Daring Do and the Alicorn’s Shadow
Prologue
There had been two thrones in that chamber, once: one painted white and gilded with gold with a little sun carved on its head, the other painted black and gilded silver with a little crescent moon carved on its head. They had stood side by side on the dais, neither higher than the other, though they would have raised the occupants far above any of their supplicants. When the sun rose and shone through the western stained glass window, a supplicant would be standing in the light of its red and yellow artistic rendition. At sunset, the eastern stained glass panel would have painted the center of the room blue and violet.
There was nothing that proved that there had once been a sun throne on the dais, just as there was nothing that prevented the night breeze from flowing into the chamber.
When Celestia burst in through the doors, alone, her gaze had lingered on her former seat of power only briefly before settling on her true objective. “Nightmare Moon!” she bellowed.
The black alicorn shifted, though she remained seated on the remaining throne. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, as though addressing something that stubbornly stuck on her hooves. “Why won’t you just—die!” At her scream purple jets of magic streamed forth from her horn. Celestia didn’t even flinch as a yellow bubble enveloped her, and the purple bolts ran along it instead of her.
Celestia bowed her head, her mane obscuring her eyes. “I gave you a chance,” Celestia said, her voice low but firm. “And I shall give you your last one. Surrender. Let our little ponies—”
Nightmare Moon whinnied in anger. “Yourlittle ponies?” The green of her eyes glowed, though no spell came with it. “Your little ponies? They shall never see the sun nor you again! I am be the only queen they need!”
Celestia didn’t answer. She moved not a muscle even as several earth-shaking booms echoed from the outer hallways. Just as Nightmare Moon’s eyes narrowed and her mouth opened, Celestia lifted her head and glared at Nightmare Moon. In the instance when their eyes met, she saw a glimpse of something as old and vast as the stars; that searing anger stayed her tongue.
“Then I, Celestia, Steward of Equestria, judge you.” When Celestia spoke, it was with a voice that traveled beyond the material world. It reverberated in Nightmare Moon’s heart, and she wanted nothing more than to make it stop. Five very familiar orbs appeared out of nowhere, glowing and floating around Celestia’s neck. Nightmare Moon, undaunted, gathered all the magic that she held and unleashed it in a deluge of shadows. Her eyes widened with disbelief as the white alicorn was not only unharmed, but her attack vanished the instance it was close enough to do harm. As though it was merely a foal’s spell and not the pinnacle of unicorn magic.
Nightmare Moon coated herself with shadow and rocketed towards the other pony, heedless of the risks such a move held. All that she cared for was removing the last thing that could stand up to her. If she had to leave smears in her throne room then so be it, and an excellent reminder it would be for all who would dare to oppose her.
She flew through a bright flash, and only narrowly avoided hitting a yellow translucent wall. Celestia watched impassively as Nightmare Moon turned around within her magical cage. Their position was now reversed: Nightmare Moon the supplicant at the mercy of Celestia as the rightful ruler.
“You, who made an oath to serve and protect the little ponies,” said Celestia, as though she had never been interrupted. The orbs began orbiting faster and faster until the runes engraved on them were no longer visible.
“You, who made an oath to keep peace and harmony on this world that we serve.” Celestia’s eyes glowed white hot. They were painful to look at, yet Nightmare Moon couldn’t avert her eyes.
“I banish you, Nightmare Moon, oathbreaker, to the moon that you love more than our people. You will watch as they live and die and prosper, and you will not have any part in it.”
“How dare—”
“How dare I pronounce judgment on a traitor!” roared Celestia, making the whole palace shake at the sound. The earth shuddered with each step that she took until she could almost kiss the cage. The air wavered around her, and if it were not for the cage, even Nightmare Moon would have been singed by her incandescence.
“I banish you,” Celestia said in a voice a little above whisper.
Panicking, Nightmare Moon screamed, “Then I curse you! My shadow—”
The five orbs exploded in a brilliant rainbow as they meted out the wrath of the Princess of the Sun.
Daring Do and the Alicorn’s Shadow
Chapter 1
The classroom was very quiet save for the frantic scratching of quills. Some students had finished early and made a point to look as obnoxiously bored as possible. Daring didn’t doubt that she would find doodles on her more… creative students’ exam pages. Hopefully they would find more interesting ways to take advantage of the side of a pyramid than last year’s students.
Daring loved teaching introductory courses, she really did. It was always heartwarming to see that young ponies were still interested in good old archaeology. Being able to see the eager and impressionable faces of the next great archaeologists more than made up for the killer pile of paperwork that landed on her desk every day. That’s good exam material, she mused. One dead Head of Archaeology, surrounded by paperwork stacked to the rafters. What does that say about this period of Equestrian history?
The door creaked, startling most of her students. She scowled; the last thing her students needed were distraction at the last minutes. “Back to work, kids,” she said to the class, “and no extensions.” They groaned, but most heads that were not already slumped on the desks went back to bending over exams. Daring quietly went over to the door, and found that—to her surprise—it was her unicorn grad student, Herpy. She glanced back into the classroom, making sure that nopony was trying anything funny. She whispered to Herpy, “What’s going on, Herpy? I thought told I you I’m holding an exam today. That you’ll be grading.”
