The dust caked her fur. Her denim jacket frayed under her pits where the sweat had burned it down. She wiped her hoof across her forehead, and shook vigorously in an attempt to dislodge the bags under her eyes.
My brains must be pouring out of my ears, she thought. With each scrub of the toothbrush on the sandy earth, she found herself swaying further and fighting longer to right herself.
Wide eyes encircled the trench, and when she glanced up at them, she saw them all fixed on some stallion this side of the cordon, yelling over the wind something about how the trackers found the specimens in the pit. Words like “keen eyes” and “immediately recognized” and “hard work” tapped at her skull from time to time.
No. It was luck and pig-headedness, she thought. But that doesn’t ‘sell’ this job, does it?
“Monochrome!” said a mare in her ear, and she threw the brush down. “You know what I think? I think we’ve found the Feather this time!”
“Keep your voice down,” she hissed back. “And the name is Mosey, not Monochrome.”
“– a fine specimen from the Palaeopony period,” yelled the stallion overhead. “Now, if you’d like to make your way back to the tour cart, food and refreshments will be provided at the main tent.”
Mosey waved up at him. “Hey, Front Line! Don’t suppose you could slip us some of the ‘vintage’ grape juice while you’re up there?”
The crowd chuckled among themselves behind Front Line’s raised eyebrow. He waved the words aside and led the flashing photographers and goggling stragglers beyond their sight.
Of course, they’d assume I’m joking, Mosey thought.
She strained her left ear’s penna until she was sure the hoof steps had died away, and then reached through the piled dust and rolled out a block of limestone. Her colleague tittered and tiptoed on the spot with a hungry look in her eye. A flick of Mosey’s hoof exposed the underside, and a black streak was there, slapped onto the curved surface. It gleamed like polished silver for a blink, despite lying under Mosey’s shadow.
Around her, the six mares and five stallions gathered. All of their manes drooped under the sun, and several chins were grey with stubble. Not a hair among them was untangled or glossy, and it was a struggle to keep their eyelids open. Even their spines and limbs wilted.
“I’ve always heard tales of this thing,” breathed one stallion, Hacker, “ever since I was a colt on the Badlands. They found the Amulet years ago. How did they miss this place on their sweep?”
“Why would they have bothered?” Mosey said, slipping the stone into a slouch hat lying nearby. “They weren’t professionals, whatever the chroniclers said. I mean, come on. Using power tools to dig out a gemstone? Those pirates are lucky they didn’t shatter the facets, never mind scratch them.”
“Yeah,” said the tallest mare, Crafty. “But still, the local buffalo legends said the crash site was miles from here. I still don’t get what happened.”
“Didn’t you see the direction of the gorge?” muttered the shortest mare, Rockbite. “Classic straight line, just like you’d expect in a flash flood. The body must have been in an advanced state of decomposition when that deluge hit.”
“Scattering the pieces, yes,” said Mosey. “And it’s the Feather this time. Send a runner. I think our ‘sponsor’ would very much like to see this.”
She glanced over the half-embedded bone fragments and a grey femur protruding from a nearby slab. “How confident are you guys that this is the alicorn herself?”
“Too early to say,” said Rockbite with a shrug. “If I could just get the skull out, then I could examine the horn and make a diagnosis, but we’ve got a few days, and I’m not doing anything without a clear line to the acid labs.”
The one bearded stallion nodded. “Roads too bumpy, yup.”
“And no offence, Mosey, but I don’t care if you are the only pegasus here. I don’t trust you in the air with a darn skull.”
They sat in silence, soaking up the haze all around them. Horseflies settled on their cheeks and sucked at eyes starved of tears. A few tails flicked over muzzles, and many ears spasmed.
“All right.” Mosey staggered to her hooves and smacked the slouch hat onto her scalp. She bumped a few shoulders on her way past them. “I’ll play runner this afternoon, shall I?”
“Better you than me,” muttered a pale mare, Pickaxe Nametaker. “That ‘sponsor’ gives me the willies.”
Mosey whipped the mare’s nostrils with an idle tail flick. “That’s enough of that. I’m sick of all this talk, all day, every day, for weeks and weeks. Nothing but how she’s got a weird smile, and lectures you to tears every visit, and treats you like you’re in kindergarten. Just show a little respect for the one pony who’s willing to dish out some cents for us, OK?”
