hope in his voice.

“Well, I would consider it, but...she’s had more than a few failed relationships in the past, and there’s just no way I’d want to wade into that mess.” I tried to smile a little. “Does that answer your question?”

He returned my gesture. “I think I get the idea,” he said. “But wasn’t that a little harsh?”

I peeked over Sterling’s shoulder and caught a glimpse of Grapevine, still glaring daggers coated with the green poison of envy into Sterling’s head while Pullmare tried to chat up her brother. I felt a little pang in my heart for talking about her, until I reminded myself of what had happened to her last coltfriend. “A little,” I said, “But when somepony has that much baggage...”

Sterling nodded. “That’s true.” Then, to my surprise he started to dance once again, guiding with firm hooves around my neck.

“Wh- What are you doing?” I said.

He gulped, but spoke as confidently as I had ever heard him, “I figured, instead of worrying so much about Grapevine and Ms. Pullmare, we could maybe try to enjoy that date we’re supposed to be on?”

I smiled and pulled myself a little closer to him. “You lead.”

At some point the dancing ended, and the Princess rose from her seat. “The Rising of the Summer Sun will begin shortly,” she announced. “We will begin once all ponies have gathered at the center of the room.” Jostling flanks and hooves pushed past Sterling and I as the done-up stallions and mares obediently moved to the designated location.

“Well, it was nice while it lasted,” he said with a small smile. “Are you going to have to go back to Pullmare?”

“I wish I didn’t,” I said, “but I doubt that I have any choice.” Sterling didn’t get a chance to say anything back, because suddenly there was a pop and a flash and I was back in my seat next to Pullmare, my camera back around my neck.

“No, you don’t,” she said, then smiled. “But you’ll get to enjoy a wonderful view of the ceremony.” She turned to Princess Celestia. “Would it be alright if we moved up to the balcony to watch your presentation?”

I looked to my friends as Pullmare talked. Grapevine stared sullenly at the empty table in front of her, the food long gone, while Rainbow Remedy looked like he kept wanting to say something, but couldn’t bring up the courage to do so. I, too, was tempted to say something, anything to the Princess about Pullmare, but the more friendly the conversation was with the two, the less convinced I was of even Princess Celestia believing us, let alone anypony else. A wave of helplessness took over me, and it was all I could do to sit back and watch everything unfold.

“Well of course you and your friends may move to the balcony,” the Princess said. She chuckled. “Just make sure you don’t miss the start on your way there.”

“Oh, don’t worry, your majesty, I have that covered,” Pullmare said, and with another flash we were on a little ornate platform overlooking the dance hall, our rumps firmly planted in new seats. The air smelled of acrid smoke, and I thought I could see a couple burn marks on my camera’s case, lying now against my stomach on its strap.

“I apologize for the rough trip,” Pullmare said, “my teleportation magic is just so crude compared to my brother’s, being based on fire and all.” She smiled. “So crude, in fact, that I had to learn a biological welding spell in order to tie you to those seats.”

At once, the three of us struggled to move from our seats, my wings flapping uselessly and the horns of Grapevine and Rainbow Remedy glowing bright but bearing no fruit for their labor.

“You like it?” Pullmare said. “After my brother showed off his skill at the police station, I just had to do the same.”

“Let us go!” Grapevine yelled, anger pent up through the night finally being let loose.

Pullmare looked around and then cocked her head to one side. “Really? You think just by giving me an order I’m going to let the three of you free?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Rainbow Remedy cried from his chair.

“So now we’re going for every cliche in the book?” Pullmare said. She turned to me. “Would you like to tell me that there’s still time to turn back?” When I just stared in return, she laughed and said, “You three are so serious tonight when you should at least be trying to enjoy yourselves; after all, it’s not like either of you actually have any idea of what I’m going to be doing for you tonight.”

When none of us raised an argument, she simply smiled.

Down below us, Princess Celestia now stood on a royal purple platform that had been wheeled to the head of the gathered crowd. She stood with her wings outstretched and her mane flowing as it always did, even without the slightest breeze. A hushed silence befell the crowd when the Princess cleared her throat.

“My little ponies,” she began, “it is with great pleasure that I am here to begin this year’s Summer Sun Celebration in Fillydelphia.” The gathered rich took several minutes to quiet down. The Princess waited patiently until they were done before starting.

Princess Celestia’s horn began to glow, softly at first, then brighter and brighter. The puzzle that had plagued me all night of just how we were going to watch her lower the sun inside a building was solved when a spark of magic from her horn turned the stone of the dome over the dance hall transparent.

The ponies below gasped in astonishment, and I joined them as I watched the light from the evening sun pour into the hall. The delicate stone and glass-work of the room sparkled and shined in the brilliance. Normally, the sun would have already gone down at such a late hour, but the Princess had kept it up for just the occasion.

Princess reared her head to its full height and no longer did her horn glow, but instead it looked as if her entire body was vibrating with energy. As we watched, the sun in the sky began to rise to until it was directly overhead; slowly at first, but gaining speed as it went. The shadows grew short across the wooden dance floor below as the gathered watched in complete silence. Even on our balcony, still fastened to our seats at the mercy of Pullmare, all of us were quiet. Then, as fast as the ceremony had started, it was over as the sun dipped rapidly over the horizon and was replaced by the stars and moon.

The Princess bowed her head and the dome became opaque once again, ending the ceremony. Her applause echoed like thunder in the cavernous room, and went on for what felt like half an hour. Even Pullmare gave a small, bemused clop of forehooves. Rainbow Remedy, Grapevine, and I weren’t obligated to do the same.

“Well now, wasn’t that fun?” Pullmare said at last, once the Princess had departed into the crowd to mingle with her subjects. “Best, I daresay, Summer Sun Celebration this city has ever seen.”

“So is that it?” Grapevine said. “Your big, master plan was to let Celestia’s show go unimpeded?”

“Oh, honey,” Pullmare said, “that was only the first step of my plan. The real plan won’t be in motion for a short time. So for now, sit back, relax, and enjoy yourself.”

“You think we’re supposed to be enjoying this?” Rainbow Remedy said indignantly.

“Is that not why you are here?” Pullmare shot back.

“We’re here to stop you,” Grapevine said.

“And you’re doing such a wonderful job so far,” Pullmare said. She ran a hoof through her mane and chuckled. “I mean, honestly, it’s like you’re not even trying.” She shrugged. “Ah, well, the look on your faces before you meet your demise will be amusing, at any rate.”

“You’re sick,” Grapevine growled.

“Yes, and?”

Grapevine was briefly taken aback by the up-front answer. She blinked a couple times before saying, “And that’s...wrong.”

“Oh, you wish to speak to me about right and wrong, do you?” Pullmare said. “Would you like to chime in on the subject as well, dear brother?” Rainbow Remedy said nothing, and Pullmare grinned. “Then if that’s the case, why don’t we all be sinners?”

She turned to me. “Did Rainbow Remedy ever tell you how I came to the city?” she asked.

“He told me enough,” I said. She pressed closer to me, and I struggled against the restraint holding me to the chair. “He told me you stole your parents’ money and came here.”

“Is that right?” she said. Her horn glowed and Rainbow Remedy’s chair scooted closer to mine. “You told her I took our money?”

“Yes, but-”

“And I suppose you told her the aeroplane story, too?” When Remedy hung his head, Pullmare nodded and said, “I thought so; seems you have to make up your own version just to sleep at night.”

“And why should I believe you’re not lying?” I snapped.

Pullmare shrugged. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” With a malicious grin, she used her horn to tip forward Remedy’s chair until his face was only a few inches from my own.

“She’s lying, right?” I asked him. He looked away. “Remedy, tell me she’s lying,” I said. “Please, tell me; tell me right now that she’s lying.”

“You know I can’t do that,” he said finally.

And there it was: Pullmare was right again. “Then...what did happen?” I said slowly.

Remedy closed his eyes. “Our mother became...ill. Very ill,” he said. “And while our father took care of her, he caught it, too. There wasn’t a cure, no matter how much of our family’s fortune we spent looking for one. Eventually, they were confined to their beds.”

He took a deep breath, the continued, “I returned to Concealed College and my sister stayed with them...they died while I was taking an exam. By the time I got back, she had used the last of our money for a train ticket to Fillydelphia.” He looked away.

“But, why did you leave them?” I said. “You were training to become a doctor, right?”

“That’s why I couldn’t,” he said, “I couldn’t watch while my magic was so useless to them...so I left.” He didn’t say anything more.

“So there you have it,” Pullmare said, shoving him and his chair back across the balcony. She smiled. “Oh, the look on your face is simply delicious. I suppose ignorance truly was bliss, was it not?”

“This doesn’t change anything,” I growled.

“Oh, it doesn’t?” Pullmare said. “Then perhaps I should try something that hits a little closer to home.” It was Grapevine’s turn to be shoved up alongside me, chair and all. “While we’re pulling skeletons from the closet,” Pullmare said, “did Miss Lulamoon ever tell you what became of her last coltfriend?”

“Yes, she did,” I said. “He was in the hospital and she chose her work over him.” A pained expression started to take hold on Grapevine’s face, but I smiled and continued, “But we’re over that; there’s nothing more there for you to use.”

“Is that right?” Pullmare said. “And did she also tell you just why her dear partner was in the hospital in the first place?”

“He fell off Cloudsdale.”

“Right,” she said, “but why did he fall off?” I opened my mouth, but then closed it. “I thought as much,” Pullmare continued, “I don’t even believe she’s told another soul; the only reason I know is because I was there.”

Grapevine’s chair spun until she it was facing the mayor. “Would you like to tell it, or should I?” Pullmare said. When she didn’t get a response, her smile only widened further and she turned to me.

“Miss Lulamoon was chasing a trail I had embarrassingly left red-hot,” Pullmare began, “and I was honestly afraid she was going to catch me. So, I sent some of my colts to rough her coltfriend up.” She shrugged. “I told them nothing too bad, but apparently they got out of hand.”

“Stop! Just, stop it, okay?” Grapevine snapped.

“Oh, have I hit a nerve?” Pullmare said. “Too bad you’ll have to listen then; you are my captive audience, after all.” Grapevine’s horn glowed again in what I guessed was another attempt to break Pullmare’s spell, but nothing happened. “Now, where was I?” she said. “Ah, yes, what happened next. Your dear friend Grapevine found out about what was going to be done to her coltfriend, but at the same time she knew I was going to be leaving; and do you know who she chose to go after?”

I didn’t need her to give me the answer, though she did so; all I needed was already on Grapevine’s face as she bit her lip until it bled and tore her gaze away from the rest of us. At that moment, I desperately wished I could take back what I had said to Sterling earlier.

“Now that is the look I was going for!” Pullmare said. “Tell me, Minty, how does it feel to know your friends are about as clean on the inside as I am?”

“It feels...good, actually,” I said. For the first time, it honestly looked like Pullmare was taken aback. “What were you trying to prove?” I said. “That everyone’s as dark as you? All you did was show that everyone screws up, but that some move on from it while you keep wallowing in it.” I laughed, whether it was from bravery or just not caring anymore, I don’t know. “It’s kind of sad, really.”

Pullmare’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re going to act like you have the moral high ground, eh?” she said.

“It’s not an act. Some ponies just don’t act like flankholes all the time.” Okay, so I did sound a little preachy, but it got Grapevine to roll her eyes at least, and Rainbow Remedy even smiled a little.

“So you have nothing to hide?” she said. “No dark secrets?”

“Not that I know of; everypony already knows the worst of what I’ve done since I got to the city, and Derbyshire was too boring for any dark secret to even happen.” Which was true, really. The only stories I had from back home were weird things that happened on the farm, which weren’t exactly exciting to anyone but other farmers.

Pullmare’s mouth once again curved into a smile, and I stopped feeling so confident. “So, you have nothing to hide, do you?” she said. She snaked one hoof around my back, and my coat bristled at her touch, like my body itself was trying to reject her.

“Now, you don’t believe that I am stupid?” Pullmare said. “Boorish? Uneducated?”

“Would I be here right now if that was true?” I said, because I had to at least give her that much.

“So if you don’t think that,” she continued, slipping her hoof down the back of my dress, “then why did you bring a recording device to my party?” She yanked Sterling’s little black box out from underneath my clothes and held it triumphantly up in the air.

I stumbled through my words, in shock. “H- How did you know?”

“Ms. Peece, once she was able to speak again, told me you weren’t very quiet while making plans for my demise in your friend’s basement,” Pullmare said. She giggled. “And it wasn’t as if you made much of an effort to hide the box under your dress.”

“So what?” I said, trying to find enough courage to sound brave. “I didn’t even get a chance to use it, anyway.”

“You didn’t,” Pullmare said, clicking the blue button on the box and causing the machine to stop its soft whirring, “but I did.” My eyes widened. “I thought I might send you out with that colt you’re falling for, and see what I could I get.”

My heart froze. Grapevine’s eyes flicked from me to the box, and her expression grew hard. I wanted to tell her, warn her, but I couldn’t find the words, as if Pullmare had put yet another spell on me.

“Now, let’s not kid ourselves,” Pullmare said to me, “Grapevine’s been pining for you all night; and for longer than that, I expect.” When I tried to object, she held up a hoof and shook her head. “No, none of that. And we’re not going to kid ourselves about your feelings for that inventor, either.” She smiled. “Now, let’s see what happens when I mixed them together.” She clicked the blue button again, and it began to play.

I sat rigid as the machine played out my voice from the time I left the table, through our dance. Most of it was worthless of course, so we spent several minutes as one big ball of tension for the parts to come up that I knew Pullmare wouldn’t miss. I couldn’t help glancing at Grapevine’s face every few seconds.

Then, the section I dreaded came, and my heart caught in my throat. The tinny voice of the machine that somehow resembled mine rang around the balcony as it played back my conversation with Sterling. It was sometime around, “...no way I’d want to wade into that mess,” that Grapevine dropped back behind an unseeing mask, and refused to acknowledge my presence any longer. All Rainbow Remedy could do was look at me mournfully.

Pullmare clicked off the machine when it reached back to the point where I arrived at her table. “Why, I do believe you’ve just broken Grapevine’s heart,” she said. “Tell me, did it hurt falling off your golden tower?”

“This doesn’t change what I said earlier,” I snapped.

“Really now?” Pullmare said. “Why don’t you ask your very good friend if that’s true?”

I turned to her, but Grapevine’s eyes still stared unseeing across the room, where below Princess Celestia was starting to make her way out of the room.

“Glad we could wrap that up,” Pullmare said, staring over the balcony railing to the commotion below, “because it’s just about showtime!”

I watched as she stood and leaned over the level, and a magic bubble appeared in front of her mouth that amplified her voice as she spoke down to the crowd. “Mares and gentlecolts,” she said. “If all those associated with the Pullmare Company could stay after the Celebration ends, that would be greatly appreciated.” Nods and a chorus of yes’s sprang from the majority of the rich in the room.

She turned back to us. “All good so far,” she said happily.

“Are you at least going to tell us what’s going on?” I asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Below us, Princess Celestia walked through the crowd, followed by what members of the orchestra remained, a few rich types who weren’t associated with the company, and the group of Starshine, Marshmallow, and Sterling. Pullmare winked and crushed the black box between her hooves when Sterling walked by. Finally, only the ponies associated with Pullmare remained.

“Here we go,” she whispered to me. She resumed leaning over the railing and called up the voice-carrying magic once again. “I am glad I could gather you all here today on this special occasion,” she began.

As she went on with the formalities, I turned to Rainbow Remedy. “Can you get us out of this?” I said.

He shook his head. “Not unless you can distract her or knock her out,” he said. “The magic holding us here is fire-related, and I can’t beat her in that field.”

“Great.” I sighed. “Do you have any ideas, Grapevine?” She refused to look at me. Wonderful, I thought, we were going to die while she was still mad at me. “I’ll try to think of something,” I assured him.

“As will I,” Remedy said.

Pullmare finally moved past the formalities and on to the business message. “As some of you may not be aware,” she said. “We have taken some hits this past years, and stocks are down.” She paused. “And some of you have begun talk of moving your investments elsewhere.”

A nervous murmur ran through some members of the crowd. Pullmare held up a hoof to silence them. “Rest assured,” she said, “I have figured out a way to make sure those investments stay in our company.” She stopped to let the statement spread itself among the gathered before resuming. “In your contracts, that each of you signed, there was a clause that read that if you met your untimely demise while still having a majority of shares in this company, all assets are transferred to us.”

Now the nervous murmur was a dull roar of conversation as some ponies started to eye the open doorways, but took too long to decide. Pullmare’s horn glowed and all doors in the room slammed shut as the space around them sparkled and cracked; more of Pullmare’s welding magic, I suspected.

“I have placed explosive charges all throughout this room,” Pullmare continued, “and in a moment I will light them.” She smiled. “I promise, your shares will not be wasted; please have a pleasant death.”

Screams erupted from below as she turned back to us, a victorious smirk on her face. “I thought that went well, don’t you?” she said.

“You’re a monster,” I growled.

“Why thank you, you’re much too kind,” she said, then turned to her brother. “What, Rainbow, nothing to say to me?”

He sighed. “You can still end this before it gets out of hoof,” he said. “You don’t have to be this...this mare you’ve become.”

For a second, the look in her eyes made me think she was going to take his advice, but the moment passed and her horn glowed. “Too late,” she whispered.

The explosives in the dance hall detonated, adding to the chaos below. Instead of expanding outward, however, the magic inside them caused the full force to be expended into tongues of flame that leapt upward, rapidly filling the room with fire and foul-smelling smoke.

“And now for the three of you,” she said. “To tell the truth, I’ve almost been dreading this moment; it was nice having a captive audience for once.” She tapped a hoof to her chine. “Now, who should I start with?”

A single whip of fire extended from her horn and snaked its way to me. “How about you, Minty?” she said. “The thorn in my side that just refused to go home when given the chance...”

“Fahr zur Hölle!” I spat.

“Language, Minty; language!” she said. “While it would be enjoyable to watch Miss Lulamoon’s face as her lust object is turned to ash...it just wouldn’t be very fun.”

She let the fire waver a little bit in front of me while she thought. “Now, I have to save my brother for last, of course,” she said, then her eyes lit up. “How about Grapevine? Not only would her smug face fit so well inside a fire, but then you would have to watch and regret as the mare who just wanted to open herself up to you is burnt alive.”

She started to turn to Grapevine. “Now, doesn’t that sound-”

Grapevine, while she had been ignored, had not wasted her time. While Pullmare had taunted us with our demise while the room burned, she had slowly been scooting her chair closer and closer to the mayor, until her legs, which were free to swing about, were close enough to make contact with the Ms. Pullmare’s face. Which they did, spectacularly.

“Fuck off,” Grapevine spat.

Pullmare collapsed to the ground with a thud, and an instant later we were free of the bonds holding us to the chair chairs. It was a good thing, too, as the room was starting to deteriorate into a smoke and fire-filled mess, with the balcony as the only oasis left in the blaze.

“Rainbow Remedy?” I said.

“Leaving now!” he replied, followed by a pop and a flash.

We appeared back into reality inside a fancy, high-ceilinged, and very empty, room. “Where are we?” I said. Massive wrap-around mirrors lined the walls about halfway to the ceiling, making it appear as if we were just yet another copy of a strange group of three ponies.

“I don’t know this room,” Rainbow Remedy said. “All the areas where we came in were blocked to magic when I tried to get us there; I just had to pick a location that felt empty.”

“So now what?” Grapevine said, picking herself off the richly-carpeted floor.

“We make our escape before my sister finds us,” Rainbow Remedy said.

“We go back to help the ponies trapped inside,” I said at the same time. They both looked hard at me. “What?” I said. “We can’t just leave them to die.”

“Minty,” Rainbow Remedy said gently, “Even if I could get us back in that room, there’s nothing we can do for them.”

I pounded one hoof on the floor. “How can you say that? You have dozens of medicinal spells: you can save them!”

“Dammit Minty, I’m a doctor, not a firefighter!” he shouted. His hooves attached themselves to my shoulders, and he stuck his face close to mine. “There’s nothing we can do for them now. What we can do is escape and tell what really happened, understand?” I nodded. “Then let’s go.”

There was a large hall leading out of the room, and we bounded over to that. We nearly reached it, too. However, just before we could escape back into the depths of City Hall, Pullmare appeared before us in a burst of flame.

“Want to see a magic trick?” she said, her eyes crazed. A blazing fireball leapt from her horn at us, and if it hadn’t been for Remedy’s shield raised at the last second, we would have been literal toast; even then, we were all pushed back several feet from the brunt force of the attack.

“So you thought you could run away from me, again?” Pullmare cried, renewing her attack on Remedy’s rainbow-colored shield. “Thought you could somehow escape your fate?” A fireball danced around to one side and a stronger shield, a field of magic that resembled a plate of rainbow-colored glass, burst into being and stopped the oncoming intruder.

“You’ve already won, you don’t need us anymore,” Remedy said. “Please, sister, just let us go.”

She laughed. “Mercy? You expect, after all of this, to give you mercy?” She lashed out again with her attack, and again Remedy blocked it while Grapevine and I cowered behind him.

“Don’t tell me you’re not capable of mercy,” Remedy said. “I’ve known you far too long to forget who you really are, even if you have.”

A flame whip crashed against the top of Rainbow Remedy’s shield. “You really think you know me?” she said. “You don’t see me for ten years, and then show up claiming to know who I am better than I do?”

“Yes, I do.”

Pullmare screamed in frustration and hurled more attacks at her brother, but he continued to block then without any visible effort in a spectacular show of magic crashing upon magic. “Come on, you’re not going to fight back?” she called. Another attack. “I can do this for far longer than you can, you know.”

Rainbow Remedy said and did nothing besides work his magic.

“You sit there all quiet, acting high and mighty because you won’t lash back at your sister,” Pullmare shouted. She laughed. “But I know what it really is; it’s because you’re a coward.”

“Oh, and how is that?” Remedy said.

Pullmare smiled; she was getting to him. “You’ve always been one. You were when you abandoned our parents, and even now you remain one when you refuse to help the ponies trapped inside the dance hall.”

“There isn’t anything I can do for them and you know it,” Remedy shouted, his anger finally brought to bear.

“But isn’t there?” Pullmare said. “You teleported in here from the balcony, after all. Why not teleport back to the hall, grab some of the ponies, and bring them back here?” When Remedy didn’t say anything, she continued, “But I know why you won’t: it’s because you’re afraid. You can’t handle the idea that some of your patients might actually die. You’re afraid of losing a patient, afraid you might fail.”

Another fireball, bigger this time. “They talk about you, you know; the Doctor who never loses his patients,” she said. “But I know the truth; it’s because you can’t stand failure, so you won’t take on any case that you won’t win. It’s why you won’t help the ponies here and now, and why you wouldn’t help our parents then.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or am I wrong?”

Rainbow Remedy lowered his head. “No, you’re not,” he said, but then raised his eyes back up. “But that gives you no right to take your anger out like this!”

Pullmare’s attacks began to get heavier and more frequent, and soon Remedy began to strain under the effort of stopping them all.

“You say that doesn’t give the right to be angry,” Pullmare spat, “but do you even understand what you put me through?” Her eyes glistened. “Do you know what it’s like to watch the strongest ponies in your life wither away into nothing and know you can’t do a single thing about it, and the only who can is a thousand miles away?”

“There was no cure, no help,” Remedy said, “I couldn’t have healed them no matter how hard I tried!”

“But you didn’t have to heal them!” Pullmare shouted. “You could have at least been there; eased the pain after the money for medicine ran out.” Angry tears had started to run down her face, but she made no move to stop them. “You had the gift. Your magic soothes, it makes things better.” She struck again with her magic, though this time it seemed more to prove her point that anything else.

“All I have is this...this fire! It doesn’t heal, it doesn’t help, it consumes,” she said, then looked down. “Like a disease.”

“Golden, I’m sorry,” Rainbow Remedy began, and his sister’s eyes narrowed at the mention of her real name. “I made a mistake, and not a day goes by that I don’t feel pangs of regret for what I put you and our parents through.” He shook his head, and his voice grew cold. “But that does not excuse your actions here today; what would mother and father think if they saw you?”

I’m not sure what Remedy’s plan for that talk was, but at the mention of their parents, Pullmare lost it. Fireballs, whips, swords all sheathed in fire flew at us and no matter how many light shields were thrown in front of them, they just kept coming.

Eventually Rainbow Remedy grew tired and suddenly they were breaking through, until finally one massive fireball burst all of his shields at once in a prismed explosion of rainbows and light. The force of the break sent us all flying; Grapevine and Remedy in one direction and I in another.

The explosion from his shields collapsing had caused parts of the room’s wrap-around mirrors to break off and shards to land on the carpet, sticking out like reflectionary headstones. It was against one of these I landed, send spasms of pain up my spinal column, though doing no serious damage.

Pullmare, after being briefly stunned by the explosion, drew her attention to me, the one closest to her out of the three. Fire flashed in her eyes as she watched, smiling, my prone form try to pull itself from the ground.

“And so we are in this position once again,” she said, “I standing triumphant as you lay helpless before me.”

I didn’t say anything, but instead watched her horn carefully. I knew what was coming.

Sure enough, it glowed and a sword of flame burst in being, swishing through the air in front of the mayor. “And now it’s time to finish the job I already started,” she said. “I gave you every chance to run away, and yet you refused, and so you must set an example for those who wish to deny my will.”

The sword drew closer, and I prepared for the end. So, I did the only thing I could do in that situation. Without thinking, I raised the camera still miraculously hanging from my neck and took her picture. The flash caught her off guard and she stumbled back with a startled cry.

Blinking rapidly, she leapt at me with a renewed fervor, fire sword raised again, yelling, “You insolent fool, I’m going to burn you alive!” The sword came down and I closed my eyes, wanting to kick myself for making my last action taking a picture. Appropriate, anyway.

But again, the blow did not come. As in the jail, just before her blow touched me, Pullmare stopped. I opened my eyes to see if Rainbow Remedy had somehow come to aid again, but he still lay in the corner, struggling to move. So, I looked up.

And there Pullmare still stood, the crackling fires of the sword still hovering just inches above my head, but her eyes were not on me. Instead, she kept stock still, staring into the mirror I had landed against.

I hadn’t noticed before, but sometime during the fight or maybe in the explosion, some of the silver in her coat, which I now saw to be makeup, had come off. Underneath the silver, especially on her face, a pale yellow had started to show through.

Shakily, Pullmare placed a hoof that was no longer silver onto the surface of the mirror and, appearing to realize that it truly was her reflection, recoiled in horror before collapsing to her knees. The fire sword withered and petered out, forgotten. “So I really did it,” she whispered, “I became a monster.”

She sagged under a newfound weight as I scrambled out from under her and across the mirror to get away. She didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she spoke softly, maybe to me or just herself, “You never quite believe them what they tell you that you’ve become.” She reached out again to touch the mirror. “Not until you’ve seen it for yourself.”

I said nothing, but instead watched intently as the mare who, just moments before, had been trying to burn me alive, reached up with one slow hoof and began to wipe away more of the makeup. I don’t think she noticed.

“And you tell yourself that every little bad thing is for the greater good,” she said, “until you wake up one day and realize that there is no greater good.” She closed her eyes. “That you’re the villain.”

She broke down again, and something strange came over me. I don’t know if it was the heat of the moment or just a lesson long ingrained in my head by my mother even after the words were long forgotten, but I reached out one careful hoof and laid it on Pull-, er, Golden’s shoulder. She didn’t object.

Her horn glowed again, but this time, instead of flames bursting forth onto my skin, it caused the make-up on her coat to wash away, and the gray in her mane to disappear, leaving behind a spectacular white. It wasn’t a happy change, though.

Golden looked mournfully at me, then down to hooves that she raised in front of her face. “I just sacrificed the lives of ponies who trusted me for a company...how could this even happen?” she whispered.

I didn’t have a good answer, so I just kept my hoof on her shoulder, only for someone who did know the answer to show up. “Everypony makes mistakes,” Rainbow Remedy said, limping into the conversation. Grapevine followed suit close behind, though she didn’t look as worse for wear as Remedy did.

“Not like this they don’t,” Golden said quietly. She shuddered and turned to Remedy. “For what I did do, and for what I almost did, I-, I....I’m sorry, though it makes so little difference now.”

Remedy smiled a little. “Remember what I told you out in that daisy field, the day before I left for Celestia’s school?”

“That...you’d never hate me, no matter what I did?” she said slowly.

Before she could repulse him, Remedy wrapped his sister in a hug. “And I still don’t.”

Golden, surprised by his touch at first, quickly let him in, and let go of herself onto his shoulder, repeatedly telling him, “I’m sorry.” I removed my hoof and stood next to Grapevine, who didn’t say anything.

He patted her on the back. “I forgive you,” he said, then took her by the shoulders. “Now come on, we need to leave. This room’s already starting to get hot; we need to leave.”

At that, though, Golden pushed her brother away. “I’m not going,” she said.

“No, we are not having this discussion, not now and certainly not here,” Remedy said quickly. “You are coming with us whether you like it or not.”

Golden shook her head sadly. “I can’t leave,” she said. “The things I’ve done...the world needs to know my story, but I can’t be around to see it.”

“You’re not doing this!” Remedy pleaded, even as he saw in his sister’s eyes how made up her mind already was. “I just got you back; I’m not going to let you slip away again.”

He was ignored as a magic field pushed us all back from her. She smiled and turned to Grapevine and I. “Please, if you can, tell them...I found my way back, in the end.”

Even as Rainbow Remedy desperately leapt forward to stop her, Golden’s horn, back to its original color that matched its owner’s name, fired up and the ornate mirror room disappeared and Remedy’s outstretched hoof struck the stone of the City Hall tower staircase.

