The White Mare's Burden

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly sell you that,” the Peddler said, his bronze eyes hidden in the low light. “I mean, what if you were to fall into the wrong hooves?”

The Peddler wore a brown bucket hat with a red brim, and had a single, thick braid of grey hair hanging over his left shoulder. Where it tapered to an end, he wore a red scarf tied around his neck.

“You see, it’s a banned art,” he continued. “If I sell this service to you, how do I know it won’t be traced back to me?”

“You’ve been in this kind of business for a while,” a voice rasped back at him. “And you’ve never been traced before.”

“Ah yes, I gave those lackwits in Canterlot the slip last time. But they’re cracking down. Times are rougher for people like me.”

The man with the raspy voice wore a simple, pinstriped suit which looked like it might have been expensive once. From the myriad wrinkles and stains, it looked like it had not been washed in at least a few months. He licked his lips and wrung his hands, nervously. “I need this,” he said. “It’s my last shot at getting into Canterlot University.”

The Peddler pushed the small, circular spectacles which adorned his muzzle up to his eyes and gave his client a hard look. “Your last shot at getting into Canterlot was a long time ago. They only accept youth, when they first begin to exhibit magic. You’ll never be accepted into the University, and to be frank, this only proves my point. You’re going to blow your cover in seconds, and then you’re going to blow mine. Now get out of my tent.”

The raspy voiced man gripped the table in front of him. “Wait! Please, I… I need this! I’ll do anything!”

The Peddler smiled at the sound of that. This was his favorite part of such transactions. He knew he had the upper hand the entire time. Nobody could provide the services he could, and he knew it. “No, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

The Peddler raised one hoof to his hat, and pushed it back slightly, revealing a small horn. He raised his other hoof, and extended his arm towards his client. As his horn started to glow a dark red, he flicked his wrist theatrically.

The client cried out in surprise as an invisible force gripped the front of his rumpled jacket and lifted him upwards. The Peddler laughed, “This is the power you’re looking for, right? The power to manipulate the world around you, bend it to your will? I could do anything to you, you know. And from what you’ve told me, if you’re truly as desperate as you sound, nobody would ever know you were gone.”

The client’s voice already raspy voice came out as only a whisper, “Please, I need to get into Canterlot.” He collapsed into a heap as the Peddler released him from his grasp.

“You’re in luck, then. It just so happens I’m in the mood to cut a special deal.”