Hacker spat at the earth. “Hark who’s talking. Only yesterday, you called her an interfering busybody.”
Mosey didn’t look round as she stretched her wings and shimmied up the bamboo ladder. She clutched at the lip of the trench, and then threw herself over and onto the sand. As she ambled out of sight, they heard her shout back: “Because I actually know her! I've earned it! And don’t you forget it!”
How they had managed to build a village in the desert – not on the edge, but actually in it – Mosey would never understand. The ‘sponsor’ had a way with words and sheer grit that could put magic to shame.
She winced at the cobbles twisting her hooves to awkward angles. Wattle-and-daub homes leaned so far into the streets that they kissed each other overhead, and lanterns dangled beneath them where only spits of sunlight could break through. Some of the square windows were boarded up, and one or two doorways stood empty of actual door. To her surprise, the tunnel air bit her with chills.
The tunnel-like street gave way to a plaza, and the tower in the centre was nothing more than stacked timber platforms on stilts. A gale could send it crumbling into matchsticks. Mosey ignored the square zigzag of planks that passed for staircases from platform to platform, and simply whirred her wings into a takeoff. On her way up, Mosey could see – out of the corner of her eye – unicorns hurrying up and down the rickety steps, faces creased and narrowed, and yet they were so skilled at avoiding each other that they might have been ghosts passing straight through.
With barely a wheeze, Mosey slipped between the wooden spikes at the topmost platform and thumped her hooves down. The faded mountains of the horizon sank slightly below the platform, and the tower creaked beneath her.
“Guess who, Verity?” Mosey saluted the rippling tail with a smirk.
The tail flowed, a banner of blue and violet with pale streaks. It slowed and fell along the stiff rear legs, which stretched below a tunic as black as a moonless midnight. Glitter twinkled as stars over it, except on the hood, which was drawn up so tightly that only the pink horn could be seen.
“Isn’t the view delightful, Monochrome?” cooed Verity from behind the hood. “You can see the smooth gold of the desert from sunrise to sunset. Peace, calm, quiet… it’s nothing like the chaos of those infested woods.”
Mosey rolled her eyes and hummed in agreement. Say that when you’re fishing scorpions out of your nosebag every breakfast.
A trapdoor shot back before her, blowing her forelock into her corneas. Two blank-faced unicorns poked their heads through.
“We have twenty eight houses completed,” said the two in unison. “The carpenters are willing to make more. Do you wish to extend that to twenty nine?”
“Idiots,” muttered Verity. “Twenty eight is a perfect number. Until the town can expand to four hundred and ninety six homes, there will be no tampering with perfection.”
Green spread from the horn to the trapdoor, slamming it shut. Lady Verity turned around with a swish of her tail, and fluttered her lashes at Mosey.
They burst into laughter, reared up, and fell into a tight embrace, patting each other on the back.
“It’s been way too long, kid,” Mosey said. “I almost forgot what you looked like.”
Verity broke away with a hoof on each shoulder. “When my body is spent, there will be no pony in Equestria or beyond it who will forget this face. But look!”
She placed a gentle hoof over Mosey’s shoulders and steered her to the lip of the platform. Encircling the town were carpenters beating mallets and hammers against nails. Skeleton houses were coated with thatch, and tunnels of completed homes radiated from the scurrying figures of the plaza in a gigantic plus. Everything beyond was a beige shimmer, except for the mountains on the north horizon, and the black smudge on the west and south horizons.
“Look upon my works, dear Monochrome, and rejoice! There will be no more scrounging in the mud, no more flying from wild cats, no more toadstools and rotten fruit. You won’t toss and turn in the branches under the moon, you won’t run and kick and hide from the sun, you won’t have to do or die again. I have set you free, and many more shall be set free by my own hoof. Can you imagine it, old timer? Can you taste it?”
“I can do better than that, kid.” Mosey stepped back, and grinned at Verity’s puzzled – at least, she assumed it was puzzled – frown. “I can deliver it to you.”
With a flourish, she inclined her head. The slouch hat landed on her outstretched hoof, and a gleam of silver reflected in Verity’s eyes.
The cloaked and hooded unicorn gasped. Mosey couldn’t help but grin wider as pink hooves hovered over the brim, hardly daring to come closer. And you thought we were wasting our time, she thought.