“No!” he shouted, banging his hoof against the wall again and again. “No, no, no, no, no!” He slumped against the stone. “I was so close,” he said. “So close to having her back and then...” A sob escaped his throat.

Below us the building shuddered as something flammable went up in an explosion somewhere down below us. Feeling that seemed to give Remedy resolve. He stood up.

“I’m going for her,” he said. “She’s blocked off the room to magic, but I can get there on foot.”

“Are you crazy?” Grapevine cried. “You’re going to get yourself killed doing that! We don’t need another casualty to add to the list.”

He looked up at her, then snorted. “Nothing you can say is going to stop me.” Just in case, he kept his horn active menacingly, and I was reminded of the spell he used on the guard from earlier.

Grapevine knew she was beat, and only moaned in frustration as she watched Remedy gallop down the stairs and out of sight, but when I tried to go after him, she grabbed me firmly by the foreleg and spun me around.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she said.

“But, we have to help,” I pleaded. “There’s no way Remedy’s going to make it back by himself!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Grapevine snapped. “He’s lost; he made his choice. But you...” The grip she had on me tightened and she sighed. “Look, I don’t care how you feel about me anymore,” she said, “but I care about you, Minty, and I’m not going to lose you like I lost Spotlight.” She dragged me closer. “I’m not going to make the wrong decision again.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but another explosion rocked the tower and I let the fight in me go. Something inside of me knew that, even if Rainbow Remedy somehow managed to get out, the search for his sister was over before it began. So, I didn’t object when Grapevine pulled me behind her up the stairs in a race to beat the flames engulfing the outside of the tower to the roof.

We emerged onto the landing platform from before, thoroughly tired and out of breath. “Now what?” I said. Over the edge, flames licked high into the sky. “I can’t fly us down; the heat’s too much.”

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” Grapevine said. She paced on the roof even as the surface got hotter and hotter from the fire. She tapped her chin and looked up, then burst into a grin.

“What, what is it?” I said.

“Do you think you could fly us up?”

I shook one of my wings. “Yeah, but Serenity’s across town,” I said. “After all we’ve been through, I don’t think I can make it.”

Grapevine grabbed my head and yanked it so I could see what she saw. “We don’t need Serenity, if our own little slice of heaven is on its way.”

Looking closer, I realized I could see a large black dot moving closer to us, silhouetted in the moon. A black dot that looked very similar to a certain airship.

“Can you make it?” Grapevine said.

The building shifted as another explosion rocked it. “I’m going to have to.”

She climbed on my back and clung with her hooves around my neck as I took off just as the flames finally swallowed up the landing platform. Lucky they did, too, as the hot air gave me a nice pocket that I rode up on, soaring as fast as I could toward the airship.

Thoroughly spent after the longest flight in my life with another pony on my back, I crash landed into the Halcyon’s waiting landing bay, the doors open just for us.

Malcolt was waiting for us. “We saw the flames and figured you two had to be at the bottom of it,” he said. He looked behind us. “Where’s the rest of them?”

Grapevine looked at me, then answered, “They’re fine, they’re all fine.”

Malcolt smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

“Hey Mal,” the roughian colt, Jennet, called, “Do ya want me to close the hatch?”

Mal shook his head. “Nah, let’s let them look for a little bit; we can close up once we’re past City Hall.”

Both Grapevine and Mal helped scoot my tired body around as the Halcyon drew over City Hall. The hoof Grapevine had been using to help balance me didn’t move from my shoulder after we were done, but at that moment I didn’t object.

We watched as the airship slowly flew over the top of the building, now almost unrecognizable as the former City Hall. Instead, it became a pyre to all those still inside, and perhaps, too, to Rainbow Remedy.

But even knowing that, as I watched the weather teams finally arrive with their rainclouds and the firemares with their trucks and hoses, a strange calm came over me as my body let all the torments that had led up to this night go. Because, no matter the outcome, it was over, and I was still alive.

“Hey, Grapevine?” I said.

“Yeah?”

I smiled. “I think we’re going to be okay.”

Episode 3: Das Schlechte brechen

Four seconds. That’s how long I could keep my eyes on one of the spinning blades of the fan that hung suspended from the ceiling of my room. I’d count, “1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4,” and then I blinked and looked away or something, and it was gone into the great spinning wheel. Didn’t really matter anyway, no matter how many times I lost I came back to the game again. Anything to keep my mind occupied. Drown out the sound, only listen to the wooden blades slicing through the air . . . everything else just a loud ringing in my ears.

I was dimly aware that some time had passed while I lay on my bed, the silk sheets long since fallen to the floor. A long time, I think. The light had changed--bright, muted, dark, and back again--at least once, maybe twice. I wasn’t sure.

My stomach growled. Hungry, my brain told me. I told it to shut up. Pegasi, my teacher had announced to my class one day while forcing me to stand embarrassingly in the front of the room as the demonstration, could go for days and days without eating--something to do with our metabolism. They called me birdbrain for a few weeks after that lecture, until everypony started getting their cutie marks and suddenly I was uninteresting again. I think someone had been leaving food outside my door anyway, but I hadn’t bothered to check.

“1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . .”

The door opened, I was sure of that, and closed again. I didn’t look away from the ceiling fan. From a blurry corner of my vision, I saw a figure walking up to me, dressed in a black frock that brought out the emerald in his hair. I think he said something, but the sound came out muffled and muted due to the ever-present ringing. I didn’t pay attention anyway. Ignore him, really shut out the guy, and he’d maybe leave me alone.

Suddenly, his brown face appeared directly above mine, blocking my view of the Fan, and from the look on his face I knew he wouldn’t be leaving me alone any time soon--made me remember why I’d gone for him. Concern danced in his eyes as he looked down at me. But not pity, for which I was thankful.

Sterling spoke again, and this time the message was clear. “Minty,” he said. I blinked, unresponsive, and he repeated himself, this time with a sense of urgency in his voice.

“Yeah?” I answered finally. Though it came out more as twisted mix of a cough and screech from vocal chords that had been left unused except for quietly mouthing four numbers. He seemed to at least gather what I meant, though.

He leaned closer. “Are you alright?” he said. “We’re worried about you down there. I’m worried. You were alright when we left the newspaper building, but now Joya says she hasn’t seen you in days and--”

I stopped listening and rolled over on the bed, facing the window looking out over a midday West Fillydelphia throbbing with energy as much as a unicorn’s horn while performing a particularly difficult spell. To them, the world was back to normal, everything the same.

Sterling had stopped talking, evidently waiting for me to respond. I didn’t. How could I make him understand? See what I saw: the look on Grapevine’s face when we walked out of the Chronicler building, Sterling and I side-by-side and her alone even in the crowd. That face--I shuddered. To put a look of sympathy and understanding and combine it with one of hurt and rejection and then to place it on one face was too much.

But that wasn’t why I was lying on my bed, and I knew it. Sterling did too, apparently, as I heard the bed squeak under his weight and suddenly I felt him lying next to me, a comforting warmth against my back. He didn’t seem to expect me to answer anymore, for which I was glad, because I don’t know if I could have. To explain what had kept me cooped in my room like a bird in a cage--appropriate, really--would have been . . . problematic.

Because how could you really explain these things unless they had happened to that pony before? Tell them how you could be walking back to Joya’s, happy as could be at his side and looking forward to the release of the article, when suddenly you see something, anything--in that case, one burned spire from the City Hall--that reminds you of the pony you lost and suddenly all that grief and sorrow you didn’t even know you had comes washing over you large as a wave and as sure and unstoppable as a colossus? No, I couldn’t explain it, and some part of me hoped he would just get bored and go away if I ignored him long enough.

But he didn’t. I tried moving away from him and his reassuring presence, over the objections of whatever loopy part of my brain that thought the best idea would be to get closer to him, but Sterling remained where he was. My patience eventually gave up before his, and I slowly rolled back to face him--just to see what he was doing.

His eyes, like mine had been, were locked on the spinning blades of the ceiling fan as they went around one, two, three, four. But somehow, his eyes looked at them differently. When I watched the fan, I watched it as a whole object and let my brain turn to mush after trying to keep up with its rotation. Sterling, though, examined the fan. His eyes played over the nuts and bolts that held the fan in place, and the way the blades were connected to the body and spun in a certain way to take all the warm air out and deliver the cool.

I’d seen plenty of young colts at the Summer Sun Celebration undressing mares from their party gowns with the same kind of look, but it was the first time I had seen somepony do the same to a machine. But somehow that’s what it looked like, and I was sure that if I had asked, he could have told me how to take the darn thing apart and put it all back together like it was nothing more than giving your mane a good brush.

“You don’t have to stay cooped up in your room,” he said finally, eyes still on the fan. A hoof was draped across his chest, and it thumped in rhythm to some beat unknown to everypony but him. “Joya and I are both here for you, just in case you were ever in the mood to talk...”

I wasn't.

He shook his head. “It’s not healthy, you know--to keep everything bottled up and sit here staring at a fan all day.” He met my look. “We weren’t just going to not check up on you for several days.”

“Yeah, well, I’m fine,” I grumbled. “Whoever told you it isn’t healthy didn’t know what he was talking about, obviously.”

He looked away, but the source of the advice had been plain on his face the instant the words left my mouth. I felt bad--about somepony besides me, at least--for the first time in days. I guess I hadn’t really considered what had happened would affect him. And talking to him did feel better than staring up all day. Not that I would ever admit it.

I sighed, and went for the compromise. “Can’t we just lie here for a little bit?” I said. “There’ll always be time to talk about all that later.”

Sterling smiled in that that stupid, goofy, lop-sided way of his and scooted closer to me across the silk sheets. He laid his head closer to mine. I didn’t object.

Time went by, things happened, and I eventually found myself in Joya’s foyer--bathed and dressed in a breezy white tunic shipped all the way from Cloudsdale that Joya had left out for me--watching her twirl around the room in every conceivable direction with her hooves full of clothes and feeling a bit more clear-headed than I had an hour before.

Maybe it was the bath in hot water the city had forgotten to turn off in the absence of their leader or just the feeling of being out of my room and away from the Fan for the first time in days--I would need to remind myself to buy a new one that reminded me less of Remedy at some point, and some new sheets while I was at it--but I felt good. Not better, but good. Yes, shove those emotions back down, Minty. Back where they belonged. Put a smile on, while you still had something to smile about.

Of course, that something had rapidly turned into a walking stutter machine whose blush turned on much too often once we had descended the stairs. Joya hadn’t helped the matter by immediately picking up on whatever subtext that was apparently obvious to the observing eye, and shooing Sterling back to the basement and his workshop. He had only mumbled in protest, and eventually gave up and said something about needing to work on the new recording device before giving me a silent look and heading away. Somehow, that transformation back had left me more confused than the other way around.

I believe I could live to be one-hundred, and there would still be ponies I couldn’t understand. Briefly I wondered if the Princess had figured it out by now after her many lifetimes, but it wouldn’t have been my place to ask her. She’s our ruler and her ways mysterious--it’s up to us mortals to do the dying before things are too figured out, because then what would be the point of the next generation repeating the same pattern? So they had taught me in school, anyway, in the classes I had bothered to stay awake in.

Joya finally maneuvered her twirl and skip routine over to me and came to a halt by my side, though the rest of her still practically buzzed with energy. “So, what do you think?” she said.

I looked around. The store, if it had changed, had done so in ways my little brain simply couldn’t handle. From my perspective, the room was still the same nonsensical arrangement of display tables and ponnequinnes that counted for organization in the same way that Grapevine’s hurried scratchings of jumbled thoughts and asides in her notepad counted as real note taking.

“It’s nice,” I said. “I really like how you’ve rearranged the place.”

Her expression grew strange, and I realized my shot in the dark had missed. “I didn’t rearrange anything, silly,” she said. “Just tidied up a little and tried to get some of the new outfits on display before the next bunch of customers.” She smiled. “Still feeling a little cloudy between the ears?”

I looked down. “You could say that.”

She placed a hoof on my shoulder and gave me a look that spoke volumes. Looking at her face, the age-worn lines usually hidden by a wide smile, I remembered how easy it was to forget her advanced age. “Are you alright?” she said. “Truly, really, alright?”

I plastered the weakest smile in my long and illustrious career of faking emotions on my face and silently hoped Joya would be convinced enough to leave me well alone. “Of course,” I said through a mouth stretched too-tight into a smile.

She certainly didn’t look convinced, but let the matter drop. “I just wanted to make sure,” she said, “because this came for you this morning.” She pulled out a white slip of paper from a pocket on one of the colorful saddlebags draped over her back. The letter was pressed into my hooves, and I took a look.

The message wasn’t much. All it read was: “The Chronicler.” Beneath that, Grapevine had signed her name in some chickenscratch that vaguely resembled real hoofwriting. I looked up to see Joya grimly staring at me.

“So, you going to go?” she said.

“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“You know you always have a choice--especially with Grapevine and all that . . . I’m sure Mr. Vision would understand if you took a little more time off.”

I took the opportunity to pick up my new, hoof-made camera bag--courtesy of Sterling, judging by the note attached--from by the door where Joya had helpfully placed it and slid it over my neck and down my back until it rested comfortably against my flank, just ahead of my wing. A large improvement from the aches that had followed hanging my camera around my weak neck.

“I still have a job,” I said, “and unless I want to wait around here until I’m fired and have to go home, then I’m going to show up.” I didn’t mention that if I stayed in that room much longer, I’d really start to go crazy. Of course, maybe I already had.

“I- I guess you that could be right,” Joya admitted. She moved her hoof to the top of my head between my ears and ruffled my hair a bit. “Just . . . be careful, okay?”

My smile was a little more authentic when she removed her hoof and I shook my mane back into its usual place. “Hey, you know me,” I said.

She grimaced. “That’s why I’m worried.”

I pulled open the door and let the oppressive summer heat reflecting off the concrete outside waft over us. To me, at least, a nice refresher from the artificially-cooled house.

“How are you going to get there anyway?” Joya called after me.

My wings snapped out from my body and spread to their full length in front of her. “I figured I could fly there,” I said. “Good to get some practice in, and the flying’ll help clear my head.”

“Well, if you’re sure . . .”

I didn’t let her get any farther than that. One running jump out the front door and I was riding a thermal up over the house and into the sky over West Fillydelphia.

The flight proved to be, much to my dissatisfaction though not surprise, very problematic. Naturally, most of this was due to my flight experience being able to be counted on one wing. Still, I figured that my little session with Starshine and the flight from City Hall to the Halcyon had given me enough experience for the short flight.

But as I caught another updraft and rose higher, I encountered a new hazard: smog. On the ground, the gunky air was a nuisance, but in the air it was enough to make me almost lose control of my flying. The stuff burned in my eyes and clogged my throat, so thick and repugnant over the western neighborhoods that tears formed in my eyes and my wings threatened to stop working. I hacked and coughed and sputtered until I caught a thermal over a long stretch of asphalt that was enough to carry me up and over the layer of grime in the sky and into clearer air above.

Which was when I nearly got brained by the airship. A low-flying blimp and its cabin blew by me at the speed of a griffin, coming so close to my head that my mane blowing in the breeze scraped along the side of it. I barely had time to come to terms with my near-death experience when a zeppelin passed by overhead, buffeting me in its engine wash. Both ships nosed off toward the same area: a clearing out past Fillydelphia near the suburb where Starshine had taught me a little bit on how to fly.

I flapped harder upwards to get a better look, but more haze prevented from seeing too far. Not that it mattered. I could guess with absolute certainty that Ornate was going to be send Grapevine and I to that specific area. It was our lot in life, I supposed.

After repositioning myself and using that weird sense in my head that knew where North was even when I had no idea which way I was pointing, I settled my wings and glided in the general direction of the Chronicler without much effort. Which gave me lots of time to think, and idle thinking time in my hooves was never a good thing, especially when thoughts of Grapevine consumed it.

So what was I going to do about Grapevine? I certainly couldn’t avoid her, not if I wanted to keep my job. But suppose I never brought it up again? Would she mention it? Maybe, if I was lucky, we could somehow carry on our careers without ever admitting any tangible feelings between us and just push those memories deep down alongside those of Rainbow Remedy and whatever had happened on the roof the night before the Celebration.

I rubbed my temples. Things had been so much easier when she had acted like she hated me. Anyway, it was around that time that the untrained muscles at the base of my wings gave out, dumping me into an unceremonious fall towards the city street that loomed below me. At least those brooding thoughts of Grapevine were pushed out of the way for a moment as survival instincts kicked in.

My mind screamed for altitude! but I ignored it and focused on finding a way to land that didn’t involve me sharing my vital organs with the concrete sidewalk. I beat my wings with the last of my strength to slow myself down, but was still coming in too fast. A steam-powered trolley car puffed along under me, and I banked desperately for the smooth, flat roof--the only landing surface around that wasn’t solid ground.

At the last second before I slammed into the top, just like Starshine had shown me, I spread my wings to their full length and caught enough wind to slow my descent so I only bounced twice before skidding to a stop on the metal roof of the trolley, rather than splattering against it or falling all the way off. A smile formed on my lips as I lay panting on my back on the roof, and I felt for all the world like Minty the Wonderbolt. I was fairly sure that the passengers inside hadn’t felt anything, either.

The tram eventually found its way onto the Chronicler’s street, and I slid off the roof to land solidly on the ground. Some of the passengers disembarking seemed to be surprised that a Pegasus dressed in a tunic grayed from flying through smog suddenly dropped down beside them. But that wasn’t my concern. Instead, I pushed my way past them and into the newspaper building.

Inside, the front reception area was actually crowded for once. The same prim secretary from my first day still sat at her desk, but now where her mane had been tied in a neat bun and a pair of neat glasses had sat on her face was a messy mop of hair that hung down over the dark bags beneath her eyes. She was chattering to some stallion with a Prench accent and a well-trimmed goatee to match.

Some colorful bird in a cage squawked in a corner where it’s owner sat on a hastily-arranged bench. And the metal bars of the cage were just about the only thing keeping the poor pony owner from being engulfed in the fat folds of the stallion next to him who sat seemingly oblivious to anything around him, staring with a faraway look at the wall opposite of him.

I pounded my way through the middle of the frenzy and shoved aside the Prench pony with a mumbled apology and faced the secretary. “Ornate called me in,” I said, throwing my head in the general direction of the double doors leading into the rest of the building.

The secretary rubbed her eyes and blinked a couple of times before her face lit up in recognition and, Celestia help me, she actually smiled. “Oh, Minty, of course! He’s expecting you!” she said. A scraping noise could be heard as she pushed the metal stool she sat on away from the desk and hopped down to escort me to the door through the crowd. “Tell Mr. Ornate I could, uh, use some more help here, won’t you?” she said. Before I could respond, I was pushed into the newsroom and the door slammed shut behind me.

The sudden, alien noise was enough to get everypony looking in my direction, though not enough for them to stop click-clacking at their typewriters or tearing down papers from the corkboards only to put another in their place. But this time, instead of looking back at their work like usual, their eyes followed me across the newsroom floor to Ornate’s office, and I could hear them murmuring to each other even after I shut the door.

Ornate stood up from his wide-backed chair with a creak when I walked in, but Grapevine remained where she was, leaning nonchalantly against a metal filing cabinet. Her eyes idly played over the documents tacked to Ornate’s personal message board. I knew she could see me--kept peeking from the corner of her eye--but apparently she was going to deliberately ignore me. I sighed. So that was how the game was going to be played.

“Does the concept of punctuality escape you, Miss Flower?” Ornate said, dragging me back to reality. He looked me up and down. “I can see neatness already did.”

“Sorry, uh, sir,” I stuttered, trying to brush my hair back to its normal, straightened state while bemoaning the darker shade the tunic had taken on. All the way from Cloudsdale, indeed.

Ornate harrumphed. “Yes, you are likely to be sorry. But that isn’t enough--not anymore.” He slapped down a newspaper on his desk. Not the edition we had published--with Grapevine’s story on the front page and my picture of Golden to accompany it--but a copy of the Times talking about the apparent spike in readers and profit the Chronicler had been getting. A news story about a news story, imagine that.

“You’ve hit the big time with that little story of yours, and that means the two of you need to start acting like you belong. No showing up late, no using paid time for anything unrelated to research . . .” He pointed one hoof at Grapevine. “And no more drinking. I was told that you’ve been thrown out of three bars just this week, and that ends today. You’re a professional again, so see if you can’t remember how to act like one.” He turned to me. “That goes for you, too. No more breaking your equipment or yourself, you hear?”

I nodded enthusiastically, while Grapevine only game a semblance of an agreement with a slight turn of her head. It was good enough for Ornate, anyway, because he sank back into his seat, and motioned for us to do the same in the two wooden chairs in front of his desk. I obliged him and Grapevine did as well, though reluctantly. “Now relax,” he said. “I’m not mad at you . . . yet. Just wanted to get things straight, you hear?”

We nodded.

“Good. Now, right to business.” He passed a colorful flyer across the table to us, which Grapevine snatched up and scanned as quick as she could read. “As you may or may not know, the Germane Independence Festival starts today out in Chestnut Hill.” He looked specifically at me after he spoke, expecting me to ask more questions.

Which I did. “But wasn’t Germaneigh Day a week ago? You know, day after the Summer Sun Celebration?” Technically, the Germanes had declared their independence on the day of the Summer Sun Celebration way back when Celestia had ruled by herself, figuring--correctly--that the citizens loyal to the Princess would be distracted by the festivities. I knew in Germaneigh it was celebrated on the correct date, but in Equestria it was always the day after so as not to upset the more patriotic ponies in the empire.

“You’re correct,” Ornate said, “but due to . . . mitigating circumstances, the festivities were pushed back a week. Which works for us, because now we’ve got a followup for all the new subscribers we’ve been getting.”

Grapevine tossed the flyer back on his desk. “And your big plan to keep them is to send your top reporter to cover the same boring story we tell every year? If you want a story so bad, just take the one I wrote last year and change the dates--nopony’s gonna know.”

Ornate glared at her but slowly placed another document on the desk and tapped it with his hoof. On it was a picture of an aging stallion with dark hair and a pair of wire-frame glasses that ill fit his sallow face. He bore a quiet smile between the aging lines, and dark circles ringed the flesh beneath his eyes. “If you want it that way, then let’s get to the real story. Meet Doctor Wahr Chemiker, Professor of Chemistry at the University of Marelin; or at least he was, until he went missing a couple weeks ago. The Germane Government put a out a reward for his capture, and the word from our source is that he escaped here and is hiding somewhere in the festival.”

“So a high-profile fugitive all the way from Germaneigh comes here to hide, and in some campy festival no less?” Grapevine said. “I’m not buying it.” I nodded in agreement.

“Our festival’s the biggest of its kind in Equestria, and we’ve got delegates and travelers arriving from all over Germaneigh. Our police won’t be able to check each and every passenger that disembarks; if I was him this would be exactly where I’d go.” Ornate crossed his forehooves. “And our source told me he’s got it on good word, which should be enough for the both of you.”

“Then who exactly is this source that we should think so highly of?” Grapevine said. “Last time I checked, our runners were more disposable than your shot glasses after ten.”

Ornate smiled. “He’s new talent--fresh from the payroll of the Gazette. You’ll be meeting him today, as a matter of fact. Name’s Ivory, and he’ll be at the festival. He told me to tell you to follow the sound of a piano being played like it was a bucking bronco.”

“Well he certainly sounds pleasant.”

“It doesn’t matter what he sounds like, but what he can give us,” Ornate said. “So I expect you to treat him with all due courtesy, whether he acts like the prince or the pauper. Do you get me?”

Grapevine’s brow furrowed. “Just don’t think I’ll buddy up to the guy.”

“Oh trust me, I wouldn’t,” Ornate said. He turned to me. “Same goes for you, missy.” He reached beneath his desk and pulled out a black box that he placed with a thump on his desk. It was my camera. I suddenly realized why my brand new camera bag had felt so light. “And see to it that you don’t forget this again, or I will begin docking your pay. Now, both of you, out of my office. I’ve got work to do, and so do the two of you. Your press passes will be waiting for you at the festival, so get going.”

We both scurried out of his office, Grapevine briefly stopping to pick up her press bag from her desk.

The next trolley at the stop closest to the Chronicler building was late, so Grapevine and I spent several minutes looking anywhere but at each other, her leaning against the side of stop’s rain covering and me loafing on the otherwise-empty bench.

I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out and I was left looking like a fish gasping for water for a few seconds before shutting back up. Then I did it again, and again. Words half-formed that marched obediently to their places at the edge of my tongue but refused to take the final leap into the warm noonday air.

“Your dress is riding up,” Grapevine said suddenly, breaking the silence. She looked away. “You should probably fix it.”

I fixed the tunic that had indeed been riding up on my flank, so much that it was possible to see my cutie mark. I stretched it back over the base of my tail and noticed Grapevine watching out of the corner of her eye. Did she like it? Was that why she had noticed in the first place, because she noticed my flank? After all, she had admitted feelings for me back at the Celebration . . .

No, stop thinking like that, I told myself. Silently, I groaned. If I was going to jump to a stupid conclusion at every little thing Grapevine said, it was going to be a long day. I looked up and tried to smile at her to show we had an understanding. But the grin came out crooked and I think I only worried and confused her, because she quickly looked away and said nothing more until the trolley came to a wheezing stop in front of us.

Grapevine climbed on and chose a seat at the back of the trolley. The look on her face dared me to try sitting next to her, but I’m not a betting pony so I settled for an aisle seat next to a rather piggish colt in his middle age, stuffed in a bad suit. Both of his hooves were occupied by a donut, and the voluptuous mustache that adorned his face was spotted with crumbs of meals past.

He rose when I tried to sit down and gobbled down a donut before speaking. “Oh, pardon me miss, I must offer you my seat,” he said in a hills-y Germane accent. I tried to refuse, but he wouldn’t hear it until I was safely in his spot, and he next to the aisle. I looked out the window and hoped he wouldn’t talk to me.

“You are attending the festival, yes?”

Of course he will. “Yes, I am,” I said.

He smiled. “Grand, just grand. Will this be your first year to attend?”

“Yeah,” I said, “how did you know?”

“You look just as I did on my first trip, ten years ago,” he said with warm smile. Then, he spoke in Germane, “And do you not speak the glorious language of the ponies of the Rhine?”

Startled, I answered to the confirmative, and his grin grew broader. He clapped me on the back. “Good, good for you,” he said. “It is always a pleasure to meet somepony from the home country!”

“Well, not exactly from the home country--my parents moved to Equestria before I was born.”

A dark shadow passed over his face briefly before it lit up again, twice as bright. “Ah, well, nopony is perfect. If you speak this language, though, I am sure you will be welcomed with open arms.”

I nodded like I cared.

“And you certainly wouldn’t want to miss out on the kind of experiences that only a native will receive at a festival such as this--none other can be found outside Germaneigh.”

“But the festival is in Equestria--so what makes it so great for natives to come here?”

He laughed. “The festivals back home are so . . . common. Everypony knows what to do and where to go, it is like a routine. But here in Equestria, it is so different; we love to come here and watch ponies learn about our culture, and maybe teach them a little too. I suppose that is why so many teachers make the pilgrimage every year.”

“Then are you a teacher, by any chance?” I said. His rambling on about a pointless subject that I didn’t need to know about certainly made him seem like one.

“Oh no, not me. I am, ah, just along for the ride.” He held out a hoof. “My name is Big News--you may call me Big--and I am a foreign correspondent for the Marelin Exekutive,” he said, though his name came out in Germane as Große Neuigkeiten, which made me remember just how much a mouthful the language could be. I timidly shook his hoof, realizing that I was talking to somepony who had made it to the big leagues of journalism. Even my father on our farm had gotten the monthly edition of the Exekutive, which he had always read with his pipe, an occasion he had reserved only for the Germane newspaper.

I shifted myself in the seat so to better hide my camera bag and hope he wouldn’t ask where I worked.

“Now what would your name by, young lady?”

Of course.

“M- My name is Minty Flower,” I said.

“Minze Blume,” he said, taking relish in repeating the name in Germane. “A fine name indeed. So tell me, Miss Flower, where is it you work? I can only assume a bold young mare such as yourself would have found gainful employment.”

I sighed and reluctantly set the camera bag on my lap. I threw open the top to reveal my camera and said, “I’m a photographer for the Fillydelpia Chronicler.”

He gapsed. “The very same that published the story of Madame Pullmare and her company?” I nodded. “Why, that story was massive back home--the Pullmare Company having many deals with our government for steel.” He winked. “Though I must confess I have only read the Equestrian edition. I am told that the Germane version was much . . . kinder to her.” He slapped me on the back, again. “And are you, by any chance, the same photographer who caught the magnificent image of the former mayor?”

“Well, yeah . . .”

“Which would make the mare at the back of this trolley the famous Grapevine, yes?”

“Famous?”

He clopped his hooves together and chortled with joy, apparently ignoring my comment. “Oh this is such a treat, to meet the most famous up-and-comers in the journalism world! I should have guessed when you said your name, but the bell didn’t quite ring-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said. “Back up. So you’re telling me that we are up-and-coming in the journalism world?”

“But of course! The magnificent prose coupled with the haunting image of your picture has captivated many journalists across both Equestria and Germaneigh. Why, I expect even those uncouth Prench have heard of the two of you.”

I sat back heavily in my seat. I guess I had never really entertained the idea that the silly little article that had trivialized and summed up our adventure in such a sterile way would make us famous. Keep our jobs? Yes. Known in Fillydelphia? Maybe. Famous in multiple countries? I don’t know what you smoked to come up with that idea, but I want some!