Verity wiped away an imaginary tear, and reached down with trembling hooves. Despite the puff of dust that scuffed her sleeve, she hefted the stone with all the gravitas of an archbishop raising the crown for a coronation.
“Is this…?” she breathed.
“The second in the Alicorn Artefact collection,” said Mosey. “It’s worth millions of bits to the right buyer. The Canterlot Archives would eat their scrolls to get a glimpse of this one fragment alone, and we think we’ve narrowed down the likely sites for the rest of the fossil material. Wait, what are you doing?”
The stone cracked against the planks, and a stomp of Verity’s hoof shattered it.
“Don’t break it!” Mosey shot forwards. “What the hay –?”
“Get back!” The horn flashed green. Mosey froze. She’d seen what Verity could do to a pegasus.
With glacial ease, the smile oozed across the unicorn’s face. “Relax, my dear Monochrome. See?”
She stepped back, and the silver shone just as brightly as before. Mosey gaped at it.
“But that’s got to be millennia old,” she said. “Even if it came from an alicorn, how could… I mean, why isn’t it… Have you done…?”
Bathed within a green aura, the stiff feather lifted itself to those lazy blue eyes.
“You have the gift of the field,” Verity said, “but I have an archivist’s knowledge. I only spent half my life in the Canterlot Archives, remember? And you’d be surprised what you can stumble upon in the older sections. This is no ordinary alicorn feather. It’s not even the official part of the pegasus wing armour of the time.”
“I didn’t believe it was,” Mosey said. “That metallic bending design is obviously anachronistic compared to the traditional Palaeopony –”
“Don’t interrupt me!”
Mosey winced at the flying spittle and raised her wings like a shield. She’s so pretty and composed, and then she pulls those mad faces…
The unicorn leaned back again and blinked the smile back into place.
“This is a unique creation of the third sister of the Princesses, the middle one – alas, now lost to time. And I know what to do with it.” Verity lowered the feather to wink at the stunned pegasus. “How would you like to help my next demonstration?”
Mosey lowered her wings and held the steely gaze for as long as she dared. You never knew with Verity what kind of test she was throwing at you, or where the secret tripwire was being laid. Yet, the blue pupils poured over her mind, soaking into her doubts and worries and washing them away. These were eyes that wiped the world down, and beckoned you to heaven.
She thumped the slouch hat over her head and nodded. “Bring it.”
Overhead, one could see waves of ponies flowing along all four points of the compass to the plaza. Excited babble bounced off the undersides of the tunnels, eyes blinked at the sudden light as they came forward, and even the tower leaned forwards, creaking in anticipation. Under its shadow, the stage stood waiting as dutifully as a sentinel, the caravan pulling up behind it with two ponies harnessed.
Lightside peered through the curtains, and then pulled her wing back to let the fabric flow into place. She turned to the unicorn behind her.
“That should be most of them, I think,” Lightside said. “Can I just say how much I’m looking forward to this, Lady Verity?”
Verity blushed and waved her hoof coyly. “That’s enough of that now, you.”
“It will never be enough, My Lady.” With a grin, Lightside bowed low. “I owe you my life. I would follow you even to the edge of the known world itself, and beyond.”
“No need to go that far,” said Verity. “Just an announcement will suffice. Now, get ready.”
Lightside nodded at her eagerly and scurried across and around the curtain. To think, only four years ago she was a wandering refugee from the Frozen North. Now look at her: master of her own fate. And she needs to be. Fate is never fair, is she? Fate never cares for the victims she tramples under her hooves.
And Celestia… if she’s half as powerful as she’s supposed to be, then her national security would be a bit tighter, now wouldn’t it? It's pathetic. Monstrous. Abominable. It's a wonder we haven't fallen into total ruin before now!
Beyond the curtain, muffled babbling voices reached out to her. She shook herself down and glanced at the boards under her hooves.
“Get into position,” she hissed. “I’ll see you in the caravan once we’re done.”
“Remind me again,” said Mosey from the darkness beneath, “why we’re going with this charade?”
“What’s more inspiring: some leftover artefact, or a triumphant battle against spirits? This isn’t about mere power. You can’t fight fate just with power. You need the words to back it up. Power just punches the world harder. Words make the world anew.”
In her mind’s eye, she imagined Mosey shaking her head in the darkness. “Not this philosophy again.”
“Not now,” Verity agreed. “Remind me to give you a crash course.”
“Oh, you bookish types. Spare me the lecture for later, huh?”
“All action and no thought, aren’t you?” Verity grinned down at the gap. “Later, then. You’ve got a job to do right now. Make me proud.”
Beyond the curtain, a hush enveloped the hidden audience and Lightside’s hooves tramped across the planks. Verity held her breath. She closed her eyes and went through her lines again, but the words struggled to reach the surface.
There was dead silence now. Verity felt the heat creeping up on her, and the backstage space seemed darker and much tighter than she’d thought. Behind the wall, her caravan beckoned to her. Perhaps she could slip out to check the cut of her tunic…
“Everypony!” yelled Lightside with bursting lungs. “It is a great honour for me to stand here today and be the one to announce the turning point of our history! Our Lady Verity has come back from her travels abroad only some days ago, fighting on our behalf against forces that repel our very existence! Now at last is she ready to show us how we can advance our causes and make Equestria – no, the world itself – a much better and safer place! Please welcome our Lady Verity!”
Someone clicked the lights on, and she heard a flutter of wings as Lightside rose out of the way. Here we go, she thought, and her horn shone a vivid green.
“Three,” she whispered, licking her lips. “Two. One…”
The curtains snapped aside as Verity strode through, horn brimming with light. The stage stretched before her. Faces upon faces swelled forwards to gawp and gape at her as she stepped forwards. Earth ponies reared up and stamped their hooves. Unicorns shone their horns back. Pegasi did cartwheels and loops in the air. From gambolling foals and shaking elderly hacks alike, cheers and whoops washed over her. A mosaic of all colours burst before her as the crowd fought to express its own excitement. Hooves and horns waved amid the beaming smiles and crying eyes and faces bursting with glee.
Verity bit back the choke and the darkness washed away from inside her. Yes, this is exactly where I belong. How could I ever have doubted myself?
The ponies began to settle down. She waited patiently until absolute silence reigned, and then she switched her horn off. The show lights focused on her, but it was such a bright day that they could barely be seen. She switched them off remotely before turning to face the crowd.
“My friends,” she said.
Her eyes shifted briefly to the row of armoured guards encircling the back of the crowd. Most of them were smiling, though a few seemed content to show enthusiasm solely through wide eyes. One or two nodded at her politely. She took a deep breath.
“Ever since the dawn of time,” she said, and her voice rang out clear and loud over the plaza, “we unicorns, pegasi, and earth ponies have been vassals and slaves to the self-entitled alicorn race. They abandoned us to greed and hatred and fear, they left us at the mercy of the winter spirits that ravaged our lands, and when we finally defied them and created a new land and a new harmony, they stole it from us.”
Several boos and cries of “That’s right!” and “The monsters!” broke out. Verity paced back and forth upon the stage, never letting her glare stray from the frowns and grimaces, the wrinkled brows, the eyes wide with hope.
“Yes, my friends! They conquered our unicorn monarchs, they reduced the pegasus military to an idle motley of bodyguards, and they left the earth pony tribes to wander, doling out plots to them only in exchange for undying fealty. They claim to be the world’s stewards, helping their garden grow and flourish under the sunlight. But once again, we have been deceived.”
“Drive out the Princess!” screeched an enthusiastic old mare on the front row. Verity growled. Her horn glowed. The old mare yelped, and the horn dimmed again.
“Let me finish, please!” shouted Verity as she stood centre stage. “Pests and vermin ravage us from all sides. Squatters – hybrids, freaks, and other monsters – break in and steal our food and land. The alicorns do not care about us. Only the biggest, wealthiest, and strongest plants in their gardens survive. The rest are left to rot and breed out. All of us here have felt the cold glow of their magic as they cast us aside with their ‘guidance’ and ‘strength’, their mealy-mouthed words for tyranny and witchcraft. Equestria languishes under the glamour they have cast on our eyes. They are demons disguised as gods.”
On cue, the crowd erupted into furious shouting, hooves punching the air, and toothy grimaces. Verity closed her eyes and basked above it. Like beautiful clockwork, she thought, holding back the smirk. The sheer power they can give me…
“None of us here will fall again for that illusion,” she yelled, and with surprising speed the crowd fell silent and still. “But I am here to dispel the one bit of glamour that plagues our will to fight them. How, we cry, how can we, shrivelled seedlings as we are, hope to fell the mighty tree? How can the flower match the gardeners and their shears? That is not what I am here for. I am not some living ornament to be pulled up and cut down, and neither are you. All of us have might on our side. We cannot fail because our quest is the ultimate one; defiance of Fate itself!”