It was an idea that warranted more careful thought and maybe even a little discussion with Sterling--if he was up for it--but the stallion rambled on whether I wanted him to or not.

“So what’s it like working with her?” he said, nodding in the direction of Grapevine. “Is it tough, or are you two as close as they say you are?” He waggled his eyes when he said the word “close” that made me feel even more uncomfortable than I already did, which was quite an achievement.

“It’s . . . nice. It always keeps me on the tips of my hooves,” I said. “Grapevine and I after all are, uh, very close as partners. Friends, even.” I made sure to keep my voice low so Grapevine in her seat behind us wouldn’t hear, though she didn’t seem to pay attention no matter what I did.

“That’s good to hear,” Big said. “Especially when Miss Grapevine seems to think so highly of you.”

“Wait, what?”

The way he looked at me is similar to how you do when your sister obviously ate your last piece of birthday cake when you totally asked her not to and she even has crumbs on her face but she insists that she didn’t and- . . . I’m getting off track.

Anyway, he said, “her writing of you in the article described you as naive in a sweet way; a pony who believed in doing right whether the world does right by her.” He smiled. “From what I’ve seen of you, you seem to meet the description.”

My face burned. That’s what she thought about me? Naive? And to use it as a positive thing . . . and to believe that I did everything because of some higher ideal of “right”, well, I supposed I should probably read the article at some point. I’d only skimmed the first draft, so she must have added that in after. I snuck a look back at her, where I saw her watching the city disappear behind us out the window, only to be replaced with trees and grass and sky. If she thought so “highly” of me, then why the freeze out?

Of course, it could always be because she was simply-

“So what will you be doing at the festival today?”

Celestia. Dammit.

“Um, just walk around and stuff. Try to find a story, maybe--we’ll probably eat something at some point.” I figured it was probably best not tell him we were looking for a fugitive; especially one his own country was trying to find. Ponies tend to get testy over those sort of things.

I didn’t do the best job of putting on a convincing voice, but he seemed not to notice. Instead, he happily suggested a myriad of stalls to check out, ponies to talk to, and foods to eat. He told me so many, in fact, that my mind kind of dulled to his list and I stopped remembering a word he had said. Personally, I don’t even think he cared whether I listened or not: he just liked to hear himself talk.

He was only interrupted when the trolley grounded to a halt in front of a hastily-erected wooden platform at the entrance to the fairgrounds. We all filed out and the passengers dispersed into the festival until only Big, Grapevine, and I were left on the platform.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Fräulein Blume,” he said. “And I would love to show you around the festival, but I have pressing business that I must attend to. Ponies to meet and all that: you understand.” He shook my hoof. “Until next time.” He nodded to Grapevine then ambled off, his bulk shifting from side to side as he walked.

“Who was that?” Grapevine said when Big was out of ear range.

“Nobody,” I said. Grapevine didn’t press further and I didn’t offer any more information, so with a silent agreement we walked into the festival together.

The festival sat on a comfortable piece of land about a mile from the town square of Chestnut Hill. The dry, sun-baked grass felt good under-hoof, and there weren’t many trees to block our line of sight, but enough that a pony who was tuckered from walking around could relax underneath a few cool branches.

Colorful tents adorned the outer edges of the fairgrounds, and inside them were the larger acts and demonstrations and contests. Signs advertising cook-offs, storytelling, and art exhibitions were found outside of them. Farther in, stalls and booths showing off hoofcrafted work lined the walking rows, and ponies dressed in gaudy colors and frilly things manned them.

As Grapevine and I walked down a row that she had selected at random, I found myself looking wide eyed at every little thing, in some vain attempt to drink in all that I could. Never before had I seen so much of my culture in one area; and in Equestria, at that! After all, my parents had never really been into the old country or its customs. They had been proud to be Equestrians, and had made sure that, other than knowing the language, their children had nothing to do with Germaneigh. All Saint’s Day was celebrated a day earlier and called Night Mare Night, and Advent was replaced with Hearth’s Warming. Our names were kept to the more Equestrian traditions--though not always successfully, as with mine--and we were taught to be proper Equestrians.

So it was a rather new experience to be in the middle of a festival celebrating nothing but Germaneigh, obviously.

“Will you try to keep up?” Grapevine said, not bothering to turn around to ask me. I’d been lagging behind, my eyes roaming elsewhere, and had nearly lost her in the crowd.

“Sorry, sorry,” I said.

“We’re not here to gawk; we have a job to do, remember?”

“Yeah, I know . . . so where do you think this Ivory guy is, anyway?”

“If I know the kind of ponies Ornate likes to get tangled up with, he’ll be at the bar. Maybe even playing something on the piano, like he said he would.”

I focused on keeping closer to Grapevine as we drew nearer to a large tent in the middle of the festival marked with the misleading title “Recreational Tent”, and tried not to lose myself in staring at a massive painting of the Black Woods of Germaneigh on display in one of the pavilions.

“Hurry up and stop staring at the stupid painting!” Grapevine said.

Okay, maybe I lost myself a little. Anyway, sure enough, upbeat piano music wafted from the interior of the central tent, where ponies in plainclothes stumbled out with their mouths running nonsense, drunk on Germane ale. It was the place, as far was we could tell.

Grapevine led me inside, where we found a massive wooden bar had been plopped down in the middle of the tent, and numerous tables were spread out on the grass around it. The heat was oppressive inside, part from the canvas of the tent doing nothing to insulate the inside, and part from so many ponies talking loudly in drunken stupors. I was suddenly glad all I had on was a breezy tunic.

An old piano sat in one corner, and the music came loud and clear from it, but we couldn’t see who was playing it. A crowd had gathered around it, and somepony was shouting while a few drunks edged him on. Grapevine and I unapologetically shoved our way through the crowd that smelled of liquor to get to the scene.

In the middle of the crowd were two figures: one a pony with a bright orange coat and auburn mane, and the other . . . not. His front half was like that of a griffin, though smaller and leaner, and that’s what I assumed him to be at first. But then he rose from the piano bench and I saw his back half, which was that of a pony’s, albeit without a cutie mark. I wasn’t sure what to call him, besides Ivory.

The pony in front of him was swaying back and forth and it was hard to make sense of what he was saying. From what I deciphered, he said: “Hey, big . . . uh . . . fella, I gots a proposition for you!” He hiccuped. “Me and my buddy ‘re working us a freak show out in one of them big tents, and we think you could be the star of the show!” He grinned big, like he had just offered Ivory his weight in gold.

Ivory, for his part, didn’t seem very upset. He calmly walked toward the pony--an odd sound; half the usual clopping of hooves and half the strange scratching of talons--and looked him right in the eyes. “You think I am a freak, do you?”

“Well, yeah,” the stallion answered without flinching.

The griffin-pony hybrid stepped closer to the drunk colt. “I guess I am a freak,” he said in a tangy Manehattan accent. He held up one arm, and made sure to keep his talons in full view for the crowd. “But being a freak does have its advantages.” Ivory stuck his head right up in the stallion’s face. “You get my drift?”

“Um, well, yeah,” the stallion said, his eyes never leaving Ivory’s claws, each about as long as a unicorn’s horn. He started to walk away. “You probably wouldn’t fit in the freak show anyway, you’re too weird; you’d just make everypony else feel strange.”

Disappointed, the crowd dispersed after the stallion left, leaving only Grapevine and I still watching Ivory. He turned to us. “Glad you two came,” he said. “I was starting to wonder if you’d show up at all.”

Grapevine looked behind us briefly like she expected he was talking to somepony else before answering, “And how do you know who we are?”

Ivory laughed. “What kind of fact-finder would I be if I couldn’t spot Ornate’s star employees?” He drew closer to us and held up one talon to shake. When he got closer I noticed that his “deadly” talons were chipped and dirty, and the feathers on his chest mottled. When neither of us took the offered claw he said, “No worries, I’m not as fierce as my pureblood relatives. I just put on the tough act for stiffs like that guy.”

I decided to take his claw in my hoof, cringing when I felt the talons, dull as they were, scrape across the end of my hoof. “I’m Minty Flower, the photographer,” I said, as if he didn’t already know.

He smiled. “Ivory Ariosto: professional oddity and amateur pianist, at your service. I also gather strange and interesting factoids, which some ponies find interesting from time to time.” He shrugged. “It’s a living.”

Grapevine shook his claw and introduced herself as well--in more of a gruff, professional manner--though she made no effort to keeping her eyes off of the point midway along his belly where the griffin side morphed into a pony’s flank. “So what exactly are you?” she said.

If the question bothered him, Ivory didn’t show it. Or maybe he had been asked it so many times that it ceased to be an issue. “I’m what you call a hippogriff,” he said, “or, as I like to call it, why griffins and ponies of different genders should not share drinks.”

He rubbed his claws together, making a strange sort of scraping sound. “But enough about me: you’re only here for one reason, right?”

Grapevine nodded. “Doctor Chemiker.”

Ivory nodded in return. “Right. And if we’re going to catch a fugitive, we’ve got a lot to do and little time to do it in.” He grinned. “So let’s get started.”

Episode 3: Blättere um

The pavilion was loud. Louder now, it seemed, since we had been inside, though I did not know if that was simply a byproduct of visiting a quieter, enclosed space or if more ponies had shown up. Probably both.

Anyway, Ivory led us out of the Recreational Tent and back out to the main body of the festival. Or rather, bodies. We were hemmed on every side by ponies coming and going; some of them the softer-faced Fillydelphia natives, and some of them the hard-jawed visitors from Germaneigh. Even without the faces, it wasn’t hard to tell them apart. Fillydelphians strutted about in their coats with pastel colors, while the coats and manes of the Germanes were muted in hue, and reflected in the clothing they wore, which was heavier than the usual Equestrian fare.

“Her first time at one of these, right?” I overheard Ivory ask Grapevine, a few feet in front of me.

Grapevine snorted. “How should I know--does it look like I keep up with her?”

“I suppose ‘yes’ would be a bad answer in this situation?” Ivory turned to me like I hadn’t been listening in. “You speak like a Germane native, but walk like you’ve never seen even a single flag from the Empire,” he said. “Why?”

Somehow, Ivory managed to stay in front of me and keep pace with Grapevine, even while walking backwards. I shrugged in response to his question. “If you’re going to move to Equestria, what’s the point in celebrating where you came from?”

“You look pretty excited to be here from my perspective.”

“I didn’t say that was my point of view; it was what my parents believed. Being kids, we didn’t exactly get a choice.” Not that it had ever stopped me from trying to sneak over to a hill at the very edge of our farm and watch Derbyshire’s Germane Independence Festival from a distance. Usually, I ended up caught by my father or my more studious older sister, which resulted in “the speech” and double chores for a week. The few times I did see it, however, I never figured why Father was so adamant against the festival--it hadn’t really seemed like anything too special from the other holidays. Now that I was actually inside one, however, I could see why he would have disapproved of our family attending, as patriotic as he was.

“Hey, can we maybe put a halt on the mystery of why Miss Speaks-Two-Languages hasn’t been to one of these before and focus on the reason we’re actually here?” Grapevine said in a huff.

Ivory turned back around. “Of course,” he said. He idly picked at the talons on one of his arms as we walked, somehow managing to move on three limbs. “I assume you’ve already been briefed on Doctor Chemiker, right?”

Grapevine glanced at me. “We were told the basics, and that he’s wanted by the Germanes, but not much else.”

“Good thing details on this guy weren’t hard to find,” Ivory said. “Here in Equestria he isn’t well-known, but he was the poster foal for the Germane Scientific World--and even for Prance, if you can believe it. He was one of those whiz kids too, they call ‘em the wunderkind there. First research grant at just twenty, and he was heading a lab at twenty-four. Then his team was the one that figured out how to synthesize methylene from condensed magic a while back, and everypony started to call him chemistry’s newest up-and-comer.”

“So if he’s so popular, then why’s the Germane government on the lookout for him now?” Grapevine said.

“Was popular,” Ivory said. “The young Wahr was on top of the scientific world, being offered grants from just about every university in the civilized countries--even one from Concealed College here in Equestria.”

“And he turned them down? Why?”

Ivory shrugged. “Nopony knows. He turned down almost every offer that came his way, even the ones that were willing to fund his research at one million zahls--two million bits--a month. Instead, he settled for Professor of Chemistry at the University of Marelin, as Ornate should have told you already. It wasn’t even supposed to be a real postion; it was more of an honorary title that he would hold while working in the lab, but he refused everything but the teaching aspect.”

“Okay, I get how he became a teacher,” Grapevine said, “but how the hay does a teacher end up a fugitive?”

“The information I got was kind of fuzzy on that point. All we know is that he taught for nearly a decade then suddenly-” Ivory snapped his fingers. “Gone. No notice to his students or the faculty. All questions that were asked were rebuked by the government, and for fifteen years nothing more was heard from Doctor Chemiker. That is, until a couple years when suddenly he just reappears again with no explanation, back at his teaching job like nothing ever happened. Everypony pretty much assumed everything was normal--urged on by the government, of course--and for a while it was. That is, until three weeks ago when Internal Security, Innere Sicherheit, bursts into the college demanding to know where the professor was. They didn’t catch him, but a week later you’ve got his wife reporting that she thought she had seen her former husband break into her house. A week after you’ve got officials at the Hayburg Aerodrome reporting that a steamcar was left abandoned in the parking lot, along with items from the good doctor’s house.”

“And that’s where Fillydelphia comes in,” Grapevine said.

“Right. The only airships not checked were those from and bound to Equestria. Protected from search and seizure under Princess Celestia’s authority, of course.”

“Is that why we’re headed to the airfield?”

“So you unicorns do use your eyes after all!”

Grapevine grimaced at Ivory’s remark and told me to hurry up again. I barely heard her. Instead I trailed behind, trying to get things straight in my mind. A pony that turned down money and fame? And for a teaching job? I’d been willing, a week ago, to sacrifice everything to stay in Fillydelphia and make a name for myself, and here was a pony who had earned it with far more ease than I did, and gave it up just as easily.

The more I turned it over in my head, the less sense it made. Such a foreign concept made my head hurt. I eventually had to settle on the fact that some ponies just couldn’t handle their fame, unlike me, of course. While I was congratulating myself for coming up with that conclusion, I ended up moving a little too slow and running into another pony going the opposite way.

Boxes he had been carrying fell onto the grass, spilling worn books across the pavilion. The pony who had been carrying them--a fit stallion just edging out of his twenties and colored some weird mint-green/blue color--fell on his rump beside where I was now laying on the ground with what must have been a dazed look on my face.

“I am very sorry,” he said in Germane with a clipped accent. “I didn’t see you there, and-”

I held up a hoof. “Don’t worry, my fault,” I said. I rubbed my head, then took the hoof he offered and climbed to my feet, surprised at how strong his grip was. Once I was on all fours, I sheepishly looked around at the books lying on the grass. “Sorry about the books though, they look pretty old . . .”

He smiled a little in reassurance and rubbed his head. “It is alright, they have seen far worse--trust me.” Then he bent over and started to carefully pick them up, one by one. I quickly stooped down to help him, using the aid of my wings to gently lift the books and place them back into one of the boxes. While I did, I couldn’t help but look at some of the covers. They were much more intricate than any books I had ever seen--most of their stunningly-detailed covers could have sold as paintings anywhere in Equestria. I could only wonder what stories they contained if they warranted such well-made covers. Far better than I could write, for sure.

When the stallion saw me looking at the books, his smile grew. “Like them?” he said. “They are here for a Germane literature exhibition later this afternoon.” He pointed out a large tent done up in a flat green color. “I’m heading over there right now to set up.”

I nodded in a way I hoped was reassuring. “I’ll be sure to check it out,” I said. Which was mostly true--I wasn’t too interested in the actual stories, but I wouldn’t mind checking out more covers if they were all like the ones he was carrying.

We finished loading the boxes and he bid me a good day before ambling off toward the exhibition tent, his step not even faltering under the weight of the books on his back.

“You done?” Grapevine said.

“What do you care?” I said. “It’s not like you were offering to help.”

“I just didn’t want to interrupt you and your new pal, talking in Germane and all that. You’re all in Equestria--why do you keep speaking it, anyway?”

I stuck out my tongue. “Um dich zu ärgern.”

She huffed and turned back to Ivory, who only rolled his eyes and continued to lead us to the airfield. Not that he really needed to, at that point. The massive forms of blimps and zeppelins resting just inches off the ground were clear to see. In contrast to their citizens, the Germane airships were done up in bright, pronounced colors and designs all over their fuselages. They were all arranged on the grass in a sort of semi-circle with the top of semi-circle facing inward toward the festival. The airships closest to the festival were the smaller balloons and blimps while the real behemoths sat farther out on the edges of the festival, crowds snaking down their ramps and onto the cleared area in the middle of all the airships.

We rapidly became the only individuals making our way toward the landing field, and were forced to moving along the side of the pavilion away from the crowds at the risk of being carried bodily away from our destination.

“Do you even know which airship we’re looking for?” Grapevine said once we had stopped a little bit away from the crowds, in a clear patch of field between the tents of the festival and airships sitting on the pasture. “Or are we just going to have to search all of them? Because with this many ponies, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“I managed to narrow the list down to three,” he said, “two of them dedicated--if shady--shuttles between Equestria and Germaneigh, and the other a cargo hauler.” He ticked them off on one hand. “There’s the shuttles Eagle and Sky Rider, and the other whose name was a bit harder to find. From what I could dig up, it’s called the Halcyon.”

Grapevine and I groaned at the same time.

Ivory looked at us funny. “What? Is it something I said?”

“Let’s just check out the Halcyon first,” I said. “I’ve got a . . . feeling we’ll be lucky there.”

We carefully made our way across the impromptu airfield and sure enough, Malcolt Reinolds--dressed in his signature duster--was standing outside his airship when we arrived. He was barking orders to someone inside the ship, which I noticed was sitting on the ground with its balloon looking a little deflated.

Ivory cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Captain Reinolds?”

Mal wearily started to turn around. “Look, how many times do I have to tell you guys, our gorram papers are in ord-” His eyes narrowed once Grapevine and I were in view. “Oh, you two. What brings you to the festival?” He nodded to Ivory. “And who’s your friend?”

“You know him?” Ivory said, honestly surprised--I think--that we knew something he didn’t.

Grapevine smiled, enjoying her little victory. “Here on business, naturally,” she said. “We’re working on a new story, and Ivory here is our contact.”

Mal nodded again to Ivory. “A pleasure.” He turned back to Grapevine. “And I don’t assume you just came to say hello, did you?”

Grapevine shook her head. “Word is that you might be able to help us with our story,” she said.

“Is that so?”

“Your ship was carrying passengers from Germaneigh. Mind showing us the list?”

Mal held up a hoof. “Woah, woah there missy, I’ve got no list to show. We play by different rules on this ship--no names, and pay only in cash. We don’t know where anypony’s going, and we don’t want to.”

Grapevine looked dumbfounded. “You carry passengers . . . and you have no idea who they are?”

“Some folks would prefer to fly casual,” Mal said. “And we provide that service. Nothing special or unusual. Just business.”

“And it pays pretty good, too,” said Mal’s burly crewmember--Jennet, I remembered--as he walked down the front ramp out of the cargo bay. In one hoof he carried a pile of assorted machine parts, which he dumped unceremoniously on the ground. He turned to Mal. “Hayley says we need new, uh, power couplings if we want to get ‘er up and running again.”

Mal walked over to one of the parts, picked it up, and tossed it back to Jennet. “Tell Hayley to make it work,” he said. “We don’t have the money for more.”

Jennet nodded. “Right, Mal.” He turned and walked back into the ship, his hooves echoing on the metal of an empty cargo bay.

“I told you, Captain!” Mal shouted after him, but if Jennet noticed, he didn’t make any move to correct himself. “Lousy, good for nothin’ . . .” Mal muttered under his breath.

“What happened to your ship?” I said. If I looked hard enough, I could see a few bullet holes pockmarked the aft end of the fuselage.

“We decided to take shortcut that skirted into Prench airspace,” Mal said. “There was some disagreement on that point.”

“And they just shoot at anything that moves?”

“It probably had something to do with us coming from Germaneigh,” Mal said. “I mean, I don’t think I have guys who want to shoot me in Prance . . . for now.”

“But why would where you’re coming from make a difference?”

“Germaneigh and Prance aren’t too happy with each other right now,” Ivory explained. “They’re not at war, but they tend to get testy when one side makes a move--like what your friend did. Probably one of the reasons why the Germane government was so ready to pick up their wayward chemist.”

“Why’s a chemist matter so much to a government anyway?” Grapevine said. “Wouldn’t a soldier or a spy be better? Even an engineer?”

“A laboratory team he led were also the first to synthesize chlorine gas from other, more common, naturally-occurring elements.”

“What’s that got to do with-”

Mal had been quiet the whole time, carefully watching Grapevine and Ivory, and jumped when his pilot--Haygan--leaned out the cockpit window and yelled down: “Hey Mal, come give me a hoof with the steering lines, would ya?”

“In a minute!” Mal shouted back. He turned back and nodded to each of us in kind. “It’s been a pleasure, but I’ve got to go. Good luck finding that Chemiker guy, though. Look forward to reading the next article.”

He started to walk away, but Grapevine galloped ahead of him and planted herself in his path. “We never mentioned the doctor’s name,” she said icily.

“Must have heard it from somewhere,” Mal said, his tone still casual. “Now move, if you wouldn’t mind.”

She didn’t. “Tell us,” she said. “Where is he?” She tried to stare him down, though it was a futile effort given the height difference of almost a foot between them.

It seemed to work, however, because Mal sighed and looked from side to side quickly before leaning in close and whispering in her ear. I wasn’t close enough to hear, but whatever he said must have satisfied her, because she nodded and let him walk onto the ship before rejoining Ivory and I.

“Well?” Ivory said.

“He said that--if he were to guess--the passengers from his ship would probably have gone to that really big striped tent,” Grapevine said, pointing out the location in question.

“What’s in there?” I said.

Ivory sighed. “The freakshow.”

The only way to describe the freakshow tent was like if a circus had been run by the prize inmates of an insane asylum, but dressed up by some kind of sick, twisted six year-old.

Colorful banners hung from the upper areas of the cavernous tent, advertising the fiends that lay within. The stages the “performers” were displayed on were bright and colorful in a way that made you sick after watching what was done on them. Maybe that was the point, though. Dark and twisted is fine when the mood reflects it, but throw in a little bit of cheer to such a display and its too much for the pony mind to handle.

Or at least, for me to handle, as I soon found myself trying to fight my way back out into the open air, bent over and clutching my stomach in an effort to keep my insides on my inside. I think it was the two-headed unicorn that did it for me. Not necessarily because of the two heads--that would have been really cool. But because the second head was a twisted, deformed thing that stared off into space, uncomprehending . . . that was just too much.

I must have started to run, because Ivory practically tackled me to the ground back at the main entrance. “They’re not real!” he kept yelling into my ear until I had calmed down enough to hear him properly.

“What?” I said.

“They’re not real,” he repeated in a normal voice. “Look at them: they’re all unicorns. This is really just a magic show; they deform themselves on purpose.”

“S- So they’re fake?” I said slowly, my erratic heartbeat starting to calm to its usual rate--though far faster than a unicorn or earth pony’s, me being a Pegasus and all.

Ivory nodded and helped me shakily to my feet. Grapevine bounded over, munching popcorn from a paper bag that she purchased sometime during my ordeal. “Geez, these aren’t even very good,” she said, directed at me though her eyes refused to look my way. “Don’t know what this has to do with Germane independence, though.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Ivory said, “but it’s cheap entertainment for the ponies that just want to be somewhere else on their day off.” He looked back at me with what I hoped was worry on his face, though it was hard to tell with the beak. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine,” I said. I kept my eyes locked to the ground, though--just in case. “Let’s just find the passengers and get out of here.”

Grapevine tossed another hooful of popcorn into her mouth. “How are we going to do that, anyway?”

“We got to the only place your friend’s passengers would be in a place like this,” Ivory said. “The casino.”

Sure enough, in the far part of the tent--after you passed through the gamut of freak shows--were casino tables laid out underneath some high-flying trapeze act. A net was suspended just a few feet over the gamblers’ heads, but they didn’t seem to notice. Instead, they rolled their dice and hid their cards just like they were in Las Pegasus. To them, the Germane festival might as well have been celebrating Prench independence or anything else for that matter--it was just an excuse to gamble for them.

Ivory led us to a corner where the tables were dirtier and the air filled with cigarette smoke. The ponies there had the rough look of Germane factory workers, and didn’t look up until we were in the middle of all of them.

“What do you want?” one of the more brutish ones said, sticking his face close to Ivory’s. I guessed him to be their sort of leader, being that his graying mane made him the obvious elder of the group.

“We’re here for information,” Grapevine said, taking to Ivory’s side.

“Is that so?” the brute asked. “Well, we’re not giving it.”

Grapevine opened her mouth to say something very cross, but took a breath and calmed down a bit before speaking. “We just want to ask the ponies who rode over on the Halcyon a few questions.”

Before the brute could answer to the negative, a lanky pony at a craps table spoke up: “Oh yeah, what about?”

Glad to see she was getting somewhere, Grapevine answered, “We wanted to know if anypony had information on Wahr Chemiker.”

For as noisy as the casino area had been, the entire crowd grew silent as their stares locked on us. The pony who had asked quickly looked away, like he was embarrassed to be involved with us. The brute leaned close to Grapevine. “Get out,” he said in an icy voice. “And do not come back.”

He stepped forward, causing Grapevine to back away from the casino area, along with Ivory and I. I could tell it pained Grapevine to walk away, but she did so reluctantly as the beginning of a ring of spectators began to form around us.

Before we could get out, however, the ring closed and locked us in. And at the head of the ring was the pony who’d been harassing Ivory earlier in the bar. A sneer decorated his face.

“You dare come to us and mention Him?” he said. “Talk of him where prying ears can hear? The three of you do not even deserve to speak his name!”

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to-” I started, but Grapevine cut me off.

“And all of you are protecting him?” she said, the anger rising in her voice. “What’s he done that’s so special?”

The crowd had begun to press in closer to us while Ivory tried to keep them back as politely as he could. “Not so tough now, are you?” somepony shouted at him, and shoved him closer to us until the ring of ponies around us was less than a foot away.

“Herr Chemiker is a hero to us all,” the pony answered Grapevine. “Unlike you, who write lies about Frau Pullmare only to weaken your country’s trust in her.” He poked one hoof in her chest. “It is because of you that the company has had to lay so many of us off.”

Grapevine shoved his hoof away. “Watch it,” she growled. “Everything in that article was one hundred percent fact, and if you can’t accept that then I’d suggest go bury your head back in your precious doctor’s ass.”

“Why, you-” the pony said, raising his hoof to strike.

Now, I don’t know if he missed or at the last second I un-consciously decided to step in front of Grapevine in some misguided attempt at heroism, but his hoof struck me squarely across the face, sending me sprawling to the ground in a confused daze.

The world swam in front of my eyes, though I could hear a collective intake of breath from the crowd as the stallion who had struck stood still, the hoof that dealt the blow still hanging in the air. I tried to stand back up, but the legs didn’t respond properly, so I remained where I was. Gee, that didn’t seem familiar.

Suddenly, the stallion who had hit me was thrown across the tent through the air on a burst of purple magic, finally coming to a bumpy stop on a stage that held the same two-headed pony from earlier. The crowd stared at Grapevine, whose horn was still smoking and a look of fiery anger on her face.

“Any of you fucking pigs move, and I’ll blast every motherfucking one of ya!” she shouted, her eyes just daring all of them at once to come at her. None did. “Pick her up,” she ordered Ivory in a suddenly ice-cold voice. “We’re taking her to the medical tent.”

I felt myself being lifted off the ground by gentle arms, and started to bounce as we moved out of the tent and back toward the main body of the festival.

“You know, if you keep getting hurt like this, we’re just going to get used to it,” Grapevine said, apparently back to her usual self. I was sitting on a clean cot in the white medical tent, off on the other side of the pavilion from the freakshow. I passed out on the trip over, and didn’t come to for almost an hour. Now, Grapevine stood on the ground at my side, leaning with one hoof on the metal railing at the head of the bed. “I mean, you could have just let me take it; I’m a big mare, after all.”

I smiled. “I could have, but then I would have missed you defending me. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Defending you? Yeah right . . .” Grapevine said. She snorted. “I was just trying to save my own flank; it’s not like Mister Dagger-Talons over here was doing anything to help.”

Ivory looked up from his perch at the other end of the cot, watching for my nurse to come back. “I had the situation under control,” he said evenly.

Grapevine rolled her eyes. “Right.”

The cream-coated nurse finally returned to my bedside, her starched uniform so tight around her waist I imagined her soprano tone was due to it squeezing the air from her lungs. “Alright, the tests came back and you’re going to be fine, Miss Flower,” she said.

“Will I be able to leave soon?” I said.

She smiled. “In about half an hour, you’ll be all set to leave. No further medication required.”

“Then why wait so long? We’re in a hurry here.”

“The wait is only a necessary precaution,” she said. “We just have to make sure no complications come up before you leave.”

I sighed and muttered my compliance, which was apparently enough for her as she whisked off to the next cot over, ready to deliver a new batch of bad news in the most cheerful way possible.

“Are you going to be alright?” Ivory asked.

“Pretty sure,” I said. “Why?”

He looked guilty, so Grapevine responded for him. “While you were out, Ivory and I talked about what to do next. We’re thinking of checking out the science pavilions to look for some of Chemiker’s colleagues.” She paused and waited for me to say something. When I didn’t, she continued, “And, well, the exhibition closes soon, and you won’t get out of here for half an hour . . .”

I tried not to look too disappointed. “I get it; you guys go ahead and go. I’ll catch up when I get out of this place.”

“Are you sure?” Ivory said.

I nodded and the two of them bade their goodbyes and filed out of the tent, leaving me by myself at my cot. I shook my head and blew a few stray strands of hair out of my face. Half an hour was going to suck in this place.

I figured I would just lay back and try to rest, but the place was too loud for that, unless you were unconscious for a reason. So instead I settled for watching the nurses and orderlies go about their business, and occasionally the few doctors--I tried to not see Rainbow Remedy’s face on any of them.

What stunned me the most while I watched is how orderly the medical tent was. On first glance, the place seemed to be a ball of barely-regulated chaos that was ready to come apart at the seams. On closer inspection, though, the staff ran a tight ship and kept everything in perfect rhythm. For some reason I found this mesmerizing to watch. Maybe it was the fact that my life had been so out of order that my mind naturally gravitated toward something that was, or maybe I was just bored.

Either way, the half hour passed--I made sure to look at the small clock on one wall of the tent every five seconds or so--and I walked over to one of the orderlies who was checking everypony out of the tent.

“Name,” he said in a drab monotone.

“Minty Flower,” I said. “I was told I could check out now.”

“Right, sure you were.” He scanned a list pinned to a clipboard until his eyes stopped on what was presumably my name. “Flower, Minty?” he said. I nodded. “It looks like you’re good to go; I’ll just need a second signature and you’ll be on your way.”

I paused. “A second signature? Like from the doctor?”

He shook his head. “Cases of head trauma have to be checked out by a close friend or relative; we can’t just let you wander around unsupervised.”

“But the nurse said-”

“It doesn’t matter what the nurse said; rules are rules.”

Inwardly, I groaned. Ivory and Grapevine would eventually come looking for me, but probably not for a few hours at best. “Isn’t there anything you can do?” I said. The orderly just shook his head sadly.

One tent flap was open to the outside, and passing ponies could occasionally sneak a glance inside the medical tent--if they wanted to, that is. But that must have been how he saw me and heard what was happening, passing by on some other business but deciding to help a stranger who had shown him kindness. Because just as I was about to dejectedly go and lay back down on my cot, a voice spoke up.

“Sister, is that you? Ah, there you are--I’ve been looking all over for you!” The pony whose books I’d spilled earlier ambled into the tent. He had put on a suit sometime since then, which fit his muscular frame nicely and matched his salty white mane.

The orderly wasn’t impressed. He turned to me. “This guy’s your brother, huh?”

I made the split-second decision to trust the guy--figuring a bookworm like him was probably harmless--and nodded eagerly. “Of course,” I said.

My “brother” nodded eagerly. “Minz here--Minty in your language--was with her friends, and they told me where to find her.” He turned to me and pretended to act like I was getting a scolding. “Just wait until father hears about this!”

I pretended to act scared, and the orderly apparently bought it. Or he wasn’t getting paid enough to care--it could have been either, really. At any rate, he let me and my “brother” sign my release paper and walk out the tent.

Once we were a safe distance away, I let out a breath I’d been holding. “Thanks for that,” I said. “I was really in trouble.”

He smiled. “Don’t mention it; always happy to help.”

I paused. “So, uh, how did you know my name--especially the Germane version?”

“I must profess I knew it since we bumped into each other earlier,” he said. “Your picture, along with your partner’s, was widely circulated back home--and I made the simple translation to Germane and hoped it would work.”

“Well, you guessed well,” I said, switching to Germane, which seemed to please him.

“Ah, so you do speak it,” he said. “I had heard rumors that you could--and even some that you talked to the Princess in the same language!”

I laughed and then toed the ground awkwardly. “So . . . anyway, thanks for helping me out and all, but I have to get going. My friends are over at the science pavilions, and I need to find them.”

I started to walk away, but he stopped me. “You know,” he said, “by the time you reach the pavilions, the science exhibitions will be over and you’ll just have to make your way back here. If you wish, you could wait with me while I set up the book stands.”

I paused. My options were to either to willingly go look for Grapevine and follow her around or hang out with a guy I had never met who knew a lot about old books.

“Lead the way,” I said, “Mr.-”

“Licht,” he said. “Helles Licht.” He offered up his hoof, and I shook hooves with Mr. Bright Light for the second time that day.

We set out toward the side of the festival that was less populated, as most of the stands were still being set up. “Some of the tents have been dealing with overcrowding issues,” he explained, “so we are setting up the literature exhibition on the grass in the open air.”

“Aren’t you worried that will hurt them?” I said.

“As I said before, these books have been through much more than any of us.”

“Ah, right.” There was a little pause as the conversation tapered off. Not that I minded--there was plenty to look at. This end of the pavilion was evidently the more sophisticated, and even the food stands had a little bit of class.

“So I have been told that this is your first time visiting a Germane Independence Festival,” he said, noticing my hungering gaze at the food stands.

“Who, uh, told you that?” I said.

“I have it on good authority from a rather large gentlecolt who seemed to be very excited to have personally met the famous photographer from the Fillydelphia Chronicler.”

I groaned. Of course Big News would have a Big Mouth. “Yes, well, it’s true,” I said.

“And I suppose you haven’t had a chance to try any of the native Germane cuisine?” The expression on my face must have been enough, because he shook his head sadly and said, “No, no, this will not do.”

He showed me over to a food stand with pots and steaming pans filled with food arranged around a few small tables. Bright ordered for both of us. “Spargel. Zwei,” he told the pony working the stand.

The pony came back with two bowls of steaming asparagus topped with some sort of sauce and mashed potatoes. I took mine and held it with my wing-finger-things while Bright balanced his easily on the end of one hoof, and was even steady enough to slide my chair out for me at a table near the stand. We sat down and began to eat.

When Bright saw me practically inhaling the food after the first couple of bites--the best I’d had besides Marshmallow’s cooking--he seemed to grow happier. “You like?” he said.

I nodded hurriedly, my mouth still full. I swallowed and said, “This is amazing. I only wish mother had made stuff like this . . .” I took a deep breath and dug in again.

Bright, meanwhile simply picked at his food. Eventually, he spoke. “So tell me, Minze, what’s it like being a pony who willingly dines with a stranger she’s just met?”

I shrugged. “I ate a meal with Miss Pullmare, and Princess Celestia at the same time,” I said. “It’s hard for anything else to live up to that.”

He smiled. “Indeed. And I apologize that I am but a simple bookkeeper, and thus have lesser abilities to entertain you than those two.”

“Nah, you’re fine,” I said. “I’ve never really talked to anypony about books before, so that could be pretty interesting. What kind of books do you look after?”

“Mostly ones from one of Germaneigh’s golden ages of literature back in the middle high ages, or mittelhochdeutsche Blütezeit. That was back, oh, six hundred years ago.”

“But wasn’t Germaneigh part of Equestria back then? How can you have a golden age when you weren’t a country yet?”

He laughed. “Germaneigh, since the first settlers arrived and started clearing the Black Woods, was its country in everything but official documents. Celestia rarely visited, and the Equestrian officials kept themselves locked up in their castles, leaving the countryside to us. Even the Prench went through much of the same.”

“Well, that’s cool,” I said. “So what kind of books came out all that time ago?”

“Not books, exactly,” he said. “Poems. Minnesang, it was called. They were love poems that were sung in the courts. The Equestrians didn’t care for it too much, but the lower officials and princes loved it.”

“So you have music . . . in book form?” I said.

“Pretty much, yes.”

That was a new one. At least it wouldn’t be as hard to read as the other old literature they had taught us in school, probably. If I ever had to read The Lone Queen again, I think I would die of boredom. Plus the cool pictures on the front would be a bonus.

We finished eating right as more ponies started to trickle in our direction from the rest of the festival. Most of the stands had finished setting up and, according to Bright, the literature exhibition would be starting soon.

“I have to finish setting up,” he said, “but I look forward to seeing you and your friends there.”

I assured him I would be there and watched him trot off, again amazed at how quickly he moved for a self-professed bookworm. With nothing else to do, I idly watched the passersby and regretted letting Bright throw away his unfinished meal without at least getting a bite of it.

Before long, sure enough, Grapevine showed up with Ivory in tow, cutting through the crowd like it wasn’t even there. “Finally we find you,” she said in a huff. “We’ve been looking all over for you! Ivory even made me go back to that stupid clinic.”

“That was your idea-” Ivory said, but she shushed him.

“What are you doing over here anyway?” Grapevine said.

“Met a new friend,” I said. “He helped me get out the clinic and even bought me a meal for the trouble. He’s over at the literature expo right now, setting up.”

“I thought you already had a coltfriend,” she said. I glared at her, but she just smirked. “But it doesn’t matter anyway--the science pavilions were all dead ends. Whenever we even mentioned Chemiker’s name, they reacted the same as those idiots at the freakshow tent.”

“It may have also involved Grapevine’s vulgarity and threats for information,” Ivory said, upset about being cut off earlier. “So we figured we would find you and come here; this expo is the last of the day, anyway. I figured I’d try to get into contact with a few ponies I know over here and see if they’ve got anything.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Grapevine said.

Ivory shrugged. “I don’t know . . . your job? Aren’t you reporters supposed to, like, mingle? I mean, Ornate hired me to get all the information, not you.”

Grapevine rolled her eyes. “Alright, just meet back up with us when you’re done. We’ll see if we can’t find this guy before the festival closes.” Ivory nodded and went on his way. “And it’s back to just us,” Grapevine said. “Joy.”

“You have a problem with me?” I snapped.

“Of course not,” she said in her most innocent voice. “You haven’t done anything to give me one, have you?”

So that was how she was going to play the game. Well, I decided I wasn’t going to take part. Let her be mad; it wasn’t my problem. “Come on, there’s somepony I want you to meet,” I said.

I trotted off toward the stands set up on the grass, and didn’t look back to see if she was following me. Sure enough, though, I could hear her hoofsteps right behind me after a few seconds. After walking around it for a little bit, I realized I liked the literature expo being on the grass much more than some stuffy old tent. A cool breeze had picked up--a welcome relief to the sun that still shown hot on the whole festival--and a stringed band played some old Germane song off to one side.

Most of the stalls, as opposed to the ones lining the main areas of the festival, were neat and orderly, and were run by older ponies with graying manes and drooping mustaches. Books of all kinds were on display, some colorful and thin, and some drab and thick. There were also scrolls, tapestries, and sheet music set out as well.

It wasn’t difficult finding Bright’s stand, seeing as it was actually in the middle of the fairgrounds. There was a small crowd gathered around one of the displays, and they were chattering excitedly. I tried to crane my neck to see, but to no avail. The Germane colts could be tall.

However, Bright, at the head of the crowd, managed to stick his head over the chattering stallions and called out, “Ah, Minze! Very good to see you!” The crowd looked at him, then focused on me. They parted and allowed Grapevine and I to make our way to the front, my face beginning to flush red from the sudden attention.

We stood at the front, and Bright greeted us warmly. “Glad to see you made your way here, Frau Blume,” he said. “And I see you brought the famous Weinrebe.”

“The who?” Grapevine said.

“That’s your name,” I whispered.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled for him and nodded politely. “Nice to meet you-”

“Bright Light,” I hissed.

“Fright Night,” she finished.

Bright looked at her strange, but made nothing of it while I fought the urge to bring my hoof to my face. Instead, he shook his head and pointed to the display stand that the entire crowd was watching. “Sorry about the crowd,” he said. “I finally managed to find my old copy of Ship of Fools.”

“What’s that?” I said.

“An old book of woodcuts and satire.”

“So like a really ancient joke book?” Grapevine said, unimpressed.

“Exactly.”

Awkward silence. “Well, this is really interesting,” Grapevine said, “but we have a job we really need to get back to.”

“Oh, a job?” Bright said. “Minze did not tell me of such a thing. Perhaps I could help?”

Grapevine sighed. “Not unless you can tell us the whereabouts of a Germane fugitive.”

Bright’s eyes narrowed, and for a second I thought he would react like the ponies from the freakshow. Instead, he said, “Yes, I know of Doctor Chemiker. The traitor. I was told that he would be here at the fair, but I have not seen him. Trust me, if I had, he would no longer be hiding.” When he spoke, his nostrils flared a bit and the muscles across his back flexed.

It scared me a little, but only gave Grapevine more encouragement. “So would you be willing to help us then? Maybe give us any leads you can think of?”

Bright stared off into space for a second before answering. “It’s not much,” he said. “But I believe that I saw a Germane reporter snooping around today, asking about the doctor. Not in the way you are, though, but in the way a young colt looks for his lost puppy.”

“Let me guess, he gave his name as Big News?” I said.

He nodded. Of course.

“Any chance you know where this guy is?” Grapevine said.

Bright looked around, then pointed off to one of the farther, more obscure stands. “Isn’t that him right there?”

I looked and sure enough, the portly reporter was talking to a small group of ponies. “Yeah, I see him,” I said.

Grapevine took one look and galloped off in Big’s direction, while I hurriedly thanked Bright and promised to come back around once our story was done. I caught up to Grapevine just as we arrived at the stand.

There, I realized that Big wasn’t talking to any ordinary ponies. There were two stallions and a mare, all dressed in the dark blue of police uniforms. Worse, I hadn’t seen him before, but Ivory was with them with ill-fitting hoofcuffs around his front claws.

Before we could back out, though, the mare took a step toward us. “Grapevine Lulamoon and Minty Flower?” she said. We didn’t say anything, but I don’t think it was really a question. Before she said more, the two stallions took up positions behind us after hoofcuffing Big, and readied two more pairs for us. “Some gentlecolts from Germaneigh would like a word with the two of you.”

Episode 3: Sünden des Lehrers

“So, Miss Flower, can you tell us why you’re in here?”

There was a bright spotlight trained directly on my face, so I couldn’t tell who had spoken. Or see them, for that matter. All I knew was that across the cold metal table from me in the dark, concrete-slabbed room were two ponies in matching gray suits. They were perfectly matched in every way: from the red silk hoofkerchief in their lapel pockets to the tiny gold cufflinks in the shape of the Germane eagle. Even their coats somehow matched in the same gray-blue color. I couldn’t tell if their cutie marks did since the suits covered them, but I wouldn’t have been surprised.

Or at least, they had both perfectly matched before they had met Grapevine and I. The ride over, strapped in too-small hoofcuffs while riding in the hot back seat of a police steamer had not been fun. Worse was the complete lack of explanation from the cops of why we had been detained or where they had been taking us. Being a reporter, I guess it must have especially rubbed Grapevine the wrong way.

So wrong, in fact, that her first response when the Germane officials opened the steamcar’s doors to let us out was to buck one of them right in the face. I still couldn’t see through the blinding light in front of me, but I knew one of them had adorned a pair of reflective sunglasses to hide his growing shiner.

After that incident, a few of the police officers had shoved Grapevine into one of those straightjackets and hauled her off to one end of the building while I was led by the suited colts down a few dank hallways to the interrogation room.

Whoever had spoken repeated his question again, and this time added, “We just want to talk, that’s all.”

I crossed my forehooves in front of my chest. “What’s there to talk about?” I said. “I still don’t know why I was brought here.”

They muttered something in Germane to each other about my accent, but I couldn’t make out exactly what was being said. The voice resumed, “You honestly have no idea?”

“No . . . should I?”

The light swung away and I could finally see the rest of the room without blinding myself. Not that there was much to see besides the two colts in suits. The one without sunglasses pinched the bridge of his nose. “You were brought here at the behest of the Germane government,” he said, the same voice from earlier. I guessed Mr. Black Eye was still sore from Grapevine’s method of taking out her frustration, so he stayed quiet.

“Why would they want me?” I said.

“You were seen and identified as asking questions on the whereabouts of the fugitive Doctor Chemiker, an act that aroused the suspicions of our government.”

“Last time I looked, asking questions wasn’t a crime,” I said. “Besides, I’m with the press; my partner and I were only working on a story.”

He shook his head. “Press passes don’t count as diplomatic immunity. All my government knows is that you’ve been asking some very curious questions, and this session is for you to prove that you’re not doing anything that might be considered . . . distasteful to our government or yours.”

I looked around the small, empty room. “So I’m not under arrest?”

“Not at this moment, no.”

“Then can I leave?”

The stallion in sunglasses stepped quickly in front of the door and stood at attention. His partner turned to me with a look on his face that he obviously hoped would be interpreted as compassion. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Minty. You may not be under arrest, but you are not without suspicion.” He smiled a little. “But all that can be cleared up just by explaining to us that you have no interest in finding the good doctor.”

I cocked my head. “So you’re saying . . . if I want to get out, I have to forget any of this ever happened?”

“Your words, not mine.”

“Okay, then . . .” I paused, though more for his benefit than mine. “Why exactly is your government so sensitive about this?” I asked, hoping he would take the bait. “I mean, I’m just trying to understand why I can’t do this story.”

The two agents looked at each other, and the one with the sunglasses gave a small nod. “Doctor Chemiker has taken . . . items . . . out of the country that our government--as well as yours--considers unsafe,” the talkative one said, thankfully taking my opening. “We are simply here to find him and any of his cohorts before they can bring harm to Equestria.”

“Right,” I said, “and how exactly is a chemistry teacher supposed to hurt anyone? And how do you even know he was planning to anything wrong?”

The sunglasses colt took one aggressive step towards me, but was stopped by a subtle shake of his partner’s head. “We have it on very reliable sources,” he said.

“Like who, yourselves?”

Another look between the two of them, and then the talkative one reached under the table and brought out a small book. It had a plain, weatherbeaten cover that once had been a dull shade of brown. “We are only letting you see this as an act on the part of the Germane government to show that there is no mistrust between us and the citizens of the Equestrian Empire,” he said carefully. “We are simply helping to clear things up to you, nothing more.”

If this was how they cleared things up, I didn’t want to see their real interrogation. At any rate, something about that book bothered me. “What is that?” I said.

“This is the journal of Doctor Wahr Chemiker, found in his steamcar outside the Hayburg aerodrome shortly after his flight out of the country.” He opened it, but didn’t let me get close enough to actually read any of the words. Not that I could’ve, anyway. Not only was the print in the scrawling short-form that Earth ponies used, but it was all in Germane, and reading it had never been my strong suit.

“In past entries, the doctor details his plans from leaving his job all the way to leaving for Equestria. We believe it was left behind as a guidebook for his followers. Luckily, we managed to get to it first after an anonymous tip.”

“Wait, wait,” I said. “This doctor guy has followers?” I remembered the ponies back at the freakshow tent, but I had just figured they were standing up for one of their own against nosy foreigners, not some kind of cultists.

“The troubling times our country has experienced has led many to cling to deluded fantasies of heroes who are even more deluded than they are,” the pony with sunglasses said, speaking for the first time in a gravelly voice. “They will attach themselves to any cause with a soft enough face.”

His partner nodded. “Exactly. That’s why, in fact, we’re here in the first place: to look for followers who might’ve come to Equestria with him. You were included on that list.”

“Uh . . . why?” I said.

“He wrote of you and your partner several times,” the colt said. “He seemed to think highly of your . . . criticism of the former mayor.” The way he said criticism led me to believe he would rather have spit the words out one by one like a saliva-y gun. “Being the only Equestrians he mentioned in his journal, we naturally were led to believe that he would try and get in touch with you.”

I wanted to laugh. Here we’d spent an entire day looking for some crazy chemist, and apparently he wanted to find us. Suddenly, I was much more intrigued than before, and starting to rethink the idea that had been forming in my head that I should just go along with the Germanes. Not that I could let them know that. “Well I can tell you that I hadn’t even heard of this Chemiker guy before today,” I grumbled, “and I’m starting to wish I never had.”

The interrogator’s face lit up, just as I had hoped it would. “Good, good, just what we were hoping to hear,” he said. “Because don’t you wish that you could put this whole thing behind you now?”

I smiled nodded eagerly. Yes, of course I did. Just want to forget this whole thing, sir. After that, the Germanes were more than eager to help me get my official statements in order. I signed something that said I’d never been associated with Chemiker, and another that I wouldn’t talk about anything that had gone on in the room. Both of the documents were co-stamped with the Equestrian seal, so I wasn’t immune. Of course, it was just paper telling me what to do. And why should I obey that? I was part of a newspaper: we told the paper what to do.

The two of them led me out of the room after that little ordeal, but didn’t let me go just yet. They politely informed me that I would not be cleared to leave until the others had been through the same process, so I would have to wait. Rather than letting me sit in the nice--if boring--waiting room at the front of the police station, I was given my very own jail cell. It was certainly nicer than the one Pullmare had stuck me in, but it was really the thought that counted.

With a final clanging of the metal door on the iron bars, I was locked in the cell and the Germane interrogators scurried away. I sat heavily on the cell’s cot that was shoved against the right side of the tiny room, and tried not to think about the last time I had been in a similar situation.

“So they put you in there too, I see,” a familiar voice said in Germane. I turned around to see Big News’ face staring at me through the bars. He looked concerned. “Did they trouble you?”

I shook my head. “Not really, just kept me in there until I agreed not to pursue the story any more.”

He nodded. “It is good to hear that they did not harm you, then.”

“Why, were they rough with you?”

“Nothing more than what I’m used to these days.” He sighed. “But I suppose this means you will be off the case now?”

I laughed. “What makes you say that?”

“The fact that you signed a paper saying that wouldn’t?”

“So?” I said. “If you’re in here, that means you did the same. And you’re not going to quit . . . doing whatever it was that got you in here, are you?” I snorted. “Besides, it’s not like Grapevine’s going to give up a story just for some government officials--she’ll drag me along whether I like it or not.”

He smiled. “I was hoping you would say that. It is rare to find other supporters of Wahr these days.”

I wouldn’t have said I really supported the guy, but I wasn’t going to shoot Big down. Though, considering I had been in the same situation as Doctor Chemiker just over a week ago with our local government, I could at least empathize with him. And anyway, whether I supported him or not, if I stayed quiet and asked the right question I could break this case open before Grapevine had a chance.

“Yes, I’m sure it,” I said. “Do you know him personally, by any chance?”

“I wouldn’t say personally, but I have had the chance to meet him several times. What a stallion! You have not lived until you have heard him speak--his words flow over your mind like a cool running stream. He is so intellectual--a true gentlecolt and a scholar. Why, even as a refuge here in this city, he gathers new followers to him.”

Rambling aside, that sure sounded like a lead to me. “So he’s here in the city?”

“Well of course, where else would he be?”

“And do you know where in the city he is?” He said nothing, but instead looked at me apprehensively. “You can trust me,” I said. “I’m already in jail for him, after all.”

Big paused, then nodded. “Alright, if I can’t trust you, then I cannot trust anyone.” He looked around at the empty room housing all the cells, painted the same dull gray as the rest of the station. “But here is not the place to tell you this. I will find you later.”

Before I could ask just what he meant by that, a door on one wall opened and a cop stepped through. She walked over to our cells and unlocked the doors. “You’ve both been cleared to leave,” she said in a clipped tone.

We stepped out of our cells--cautiously at first, to make sure we weren’t being fooled--and followed her out of the room and into the front office. There, Grapevine was waiting for us with a scowl on her face. Her saddlebag had been returned to her after one of the arresting officers yanked it from her back at the festival.

Behind her were the same interrogators who had talked to me. The talkative one flashed us a toothy smile. “We’re pleased everything went so well,” he said. “Please, go home and forget this little incident ever happened.” Though he seemed happy enough, there was a deep-seated hint of malice in his voice, and venom in his eyes.

His gaze didn’t stray from us as we walked out of the station and down the front steps. Outside, night had set in, and a half-full moon hung lazily over the city. The summer night air was muggy and warm, and gave an odd feeling of joviality to the dark streets.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Grapevine said.

I took one look behind me at the closed doors to the police station. “So you’re still on the case?” I whispered.

She didn’t answer, but instead gave me a look that implied that she would have slapped a hoof to her face had it been worth the effort.

Big News coughed. “I suppose this is where we part ways,” he said, glancing around the street. He nodded to us both. “And I will see the two of you at the festival again tomorrow?” We spoke in confirmation and he waddled off down the street in the general direction of Chestnut Hill, where I guessed he had gotten a hotel.

That left Grapevine and I alone on the sidewalk. Wonderful. “So are we walking?” I said.

She didn’t respond, but instead trotted over to a trolley stand about ten yards away and sat down on the bench inside. I sighed and ambled up alongside her, but refrained from taking a seat at her side. The trolley schedule had been torn off from the stand’s message board, and neither of us knew what time it was, so we resigned to wait. If there was one thing I was grateful to Pullm- er, Golden for, it was that she had kept things running. Even now, the trolleys ran twenty-four hours a day.

When she spoke, it was so unexpected that I didn’t hear it at first. Honestly, I had expected her to keep quiet for the whole trip back to Joya’s.

“Huh?” I said.

“I said it’s warm tonight,” Grapevine said awkwardly. “It feels good.”

“Yeah,” I said, “it is.”

A short pause. I couldn’t see her face, but I heard a smile in her voice when she spoke. “I remember nights like this . . . when I was a kid, you know?” she said, in an accent I’d never heard from her before starting to bubble to the surface. “Me and Mom had an apartment, out on the edge of Los Celestias. We were on the top floor and our apartment had a little tiny balcony that barely fit two chairs, so on nights like this we used to sit out there and she’d tell me all about when she was younger.”

I laughed. “That sounds like a good time.”

“Yeah? I guess it was,” she said.

“We used to go outside on summer nights, too, back on the farm,” I said. I pointed up, where the sky was almost milky black with only a few stars showing through along with the moon. “We lied down in the new bales of hay and looked up at the sky and made pictures out of the stars. You could see a lot more than you can here.” I turned to her. “It was pretty cool.”

Again, I expected a flippant remark, but--puzzlingly--none came. Instead, she said, “I’ve never been to the countryside before.”

I smiled. “You should go at least once; maybe you can come with me if I go back home . . . I mean, when I go back home.”

For a second, her eyes shined with hope, but it was quickly crushed down, though that didn’t stop her from returning my smile. Even as she looked away and stopped talking, her face was brighter than it had been.

We stayed in our respective positions for the rest of the duration, and eventually the trolley came. The car was empty, and the driver was partitioned off, so we pretty much had the thing to ourselves. Grapevine chose a bench near the back to sit on, and after a moment of deliberation I sat beside her. She didn’t protest.

After we got moving, she moved her saddlebag to her lap, and opened the flap with a satisfied look. “You still interested in the story?” she asked. “Those goons didn’t scare you off--did they?”

I shook my head. “Of course not,” I said.

“Good.” She reached in the bag and brought out a book. Or, more specifically, the book that had been put in front of me just minutes before.

“You . . . you stole Chemiker’s journal?” I said, practically shouting.

“Well duh,” Grapevine said. “I wasn’t just going to let those cheap rent-a-tyrants keep something that could be valuable to our case.”

My panic began to subside as I reminded myself that if the government officials had noticed the journal missing, they would have caught up to us at the trolley stop. For now, at least, we were safe. Curiosity rising, I asked, “So . . . did you look inside?”

“Yeah, but there isn’t a whole lot we can use. I don’t really know how to read Germane, so . . .” She held the book out to me. “Do you want it?”

Taking the book would surely put me--and, to that effect, Sterling and Joya--in more danger from the Germane officials, and all for no real gain except reading material of a mysterious Germane chemist. So of course I practically snatched it out of Grapevine’s hoof.

Then, purely on instinct, I reached out and hugged her. Just a friendly hug, mind you. I guess I was just feeling particularly chummy that night, or maybe more excited than I thought for that journal and a chance to see inside Chemiker’s head. But at any rate, I wrapped one hoof around Grapevine and pulled her close.

It took her a second to react, but when she did, it was sudden. The Grapevine that had managed to struggle out of her shell that night was cast back inside, and the old, “normal” one returned. Normal Grapevine quickly shoved me off, sending me crashing across the aisle onto the bench opposite her seat.

Now, I had been putting up with Grapevine’s act for the whole day with the express intent to wait until the story was over to say anything, but after seeing her actually show a little emotion, I just couldn’t bear to let her slip back down again. So, as I fell in a heap on the hard wooden bench, I decided to try something.

“Ow!” I cried upon my landing. “I- I landed on my wing!” For added effect, I made to move and get up, but appeared to cringe from the pain. “I think it might be broken . . .”

Grapevine, demonstrating that conflicting emotional states can switch back and forth more often than a choosy fashion designer, leapt to her feet and moved toward me. Concern crossed her face, and she leaned down to me. “I didn’t mean to . . . are you alright?” she said.

I smiled and flexed out my wing to show it was alright. “So you do care.”

Confusion, then understanding, and finally anger passed over her face in one rapid movement. If I kept it up, I could set a record for most changes in expression caused in one five minute period. “You-” she growled. “You faked being injured?”

Well, it had sounded like a good plan in my head, though hearing her say it out loud made me feel a little guilty. I stumbled for words to explain myself before settling on, “Only because you’re faking everything else!”

She looked bewildered. “I am faking?” she said. “Last time I checked, not wanting to be hugged isn’t hiding anything.”

“You’re faking because you only act that way when someone gets close to you!” I said, not really fully understanding what I was talking about, but going out on a limb anyways. Calmer, I said, “Tonight you were fine until I actually touched you, and suddenly that wasn’t alright. And it’s been the same thing ever since I’ve met you; I get close, and you push back twice as hard.”

Her mouth stood agape, and every time she tried to close it or form words, it returned to its former position.

So, I decided to go for what I hoped would be a winning blow. “I know that I’m not as brave as you are, or nearly as well-connected,” I said, “but at least when it comes to emotions, I’m not a coward.”

Grapevine eyes crossed, but she said nothing and instead rose from where she had been kneeling and started walking toward the front of the trolley.