A stallion opened his mouth, and then snapped it shut. Ah, she thought, the new ones are learning fast. Interesting. Still, should I keep closer watch over them in future?
“And I am here to prove to you how the rising sun smiles upon the favoured. I have fought with the spirits of the world, and they have surrendered unto us their power. Before you all, here and now, I shall mark their defeat and summon the Power of the Pegasi. Behold!”
With that, she reared up to the sky and closed her eyes against the sun’s glare. Emerald light flared, stabbing into hundreds of eyes and prompting groans and cries of alarm. No one glanced up until they heard the rumble, and the ground darkened all around them.
Grey clouds faded into view over their heads. A few mares screamed, and were cut off by a roar of thunder. Bolts flashed within the darkening sky. War exploded in the depths and blinded them with pure white slaps across a hundred retinas. Soon, cloaks flapped and timber creaked against the howling sand. Ponies covered their mouths and squinted up at the rolling lumps in the shuddering cloud, which began smothering the town and surrounding the plaza with pure grey. Now raindrops punched pits into the earth, striking dark the cloaks and hats, and weighing them down over sodden fur.
“Be calm, my friends!” cried Verity over the screams. She was swaying slightly on her back legs.
The stage’s planks cracked at the lightning strike, and black mist exploded outwards. The collective gasp was punctuated with coughs from those nearest. Under the fading black mist, a hunched shape shifted. Flapping locks of pure pitch flailed and rushed over a lowered face. Two horns – no, they were ears – pointed straight up to the sky, and the crouching limbs straightened behind the trails of smoke being stripped away.
Almost every pony stepped forwards and craned their necks. Murmurs and whispers broke out.
The shadow pegasus snapped her wings open and glared at them. Her eyes glowed pure green. Lightning crackled across her feathers in emerald arcs. Jade slices of reflected light spasmed around her; under the deluge, drops bounced off her hardened mane. Even her glossy coat reflected fuzzy drops of green off the rain in turn.
Verity steadied her upright body and peered at the left wing. Unless a pony knew what to look for, the silvery glow of the feather was nigh invisible beneath the tar.
“Spirit of the Pegasi,” she shouted through clenched teeth, and she paused to brighten her horn. “You wield the true power of the pegasus ponies. Without your rain, the farms could never grow. Without your clouds, all would boil away beneath the sun. Without your thunder and your lightning, there would be no power to smite the evil that prowls among us. Turn the storm away from us, the poor and dispossessed. Let a new wind blow the course of history to a greater harbour!”
Lightning crashed over their heads, and the deluge rained harder. Not a muscle moved on the shadow pegasus.
“I command the very Elements of the Pegasi! Hear me, Spirit, and obey!”
Before the crowd, the green glare blinked and a white gleam shone within the darkness. The wings shuddered as the shadow pegasus bared her teeth. Verity’s frown narrowed.
“I said OBEY!”
The dark wings clapped overhead, blasting a silver shockwave out that kept growing. It sliced through Verity’s face and torso, and left her unscathed. The crowd wailed as it scythed through them. Beneath it and around it, the rain vanished, and the wind died. Zigzags probed along its length as the lightning snapped to it, and the brunt of the silver rainbow’s edge blasted the grey aside. Two halves of the gigantic cloud churned and fell apart either side of its wake, and the calm desert light shone inwards.
A few dust eddies wheeled around stiff limbs. Gaping mouths surrounded the stage.
With a stamp of her hooves, Verity finally came down, and the shadow pegasus vanished beneath a sudden puff of black. It settled, and there was only the lightning-struck hole, and the unicorn, whose horn dimmed and went out.
“The Spirits have surrendered this power,” she cried to the silence, “because we have the power of true harmony and peace. You have made me proud, my friends. I have watched over you for a long time, and never have I felt more at home than I do right now.” She inclined her head. “Thank you for all you’ve made possible.”
She could hear the sniffs in the audience, and fought back a choke of her own. I’m not sure I can suppress my tears either, she thought. It would be best to wrap this up. Not sentimental. Sensible.