“Where are you going?” I said.

“I’m getting off,” she said. “I can walk from here.”

“So what, you’re just going to run away?”

She didn’t look at me. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“You’re going to have to at some point,” I said, taking a step toward her. “You can’t just keep ignoring me every time I bring this up.”

“I can if I want, and what’s it your business anyway? All I did was try to act friendly to you tonight and now you think you know me . . .”

I laughed. “How long do you think you can keep up that mean, old facade? I’ve seen the real you--back at the Summer Sun Celebration. That was the true Grapevine, not whatever you’re trying to be now.”

“So the little girl fresh from the farm thinks she knows so much about how ponies work?” She snorted. “I was scared, and worried, and I didn’t think I was going to make it out of City Hall alive. What I said was a mistake, and one I don’t intend to make again.”

“Are you really going to tell yourself that?”

She didn’t respond, but instead put on her saddlebag, walked to the front of the car, and rapped on the door leading to the driver’s cabin of the trolley. The car began to slow and edge its way toward the nearest stop.

“So what, you’re going to be like this because I turned you down?” I said. “Is that it; you don’t get what you want so you walk away like a spoiled child?”

“Don’t go there,” Grapevine warned.

Well, I don’t remember the last time a warning like that had actually been honored, so I skipped the conversation merrily down that path. “Isn’t that why you abandoned Spotlight in the hospital--because your toy didn’t live up to your expectations, and when it broke you wanted a new one?”

Faster than I would have thought for a pony of her size, she had me shoved against the opposite wall and pinned me with one hoof across my throat, barely allowing me to speak.

“Take that back,” she growled.

“You know it’s true,” I gasped. Was that my voice? The words came through my brain and out my mouth unbidden, though every other fiber of my being was shouting at them to stop. Sweet Celestia, was I trying to make Grapevine go off on me?

Taking no heed to my misgivings, that part of my brain continued, “And then you told yourself that you wouldn’t let it happen again, so you could sleep at night. But you let your guard down for one moment and it happened again, and now, deep down, you’re scared because I don’t feel the same, and that isn’t something you planned for.”

She slackened a bit, as most of the fight left her. Even her eyes ceased their fiery anger and instead were cast down at her hooves, now intertwined with mine.

“You think it was easy telling you that?” I continued. “I may be a farm girl, but up in Derbyshire we’re no strangers to love.” I lifted her chin to look her in the eye. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Now, I’m quite sure that everything that I had said was in the most friendly sort of way, and meant to be taken as such. Despite what my sisters--and half the school--seemed to believe, I didn’t consider myself a fillyfooler. So when I said that last statement in a soft, tender way, it was simply a mistake on her part that she did not take it as a gesture between friends. That sounds believable, right?

Because, to my great surprise, Grapevine did a little more than simply accept the statement or even smile. Without warning and even quicker than before, she rose on the tips of her hooves and kissed me straight on the lips. I barely even had time to register her fleeting touch, because by then she was already pushing away from me and out the door.

“S- Sorry,” she mumbled, her eyes wide. And with that, she was galloping away from the trolley as fast as her hooves could carry her while I remained in the same spot, bewildered. My mind started to go numb as I turned over her action in my head, and I barely noticed when the trolley started moving again.

The trolley stopped fairly close to Joya’s shop, and I exited the car with my meager belongings: Chemiker’s journal and my once-white tunic that still clung uncomfortably to my flank. I realized with a groan that the last time I had seen my camera bag had been in Ivory’s possession after I was taken to the medical tent--I would have to retrieve that from him later.

The steam machine shuddered away, and I stumbled in a blur to Joya’s front door, trying not to think any more of what had happened. I grabbed a spare key from under the doormat and let myself in, careful not to make too much noise. The inside was dark and quiet, unusual for the late hour.

I started to head up the stairs to my room when I remembered my last little ordeal in that bed, and thought better of it. Instead, I walked down the hall and toward the basement that Sterling occupied. Maybe I could even clear out my head a little if I saw him. Light peeked under the basement door, so I knew he was still up.

One uneasy trip down the stairs later, I was in a basement that was much more cluttered than the last time I had seen it. It appeared Sterling had made himself feel right at home. The colt himself was hunched over a workbench, carefully prodding some machine with a tool I didn’t know the name of.

“Hey, Sterling,” I said, walking up behind him.

He jumped, and the tool went clattering to the floor. “Oh, uh, hey . . . Minty,” he said, turning to face me. He wore a pair of goggles over his eyes, to protect himself against something, I guessed. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Right . . . well, I just got back,” I said.

“Yeah, I noticed. We were starting to get worried that you wouldn’t make it at all.”

“We?”

He pointed to his bed--a cot, really--and I saw for the first time the form of a sleeping Ivory. The hippogriff snored softly, and his tongue hung out one corner of his beak. His form was almost too big for the bed, and it sagged visibly.

“He came over here after the festival closed down for the day,” Sterling explained. “He fell asleep about an hour ago, said something about his first bed in a week.”

To my relief, I saw that my camera bag was placed carefully at the foot of the bed. I was going to have to start remembering that at some point in the foreseeable future. Probably. “So did you and him talk?” I said.

“Well we certainly didn’t quietly stare at each other for five hours,” Sterling said with a short laugh. “He did tell me some very . . . interesting things.”

“Oh, like what?”

“Like you ended up in jail, again,” Sterling said, with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Yeah, so?” I said, then laughed. “It wasn’t all that bad--I just promised to be a nice wittle fiwwy and not follow up on the story and they let me go. Is there anything wrong with that?”

He sighed. “Well . . . no, not that specifically. But don’t you think it’s a bit dangerous, being able to get into this situation more than once in two weeks?”

I shrugged. “Reporting’s a dangerous business.”

“No, reporting with Grapevine is a dangerous business.”

“I guess so,” I said. “But it’s nothing that we can’t handle. Why is it a big deal?”

His face flushed. “Well, uh, just now that we’re . . . I mean, since we’ve started, uh, you know--I get worried.” He coughed and looked down, scratching his the tip of his hoof against the floor.

I smiled as I felt my own face redden. Somehow, just seeing Sterling trying to get out what neither of us had fully admitted made me want to laugh. Which I did, which set him off again. Dimly, I was aware of worrying thoughts about Grapevine seeking back into the depths of my brain to be brought up later.

He cleared his throat. “Especially when I’ll be gone for a week next month to a show in Stalliongrad. I just . . . fear that Grapevine is going to pull you into something dangerous.”

I laughed again. “Of course she will.” I saddled up next to him, just close enough that I knew he would start feeling a little uncomfortable, and winked. “And I’ll be sure to be extra careful.”

“Yes, well, I’ll make sure to worry just in case.” He tried to smile lopsidedly.

I returned the gesture. “So: Stalliongrad?”

He nodded. “I have a colleague there--he and I have been separately working on a project for a couple years, and we’re going to assemble it at the inventor’s show there in the city. Once that’s done, we’ll take it Las Pegasus for another show.”

“So is that thing you’re working on part of the project?” I said. He looked behind him and picked up the strange-looking device. It looked essentially like a metal cylinder, but at the same time . . . not. “What is it?”

“This is called a piston,” he said. “It’s only one small part of the project, but is essential.” He coughed. “An essential part I’m having to stay up late to finish. . .”

I caught the message. “Well I have some work on the story to do, too.”

“You need somewhere to crash?” he said. “If you don’t want to sleep upstairs, I’m sure I could get Ivory out of my bed for you.”

I shook my head. “Nah, I’ll be fine.” I walked over to one side of the room where bunches of Joya’s discarded snipping had been gathered into one massive pile and settled into it. “This’ll do just fine.”

He nodded and got back to work while I brought out Chemiker’s journal. The spine was more frayed than it had looked, and some of the pages were tattered. It creaked a little as I opened it and began to read. It took a second to really understand what he had written, especially when it was in scrawling Germane, but I managed.

I skipped down to a passage that looked interesting. They watch us all the time, it read. It began first with “punitive measures” designed to protect us from the Prench phantoms waiting just beyond our doorsteps. The identity cards and armed police at every turn were there for our protection--the secret police only worked for the good of the people, of course. Because tyranny cannot come from an outside force, from invasion. Tyranny must be built on the foundations of fear and distrust that already exist.

I flipped the page. I have heard talks that it is better in other countries, but visiting them for myself, I cannot agree. In Prance, you need not fear the government, because the government is in the hearts of the citizens themselves, for all that implies. Dissenters do not disappear in the night, but are instead paraded around in the public square--the state’s ultimate victory over the citizen comes when the state need not force the citizen to do its will.

My eyes were drawn to the next page, where he had mentioned Equestria. And what of Equestria? he wrote. The great homeland of our kind, the supposed shining beacon in these dark times, is not much better than we. Their rulers reside absolute over a state docile to their twin queens. Where are the ivory domes of Canterlot in the dark alleyways of Manehattan, or the smog-choked streets of Fillydelphia? The Elements of Harmony once represented that bond between the the royalty and the peasants, but how long has it been since they have been called? They age, just as everyone else, while the princesses remain the same. If Celestia rules as she says she does, then how do the Pullmares and the Caballo families of this country thrive?

I rolled my eyes. My parents had talked about ponies back in Germaneigh who had the told them the same thing shortly before they moved to Equestria. I had to admit the Chemiker guy could write well enough, but I didn’t think he really knew what he was talking about. I skipped ahead, looking for the part Big had talked about where Chemiker had mentioned me, spurned on by his inclusion of the former mayor.

I found it a couple dozen pages forward, near the end of the journal. It was dated the day after the story had come out. Good news from Fillydelphia for once, it read. What once was the most corrupt company in all of ponydom was brought to its knees with the death of Grace Pullmare and all her associates in one fell swoop. Burned alive inside the town’s city hall as a pyre to their sins. But what has rocked Germaneigh so hard, a culture that adores their steel baron queen, is those who did the deed: a reporter by the name of Grapevine Lulamoon and her assistant. There are even that rumors that the assistant, Minty Flower, is of Germane descent herself. I wouldn’t be surprised.

So the crazy guy thought well of Grapevine and I . . . that was new. I stifled a yawn and tried to keep my eyes from drooping down. Those days of no sleep on the bed were starting to take their toll, and I knew I would crash soon. I told myself that I would read just one more passage, then lie back and give myself to the dreamlands.

The last page had only a single entry that looked like it was written even faster than the rest. My eyes burned from trying to decipher his writing. They’re coming for me, as I knew they would. They--the government, their goons, whoever else pursues me as a lion his prey--have kept their distance and allowed me to escape this far, but will not hold off much longer. They want it, and will let nothing stop them. I have fooled them into thinking I have resources at my command that never existed: after all, the illusion of strength is mightier than the most powerful of arms. Even as I write this, I prepare to board a ship under a false name in the aerodrome, and from there to Equestria--I must not fail.

His journal ended there, and I shut the book, feeling more exhausted than anything else. Chemiker sounded much more bitter than I had thought, and much like a pony who had something he wished to hide. Which he did, I suppose. I put the book down and was about to surrender myself to sleep when I heard a thumping noise.

I looked up to find that Sterling had fallen asleep sometime during my reading, his head propped up on one hoof. But that hoof had given out, and he made impact with the solid wooden surface. Not that that was enough to wake him up, of course. I sighed and walked over to him to make sure he was alright.

Sterling didn’t make a single noise while he slept, and even his nose barely moved as he breathed, so I had to hurriedly press my ear beside to reassure myself that his lungs hadn’t suddenly given out.

The hard stool and even harder wooden desk he slept at didn’t look very comfortable, so I smiled and decided to try and drag him somewhere more comfortable for the night. Gravity helped me get him off the stool, but I soon found that he was much heavier than his lean form implied. I tried dragging him across the floor, but only made it a few feet before I couldn’t go any farther. He didn’t wake the entire time, of course.

Bone-dead tired and with my legs about to give out from under me, I made a compromise. I gathered up as much of the discarded fabric from where I had been sitting and piled it under and around Sterling into a little bed. Then, with nothing left in me, I collapsed onto the soft flax and cotton below, asleep before I could think of another metaphor.

Morning was spent explaining what had happened over breakfast to Joya and Ivory. I showed them both and Sterling the journal, though none of them seemed particularly interested. Instead, they had me tell them in excruciating detail everything the interrogators had told me at the jail cell. Joya and Sterling had seemed worried, but Ivory wasn’t impressed.

After that, I skipped any details of my ride back to the house, and the conversation kind of petered out from there. The talking--and with it, breakfast--over, Joya assigned Ivory and I to clean the dishes since she had a “full house” with three others in it.

I used my wings to flap-dry the plates, and Ivory turned out to be a pretty good washer, what with being able to hold a sponge properly and all. He didn’t even complain about washing them, either. Sunlight streamed in from the window over the sink as we worked.

“You stayed the night,” I said after a few minutes of silence.

“Was that a question?” he said.

“It was leading to one.”

He smiled. “I thought so.” He handed me a plate, and I beat one wing at it while holding it with the other. “Ornate had your place of residence on file--Grapevine lives alone, so you were the only one with housemates to notify. They asked me to stay after that.” He sighed. “After a time in my field of work, you learn to appreciate a warm bed and a roof over your head.”

“Don’t get much of a chance to rest, huh?”

“You could say that.”

We finished the dishes and and drained the water. Ivory wiped a towel across the countertop for good measure and I made sure to put everything away. While we finished up, I asked, “Did you find out anything else after we were taken away yesterday?”

He nodded. “Not much, but I did manage to stop one of those guys from the freakshow tent after he had a little too much to drink. Turns out, Chemiker’s not even anywhere near the festival--or at least, not anymore. He’s holed up somewhere downtown, and isn’t moving. Couldn’t get any specifics, though; the poor colt passed out before he could run off his mouth anymore.”

“Then what will be looking for at the festival today?”

“Mostly just your friend Big News and anything he knows about Chemiker. He seems like a pretty heavy supporter, but I’m guessing he hasn’t been here long enough to know about the doctor’s true whereabouts. From there, I guess we can get him to maybe convince one of Chemiker’s supporters to talk to us. Get him to think we’re friends.”

“Are you saying we’re not?”

Ivory smiled. “Only as long as the story holds out.”

After that, we gathered up our stuff and prepared to head out. Joya had some sort of outfit that was a cross between yesterday’s tunic and a jacket waiting for me. She claimed it was part of her new line for fall. I put it and my camera bag on and headed out with Ivory at my side.

He had considerably more funds than I did, so we had the luxury of taking a steamcab to the festival grounds rather than a trolley. For which I was thankful, as it gave me a reason to keep from thinking about the night before. The festival had started earlier, but we hadn’t felt like catching the morning events, so the traffic wasn’t heavy. We did, however, have to stop once to let a few ambulances pass. Other than that, the ride over was uneventful, if a bit shorter than we expected.

The driver had to stop short of the fairgrounds in Chestnut Hill, and told us he couldn’t go any further. When we asked why, he pointed out the front window. Ringed by a crowd of people were Fillydelphia police who had set up a roadblock to the festival areas.

We got out of the car and tried to ask a few nearby ponies what was going on, but nobody seemed to know.

“Come on,” Ivory said, taking me by the hoof. He used his considerable bulk to shove his way through the crowd to the front, with me in tow. A policemare stopped him once he got up to the barricade. “What gives?” he said.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you past,” she responded.

“But why?”

She looked briefly at an older stallion down the row, who gave her the go-ahead nod, apparently when he recognized me. “Somepony’s been shot,” she explained. “A big fella from Germaneigh. They said his name was Big News.”

Episode 3: Herz der Finsternis

Ivory and I sat underneath a spreading chestnut tree in the little town square adjacent to the fairgrounds, feeling very dumb. Big News was dead and Grapevine had yet to show up, so we sat there in a haze of stupor, neither of us sure what to do. Occasionally someone would stumble upon us and ask what had happened and we would tell them, and be met by the same expression of shock that eroded into sadness and then indifference as they realized they had better things to do than mourn a Germane journalist that they had hardly known. After that, they would up and leave like nothing had happened at all.

I guess nothing really had, if I thought about it. The only ones Big had been an interest to were the Germane government and Grapevine and I, but only for fleeting reasons. Come to think of it, I really hadn’t known anything about the guy. Did he have relatives back in Germaneigh? A wife? Kids? Who would we send the information to, and what would they want to do with the body?

That’s the strange part about death; it makes you realize how much or how little you knew about that pony. I had felt close to Big, but after he was dead I didn’t even know where he was from. Just another link to the case that was cut; another light gone dark. I shuddered as thoughts suppressed and unwanted crept to the front of my mind. Just like Remedy, they said. And they were right. I had thought I’d known him, but then at the funeral I had opened my mouth and . . . nothing. All I could say was that I was sorry he was gone. Sorry; like it was my fault.

They never had found the body--the body they always called it, as if it and the name it had once been attached to were separate things--so what words we could offer was all that was left. And I hadn’t even been able to say something memorable. The rose I had bought from a store on the corner of Joya’s street had seemed like a dull offering of forgiveness for not being able to say more. And then we left the gravesite and he was gone.

“Minty, do you need a moment . . . alone?” Ivory said from where he sat, just a few inches to my left.

I started and was about to tell him that having ovaries didn’t mean I couldn’t take Big’s death any worse than he could, when I felt something drip onto my outstretched hoof. I blinked and realized I’d gone all teary-eyed. I almost laughed; I guess Grapevine hadn’t had as much of an influence on me as I had thought.

I quickly wiped my eyes dry and shook my head to clear it out a little; I reminded myself I still had a job to do. “I’ll be fine,” I said. “Just all of, well, this is getting to me a little.”

He nodded. “Understandable.”

I sighed. “I just don’t know what to do next. He was our only lead, so until Grapevine shows up there’s not much we’ll be able to do.”

“You seem to rely on her guidance quite a bit,” Ivory observed, raising one eye.

“Yeah, I guess.” I shrugged. “She’s the reporter, and I’m . . . not. Her job is to get all the stories, and I take the pretty pictures.” I patted my camera bag reassuringly, where it rested against my flank, slung over the white tunic-jacket-thing Joya had made me wear. “I just think it’s best if we wait to see what she thinks is all.”

Ivory chuckled. “Ornate gave me your file to read when I accepted this case. I seem to remember a certain filly applying for a reporter’s position, not photography.”

My cheeks started to redden. “Well you can obviously tell that didn’t work out,” I said. “I just wasn’t cut out to be a reporter, is all.”

“You and I both know you don’t think that. One does not simply forget what they dreamed and hoped for because of a minor setback,” he said.

“Then what would you have me do?” I grumbled. “Grow a horn and start jotting down on a notepad?” Hide her real emotions until the absolute worst time to show them? I silently added.

Ivory leaned closer to me. “Perhaps go on your gut instinct? I know it’s already speaking to you, and you already have a plan, judging by the look on your face.”

I looked away as quick as I could. Okay, so he was right . . . that didn’t necessarily make me wrong. Having an idea wouldn’t make me right.

“Well?” he said.

“I just figured that, uh, it would be best to check out- I mean check up on someone I met yesterday. His name is Bright Light; he might know what to do.”

Ivory patted me on the back. “See, I knew you had it in you. Now where do you think we could find this Mr. Light?”

I thought for a second. “Does this town have a library?”

It seemed the town did have a library--the problem was that no one seemed to know where it was. We were standing beneath an awning of a brick-borne shop a little outside of the town square, trying to get a word in edgewise with a pony who talked too fast for his own good.

“Now, you’ll obviously know that the first library here in town was built, oh, thirty-five years ago, down on Fifth,” he continued. He’d given his name as Harmonious Lyric, and the sing-song melody that the golden-flanked pony used to speak with matched his name. Not that it was help to us. “It sat there for eight years before another was built across town and that one was named after the current mayor’s son. Then they converted the old one to a school and the new one stood for another ten years before-”

“Excuse me, but we are wanting to know about the new building,” Ivory said hurriedly.

Lyric gave us a look of disdain and continued. “As I was saying, that building stood for ten years until the Great Parasprite Attack, which left most of our town ruined-”

I started to tune him out, rather than try to have my brain process information that I would never again use. The crowd gathered around the barriers leading to the fairgrounds had begun to waver as ponies trickled away to find food or entertainment while they waited for it to re-open. Some went home, but their numbers were surprisingly few.

Most of the shopkeepers seemed overjoyed by this turn of events, and some even threw open their shutters hours before they normally would have, in expectation of good business. One such store, a brightly-colored sweets stand across the way, threw open its door with a clatter of a bell and a chipper shopkeeper to accompany it.

“Hiya, Lyric!” he called.

Mercifully, Lyric quit his rant while explaining the ins and outs of the book collections of the last library and turned to greet the shopkeeper. “Morning, Sweet Tooth,” he said. “Opening a little early, aren’t we?”

“Can’t afford to let all this business pass me by,” Sweet said. He pointed to us. “Who are your friends?”

“Oh, these two? They want to know where the library is.”

“You mean the one on Fifth?”

“No, no, the new library.”

Sweet scratched his chin. “That’ll be the building over off of Mane, right? Next to the Pony Joe’s?”

Lyric shook his head. “They moved out of that place six years ago; that location’s renovated now. It’s the new nightclub, what’s it called . . .”

“The Equestrian Dream?” Sweet suggested.

Lyric nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one.” He turned to us. “You two looking for the Equestrian Dream?”

“No, we’re looking for this town’s library,” I said, a little too loudly.

The two of them snorted and laughed. “Slow down kid, no need to get angry,” Lyric said. “We’re just trying to have a little fun is all.”

“Yeah, it’s not like anypony can find the Equestrian Dream nowadays,” Sweet said, which brought another chuckle out of both of them. When he had called down, he continued, “If you want to find our town’s newest library, it’s two streets down and the fourth building on your right.”

“Thanks,” I grumbled, while Ivory gave them a parting nod.

As we walked away, I could hear them still talking behind me.

“Didn’t the Equestrian Dream relocate to Las Pegasus anyway?” Lyric said.

“You’re asking the wrong pony.”

Ivory and I continued on, moving further into the outskirts of Chestnut Hill. Gathering my thoughts, I said, “See, that was why we need Grapevine.”

He smirked. “How do you figure?”

“She’d have shut them up real quick,” I said. “She wouldn’t have just stood there and taken it.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want to find the Equestrian Dream?” Ivory said with a wink. I gave him a friendly shove and we were turning left onto the designated street before I knew it.

The library was a modern, stone-and-steel building that stood proud over some of the older buildings alongside it. Other buildings would have looked out of place, but this one had the opposite effect: it made the others look inadequate and quaint. A few ponies milled about the steps leading to the entrance, but otherwise the entire location was desolate in the morning light.

We ascended the concrete stairs at a clipped pace and entered the double oak beneath the stone alcove. It wasn’t as nice as Marshmallow’s own library, but quite fancy to service a town the size of Chestnut Hill. The interior was a single, large room that stretched out in every direction away from the entrance and the librarian’s desk in front of it. A bored-looking mare in a high seat didn’t bother asking us our names, but rather waved in a dismissive way in our direction.

“So what now?” Ivory asked once we had cleared her line of sight.

I shrugged. “I don’t know; this was about as far as my plan went. I just kind of . . . expected Bright Light to be here.” I hung my head. “Guess that reporter’s instinct of mine doesn’t plan very far ahead.”

“Don’t worry so much,” Ivory said, placing a clawed talon on my shoulder, “we’ve only figured out that he’s not at the front desk; he could still be anywhere in here.” He smiled. “So it’s best we get looking, don’t you think?”

I nodded and followed him as we made our way methodically around the library’s maze of shelves. Most of them were shoulder high to a pony, but some of them extended almost up to the ceiling, and had ladders attached to them for ease of access. The novels on the shelves stuck out to me more than those in Marshmallow’s had--a majority of them seemed to be actual stories rather than reference materials or famous poems. I mentally bookmarked the place as one to visit later; I’d been an avid reader up until Derbyshire, and I didn’t wish to break the habit.

We made it to the back of the building without luck in the almost-empty rows, but kept looking as we made our way back to the front. Ivory took one side of the row and I the other so that we could make sure as not to miss anything important. Which I almost did anyways when I bumped into a balding pony near the front of the library, sending him sprawling to the floor.

“Sorry, sorry!” I said hurriedly, reaching to help him up.

His response was to take my offered hoof and pull himself up. Without another word, he brushed himself off and left. I didn’t even have time to call back to him that he had accidentally pressed a piece of paper into my hoof.

My reporter side began to click and I examined the slip of paper closer as Ivory came up to my said, having saw the whole commotion from across the aisle. “What was that about?” he said.

“I ran into him by accident,” I said, then held up the piece of paper. “He gave me this and left without saying anything.”

“What does it say?”

I took another look and read, “The Chestnut Tree Cafe: ten minutes.”

Ivory raised an eyebrow. “Well that certainly sounds like a lead,” he said.

“Or a trap.”

“Would that really make a difference?”

I sighed. “Alright, let’s go see if we can’t find this cafe before the trail runs cold.”

Something around nine minutes later, we reached the cafe, feeling thoroughly out of breath. Lo and behold, the little restaurant was only a hair’s breadth away from the chestnut tree we had sat under earlier, presumably its oh-so original namesake. A bitter part of me recounted that all we had done all morning was make a big circle.

The inside was plain in every aesthetic way, but still seemed fairly crowded despite the decorative handicap. Tiny round tables made up most of the central dining area, while a few booths were pushed against the back wall. A bar sat up front, and behind that the cafe’s staff cooked what smelled like every fried vegetable known to ponydom.

Ivory and I looked around for our strange contact, and were made notice by a pony in the corner who discreetly waved to us when we looked at him. We ambled over to him without much of a second thought, and took our offered places at the seat in front of him. Close up, I saw that he was the same bald pony from the library.

When we were fully seated, he began. “I am glad the two of you could make it,” he said in a gruff voice seeping in a thick Germane accent. “WI apologize for the suddenness of this meeting, but time is of the essence now, and lingering in this town much longer could prove dangerous.”

“Wait, slow down,” Ivory said. “Who are you, exactly?”

“My name doesn’t matter,” the colt said. He lowered his voice and leaned closer to us. “Just know that I represent a certain . . . individual that wishes to make his presence known to the two of you.”

“You mean Doctor Chemiker?” I said.

He slapped a face to his hoof and took a deep breath before replying, “Yes, I represent the doctor’s interests. One of which is for his presence not to be known to anypony else, understand?”

My face heated and I meekly nodded.

“So why is he choosing to contact us now?” Ivory asked. “If he wanted to talk, why not at the start of the festival, before Minty and her partner’s seizure by the Germanes?”

“The Doctor wished to wait as long as possible until the investigations had cooled some to make his move, but recent events have accelerated his plans.”

“Big’s death,” I said.

He nodded. “With his primary follower dead, he has extended a hoof of friendship to the two of you, if you wish to take it.” He met our skeptic stares. “To talk, I assure you. Nothing else.”

“And if we don’t come?” Ivory asked.

The colt shrugged. “The Doctor wishes no ill will; no action will be taken against you if you refuse his offer.” He tapped one hoof on the table. “Though I must warn you, the Germane agents will have heard about the death of their primary suspect by now; you may not wish to take your chances with their kindnesses.”

It was a threat as clear as day, though the balding stallion’s eyes showed nothing but a gentle neutralness. Not that his threat wasn’t valid--mostly because it was covered by the very real threat of the Germanes. I had a feeling any generosity they had given us the first time would be as forgotten as the paper I signed to pledge I wouldn’t be doing exactly what I was at that moment.

“Why does he want to see us anyway?” I said cautiously. “The real reason to talk.”

The colt paused, as if the question made him uncomfortable. His eyes danced over the other patrons in the cafe, who paid no attention to our conversation out of a combination of simple courtesy and a lack of interest. “I really shouldn’t say . . .” he said, “but if I had to guess by the way the Doctor has been acting, he is trying to find whatever allies he has left in the city.”

“What about all the rough types at the fair who seemed so adamant on defending his name in the gambling tent?” Ivory said. “There were quite a few of them.”

“Hired muscle isn’t the same. Allies contribute--those brutes can only serve us as guards and to discourage those who are nosier than most.”

“And what makes the Doctor think that we even want to help him?” I said. “He seems like a pretty dangerous stallion to be around--why does he think we’re willing to put ourselves in the same situation?”

“Because I would not be here if he didn’t think so,” the colt said. He shrugged. “This offer doesn’t last forever; the two of you may either come with me now or stay here--your choice.”

Ivory and I shared a look before nodding at the same time. We were met with a smile of approval from the colt. “Then it begins,” he said.

We were led to a steamcar waiting around the corner that was somehow even more battered than any other I had seen before--which was saying a lot. It seemed to be on the constant verge of collapsing and apparently held together only by a silver tape spread liberally across it and the driver’s will.

It squeaked fiercely as we all climbed in, and I briefly had the sickening feeling that I was stepping into a death trap. The balding colt stepped into the passenger’s seat next to the stony-faced driver without such reservations. The machine somehow held together and we rumbled off, leaving a blanket of smog behind us from the outdated coal-burner.

As we headed into the traffic moving away from the closed fairgrounds, the balding colt turned around in his seat to face Ivory and I. “Unfortunately, there are some . . . reservations to you coming with us to Doctor Chemiker’s hideout,” he said.

“Like what?” Ivory said tersely.

The colt held up two black strips of cloth tied into a band, forming what was obviously a blindfold. “I’m going to need the two of you to put these on.” He tossed them to us, and mine landed in my lap.

“If Chemiker trusts us enough to talk to us, then shouldn’t we be able to see where we’re going?” I said.

“Oh, Chemiker trusts you,” the colt said, “but I don’t. Put on the blindfolds or you can get out right here.”

Considering the steamcar had picked up speed and the only thing to either side of the car was hard dirt and gravel, I decided to just go with it. I fumbled with the blindfold in my hooves for a second before remembering my wings and used them to help me put the cloth securely over my eyes. The blindfolds were made of fine material, so the world was entirely pitch black--there was going to be no seeing through the material.

I thought I could feel the colt waving a hoof in front of my face, but I didn’t respond. “Good,” he said. “Now we’ll take you to the Doctor.” The car rumbled around a turn and I could tell by the honking of horns that we were once again in Fillydelphia.

“So why did Chemiker stay in Fillydelphia anyway?” I said. “I mean, if he knows the Germanes are onto him, it seems like he should’ve skipped town.”

“Hey, does it look like I know?” the balding colt snapped.

“It doesn’t look like anything, from my point of view.”

He paused and Ivory stifled a laugh. “Very funny,” the colt said. “All I’ll say is that I told him the exact same thing, and so did a lot of others, but he hasn’t budged. If you’re lucky, maybe he’ll tell you why.”

The rest of the ride was quiet. I had tried, at first, to form a mental map of where we were going by the feeling of the turns the car made, but I was still way too new to the city, so I quickly lost track. I wondered if Ivory was keeping up, but didn’t dare ask him. All that I figured out was that we were heading in the general direction of West Fillydelphia--no surprise there. What better place to hide than where the police didn’t want to look?

We eventually came to a stop, and the driver helped me out of the car while the balding colt vocally did the same with Ivory. The sun was higher in the sky than when we had left, and the pavement beneath my hooves had begun to heat up. We were led, still blind, onto a sidewalk and presumably to the front of a building.

“Can we take off the blindfolds now?” I said.

There was a low chatter between the two, then one of them answered, “Go ahead.”

I tore away the black cloth and blinked in the sunlight. My vision was briefly obscured by the brightness, but it soon settled down. Once it did, however, it left me feeling much more puzzled than before. We stood in front of a clapboard shop, which looked long abandoned and beginning to sag with age. The door, however, was painted a bright orange. An orange so glaring that whether it was in the middle of the day or night, it shone brightly on the street. I only knew that because I had passed it nearly everyday that I had been in the city.

I turned around and, sure enough, Joya’s shop sat right across the street. The shutters were still closed, so that meant Joya was prepping a new display line for today, and would open later. “Oh come on!” I said.

Ivory turned around to see what I was looking at and burst out laughing. “Are you serious?” he said with another chuckle.

The driver and the balding colt looked at each other, then at us. “What’s the deal?” the colt said.

I snickered. “This is the street I live on, genius. That whole blindfold thing was pointless.”

Anger briefly flashed in his eyes, but dissipated once the balding colt took a deep breath. “I suppose it’s better this way--Doctor Chemiker will think of it as a sign of trust.” He walked over to the orange door and knocked in a peculiar rhythm. A moment later, it creaked open. “Are you coming in or not?” he said.

I took a big gulp, took one last look at Joya’s shop--freedom from the whole story if I wanted it--and walked in with my head held high.

The interior of the ruined storefront was dingy at best. There was a table with a few chairs spread around it, several naked mattresses in one corner, and a small woodburning stove in the middle of the room. A few of the beaten ponies from the freakshow tent were milling about, and regarded us with a sense of both familiarity and indifference. We weren’t their problem.

Mr. Baldy, however, they took for someone much more important. Those that hadn’t been on their hooves rose and the bald colt walked among them as if examining his men. Then he gave them all a curt nod and they returned to what they had been doing before, except one gray-blue stallion who saddled up close to Baldy.

“Is the Doctor in?” Baldy asked.

The other stallion grumpily smiled. “He’s been waiting for you to get back; he seems pretty excited to talk to one of those two.” He turned to Ivory and I. “Though I’d never know why.”

Ivory rolled his eyes indifferently and I did too. It’s not like he had helped stop a mayor . . . by failing to stop her in any way . . . okay, well I still had a lot more experience than most under my wing. Not that any of the stallions in the room would care, most likely.

“Right,” Baldy said. “I’ll go back and see which one the Doctor wants. You stay here and watch these two.”

The stallion nodded and Baldy slipped through a door in the back of the room. He shut the door behind him with a resounding thunk.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Ivory said. “Must’ve been a real bargain.”

“Quiet you,” the stallion said.

“Sorry, was just trying to figure out what exactly all of you are doing here, when it’s only Chemiker that’s wanted for anything.”

The stallion snorted. “You really believe that?”

“Wait,” I said, “so all of you in here are criminals?” It occurred to me as soon as the words escaped my mouth that saying that sentence in a crowded room might not have been the best idea. Luckily for me, all they did was give me a few angry stares before returning to their previous activity of loafing around. Whether it was from Chemiker’s tutelage or personal conviction, I could not tell, but I noticed that a number of them by the mattresses were, in fact, hoof-cleaning steel-and-wood rifles.

The stallion with us seemed to take the comment in stride. “To our former country, we are indeed criminals. Wanted colts, really. But we wear it as a badge of pride.” He nodded to the door. “Doctor Chemiker was one of the first to gather some of us who thought the same way. When our attempts to speak out were silenced by the government, he helped secure us transport to Equestria as a place of refuge.”

“And yet even here you’re still in hiding,” Ivory said.

The stallion shrugged. “Not forever.”

At that moment the door opened and Baldy came back out. He surveyed the room then turned to me. “The Doctor will see you now,” he said without a hint of humor in his voice.

“What about me?” Ivory said.

“You stay here,” Baldy replied. Before I could say anything, he continued, “And that point is non-negotiable.”

Ivory gave me the go-ahead look and I stepped through the door, after which it was shut hard behind me.

The room inside was small, to a point of being cramped. Old dusty bookshelves lined the walls while in the middle of the room was an aged oak desk with papers littered on the top, some new and some old. Behind the desk was a window whose shades were pulled shut, allowing only a few tentative rays of light in, casting the room in a hazy light. In between the desk and window sat a high-backed chair which faced away from me, as if I were stepping into the lair of some half-bit novel’s villain.

“Uh, Doctor Chemiker?” I said cautiously.

The chair swiveled around and my draw dropped. “Hello, Minze,” said Bright Light. Or, well, I guess it wasn’t really Bright Light.

“You, you’re . . .” I stuttered, my brain still not quite comprehending. It was as if the looking glass I had viewed Bright Light through had shattered, and I had stepped through it to the other side.

He smiled. “I know, I know. And before you ask, yes, I am really Doctor Wahr Chemiker, former Professor of Chemistry at the University of Marelin.”

I shook my head. “B- But how is that possible? Ornate--my boss--showed us your picture; you looked so much, uh, not as young! Now you’re . . . not.” In fact, really looking at him, his muscular frame and big, open eyes looked nothing like the Chemiker in the picture. For the briefest of moments, I hoped it was all a big joke.

But Brigh- er, Chemiker just sadly shook his head. “I may look different, but I am the same stallion I always was. In fact, the reason that I am different is why I called you in here today.” He pointed to a rickety wooden chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat, if you don’t mind.”

I took a breath and sat down, and was surprised when the thing didn’t give out from under me. I thanked my lucky stars that Pegasi have hollow bones. “Alright, so . . . why call me in now?” I said, trying to get down to business in an effort to keep my brain exploding into questions. “I mean, you could have just told me you were Chemiker back at the festival, you know.”

He placed his elbows and the desk and brought the tips of his hooves together, where he sat his head upon them in a gesture that made me feel like I was going to be lectured in the principal’s office. “I had to choose my time right,” he said. “I sought you out at the festival--running into you was no accident. I hoped that you would be the pony the world saw you as after the article, but I had to be sure.”

“And was I?” I asked cautiously.

Chemiker smiled. “Even more so. I was going to wait until the right time to reveal my identity to you and your companion, but unfortunately . . . well, you know what happened.”

I nodded. “And then this morning.”

For a moment, Chemiker’s new, younger face seemed to age until it caught back up with him, but then went back to normal. “Yes, this morning. Big was quite the friend . . . he helped me escape Germaneigh, you know. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Do you know what happened to him?”

“He was widely associated with me and being watched by the Germane government. Ask yourself, Minze, what do you think really happened?”

I could draw a clear enough picture myself. The air in the room seemed to grow heavy with the weight of death. Breaking the silence, I asked, “So . . . why me? I understand why you’d want to seek out Grapevine--she’s got connections. But going for me first, well, it just doesn’t add up in my head.”

Chemiker laughed. “Oh, I was never looking for a pony with connections. In fact, the reason you’re here has more to do with my sudden change in appearance than you realize.”

Before I could ask him why--and maybe get him to cut down on the cryptic answers--there was a banging on the door and Baldy rushed in. “You need to come quick, sir!” he said.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Chemiker asked in a measured tone, like a good commander in battle.

“There’s a filly outside who is demanding to be let in. She’s already threatened to blow the door down--we think she may be with the government!”

Chemiker rose out of his seat, but I remained where I was. A gut feeling was gnawing at me, giving me a feeling like I already knew who it was. “Let me guess, she’s a purple unicorn?” I said.

Baldy looked surprised. “Why, yes . . . yes, she is. Do you know her?”

I sighed. “Unfortunately.” I stood up and let them lead me to the front of the building. There, two of the ponies armed with rifles stood a little back from the door, their guns trained on the entrance. A third peered out the peephole.

“She’s still there,” he said.

Chemiker looked to me for confirmation, then said, “Open it.”

“But sir-”

“Do it.”

The buff stallion paused and reluctantly pulled open the door, making sure to keep out of comrades’ line of fire. Grapevine strutted in like she owned the place, as usual. She took in the guns with a look of boredom, and looked as if she had expected Bright Light to be Chemiker.

However, when she turned to me, her face went all funny--in almost goofy, schoolfilly sort of way--and she smiled real big. “Hey Minty,” she said brightly. “Good to see you’re fine.”

I bit my lip and groaned inwardly. Of all the actions to pick after last night’s most awkward kiss in all of Equestrian history, she would choose for her mood to chipper. “Oh, uh, hey Grapevine,” I said. “Uh, how did you know where to find me?”

Grapevine laughed. “Well duh, you’re right across the street from Joya’s. She saw you and Ivory inside; she told me so when I called her.” She looked around. “By the way, where is he?”

“Over here,” Ivory called, leaning against a far wall. “Feeling about as useless as wings on a fish.”

“Wait a second,” I said, holding up a hoof. “Why were you calling Joya in the first place?”

Grapevine rubbed the back of her head and gave an awkward laugh. “Well, I was kind of trying to call and see if you would come bust me out, but Joya said you were busy over here, so I uh-”

“Bust you out?” I said. “You mean, you were in jail again?”

“Well, yeah. Those Germane agents came and got me before I could get to the festival. They told me about Big’s death and interviewed me, but they said that they could see I didn’t have anything to do with it. That’s why I was calling; they said I could go if I had someone come get me.”

“And your friend--Joya--told you exactly where Minze was?” Chemiker said.

Grapevine nodded. “Well, yeah. After I told them that I didn’t have anyone who could come get me, they let me go. So I took a trolley and came here.”

Chemiker growled and rubbed furiously at the space between his eyes. “Do you not realize what you have done?” he said.

Grapevine scratched her chin, then her eyes widened. “They let me go as soon as they heard Minty was at a location that was likely to be yours, so that must mean-”

“They followed you here,” Chemiker finished for her. He sighed. “And now we have so little time to prepare, for they will surely be arriving soon.”

The other ponies in the room cursed and looked worried while Grapevine ground her teeth and hung her head. She turned to me. “I’m sorry, I was just trying to come find you . . .”

What surprised me more than her neglecting her usual reporter’s instincts was her apology, honestly. “It’s, uh, alright?” I said. She quickly returned to smiling, and I swear she managed to draw closer to me than she was before.

Chemiker spoke his forgiveness as well. “What has been done cannot be taken back,” he said. “But now we must prepare for the inevitable, and I fear we have little time to do so.”

As if on cue, we began to hear the wail of sirens and screech of tires that signaled the arrival of the agents and local police right outside of the building. The front windows were almost totally covered in wooden boards except in a few places, so we couldn’t actually see them arrive. What we could do, however, was hear the slamming of car doors and the beat of many hooves on pavement as the ponies outside piled out.

A voice came over a megaphone, “By decree of the Empire of Germaneigh, as approved by Princess Celestia of the Equestrian Empire, you are ordered to hand over the fugitive Chemiker at once. Resistance is futile and will be met with deadly force.”

None of the stallions in the room made a move to hand over the Doctor, but instead rushed to their weapons and drew back into firing positions across from the door. All except for one colt younger than the rest.

With his weapon drawn, he slunk over to one of the windows and spoke through one of the few spaces between the boards. “You’ll never take him!” he shouted. “You pigs don’t have the right!”

In response, one of the rifles outside spoke its roaring thunder and a bullethole appeared in one of the thin boards over the window. Due to some masterful dumb luck, however, the colt remained unharmed. Instead, the bullet found a home in Baldy, standing over near Ivory, where it buried itself in his skull. The body fell to the floor with a sickeningly-wet thump and blood pooled around him. Ivory, for his part, looked more in shock than anything else.

I’d never even found out his real name.

“Away from the windows!” Chemiker shouted, too late. He waved his hooves at his followers. “No guns! Let them come in here as the aggressors, not as defending themselves!” He turned to the stallion who he had been talking to earlier. “Make sure they keep calm.” He paused. “You won’t need to for long.”

Chemiker moved toward the far side of the room and swept away a few scattered boxes to reveal a small door. “Where are you going?” I said.

He threw open the door and turned to me. “Not where I am going, but rather where we are going,” he said. And with that he grabbed my by the hoof and dragged me with him through the doorway and to the other side. Before the door shut, I could see Grapevine try to follow us, but the stallion from before stopped her. I was alone with Chemiker.

We were in a dirty back alley, away from Chemiker’s loyalists and the police. Old trash littered the concrete beneath my hooves, and air smelled stale. Not one to wait around, Chemiker continued to drag me by the hoof through the alley somewhere to the east of all the commotion.

“What are we doing?” I said, trying to keep pace with him.

“We are going to the precise location that we need to be at,” he said.

“Which is where, exactly?”

“You’ll see, in time,” he answered. “I have already planned for this contingency, though I regret that I have so little time to enact it.”

I nodded like I understood all of those words. “Okay, so, what’s the plan?”

“The plan,” he said, stopping himself and I in front of another run-down building, “lays within.” He led me through the wide front door and into a lobby that still had remnants of tile on the floor. From the looks of the building, it had once been a hotel, probably back before the parasprite invasion. The entire inside looked even more beaten down than the other building had been, with virtually nothing clean or undamaged.

Nothing, that was, except for a single icebox--one of the mechanical self-cooling kind, like Marshmallow had. “This way,” Chemiker said, leading me over fallen debris to the icebox. It hummed softly from the large contraption on its back that gave it power.

“Alright, we’re here,” I said, “so now can you tell me what’s going on?”

He quietly nodded his head. “We should have some time before the authorities can find us, and it is imperative you know everything.” He paused to collect his thoughts, then began, lapsing into Germane as he did so. “The Germane Government does not want me--not personally,” he said. “They never have; they only want what I can create. For years I worked tirelessly in a secret lab below Marelin as their head chemist, working with other brilliant minds on a project that we were never allowed to know the full extent of.

“It wasn’t until the end, I think, that we really wised up to what we were creating, but by then it was too late. We had brought to life the weapon the government wanted, and after that we were sent home to ostensibly forget about what we had taken part in. Most did, but not me.” He stopped to take a deep breath before continuing. “It took time, but I managed to find a way to infiltrate the facility with a team of like-minded stallions such as myself. We took casualties, but I made it through to the storage and found our foul abomination. Before leaving, I destroyed all of the original copies of the serum, save two. One I took to give me the indentity you see today, and the other . . .”

He turned and flung open the door of the icebox to reveal a small beaker filled with what looked like purple slime. “This is the sole surviving sample of the Reinstein Serum: half engineered magic, and half modern chemistry. Designed by Germaneigh to counter the Prench threat on the horizon by creating the perfect super-solider to be faster, stronger, and smarter than the enemy.”

I looked at the little beaker of fluid, then back to Chemiker’s new form. To think science could create something so potent was a scary thought. “So this is the very last one?” I said. “Because didn’t you say there were copies? Can’t they make more?”

Chemiker shook his head. “They had been trying in the intervening months between my departure and return to replicate our processes, but had met with failure. Something about our specific technique that they couldn’t get down right. All the copies they made were created by literally copying more of the serum with magic. Without any samples to copy, they can’t create more.”

I sat down on the dirty floor as the gravity situation began to weigh down on me. “Wow . . .” I muttered. “This is just . . . a lot to take in.”

He kneeled next to me. “I know this, and I apologize. Recent events have forced my actions prematurely, but I needed you to know all of this.”

“But . . . why?” I said.

Chemiker took out the beaker and carefully held it in his hooves. “Because this serum is now yours.”

I coughed. “Wait, what?”

“I cannot run from the authorities forever; I’ve known that for some time. So I came here to look for someone I could trust to handle this--to take up my mantle and keep it safe and hidden.”

“But they’ll just come after me when they figure out you don’t have it,” I said pleadingly. “Passing it on won’t stop them.”

Chemiker smiled sadly. “It will if they don’t think it has been given away in the first place.” He reached into the back of the icebox and produced another beaker filled with a liquid that was almost a perfect copy of the other, which he set on the ground. “This compound is similar in every way to the serum, except for the effects--it’s a placebo.”

“And what exactly do you intend to do with that?” I said, though I was already getting an idea that I didn’t want to accept. He seemed to pick up on that, because he didn’t answer but instead gave me a knowing smile.

Outside, the noise grew louder as the police found our hiding place. None came in the door, but we could hear them loudly discussing how to proceed. Some of the voices were in Germane, so the agents were there as well.

“Here already,” Chemiker muttered. He nodded to the camera bag still around my waist. Quickly; open your bag,” he said.

I did, and he carefully placed the beaker with the real serum inside. He closed the flap with equal caution and sighed. “Be sure to take good care of the serum; sometime, someday it may be used for good. Because imagine the future we’ll have if you drop your bag on its side.” He chuckled and said in a mocking voice, “The horror, the horror!” The banging on the doors had begun and escalated while we were talking, so with an abrupt suddenness, he stood up and turned away from me, took a deep breath, and began to walk toward the sound without another word to me.

I guess they were good last words to leave me with--at least they meant something anyway. Goodbyes always seem like such an obligation, and I would have felt a little bit of insincerity from some sort of tearful farewell from him. Instead, I got a bit of sarcasm and a wink.

Doctor Wahr Chemiker threw open the front door to the old hotel and walked proudly into the sunlight. I watched from a crack in one of the windows as he stepped into full view of a semi-circle of authorities who trained their weapons on him.

“You have no chance of escape, Doctor,” one the agents said, a pistol wrapped around his hooves and pointed right at Chemiker’s head.

Chemiker just laughed. “I never thought I did.” With a frightening quickness, he raised the beaker he had been keeping from view over his head and tilted it so it caught the sunlight. Just as expected, the Germanes recognized it for what it was and moved to stop him.

They weren’t fast enough, however, and the liquid flowed into Chemiker’s mouth. He tossed the beaker away where it shattered against the ground. The Germanes suddenly looked afraid of the Doctor, and raised their guns. “D- Don’t try anything stupid,” one of them said.

Chemiker smiled one last time. “Just try and stop me.”

He leapt at the agent who had spoken, hooves outstretched to the colt’s throat. But it wasn’t the agent who fired his gun first, but a young nervous cop who had a hasty trigger hoof. Once the first shot had been fired, however, the dam broke.

I turned away as the gunshots rang out, trying to save myself of looking at the result. I didn’t need reality to fill in the gaps of my imagination. I didn’t want to remember him like that.

My ears kept ringing long after the gunfire stopped.

“Why do ponies make sacrifices?” I said to the open air. I was sitting with my knees to my chest on a grassy hill in the far outskirts of Fillydelphia, far from any other living soul. An evening breeze had picked up, and most of my words were lost on the wind.

“Is it really just a compulsion to be a hero? Do they really think it makes them noble?”

There had been a lot of . . . cleaning to do. Grapevine had kept her distance, at least. Ivory had gone home with Chemiker’s stallions shortly after the Germanes cleared us of wrongdoing and left without checking my camera bag. Gone like nothing had ever happened, assuming their job was done.

Before we left, I gave Grapevine a report for the story--another tale of a fallen hero that would look nice for the papers. Lies, but necessary if I wanted to keep his secret. Grapevine didn’t know the truth, and I didn’t offer the information. To keep her safe, I kept telling myself.

I picked up a pebble and tossed it down the hill, where it bounced and rolled down to the field below. I’d gone with a simple picture, in the end. The bright orange door had been kicked off its hinges when the police stormed Chemiker’s building, and it had hung at a grotesque angle against the front. It fit the story, in a way. That picture would be displayed on the front page of the Chronicler with Grapevine’s story in a couple days. Maybe it’d make an impact, but I didn’t know; I was just a photographer.

The evening air was cold, especially on the granite against my back. The grave we had gotten for Rainbow Remedy was simple; just a headstone with his name. We figured he would have liked it that way. It sat on the hill overlooking Fillydelphia like a silent guardian, a watchful protector. He probably would have liked that more, to tell the truth.

It was then the tears started to come, the ones that had held back in the shock of the situation, like a salty timebomb. “You’re all the same--you think sacrificing yourself clears everything up, but it never does. It just leaves . . . pieces behind, for us to pick up.” I sighed. “Without your help.”

At my feet was the camera bag, and the terrible secret within. The catalyst for everything that had happened--the awful weapon that Wahr had entrusted me to keep safe until the day someone smarter than I could use it for good.

I shivered and brought the bag closer to my chest. It felt warm against my coat, and I sat back a little and closed my eyes. I was content, if for a moment.

But I knew I couldn’t stay there forever, the hour was growing late and the bright lights of Joya’s shop were calling me. Terrible things had happened that day but the city--the world--still lived and thrived. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for me.

Episode 4: Life In The Middle

It was a warm Monday morning a few days after the release of the Chemiker story that, without a sign of Grapevine since publishing, Ornate called me into his office. The Chronicler building had been even busier than usual, as if each new story Grapevine and I released put our building on a few more maps. I noticed as I walked in that his office had been soundproofed since I last had been there.

That wasn’t the other change, either. The corkboard was more full than I had ever seen it, and the clutter on top of his desk had increased tenfold. The room seemed to have aged several years in just five days’ time. Of course, the same could be said for the stallion that occupied it: dark circles ringed the underside of his eyes and scraggly beard had sprouted unevenly from where he hadn’t shaved.

“Glad to see you on time for once, Miss Flower,” Ornate said as I came in. “Now if only you’ll make a habit of it you may yet be a proper photographer.”

I sat in my usual chair--not even daring to think to take Grapevine’s even when she was still at home--and yawned while rubbing one eye open. Whoever had said that Pegasi needed less sleep must have been nuts. We aren’t freaking birds!

Ornate looked at me expectantly.

“Uh, good morning, sir,” I said. “Is there any reason you called me in here without Grapevine?”

He nodded. “She’s called in sick today. Said she barely made it out of bed to get to the phone. That kind of stuff.”

I paused. “So . . . what have I got to do with it?” Visions of having to wait hand-and-hoof on a sickly Grapevine caused me to shudder. Even if she had been acting strangely nice the last few times I had seen her, it was still a prospect that I didn’t really want to consider.

Ornate harrumphed. “When she called, Grapevine requested specifically for you to be sent over to her home. Told me that she wanted to talk to you, or something.”

Well that added a whole new context to the situation. Grapevine just wanting to talk? About what, exactly? That night . . . that kiss, more than likely. A topic I had taken pains to avoid in the days after Chemiker’s death. In a way, the numerous tongue fights with Sterling after “the event” had been an attempt on my part to symbolically get her and her memory off. Okay, so that wasn’t the only reason . . .

“Are you alright?” Ornate asked, a look that could be interpreted as both concern and annoyance on his face. “You look troubled, Miss Flower. And I won’t be having one of my top staff getting a headline story in any sort of bad state.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m fine. It’s just . . .”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with your current partner?”

“No, no, nothing like that.”

“Good. Because, as of right now, you two are the only ones making any money for this paper. Anything past page one isn’t even worth the paper it’s printed on. And now both of you are going to be out until Grapevine gets better.”

Somehow, gruff Ornate being so willing to let Grapevine lie around at home surprised me. “Uh, sir, can’t you just . . . make her work?”

“No, no, not after . . . last time.” He shuddered. “Besides, then she’d go complain to the union.”

“We have a union?”

“Moving on,” he said, “the point is that we need more reporters of Grapevine’s quality out in the field.” He scratched his stubble and looked at the overflowing story corkboard behind me. Finally, he said, “You came here with the general idea of being a reporter, didn’t you?”

My heart leapt to my throat. Had I really heard him right? Since the nastiness with Pullmare, the idea of being a reporter had settled to the back of my mind, and I’d started to accept being a photographer. But now, those dreams and aspirations came flooding back to me like they had never left. “Y- Yes I did, sir,” I said.

Ornate smiled. “I thought you might like that.” He held up a hoof. “However, you aren’t ready to be a reporter--not yet. The prose from what you sent us was decent for whatever you had back home, but that won’t fly here. No, we’ll need Grapevine’s help for this one.”

“What are you going to have her do?” I asked.

“I’m going to put her to work,” he said, “in a manner of speaking. If she wants to call in sick but request another paid employee’s presence, that’s fine. I’m willing to wager she isn’t too ill to teach.” He pulled out a piece of paper and grabbed a pencil. “I’m writing you an order of the day to deliver to Miss Lulamoon. Until she’s well enough to actually work again, she’ll be teaching you to write a little on your own.”

My concerns for forcing a sick Grapevine to teach me were--regrettably--glossed over as Ornate’s words danced around my skull. Reporter. Just the word was something to savor. “You’re sure about this, right?” I said cautiously, cringing while waiting for an answer.

He waved a hoof dismissively. “Don’t count yourself among the lucky; I’ve been meaning to do this for some time now. Most of our staff that aren’t paper pushers get a chance at some point.” His voice grew cold. “Which means this will be your one chance, Miss Flower, to show some potential. If Miss Lulamoon decides you’re not ready to be a reporter, you won’t be. Are we clear?”

My eyes must have been as large as saucers. “C- Crystal.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” He held out the piece of paper to me. “Take this to Grapevine and she’ll get you started. If she complains, tell her that I’ll be putting this down as paid leave.”

I nodded and put the paper inside my camera bag slung over my shoulder. “I’ll be sure to, sir,” I said.

“Now, don’t think this excuses you from a story; I want a new one from the two of you by next week--and a picture to go with it,” he called after me as I left his office. At the front desk, I was informed that Ornate had called and paid for a ride already. It was waiting outside, she told me over the general din of the the Chronicler’s waiting room.

I hurried outside, expecting at least a cab, only to find a wooden carriage. Or, to be specific, the same wooden carriage that had dropped me off at this building in the first place. The scruffy stallion with the wheel cutie mark didn’t look any happier to see me this time around than before.

“Are we going, or what?” he said.

I climbed into the car and sat on the bench that afforded me a look out the front. My camera bag was kept on my back this time. We got underway, and were out onto West Fillydelphia’s morning traffic in a frustrating slowness. In my time in the city, I’d apparently gotten a little too used to a cab or trolley’s brisk pace, despite the fact that Derbyshire’s most popular--and usually only--mode of transportation was the carriage.

“Well I see you made it in West Fillydelphia after all,” the driver said after a while. “Nice job; I’ve been hearing all about you and that partner of yours. What’s it like working with her?”

I rested my chin on one of my hooves. “It’s great . . . really great,” I said.

“You know, there’s been a few rumors that you and her-”

“No!” I shouted. He looked back at me funny, so I took a deep breath and said, “I mean, no, we’re not.” I rubbed my arm. “I have a coltfriend, after all.”

He nodded. “Well, uh, good for you. To tell the truth, I didn’t imagine you’d last more than a day here when I dropped you off that day.”

“I had a lot of help from my friends.” The conversation ebbed and I was content to watch out the carriage as we went along. We were headed away from West Fillydelphia, but not in any direction I had ever gone. The decadent and squalid homes and businesses fell away and for a time there was a gap of little parks and fields. Then the houses began again, but these were . . . different. Not anything rich, but not poor either; a middle ground between the two.

“Welcome to the Burb,” the driver helpfully said.

The streets were clean and foals played openly in them. Steamcars filled many of the driveways in front of neighborhoods full of look-alike homes. Stores looked the same too, and were grouped into their own sections away from houses and all lacked a living space. Everything was . . . brighter here, and it somehow disturbed me. Maybe I had become too used to grime.

“What is this place?” I asked, noticing that I didn’t have to yell as loud due to the lack of most city noises.

“This is the Burb: the mayor’s pet project,” the driver said. “They used to advertise it all over the city; it was supposed to be like a little utopia. Only families with high enough incomes would be let in. Everything would be clean: no factories could be built inside, all the cars burn clean coal, and trolleys aren’t even allowed inside the city limits.” Now that I looked at the street, I noticed it was paved smooth: no trolley lines anywhere. In fact, I saw more carriages like the one I rode in than back in West Fillydelphia; cleaner, I guessed.

“So what happened?” I said.

He shrugged. “Nothing, really. The Princess eventually forced Mayor Pullmare to let anyone move into the Burb, but it didn’t really matter; if you don’t fit the demographic, there isn’t much of a chance you’ll be let in by you own neighbors. It’s all a big clique, if you ask me.”