She rose hastily. “Now, go out there with fire in your hearts and light in your eyes! Show the Spirits what the true power of friendship can do!”
Scarcely had the crowd erupted into whistles and cheers when she galloped behind the curtain and descended the steps to the caravan behind. The shadow pegasus pushed the door open for her and scurried out of her striding way. The cheering was slammed out.
“Cut it a bit fine near the end, didn’t you?” Verity muttered.
Bits of hardened tar cracked over Mosey’s shrug. “There’s no drama in an easy summons. Don’t you know anything about narrative tension? The harsher the struggle, the greater the reward.”
“This isn’t a school production! I planned this out for precise reasons, you moron!” The door, which had rebounded, slammed shut in a green glow. “We’re trying to inspire our friends, not make them baulk! Don’t ever improvise like that again!”
Vegetable oil slopped out as Verity levitated the bottles over a tub in the corner. She had her back to the pegasus, but she could imagine the mare silently fuming anyway.
I suppose a bit of sugar wouldn’t go amiss, she thought.
“Hiccup aside,” she said, “you played it well. And I can assure you that this taster will work a charm. Now that they’ve gotten a glimpse of this power, they’ll fall right into line and trip over themselves when I next wave the starting flag.”
Hair-thin trails were all that remained of the oil flow. Verity faced the black figure, who had turned her back and was trying to prise the feather out of one wing.
“And then we put this in the Canterlot Museum of Ancient History once we’re done?” said Mosey without looking up. “It nearly gave me a heart attack to smother it in this gunk.”
“When we’re done,” said Verity, “you’ll be running the museum. Now,” she added, carelessly throwing the bottles aside, “as soon as that tar’s fully hardened, sit in that bath and don’t come out for anything. I’ll be back in the morning to check up on you. It should have all come off by then.”
Mosey edged past her and peered into the golden syrup warping into place. Her nose wrinkled. “What, no lavender? This stuff stinks.”
“Oh, don’t be such a baby. We all have to make our sacrifices, Monochrome.” Verity shrugged and pushed the door open. “It’s only fair to share the burden. And don’t give me that look.”
“What look? You didn’t even turn around.”
“I don’t have to any more, old timer. Goodbye.”
The slam cut off Mosey’s protests. She peered into the oil, and grimaced at the sheen on it.
“Figures,” she muttered. “She thinks she’s turning psychic now.”
Down all four avenues, ponies streamed and broke off from the crowd, dispersing themselves as they went. Several went through front doors and back onto ladders. All of them chattered to each other with grins and wide eyes.
One earth mare ambled along, stopping every now and again to shove another bite of chocolate into her mouth. Brown stains ran across her lips. She stopped outside her own house, threw back her head, tossed the last of the bar into the air, and snapped both sets of teeth around it. The door creaked to a close while she chewed.
Out the back, a young stallion sat on the small patch of earth. He inclined his horn and lifted the fuchsias out of their pots before dumping them into their respective holes. Judging by how they looked like a row of drunken stick figures, he was aiming them less than squarely.
When the back door opened, he waved cheerfully at the mare, who swallowed her mouthful before she waved back and giggled. He pushed himself onto all fours and levitated a couple of pots either side of him before he joined her.
“Hello, Buttercream,” he said. “Would you like a couple of these inside the house? I think they’ll go very nicely with the wallpaper in your lounge.”
Buttercream nodded and beckoned him inside. He glanced along either side of the wall, and then strode in after her, letting the door slide to a close behind him.
After a while, a few locks and bolts clicked into place.
Anyone peeking in through the garden window would have seen the levitating fuchsias. Their pots slid off the compacted soil and landed on the floor. The hypothetical window-peeker would have seen a quill and inkstand rise out of one pot, and a roll of parchment rise out of the other. That would have been all, though, as Buttercream rose up and pulled the shutters to.
If the hypothetical window-peeker had strained their ear against the crack in the door, and were capable of hearing through a carefully placed draught excluder, they would have heard two muffled voices go on for over an hour. One of them would have been in fits and starts and with several chokes and distortions, while the other was hushed and gentle but always questioning. The scratching of quill against parchment would have punctuated the muffled voices.
With a click, the door opened again, and the young stallion ventured outside with a sunhat now on. Buttercream was rubbing her eyes, and as he turned, she forced a smile on her face.