I slumped back on the bench. “And Grapevine lives here.”

“Looks that way.”

Somehow, my vision of Grapevine’s home hadn’t exactly fit the standards of the Burb. Somewhere dirty and old where dark stories and darker characters could be found sounded more up her alley. Not . . . manicured lawns and white wooden fences. I noticed that we were pulling closer to one of these neighborhoods.

Clapboard houses stretched out in neat rows on tree-lined streets where soft-faced grandparents watched their grandchildren play in the shade while the parents were at work. Above the rooftops the brilliant blue sky was broken only by a few white clouds that kept the sun from directly shining in any delicate eyes. A few Weather Corps Pegasi flitted about, keeping them in place. Paid off, no doubt. A large, official sign out front read “Carter Ranch Estates”.

The carriage came to a stop in front of iron gates that kept out any unwanted visitors. Large gates covered the road and forced any cars to stop and show an ID, and smaller ones blocked a single walkway that led into the neighborhood. While I watched, a black Cattleac pulled up to one of the booths, a card was flashed, and the large gate swung open and the steamcar went through with a puff of smoke. The doors closed immediately behind it.

I hopped out once we stopped at the sidewalk in front of the main walkway and security booth. “Is this it?” I said.

“Let’s not go through this again,” the driver said. He nodded to me once and set off back down the main road, leaving me alone on the sidewalk to stare at the neighborhood spreading out intimidatingly before me. Another, fancier carriage pulled up behind me and a posh stallion got out, dressed in a suit that looked like it was worth more than Joya’s entire store. A colt in a red uniform with shiny brass buttons immediately in the driver’s seat pulled away and drove off to places unknown.

The ritzy stallion refused to look my way as he passed, and acted no better around the jacketed pony at the gate who let him in after a moment. No other choice, I followed him to the booth.

The little green building was little more than four walls and a small control board that featured a large shiny lever. The outside was decorated in fancy iron arrangements that looked aesthetically pleasing but seemingly served no other purpose. The tiny gate clanged shut behind the post stallion, and it was my turn.

A brass relief of an ancient mustang warrior in full gallop decorated the inside of the booth and under it sat a sour-looking unicorn. She was wearing a tiny round cap on her head which, to be honest, would set me in the same kind of mood.

“Whad’ya want?” she said when I approached.

“I’m here to see a friend,” I said.

She glanced down at some papers on a clipboard in front of her. “Are you on the approved guests list?”

“The what?”

She sighed. “Name?”

“Oh, Minty Flower,” I said.

“Minty Flower . . .” she muttered under her breath as she flipped pages on the clipboard. I was afraid for a second that I wouldn’t be on the list, but her eyes brightened and she tapped the paper. “Here you are; an approved guest for Miss Grapevine Lulamoon. You’ve even been approved for priority access.” She reached beneath her desk and produced a key stamped with an address on a ring.

When I reached for it, though, she backed her hoof away. “This key works only on Miss Lulamoon’s domicile, and is to be used exclusively for such,” she said. “Any attempt to open doors to other houses will result in your immediate expulsion from the premises and the authorities will be called. Understand?”

I nodded and she reluctantly allowed me to take the key. I walked past the booth and she pulled the lever, letting the iron gate immediately swoosh open. Feeling eyes boring into the back of my head, I stepped inside and let the door clang shut behind me.

The neighborhood past the gates could not have been any different than anywhere I had been before if it had tried. Cars moved at a slower, leisurely pace, letting their tires really feel the asphalt beneath them. The children weren’t mussed or scuffed up, but rather had nice neat coats and clothes that looked like they had been bought the day before. Even just the way ponies walked was different: with their heads up and shoulders forward like they had nothing to fear from the world around them.

From their perspective, I must have looked practically alien. I was thankful I had remembered to comb my hair back to its straight position over one ear today, but that was the closest I resembled them. My camera bag already looked worn, and my coat had a slight shade of grey from soot. The bright pastel colors of their coats were like those I had never seen in Fillydelphia; the air was clear here.

I walked down the clean sidewalk under shady oak trees, constantly checking house numbers and street names for Grapevine’s. My path took me first down a long straightaway, then right, then left, then right again. If my directions were correct--and we Pegasi are rarely wrong--her house was near the back of the neighborhood, on the last lateral street that ended in a cul de sac.

The key’s address read, “405 Connemara Trail,” and I stopped in front of the house whose mailbox had those same numbers painted on it. But somehow, my brain just didn’t want to register that what I was seeing was actually Grapevine’s house. It was a quiet, one-story bungalow painted up in a faint blue, with an even green door in the middle of two matching windows on either side. The model was identical to many of the others I had passed, besides a few personal touches. Shrubbery out front was cut down to an efficient size compared to others, and the flowers that grew in the garden were ones that needed little water. The lawn was of similar shape.

I was about to walk up to the front door when I felt something thump me in the back of the leg. I looked down to find a small rubber ball lying, curiously, at my hooves. When I bent down to pick it up, I heard a voice call out, “Hey, Miss! Can you kick it back to us?”

The voice belonged to a foal about eight, dressed in a white vest and cap that sat low on his head. His voice whistled when it came out through the gaps in his teeth. He waved in my direction, obviously hoping for his ball back.

I smiled a little and gave a mighty kick . . . which managed to send the ball about ten feet before it started lamely rolling to the kid at a snail’s pace. Him, and his friends who had arrived behind him, didn’t even laugh. They just sort of gave me a combined look of pity. Pity from schoolchildren. I resisted the urge to hide my face.

They took off down the sidewalk and I walked up the pathway to Grapevine’s front porch. My hooves made an odd sound as they walked on the clean brick, and I edged up to the front door. Though I had a key, I decided to knock. I rapped twice on the wood and waited.

“Who is it?” came a chirping voice from the inside that only vaguely sounded like Grapevine.

“Uh, it’s Minty,” I said. “Can you let me in?”

The door almost immediately swung open, to reveal a smiling Grapevine dressed in a bright pink bathrobe. “Come in, come in!” she said. I complied, and she shut the door behind me.

There was a small hallway that I was taken through before arriving in the main living room. The room was covered entirely in a bright white carpet as soft as cumulus clouds. A couch and a couple chairs made a sitting area and were positioned around a large box that I realized, to my shock, to be an actual radio. Off to one side was a kitchen complete with a small breakfast nook, and to the other was a hallway that branched off into other rooms that I assumed to be bedrooms or studies. The kitchen itself had sparkling-clean appliances, including one of those steam-powered iceboxes, and a countertop that sheened.

The back wall consisted mostly of large, plate glass windows that afforded a majestic view of her small backyard, fence, and the sky beyond. From the window, I could see downtown Fillydelphia, now far off in the distance, and the small silver cigar of Serenity floating quietly above it on a warm summer morning. One wooden door led to a backyard porch, which had a couple sitting chairs on it.

“So, what do you think?” Grapevine said, spreading her forehooves out in a big sweeping motion.

“It’s, uh, well, it’s . . . wow. Nice, very nice,” I said. “How did you afford all of this?”

“Let’s just say there’s a bit of a disparity in our pay levels.”

“Right.” I looked her up and down. “You know, you don’t seem very sick . . .”

Grapevine quickly coughed into her hoof and wrapped the bathrobe tighter around herself. “Yes, well, it comes and goes,” she said. Before I could say anything else, she gestured to a small table that had been set up for two in the breakfast nook in front of a window. “Would you like to join me for breakfast? I know you and Joya run on very little most of the time.”

My stomach growled at the sight of a platter overburdened with warm muffins, perfectly white eggs cooked sunny-side up, and even steaming hashbrowns. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Grapevine said brightly.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” I said.

“I still can’t; we can get food delivered out here.”

She led me to the table and I fell into a chair that somehow contoured to the shape of a pony without sacrificing the efficiency of sitting upright. Even my wings had room to breathe. I didn’t think much more of that, however, as I was already piling food onto my plate. It was a fight just to keep from seeing how much I could stuff in my throat until I choked. Even then, Grapevine gave me a worrying look when I soon began to outpace her.

She merely picked at her plate, and mostly kept her eyes on me. An action that, even in my famished state, did not go unnoticed. “I see that you decided to come here naked,” she said finally.

I nearly choked on my food, and a little bit flew out of my mouth and landed on the table. When I had finished trying to cough up an air sac, I said, “Um . . . yes? I mean, most ponies around here are naked too, you know. Heck, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear anything more than that bathrobe!”

“I meant that it’s simply unusual to see you this way, now,” she said in a measured tone. “Wasn’t Joya using you to test out some of her new designs?”

“She was,” I said, “but she’s been coming up with a new line for stallions; Sterling’s her new test subject now.” When I mentioned his name, I noticed her bright expression briefly turn back to the old norm, but it was gone in a second. Deciding to press, I said, “Speaking of Joya, you do know we have a phone now, right? You didn’t have to get Ornate to drag me down there--in fact, he did so by calling me!”

Grapevine shrugged. “Just thought I’d get you to see Ornate for me before heading over here; save me the inevitable trip,” she said. “Plus, I had to make sure you wouldn’t be followed.”

“So make sure I came alone?”

“Same difference.”

I was beginning to get the feeling that I knew exactly why she hadn’t wanted to ask me over at Joya’s, where Sterling could hear. She cleared her throat, and quickly changed subjects. “So did the mare at the gate give you any trouble?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Not really,” I said. “But, I have to ask . . . why here? Out of all the places to live in the city, why choose the place that’s the most, well, the most- . . . the most unlike you!”

At first, Grapevine didn’t say anything, but just blinked in response. Her fork dropped out of its magic field and clattered to the table. I thought I might have actually brought the old her back for a second, but then her demure smile returned. “I know it seems different from how I normally act, but I prefer it in this neighborhood. It’s quiet and peaceful . . . a welcome solace from the work we normally go through.” She laughed. “The police don’t usually storm any houses on my street.”

“Yeah, well, it just doesn’t seem like you is all,” I commented. Then added softly, “You don’t seem like you, is all . . .”

“What was that?” she said.

“Oh, nothing.”

If she had heard me, she quickly let the matter drop. Instead, Grapevine used her magic to gather up the dishes and dump them into a machine that she assured me, to my complete disbelief, would wash them for her. Something about magic soap and steam-propelled water jets. Another flash of her horn and the radio over in the living room turned on and began projecting the warbling tune of some singer, probably from Manehattan or Las Pegasus.

We fell back to the living room, and I sank into the couch like it was a bale of hay, patting my stomach now full to bursting of my meal’s contents. Grapevine, after a second of decision, sat down on the couch as well: near me, but not too near me. There was an almost visible tension in the room that sparkled like electricity between us, but neither of us chose to address it.

Each of us remained silent through the rest of the bebop song, but when the station went to commercial Grapevine turned down the volume and spoke to me. “I’m going to have to assume Ornate gave you a job for me to do, right?” she said. “I don’t remember the last payday that he didn’t.”

I nodded and reached in my bag to pull out the note. I hoofed it to her and her eyes scanned its contents faster than I thought possible. After she finished, her face genuinely started to light up. “So it finally happened,” she said. “Little Minty’s getting another shot at reporter after all.”

“What, like you expected Ornate to do this?”

She shrugged. “In all the time I’ve known Ornate, he’s never hired anyone to the main staff without some potential.”

“But . . . he said what I sent in wasn’t any good,” I said. “Kind of a mixed message, don’t you think?”

“Oh no, what you sent in was terrible; trust me, I read it,” Grapevine said. She smiled reassuringly. “But it still had potential, which is what Ornate must have seen. Just not as much as your pictures. Usually, he’ll take a few months to send one of our prospective reporters to me, then I flunk ‘em out in a couple of days.”

I practically leapt off the couch as I sat up. “But I’ve only been on for about 2 weeks, so that must mean Ornate thinks I’m special!” I paused. “Right?”

“Uh, well, no . . . as I said, I read what you sent in.” When she saw my face fall, she quickly added, “But that’s alright, because I can help. If you’re willing to work at it, I can teach you how to start writing like a reporter in no time.”

“And then I’ll be a reporter?”

“Then you’ll know how to write; using those skills to be a reporter is up to you.”

I nodded. “Alright, so can we get started?”

Grapevine smiled. “Certainly.” She shuffled off the couch and walked back toward the hallway leading farther into the house. “You coming?” she called. I followed her back down the white-walled hallway past a small guest bedroom on the right and a small bathroom--I guessed also for a guest--on the left. Directly back was a much larger bedroom.

The bed in the middle of the room easily dominated mine in size: it had to be a Luna-sized, at least. Besides that, there wasn’t much else. A wooden dresser directly across from the bed with a large mirror on top and many drawers on its front. On one wall were indentations from where pictures had once hung, but it was now blank. A final door led to the master bathroom, and Grapevine stepped inside.

“I’ll be just a minute,” she said, and shut the door. I could hear the sound of running water on the other side.

I was content to wait on her for a few minutes, but when the running water kept going and going, I started to get bored. And when I get bored, I get antsy. The bedroom still wasn’t much to see, but I spotted a closed closet on the other side of the room from the bathroom. I walked up to it, figuring I would have a rare chance to see a completely empty closet for once: after all, I hadn't really seen her wear anything of her own.

The door opened easily, but what surprised me was what was on the inside. Instead of an empty room, racks overburdened with clothes ran the length of the closet on each wall. Dresses, vests, shirts, saddles, gowns, and every other type of outfit I could think of hung in dozens of different shades and, strangely, sizes. There were three racks filled with shoes to match the outfits, and a massive mirror leaned against one wall.

I ran one hoof across a nearby dress. Silk, for sure. Purple and white pattern studded with diamonds; much more than anything I could ever hope to afford. I wanted to see more, but Grapevine chose that moment to start getting out of the bathroom, so I quickly shut the closet door.

Her hair was done up in a braid, and a bright red headband held the rest of her mane in place. Other than that, she only wore her usual saddlebag. “Ready?” she said. I nodded. “Then lets go.”

Grapevine locked her front door behind us and took my key. For safekeeping, she told me. We walked down the bare sidewalk side by side, making sure to keep under the shade and avoid the direct heat from a sun higher in the sky than it had been when I arrived. The group of foals had moved on some time ago, so only Grapevine and I occupied the entire street.

“So what exactly are we doing?” I said. “I mean, how is this going to help my writing?”

Grapevine waved a hoof in front of her to illustrate her speech. “Any idiot off the street can do an interview and take notes, so we can skip that part for now,” she said. “What you’ve got to master first--especially when your samples were lacking it---is detail.”

“Detail?”

“Yeah, you know, making your story really stand out.” She indicated to the street around us: the towering oak trees flush in summer and the smooth concrete drive that they lined. “You have to learn how to describe your story in a way that highlights the most interesting parts without sacrificing the little nuances.”

“Alright,” I said, “so how does us taking a walk help with that?”

On cue, she resumed walking, though this time a little ahead of me like she was the head of our little classroom. “If you can learn to describe an outdoor scene with the right balance of focus and detail, then you can do the same in a story.” She laughed. “And I needed to go out for a few things.”

I huffed a little and continued following her. She fell silent when we drew up on a house at the corner of her street, and I soon saw why. A plump mare out front was waving to her. “Oh, Grapevine, is that you?” she called. The mare had a light blue coat and a frizzy brown mane and looked horribly, incredibly normal. And knew Grapevine by first name, apparently.

Even more surprising, Grapevine called back, “Morning, Mrs. Rose!”

The hefty mare strode down her front walk to us with a big smile on her face and held out a hoof, which I took. “Pleasure to meet you, dear,” she said. “My name’s Anita Rose.”

I smiled back. “Minty Flower.”

“Oh, so you’re the partner Grapevine’s always going on about,” she said. For some reason, the way she said “partner” irked me a little. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

“Uh, the same,” I said.

Anita turned back to Grapevine. “Are you two working on a story today?” Her face lit up. “Ooh, are you working on one here?”

Grapevine shook her head. “‘Fraid not, Anita. I’m just helping Minty here learn how to write. I even called in sick today.”

“Ah, right, sick,” Anita said with a wink. The cries of a young foal could suddenly be heard from inside the house. Anita turned, then look back to us. “Well, I won’t keep you two any longer. Good luck on that writing, Minty, and you two make sure to stick together!” And then again the way she said “together” just didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t have any time to question her, though, as she was already back inside.

Grapevine set out again. “So . . . Anita?” I said as I followed her.

“It’s the new thing for names here in the Burb,” she said. “Well, it’s new now, but supposed to be based on some old naming system. Everyone around here’s been changing their names, and naming their kids that way; Anita used to be called Rose Petal.”

“That sounds pretty weird,” I said.

She shrugged. “It won’t catch on; there’ll be a new fad around in a few months, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” I said, then let the conversation peter out. We walked on for a little bit, enjoying the gentle breeze that wafted in from the nearby mountains: the same my train had passed through to get to Fillydelphia in the first place. “So, speaking of Anita,” I said eventually.

“Hm?”

“She seemed to think you and I were very . . . close,” I said. “Have you been talking to her much?”

Grapevine took a minute to respond. “Not more than usual,” she said. “But you know how some mares are: you mention the word ‘partner’ once and they take it the wrong way. Some ponies just see things that aren’t there.”

“They still need the context in the first place . . .” I said. The statement just kind of hung in the air, and eventually dropped to the sidewalk when neither of us was willing to pick it up. So, we started walking . . . again. We weren’t exactly exciting in our movements.

She filled the gaps in conversation with idle gossip from her neighbors. Apparently, they had been naive enough to believe that a reporter wouldn’t share their little anecdotes. Mr. Wrenchhoof had a drinking problem. Mrs. Sunwell was a bit too friendly with the deliverycolt, and Miss Ratatouille and her coltfriend lost their jobs at a restaurant; some rodent infestation. Grapevine enjoyed telling the stories, and I admit it was fun to listen to them; part of being a reporter, I supposed. It even assuaged some of my concerns about Anita, though only a little. For a little bit, she almost seemed like she was her normal self, instead of whatever peppy persona she had taken on the night after the trolley ride. I would need to bring that up at some point, but my desire for her to teach me to write was greater.

We passed back through the gated entrance to the neighborhood, and the same mare from before tipped her head to Grapevine. She didn’t even look at me. We walked beside the road on another sidewalk as clean and empty as the one in the neighborhood. A part of me almost wondered if the Burb was just a giant model of a community that someone had accidentally let ponies inhabit, as clean as it was. Every neighborhood we passed by had the same gate and, from the looks of it, the same houses inside. As if someone had taken four designs and copied them a thousand times all over the Burb.

A little while later, we entered a massive flat slab of blacktop that was ringed by colorful little stores. Dozens of stamcars were parked in neat and orderly rows divided into spaces by yellow paint. “What is this place?”

“The entire place is called a strip mall,” Grapevine said, “and what we’re standing on is a parking lot. They’ve started getting popular back in Los Celestias, but only now are Fillydelphia and Baltimare catching on.”

“But . . . isn’t a mall the place between buildings with trees and grass and stuff?”

“Not anymore.”

There was a squat building shoved between two identical in size and shape to it that simply read “Cleaners” on the sign. Grapevine stopped outside its entrance. “Alright, you’ll need to stay out here while I go inside.”

Looking around, I said, “Why?”

Grapevine reached in her bag and pulled out a pencil and paper. “While I’m in,” she said, “write down everything you see and describe it in the best way you know how. I’ll check on it when I get back.” She forced the materials to me, and I grabbed them with my wings as she went inside.

I turned around and tried to see something worth seeing in the parking lot. There wasn’t much, though. Just the scattering of cars--all of them nicer than anything West Fillydelphia but nothing too fancy--and a few more shops. All of which lacked any color: it was like shopping inside a government office, it looked like. The strip mall faced away from the city, so I drew my eyes up, and took a look at the view. Tall mountains rose above the Burb, their snowcaps lighting against a clear blue sky. On the other side, I knew, were the great plains that stretched from Fillydelphia all the way to great cities of Manehattan and Canterlot.

The parking lot was boring, but when put into the context of resting beneath the mountainside, there was something . . . more to it. I gripped the pencil and held up the notepad and started to write. I took care to try and focus on the blandness of everything below the mountain: write out a contrast between them. Like orange and blue, my own colors.

I put myself into writing that little piece, though it only came to a couple hundred words. My gaze didn’t stray from the paper except for a quick glance at the scene before going back to writing. It felt like time slowed until I finished, and I realized that it had been ten minutes since I started. I gave it a look, and was personally impressed with what I’d written. Just from hanging around Grapevine, it was obvious I had gotten better.

Just as I finished looking over it a fourth time, Grapevine walked out of the cleaner’s. “Thanks again, Ms. Qingjie!” she called back. Draped over one hoof was an empty saddlebag . . . that looked exactly the same as the one on her back.

“You have more than one saddlebag?” I said. “And get them dry cleaned?”

Grapevine smiled. “Well duh, did you think I wore the same one everyday?”

I was suddenly very aware of having never made a single effort to clean my own bag. “No . . .”

She held out a hoof. “Mind giving me my stuff back?” I hoofed her the pencil and pad, but she only put them in her bag without looking at them. “I’d like to grab a cup of coffee before I look at what you wrote.” We headed across the parking lot to another store that, while identical in size and shape to the others, was at least a little bit more decorated. A neon sign in the front window gave its name as “Cream & Foam.”

“You want anything?” Grapevine said as we walked in.

I shook my head. “We just ate, and I don’t really drink coffee . . .”

“Suit yourself.” She joined the small line in front of the cash register, and I sat down at a table in front of the window. I carefully placed my bag on the floor, and tapped one hoof impatiently while waiting for Grapevine to get her drink.

Finally, she sat down and took out the paper pad to read. She sipped on her tall cup of foamy coffee, using the aid of her magic to bring it to her lips while her hooves held the pad. Eventually, her eyes stopped scanning the page and she lowered it to the table.

“Well?” I said.

“Needs work,” she said dismissively, some of the old Grapevine shining through. “I mean, it’s not bad, but it’s not good either. I liked how you did the contrast, but it didn’t have any focus. If you’d chosen a particular car or mountaintop, that would have been fine, but you wrote about the whole thing as if it were a postcard.” She shrugged. “It’s like, if you were describing a court case, you focused on every member of jury, the judge, and the audience at once, instead of picking out the interesting parts.”

I knew I looked crestfallen, but I couldn’t help it. I’d felt like it had been good, and it had even looked part. “Um, well . . . okay then,” I said softly.

She put a hoof on my shoulder. “Hey, don’t feel bad,” she said. “I’ve seen many worse first tries. You just have to learn how to make it flow naturally, is all.”

“But it doesn’t come naturally,” I said. “Not like photography does. I want to be a reporter, but it isn’t my special talent or my cutie mark. For you, it’s the opposite: you can just use your magic to help.”

“You think I use magic when I write?” she asked. When I nodded, she started snickering.

“What’s so funny?” I said.

“Oh nothing, it’s just that . . . well, I’ve haven’t used my magic to help me be a reporter since the day I got my cutie mark.”

I sat up a bit straighter in my chair. “Wait, why? Your magic is geared specifically toward reporting, right?”

She nodded. “It is,” she said, “too bad it’s useless.”

“Useless?”

Grapevine sighed. “Look, it’d be better if I showed you, okay?” I nodded. Taking a deep breath, she placed the notepad on the table and held the pencil at the start of a new page. Her horn began to glow, faintly at first then picking up in brightness and power. Her eyes closed, then snapped open to reveal a white-purple light shining from them.

Before I could really fathom what was going on, the pencil held in her magic started moving. Rapidly. It sped across one page, then a second, then a third. Halfway through the fourth, the magic abruptly cut off like a switch had been flipped, and her eyes returned to normal. A few of the patrons in the coffee shop had been watching, but now went back to their drinks.

“What . . . was that?” I said.

Grapevine grinned. “That was my talent magic. It picks my brain and writes down everything I’ve seen in the past hour and puts it down on paper.” She held up the notepad. “The problem is that most of what I write is unorganized gibberish.”

She offered the pad to me and I took it. Sure enough, most of what was written was unintelligable at best. “Blue flower pot rest yellow flower green green grass purple self white sidewalk,” was only one short line. It was possible to decode it, but I was beginning to see her point.

“Once I figured out that my magic’s method of reporting was pretty useless, I just focused on writing on my own with my good ol’ brain,” she said. “I only use that when I’m so wasted or tired that I can’t remember a single thing.”

I listened to her while scanning further down the page, trying to search for a mention of me. Strangely, there was nothing. Maybe I wasn't newsworthy, I guessed. Though it wasn’t like any of it was particularly useful information.

Or so I thought. Near the bottom of the second page, I found a sentence that stopped my blood cold. My brain shut off from whatever Grapevine was saying. I re-read the passage over and over, trying to see where it was wrong. Because shoved between two more nonsensical sentences on the page was one little piece that my eyes couldn’t stray away from. “Red house in window stallion gun point wife,” it read. “Bang.”

Episode 4: Really Getting Around

“This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening!” Grapevine bemoaned as she paced back and forth. We were standing in the parking lot outside the coffee shop and I had been watching her rant and rave for a good twenty minutes until I convinced her to move away from the frightened customers inside the cafe. If there’s anything I knew about Grapevine, it was to just let her blow off as much steam as she needed. Otherwise, I’d be the one she targeted next.

I leaned against a section of wall between two shops while Grapevine snaked her way through the cars, tossing her hooves up in the air and muttering to herself. “How can you not remember them if they’re your own thoughts?” I called out to her.

She paused before groaning in frustration. “Ugh, it doesn’t work like that!” she said. “Now can you shut up and let me think for a second?”

Well, at least the crisis had apparently brought the old Grapevine back. Not that I had exactly missed her, but at least I enjoyed the significantly lower chance of being kissed. Plus, she pretty much ignored me as she went off on her tirade. I was free to kick back and observe the scenery again to figure out where my little description had gone wrong.

A cold front blew in over the mountains and gave the air a sudden chill that was unusual in the rest of Fillydelphia during the summer months. The sudden climate change seemed to get Grapevine’s attention, and she paused for a second before turning to face me.

“This is just . . . this is bad, okay?” she said. “This shouldn’t be happening; not here!” She looked away. “Not now . . .”

I got on my hooves and walked over and stood unsteadily next to her, still making sure to keep a minimum distance. “What’s wrong?” I said. “It’s not like we haven’t dealt with this before . . . I mean, so far, our track record hasn’t exactly been clean on, you know, that stuff.” The words coming out of my mouth surprised even me, but they felt right despite whatever thoughts I harbored for Remedy or Chemiker.

My words didn’t have the best effect on Grapevine, however. “No, no, you don’t understand!” She sighed. “The Burb is supposed to be quiet--to be safe. No drugs and users, no international conspiracies, and definitely no killing.” To emphasize her point, she tapped my chest in beat with the last few words. So much for personal space. Again.

“Alright, well, you don’t even know if the words mean anything bad, do you?”

“Uh, Minty? The journal was pretty explicit in what it meant.”

I shrugged. “All I’m saying: gun, bang? Could your brain be using euphemisms . . . ?”

She looked at me hard. “This isn’t some sort of joke, Minty.”

“I wasn’t joking! I’m just saying we shouldn’t just automatically assume the worst, right?”

Her horn glowed and I felt my camera being yanked out of its bag. I briefly protested, but a hoof held in front of my face silenced me. “See this thing?” she said, shaking my camera. “The pictures it takes give the full, detailed look to everything. It fills in every little blank we have; it’s why the paper uses it.”

She tapped her horn. “But this . . . thing doesn’t do that. It deals in absolutes; everything I see or hear is recorded, mostly without my knowledge. I don’t get leeway. Understand?”

I nodded tentatively, trying to follow her explanation as best as I could. “Yeah, I guess. But where does that leave us, then?”

“Where it always does,” she said, shoving my camera back into its bag, “on the case.”

“What about Ornate? Or Ivory? Or anyone else that can help?”

She quickly and vehemently shook her head. “No, definitely not. Not only would they not be welcomed here by the locals, but-” She paused. “Minty, you and Starshine and the rest have Fillydelphia, but I have The Burb. This is my town, and it needs to be me who keeps her safe.”

“Her?”

“Just keep Starshine and your coltfriend out of this, okay?”

Oh, so that was how it was going to be. Well, I figured, I had to go along with her, at least for now. But I’d need to get into contact with Sterling at some point; he’d taken to worrying every time I walked over to the Chronicler that I was going to go on another dangerous mission and now I was doing exactly that. Can’t say he was wrong to assume that I would, though.

“Right, got it. Any other rules?”

If she caught the sarcastic inflection in my voice, she didn’t show it. “Nothing besides keeping your mouth shut and letting me work, if that’s possible.”

I obeyed and stood and watched her think. And think. And think. After a few minutes, she seemed to grow frustrated and just kept muttering under her breath about “impossibilities”. Eventually, I said, “So . . . what are we going to do first?”

“What did I just say?” Despite her tone, the question seemed to jolt her back to normal, and she rubbed her forehead comfortingly. “Anyway, the first thing we need to do is go back to the scene of the crime.”

“Your neighborhood?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Yes. My neighborhood.”

I looked around. “And how are we going to get there?”

“Walk?”

I’d realized sometime before that just watching Grapevine had tired me out. Enough that the prospect of walking all the way back seemed a little . . . much. Maybe it was the fact that I only half believed that Grapevine was right. I don’t know. “Well, we don’t want the crime scene to get cold before we get there, right?” I said.

She seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, fly up and get us a taxi.”

“How will flying help?”

“Just do it.”