“Thank you so much for tidying up, Pennyfeather,” she said. “I’m not very good at keeping the house clean.”
“Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?” Pennyfeather nodded and adjusted his sunhat without once taking it off his scalp. “And thank you for those delicious cookies. I simply must have you over for a town get-together. You’d be excellent if you could help me with the catering. Well, I’d best finish off that flowerbed, then.”
As he wandered away from the house, he paused to sniff the air and peered back at next door’s house, and then he peered up it. A bedroom window snapped shut, but he couldn’t see who it had been.
Despite the summer hat, he couldn’t stop sweating until he’d finished the fuchsias and trotted back to his own home.
In the forest, the jaguar prowled through the ferns with its fur standing on end. For one thing, it was painfully aware of how much biting and slashing it was going to get if it went back to the temple empty-pawed.
It had been so used to getting kicked and punched and thrown about by the mare’s hooves. Even though it was years ago, it was galling to have actually landed a blow on the wretched prey – not just a paltry pat, but an actual claws-unsheathed blow that had torn through the denim with ease – and then to lose the prey to some random search party with a torch. It wasn’t sure what had hurt worse; the bright light in the eye, or the hunk of metal socking it in the jaw.
Moreover, the tiger had seen everything. Big cats prided themselves on many things, and spent so much of their time being proud of themselves that they made even the most pompous tabbies look like retiring monks. The tiger had later wandered off to search the lower slopes where the trees were thicker and covered in shroud, but every time it turned up, it grinned at him. Tigers wore impressive grins.
So the jaguar clambered up the trunk, scoring long gouges in the bark, and slumped along a curved bough, idly flicking its tail and casting its steely gaze over the greenery below. At this point, it would forget how many hundreds of nights it had actually been doing this and it would concentrate on the task at hand. At no point did it forget the endless feline sniggering it had been subjected to.
The other thing that bothered it was the little tomb in the clearing.
From the moment he’d entered this part of the forest, the tiny chirps and screeches of the birds had been driving him to scratch anything and everything within striking distance. They were constant dinner gongs. His mouth had watered, and he had been slopping up the drool around his muzzle at a rate of once a minute. Yet now the beaks were firmly clamped shut. He wondered if most of them had flown away.
The jaguar glared at the little tomb. At first glance, it was just a cube sloping inwards as if it would grow up to be a pyramid. Whatever fine covering had once glorified it had eroded away long ago, exposing brickwork to the damp and the ivy. The outer doorway had crumpled into pebbles long ago. Only the inner doorway – which was big enough to nearly have the whole wall to itself – remained unblemished.
At some unseen spark, the jaguar rose up and began growling. It was a growl to reach through the ears and straight into the spinal cord, where the hackles shot up and the spasms hijacked the body without waiting for the brain. It was a growl to reduce beefed-up bodyguards to cowering babies sucking their hooves.
While the jaguar was growling, the door showed a glint, which grew along its surface into a red splash. As it poured into the shape of a feather, it blazed like a sunset sea. Tip and quill nib touched the head and foot of the door, and then it dimmed and was gone.
The jaguar’s ears flattened against its head. It stopped growling and started crumpling its limbs and its spine tighter together in a futile effort to look small.
Stone groaned over stone. Dust and grit slid along the frame as the specially thickened door slid down into the ground. A cloud of disturbed detritus smothered the growing hole in taupe swirls and whorls. At once, the jaguar hissed and bared its fangs, sounding like a demented snake fighting against its own sickly sore throat.
The door stopped with a thud. The cloud eventually faded away, revealing an empty passage and steps sinking into shadow. Just beyond the square of light falling in, a third stone door could be discerned blocking the way.
The jaguar leaped off the branch and slunk towards the open chasm of the tomb’s entrance. It twitched its whiskers and sniffed the air. No living thing was inside.
The jaguar cocked its head. In its experience, doors didn’t move by themselves just like that. Even the ones back in the temple needed some creature to put the gears, weighing stones, and vine-ropes into place beforehand.
It was then that a few flecks of sand spiralled up from the steps, and a few flames washed over its face.
With a monstrous howl, the jaguar flailed at its own snout and galloped away from the clearing. Soon, the crashing leaves disappeared.
A few puffs of sand and flame zigzagged across the clearing and floated towards the edge of the forest. Only when they were gone did the bravest birds dare to sing again.