I sighed and obligingly took to the sky. My skills were still a bit rusty--as if they had ever been oiled--and I wobbled a bit. Starshine had stopped by a few times since the Summer Sun Celebration to bug me about more flying lessons, but I hadn’t been in the mood. Though at this point, I thought, maybe it would be good to hang out with someone different for a while.

Down below, yellow-checkered steamcars made their way through traffic, and I began to circle and look for one with an opening. Few of the cars stopped, and the monotony began to get to me, and my mind drifted again. Back to Grapevine, of course. Where else?

I mean, I believed she had seen something, but murder? The reasoning still seemed flimsy to me, and almost felt like Grapevine was just trying to pull me into another adventure with her . . . I quickly pushed the thought away. Still, though, if Grapevine was right, then our frequency to be around when bad things happened was starting to get steadily high.

Below, a cab finally emptied of its occupants, and I decided to land gently in front of it to get the driver’s attention. Naturally, though, the plan didn’t go as well as I thought. I folded my wings closer into my body and glided down just fine, but when it came time to suddenly open them and brake myself, it didn’t go as well. I waited too long and the air resistance was too great by the time I tried, so I ended up smacking painfully onto the roof of the taxi. The driver behind the windshield, gripping hard on the steering wheel, gaped up at me.

“I’d like to rent this cab, please,” I said.

The driver turned out to be more understanding than I thought, and agreed to take us back to Carter Ranch. For double the price. The ride was smooth, though. The fancy car’s engine made almost no smoke or noise louder than a soft whirr of the motor. It was comforting, especially when I had to sit next to a fidgeting Grapevine.

She kept moving her flank slightly in her seat, and used her hoof to tap gently against the door. Her eyes kept looking out the window to the road ahead, and didn’t rest on me one time since we had gotten underway.

“You alright?” I said.

“Just wanting to get back,” she said without looking at me. “We need to move fast if we’re going to catch whoever did this. He couldn’t have gone far, after all.”

I paused. “You know, are you sure we’ve got the right idea for this?”

She finally turned to face me. “What are you trying to get at?”

“Nothing, I’m just making sure that you’re positive about this little case,” I said while holding my hooves up defensively.

“I am positive,” she said. “Since when have you known me to be wrong before?” When I didn’t say anything in return--though part of me ached to--she continued. “Are you sure you’re not just disappointed that we can’t focus on making you a reporter?”

Ouch, that one stung. And not necessarily for different reasons, either. Still, the retort hurt, and I instinctively flinched and turned away a little. Not too much that I couldn’t see Grapevine respond in kind.

She did so by sighing and lowering her head. “Look, no, I didn’t mean that,” she said “I just . . . I’m just trying to focus on the task we have right now.” She gave me a small smile. “I’ll be sure to give you some lessons as soon as this blows over, okay?”

I accepted what she said and let her know just as we reached the front gate of Carter Ranch. A few departing ponies in cars watched us as we got out of the cab, like we were some unknown species. Which to them, I guessed, we really were. Grapevine paid the cabbie with a wad of cash she pulled from a pocket on her bag, which revealed she had even more still with her. A shock to someone like me, who was used to seeing how far I could make one bit stretch. A practice Joya had approved of, and I had assumed Grapevine would too. Which just went to show how well I really knew her.

The mare at the security booth in front of the neighborhood let Grapevine through without a second look, though kept her eyes trained on me the whole time. Though, it may have been puzzlement rather than suspicion. After a little bit of walking on the sidewalks framed by parks for foals and small business actually inside the gates of the neighborhood, Grapevine stopped.

In front of us was the main street lined with houses. “So you think it happened here?” I said.

“It had to,” Grapevine said. “Anywhere else and I would have noticed.”

“I still don’t understand how your brain noticed it but you didn’t . . .”

She glared at me and I shut my trap. The street was mostly empty except for a scant few cars parked in driveways. No signs of life could be seen; even the foals from earlier had departed for parts elsewhere. The sun shone brightly in our eyes, reflected off the many panes of glass in many windows.

“This is a work-live neighborhood,” Grapevine explained when she saw the look on my face. “Everyone here has to keep up a job to live in the houses; most of the time, both spouses have a job.” She paused. “They only make exceptions in . . . special circumstances.”

I didn’t press the topic, choosing to let it drop. Instead, I got us back on topic. “So what you’re saying is that it would be weird to see both the husband and wife home?”

“Exactly.”

I jumped in front of her. “So that means this will be quick, right?” I said excitedly.

She held up a hoof. “Whoa, not so fast. That fact also means that almost no one in this neighborhood would have been home at that time.” She swept one hoof to indicate all the dark houses on the streets. “No witnesses, and no leads.”

“So then what are we doing here?”

Grapevine smirked. “Because I happen to know a few ponies who should be gone, but aren’t.”

We walked down the sidewalk until we were near the middle of the row of houses on the right side. The houses here were similar to Grapevine’s, but somewhat larger. The architecture and paint, even to my untrained eye, were still very boring. No one was going to win an architecture award for square house number nine thousand and one. Not to mention the colors varied wildly between brown and beige. I wasn’t even one to care for such things, but the monotony of the neighborhood was already getting to me; I wondered how Grapevine could stand living here.

The house we stopped in front of had the unique distinguishing feature of having an off-red door, which was apparently the only customization allowed. The abode’s address was 411 Dartmoor Drive, because the neighborhood had apparently gone with theme naming.

“So who’s in there?” I said.

“The Whites,” Grapevine said. “I know for a fact that Mrs. White stays home all day. She’s real secretive about what Mr. White does, but apparently it brings in quite a bit of money.”

“And they still want to live here?”

She didn’t reply and just rolled her eyes before striding up the front walk to the door. She knocked once, but no reply came from within the house. She knocked again, harder. Still nothing. Finally, Grapevine started banging on the door, shouting, “I know you’re in there, Skyler! Open the door!”

A lock inside slid out and the door slowly opened. “What do you want?” came a voice from the other side. It was neither quite timid or forceful; more of a voice that demanded not to be taken advantage of.

“Don’t worry, we’re not here to report you,” Grapevine said. “You should know me by now.”

The door didn’t move. “You haven’t answered my question.”

Grapevine sighed and rubbed her forehead. “We’re here to . . . investigate . . . disturbances in the neighborhood.” The door started to close. “That don’t involve you or Mr. White.”

Another pause, but the door finally opened all the way. In the doorway stood an amber-maned mare with a coat as white as the clouds above the city. She was tall, far more so than any of us, and even more than Marshmallow. Around her neck was a fancy pearl necklace with a jewel pendant that matched the symbol on her flank. Even with her accepting us being able to see her, she leered at us like we were going to betray her at any second.

“Can we come in?” Grapevine said, an edge starting to take in her voice.

Skyler quickly scanned the street before eventually nodding her head and consenting for us to follow her into the house.

The interior was a lot like Grapevine’s. No, it was Grapevine’s, but reversed. The kitchen was on the opposite wall, and so was the main hallway. The main difference was in the decorating. Most of the Whites’ furniture was wooden with little padding that looked thoroughly uncomfortable. Not that Skyler offered either of us a seat.

Instead, she gave us a look that implied she was crossing her hooves in our general direction, without actually doing so. Ponies in the The Burb were strange that way.

“Alright, start talking,” Skyler said.

Grapevine took a deep breath before speaking. “We have reason to believe that . . .” She paused and looked around, as if somehow her whispered words could be heard around the whole neighborhood. “. . . reason to believe that someone in this neighborhood may have committed a very, um, heinous crime.”

Skyler brushed some of her mane away to reveal a sparkling horn. A coffee cup levitated over to her lips and she took a sip. “Somepony bought it.”

“So we think,” I said.

Grapevine glared at me. “We have very good reason to believe that a stallion in this neighborhood murdered his wife.”

Skyler took another sip. “Do tell.”

“This is serious,” Grapevine protested. “Somepony died.”

“And what do you expect me to do about it? I’m not some cop.”

Grapevine sighed and took a moment to compose herself. “Look, Skyler, we’re not here to mess with you, your son, or your husband; we just want to know if you saw or heard anything!” By the end of her sentence, her voice had risen to a fever pitch.

Skyler, meanwhile, look nonplussed. “You could have just said that in the first place.” She took another sip of the coffee. “And no, I didn’t see nothin’. I’ve been in here all day, and I didn’t hear or see anything.”

“You sure?” I said.

“Positive.” She placed the coffee cup gently on the counter. “Now get out. Both of you.”

Back on the street, Grapevine beat her head against the Whites’ brick mailbox. To facilitate the thinking process, she told me. “I should have known Skyler wouldn’t help us; the dingbat’s drunk half the time.”

“But she was drinking coffee,” I said.

She looked at me, then just shook her head and went back to thumping against the mailbox.

“So what do we do now?” I asked.

“This.”

“You know what I mean.”

She stopped her banging. “I don’t know anypony else on this street,” she said. Under her breath, I could hear her mention “rich pricks”. “I have no idea who’s home and who’s not, and without that we have no idea who we can talk to.” She turned to me, her eyes half-lidded. “If there were a time to try to be a reporter, now would be it.”

I thought for a second. Well, longer really. It was more of an expression, you see, and anyway I racked my brain to come up with a solution. Derbyshire hadn’t had neighborhoods by any sort of definition. Just wide-spread farms that were loosely organized by a bookkeeper in city hall.

Suddenly, I could almost swear that the lightbulb on my flank lit up. “Is there a place where this neighborhood’s records are kept, by any chance?”

Grapevine thought for a second, then started to laugh. “Yes, in fact, there is,” she said, still laughing. “And, see, the last record keeper was a Pullmare-ite, so they had to get a new one and-” She waved a hoof. “Well, you’ll see.”

Without another word, she led me out of the neighborhood to parts of The Burb yet unknown.

The trip took some time, as we traveled the breadth of The Burb to reach wherever we were going. Whenever I questioned Grapevine about why the record keeper would live so far away from the neighborhood, she brushed me off. We elected to take a cheaper carriage, which also extended the time by quite a bit.

The area we came to was another neighborhood, though far unlike Grapevine’s. It was on a grassy hill that rose a little over the rest of The Burb. Imaginatively, it had been dubbed, “High Point Estates.” The houses weren’t as close together as in Carter Ranch. Instead, they sat on their own plots of land with open space between houses. The lawns, despite being many times bigger than Grapevine’s, were just as well kept. The place reeked of money.

The carriage stopped in front of a house set far away from the road and connected only with a wide concrete driveway. No car sat on the surface, though. The two-story brick house looked dark, to me. But Grapevine seemed to approve, as she got out of the carriage and paid the driver.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” I said.

“Positive,” she replied.

I walked with Grapevine to the door. Instead of knocking, however, she just swung the door open, causing it to creak the whole way. Inside, the lights were off. Sunlight only made it into the house through gaps in blinds and curtains over every window.

We were standing in a small foyer that opened up to the entirety of the house. A hallway to the right led to some rooms, and next to it was a double staircase that led to an upper story. Through a wide opening in front of us was the living room, and to the left was a dining room.

There was more stuff, but I was tired of trying to draw mental maps of boring houses with boring furniture, so I stopped caring. Anyway, Grapevine took me through the living room to an even smaller hallway at the back. The door there was closed, but she shoved it open.

It was the master bedroom, and most of the room’s space was taken up by a giant bed. The sheets were lush and the mattress was taller than a colt. A cabinet radio took up the remaining space in the room. We walked in, and the first thing that I noticed was the snoring. A body turned in the sheets, and I realized we were walking in on a sleeping pony.

I moved to leave, but Grapevine motioned for me to stand still. She walked over to the side of the bed and looked thoughtfully at the sleeping form. After a moment of contemplation, she slammed a hoof against the wooden bedside table, sending a loud thump out to fill the room.

The pony in the bed shot up with a startled cry. Her blonde mane and cream coat briefly reminded me of Skyler, and then my mouth hung agape when I realized who it really was. Marshmallow sat up in her bed, looking at both Grapevine and I with considerable surprise.

“W- What are you two doing here?” she mumbled.

“We need your help,” Grapevine said flatly.

Marshmallow yawned. “That’s great and all,” she said, “but can I use the bathroom first? I’ve got the feeling this is going to take a while.”

A short time later, Grapevine and I were sitting on a large couch in Marshmallow’s living room while she sat on a fluffy chair next to it. Her hair was still a wild tangle, but she’d slipped into a bathrobe the same shade as her coat and sipped at some warm tea held in her magic. Dark circles were still visible under her eyes, though she had stopped yawning every few seconds.

“So how did you two get in again?”

“You left the front door open,” Grapevine said. “Again.”

Marshmallow sighed and pinched her eyes shut. “I keep doing that . . . I tell myself that I’ll stop but I end up forgetting anyway.” She took a mighty swig of tea from her mug, and gargled it down in a fashion that surprised me. “It’s all these stupid late nights I’ve been doing.” Grapevine nodded sagely.

I raised one hoof like I was back in school. “Excuse me, question,” I said.

“What?” Grapevine said irritably. Marshmallow parroted, but left the annoyance from her voice.

“Well, sorry if I’m not really in the know,” I said, “but didn’t you live in the library?”

Marshmallow laughed and shook her head. “Oh no, not permanently. My parents forced me to buy a house here when I moved to the city, but I usually preferred spending time in the library.” She paused. “It’s just that, since the Pullmare fiasco things around here have been crazy, so I’ve spent most of my time around The Burb. My relations to Canterlot even got me appointed to the new, temporary city council.”

“Which is what we came here to talk about,” Grapevine cut in.

Marshmallow sighed and chugged the rest of her tea and replaced the mug in her magic field with a brush that began working out the tangles in her mane. “And do I dare ask what the two of you need with the neighborhood records?” She smiled. “I don’t approve of stalking, you know.”

“This is serious,” Grapevine said, gripping the edge of the couch’s hoofrest.

“I am being serious,” Marshmallow said. “We don’t need a repeat of the Bukowski incident.”

Grapevine’s face turned red, but she pushed the comment aside. “I’ve got a . . . strong hunch that someone in my neighborhood was murdered, but we don’t know who. Most everypony was gone at the time, and I don’t know most of the ponies on that street, so-”

“You need the records,” Marshmallow finished.

“Yep.”

Marshmallow thought for a second. “Alright, you can take a look,” she said finally.

Grapevine hoofpumped. “Alright, can we see them now?”

“Sure,” Marshmallow said, hopping out of her chair.

“Wait, right now?” I said. “You keep the records here?”

“Don’t be silly!” Marshmallow said. “It would be impracticable to keep all of the records here; I just have the neighborhood records.”

“And where would those be exactly?” I said.

Marshmallow motioned for us to follow her. She led us over brownstone tile in the kitchen to a small laundry room. She opened the door to reveal a simple, closed garage. The air was musty, and it smelled of . . . old, uh, -ness.

The garage was basically a concrete floor covered in a mass of boxes stacked in teetering stacks to the ceiling. The only thing that broke pattern was a stunningly-white steamcar sitting in the middle. “Whoa,” I said.

Grapevine groaned. “I forgot how much was in here,” she said. “Where do you keep the Carter Ranch records, again?”

“I dunno,” Marshmallow said. She shrugged. “They’re probably . . . somewhere to the left.”

“Right, thanks,” Grapevine said.”

“Not right, left.” Marshmallow chuckled when Grapevine hunched her shoulders and shook her head. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me, either of you.” She walked out, but briefly stuck her head back in the doorframe. “Breakfast will be ready in a bit.”

With that, the white-painted door shut. We were left in the glare of a few electric bulbs hanging from the ceiling and reined in by boxes, boxes, and, oh right, more boxes.

“So you think there is an easier way to do this?” I said.

Grapevine grabbed the first box to her left and started rifling through it. “Nope.”

“Well maybe we could-”

“Just get going.”

I huffed in her direction but sat down at another set of boxes not too far from her. They were wooden, but the tops had already been loosened, so it was only a matter of tugging them off. The first address I read, however, identified that the ponies inside lived on Stefanie street, so I put that one back in the pile and took another.

“How exactly is this supposed to help us find the ‘killer’, again?” I said. “I mean, all we’ve got is a probable street and the color of whatever stallion did it.”

“This was your idea,” Grapevine reminded me.

“Yeah, but your case,” I shot back.

The sound of rustling paper from her side stopped. “Just find the box with the residents of Carter Ranch, and we’ll work from there,” she said.

“But how is that supposed to help?” I said. “I mean, it’s not like all of these are going to list coat color with the residential stuff.”

Grapevine just snickered.

“What?” I said.

“You’re talking about an entire town designed by Ms. Pullmare. Of course it’s got coat color; she recorded every little detail. Heck, I’m sure it’s even got whether the residents prefer colts or fillies in there. The married ones.”

“Oh yeah?” I said. “So what does it say on yours, then?”

I had meant it more as a joke, but Grapevine’s only response was an icy, “get back to work.” She didn’t speak to me after that. I sighed and obediently went back to the current task, if only to do something that occupied my mind.

However, half an hour later, my mind felt like it was going to melt and drip out of my ears. The heat in the garage had climbed exponentially since we had come in, what with it being an uninsulated and closed space in the middle of summer. Grapevine and I had both begun breathing hard, and my sweat dripped freely onto the wooden boxes, soaking them.

“Okay, I can’t do this anymore,” I said after my simple touch turned a piper file into mush. “We have got to cool down.”

“Yeah, well, if you’ve got any bright ideas,” Grapevine said, flicking sweat from her brow, “I’d just love to hear them.”

I looked around a little, but didn’t spot anything besides more boxes, the floor, and the garage door. I almost gave up, when I realized I was looking at a garage door. I almost wanted to smack myself. “Why don’t you use your magic to open the garage door?” I said. “Let in a little air from outside.”

Grapevine opened her mouth, looked at the large metal door, then shut it again before saying, “ . . . Right.” Her horn glowed, brighter than usual from the strain, and the door slid open on hinges designed for just the purpose. Cool air--relative to the garage, anyway--poured in and both of us sighed.

“That’s more like it,” I chirped.

“Yeah, it does feel nice,” Grapevine said, “but we need to get back to work.”

I shut my eyes and groaned like I was a teenager again when I saw how many boxes we had left and how few we had gone through in comparison. “There’s no way we’re going to get this done today,” I said.

“Not with that attitude.”

“Yeah, well, I just wish there was an easier way,” I said. Grapevine didn’t offer up any suggestions, but it got me thinking. Like I was, again, back in school and coming up with an elaborate way to cheat instead of just studying. I moved closer to the open garage door to feel the cool air while I thought, and then I wanted to smack myself a second time in five minutes.

“Hey, Grapevine, all these boxes are labeled, right?” I said.

“Yes, I do believe so,” Grapevine said. “Glad to see you noticed sometime in the past thirty minutes.”

Ignoring her comment, I continued, “And that means you could, say, look over the entire room and at least get a glimpse at all the names, right?”

“Yes . . .” Grapevine said, pausing her work to look at me.

“And your magic records everything it sees . . .”

Her eyes got as wide as saucer plates. In the next second, she had abandoned the pile she’d been working on and was standing next to me, trying to see what I saw. “Yeah, yeah, this could work,” she said. She laughed. “Since when did you start coming up with ideas?”

“Since I got a chance for the job I really wanted?”

She nodded. “Right, right, nice to have someone else actually thinking for a change.” She paused. “If you’re only just now motivated to do actual work, why did you stick around through Pullmare’s stuff?”

I could tell she was fishing for an answer involving her, but I didn’t oblige. It wasn’t the truth, anyway. “I’m not really sure, I guess,” I said. “I just felt it was my, uh . . . duty . . . to stick around. Like, to help ponies.”

“A hero without a cause.”

“Uh, sure, I’ll go with that.”

Grapevine giggled. “Good luck if you ever write an autobiography.” Still shaking her head and laughing softly, she activated her magic again. Her eyes did the glow-y thing and a blinding light flashed through the garage. Suddenly, a notebook and pencil shot from her bag and into the air where the pencil began furiously writing.

To tell the truth, it wasn’t as impressive the second time. After a minute she stopped, and only just managed to catch the notepad before it hit the floor. Woozily, she held it up to her eyes and scanned the page. I heard her muttering the gibberish nonsense on the page until she alighted on what she was looking for.

“Bright light under boxes Stone Chimney Ash Street Carter Ranch Tranquility Lane floor,” she read. She pointed at a pile of boxes stacked directly beneath one bulb. “That one, it looks like.”

I started to make my way to it, but Grapevine’s purple aura surrounded the third box from the top and sent it flying toward us, leaving the others to topple over into a mess. The flying box nearly hit me, too, if I hadn’t already started to duck.

“Hey, watch it,” I said.

“Hey, watch yourself,” Grapevine replied. “This magic business isn’t easy, you know.”

I grumbled and watched her open the box. Her file was the first she grabbed, and it disappeared inside her saddlebag before I could catch a glimpse of it. Next were the files from Dartmoor Drive. Grapevine scanned over them faster than my eyes could keep up.

Many files went back into the box until only three remained. “Alright,” she said, “these three are all red, married stallions living on Dartmoor.” She placed all three on the ground. “Now we just have to eliminate two.”

She started to pore over them, but stopped. “Hey, if you’re going to be the one coming up with ideas,” she said, “then why don’t you tell me which one we should go with.”

My voice caught in my throat. “Y- You mean that I have to be the one to decide which one is the killer and that we go after?” I gulped. “And that if I make the wrong decision, the killer probably gets away.”

“Comes with being a reporter. You did want to be one of those, right?”

“It sounds more like being a cop.”

She started to slide the files away. “Fine, fine, I can do it by myself . . .”

I stuck a hoof out to stop her. “No, I’ll do it. Show me the files,” I said.

She did so, and I peered over them. All had pictures, but they were black and white. Instead, the files had a category on the paper that read, “Color: Red” for all of them. I scrutinized the dossiers before pointing to the one on the far right. “Well, he’s innocent,” I said.

“Oh, and why would that be? Remember, the wrong choice could be costly . . .”

I gulped. “Well, it says that he and his wife are in their 60’s, so I doubt he would even do such a thing, or that you, er, your brain wouldn’t have described him as old.”

Grapevine smiled. “Good choice.” She put that file back in the box. Which left two very similar stallions in age and appearance. Both red, of course. I pored over both of them, but found little difference. Even their jobs appeared similar; working for big name companies. I couldn’t hardly tell them apart, even. Which probably said something.

“Okay, I give up,” I said. “What sets one of these two apart as killers?”

“Check their histories,” Grapevine said.

I did, and finally found what I was looking for. The first colt had a fairly normal history with the usual education and work history, but the other had it a little different. Namely, a stint in the Equestrian Rifle Corps for four years. Mr. Gibbons, the dossier said. Or, rather, Sergeant Gibbons.

I held up his dossier. “I think we may want to have a talk with the Sarge,” I said.

Grapevine smiled. “There you go,” she said. She took the file from me. “It gives a business address for him right here; we can go check him out.”

“But why would he return to work after this morning?” I said.

“He won’t be there, but clues might be.”

I nodded. “Alright, but how do you suppose we get there? The carriages won’t come back to this neighborhood, I don’t think. And if we take one, we’ll get there past closing time.”

Before Grapevine could answer, the rattling of keys could be heard behind us. “You could always get there in style,” Marshmallow said.

Marshmallow assigned Grapevine to clear the way for her car to get out under the pretense of needing me to help her with the food, much to Grapevine’s dissatisfaction. She mumbled and grumbled as, magic spent, she pushed the boxes out of the way.

Meanwhile, I was led inside. On the kitchen counter was a plate of bagels and two official-looking uniforms, complete with bowties. Marshmallow explained that we would need disguises to get into Mr. Gibbons’ workplace. Everything was in such neat order, in fact, that there was nothing left for me to do.

“Why exactly did you want me again?” I said. “Wasn’t there some job needed doing?”

Marshmallow rolled her eyes. “That was just so I could pull you away from Grapevine for one second.”

“Alright . . . what for?” I asked nervously.

Her face took on a look of caring and sympathy. “So how are you holding up?”

“Um, fine, I guess,” I said. “Is this about Chemiker, or Remedy, or-”

“Grapevine,” Marshmallow clarified.

“Ah.” I sighed. “How much do you know?”

“Everything. Word gets around, I’m afraid.”

“Joya?”

“Right the first time.”

Well, I had figured the word would get out sooner or later. How Joya had found out, only Celestia knew, but I wasn’t very surprised. What only frightened me was the prospect of Sterling finding out. I would need to talk with him . . .

“So, how are you holding up?” Marshmallow repeated.

“I’m fine,” I said, doing my best to brush off the question. “What happened, happened. Sterling and I are still together and everything.”

“But what about you and Grapevine?”

That, I had no answer to. Instead, I nervously looked at the door, hoping she couldn’t hear anything of what we were saying. “We’re working on it.”

“Uh huh. And does she know that?”

I looked away. Marshmallow dropped the subject and gave the uniforms and bagels to me. “Just think about talking it out, alright?” Marshmallow said. She smiled. “You two are too important to the paper to fall apart over something so silly.”

Silly. Right. I took the stuff and started back out the door without another word.

“Oh, and say hi to Joya for me!” Marshmallow called after me.

I assured her I would and shut the door behind me.

Grapevine got her suit on just fine, though I had a little trouble with mine. Worse, she elected to help me with it, so I had to stand stock still while Grapevine fussed over me like she was a more violet Joya. Marshmallow’s words rang in my ears the whole time, of course. Once I had the suit on, Grapevine tied the bowtie as well with her magic, and we were all set.

The steamcar was already sitting on its own outside the garage in the driveway and we both hopped in, Grapevine driving. She started the car, backed out, and set off back into The Burb. I offered to give directions, but she directed me to just stay quiet and enjoy the drive.

Which I did. The added speed of Marshmallow's classy steamcar with the windows rolled down allowed her to take a more scenic route that arced around the edge of The Burb, snaking through the foothills of the mountains. It was cooler there, and allowed for a magnificent view of the dusty yet majestic city of Fillydelphia rising above the grassy Equirius Plane where the Delamare and Schuylhoof rivers met to ride out to the sea a little ways beyond. And behind us, I knew lay central Equestria with Manehattan, Canterlot, and, most of all, Derbyshire. It was a nice contemplative scene, so I tried to approach Grapevine.

“So me and Marshmallow were talking . . .” I said.

Grapevine tensed up a little. “Ponies tend to do that,” she said.

“Aren’t you going to ask about what?”

“Wasn’t planning on it, no.”

I sighed. “It was about you . . . and me . . . and the other night.”

Her expression didn’t change, but I noticed that her eyes were locked more rigidly on the road, and her hooves gripped the steering wheel even tighter. “Oh, is that so?”

“And she said we should talk about it, so-”

“Minty,” she said softly, “can we just . . . not. Please?”

The tone surprised me so much that I had to look at her to make sure I was talking to the same pony. Not that she hadn’t spoken softly before, but not in such a desperate way. I shut my mouth.

Grapevine bit her lip and took a deep breath before speaking again. “Just- just know that what happened . . . that was wrong of me.” She looked at me for one brief moment. “I messed up, Minty.”

She turned her eyes back to the road after that, and I didn’t say anything more. Just focused again on looking out the window. Lose myself in the landscape, and try to imagine how I would write it. One step forward, and two steps back, a tiny voice inside my head reminded me.

Eventually, the car made it out of the foothills and into the business district of The Burb; like a small version of Central City in Fillydelphia. Our destination, a looming tower of glass, lay before us. A steel sign in the front informed us the company was called Initech, though what the name stood for I could only guess at. We parked in the guest parking lot and both of us got out.

“You ready for this?” Grapevine said. “It’s been awhile since we went undercover.”

I nervously nodded, recalling my last incident with sneaking into a place of work--and the consequences that had come from that. “I’m ready,” I said.

“Good. Now, let’s just walk in there like we’re normal workers running late, find Gibbons’ desk, look for any clues he may have left, and get out.”

There were a few workers arriving, presumably from their lunch breaks, so we mingled with them. I quickly noticed, however, that we were a bit overdressed from the others. They only wore button-up shirts without ties of any sort, and some were even less formal than that. No gave us trouble, though, and we got into the building’s lobby without trouble.

According to the dossier, Gibbons worked on the fourth floor. We headed to the elevator, but never got a chance to make it. Halfway across the coldly-decorated lobby, a pony stepped in front of us. He was dressed even more bizarrely than us--actual trousers with suspenders up over his pleated white dress shirt. Despite his clothes, though, the face that greeted us with sunken eyes and receding hairline was anything but exciting.

“Are you two the consultants we sent for?” he said in the most boring voice I had ever heard. No, really: it made me want to fall asleep just hearing it.

“Um, yes,” Grapevine said, “Yes we are.”

“I’m impressed; you’re both three hours early.” He didn’t look impressed. More like my father when our fields had to be plowed a month sooner than normal.

“Well, we aim to please,” Grapevine said.

The office worker--manager, a tag on his shirt said---sighed. “Alright, then; let’s go ahead and start the evaluations.” He motioned to a separate elevator. “If you’ll just follow me . . .”

Grapevine held up a hoof. “Actually, we got here early so we could go talk to the employees a little beforehand, to get a handle on how best to interview them.”

The manager shook his head sourly. “Can’t let you do that,” he said. “If our workers knew were downsizing, and that you two are here to evaluate who gets to keep their jobs, well-” He left the sentence off, but didn’t seem to be in favor of picking it back up.

“Well, surely we could at least gain a little insight on the office environment from a quick look around,” Grapevine said.

He took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m going to need you to not do that. Now just follow me to the interview rooms, and we’ll get started.”

Grapevine looked helplessly at me, and I back at her, before we both followed the steam-colored stallion to the elevator. Something told me I was about to get my first look at an office space, but it wouldn’t be a good one. The elevator door dinged shut.