“Sorry, Dr. D,” he whispered back, looking sheepish, “but it’s the top pony herself.”
Her eyebrows shot all the way to her bangs. “Really? Dean Beaker?” Daring paused. “She’s in my office right now, isn’t she?”
Herpy’s nod answered that question. “That’s why I’m here.” He tilted his head towards the classroom. “I can proctor the rest of the exam... and get started on grading them, I suppose.”
She beamed at him. “Thank you, Herpy. What would I do without you?”
Herpy seemed to be unable to decide whether to appear resigned or annoyed. Daring grinned, tipping her hat as she trotted to her office.
When she got there, the dean was examining her reproduction of Fall of the Great Chaos Beast that adorned the left wall of her office, a cloth bag containing something vaguely round sat next to the dean’s forehooves. “Have you ever seen that one, ma’am?” Daring greeted her.
The dean blinked and slowly turned around. “Daring! Darling, you do like to startle me. Do you not know that surprises are not good for a mare as faded by age as I am?”
Daring groaned inwardly. The dean loved reminding anyone she talked to that, once upon a time, her coat was a more lustrous pink shade. “Terribly sorry, ma’am,” she said, gesturing to the seat in front of her desk. “Do sit down. Would you like some tea?”
The dean nodded in response. Daring rummaged in her cabinet for the Earl Gray that she saved for such occasions. Daring busied herself with brewing the tea; when she turned around the dean’s eyes were once again transfixed on the tapestry.
“I can’t help but notice that you seem to be captivated by that,” Daring said, pointing her wing at tapestry for emphasis. Daring had many other such artifact replicates adorning her office, and she had noted with glee that different ponies always had their eyes arrested by different pieces. She added the dean to her ever-growing list—one day she might have had enough data to write a grant application.
“Oh, yes,” the dean said. “I always forget what a horrid creature the Great Chaos Beast is.” She shuddered. “And what an active imagination some ponies have.”
Daring nodded. “I’d say. The artists never did agree on what it looked like. One sculpture gives him a dragon head and another tapestry gives a him pony head. Was his body like a snake, or was it like a lion? How many heads did he have? And so on.”
The teapot hissed. For a moment the room was quiet as Daring poured the tea and carefully brought it over to her desk. Once she had sat down, she continued, “Maybe dear old Dr. Dust Jacket had it right all along: it was a personification of chaos after all, so why ever should it appear constant?” Daring’s personal favourite was, of course, the rendition in Fall of the Great Chaos Beast. Most art critics dismissed it for being an “explosion of animal diversity that detracts the experience”;Daring thought that they rather missed the point. Besides, she liked it more for the accurate depiction of the princesses—far too many artists forgot that, once upon a time, Princess Celestia’s mane had been pink.
The dean sipped her tea, frowned, and left it alone. “Much as I’d like to discuss that particular myth with you, there’s another one which might merit… considerations,” she said cautiously. Daring tried, and failed, to look uninterested, but the dean did not seem to notice as she fiddled with the sleeve of her robe. Today it was the black one with a yellow-lined hood and green saddle—the dress robe of the Department of Biology, the dean’s almamater. She looked Daring in the eye. “Daring, how much do you know—well, you are the Head of Archaeology, so that’s a silly question. Rather, how much do you believe in the Battle for the Day?”
“Well, it obviously happened,” she answered as her brain worked furiously. As far as trick questions go, this one was more fit to evaluate whether a pony had amnesia than anything. “Princess Celestia won, Nightmare Moon was banished, and now we once again have day and night.” She thought, most kindergartners can answer that. Of course, if the dean had been talking about the small, and in Daring’s entirely professional opinion, kooky mutterings that Nightmare Moon was the Princess’ propaganda and convenient excuse to get rid of her little sister, well…
The dean looked at her through half-lidded eyes. “Yes, and the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Don’t you dare be pert with me, young lady.” She clicked her tongue. “No, I meant, oh, out with it, the Shroud of Shadows.”
“Oh, the Shroud.” Also known as the response to stupid questions in archaeological circles, the Shroud of Shadows was either a physical manifestation of Nightmare Moon’s powers or an example of why poems should not be read so literally. It originally appeared as one or two lines in Dawn Age poems, but it had since infected scholars and romantics alike with the idea that such a thing not only exists, but whosoever wore it could potentially rival Princess Celestia in magical prowess. Supposedly Princess Celestia was aware of this—some might even go as far as saying that she feared it, and that was the real reason for its obscurity.
Daring didn’t care much for it–or the Dawn Age in general–and she had always believed it to be mere literary turn of phrase gone wrong. Although… look at how that debacle about the Spear of Windigo turned out. Daring finally said, ”While I can’t deny that stranger things have turned out to be true, it is also true that scholars have never agreed on the general location of the final battle. Or to be more precise,” she added when the dean looked like she was about to object, “the general consensus is that it was located in the Palace of the Royal Sisters in Everfree Forest, as supported by what few surviving documents we have of the years immediately following the Battle for the Day. It is not very strong evidence, but the Everfree Forest being what it is…” Daring trailed off when she saw the glitter in the dean’s eyes. “… Unless there’s new evidence that just came in today…” Down girl, it’s probably just stupid rumours like always.
Instead of answering, the dean merely sipped the last of her tea. “Ooh, fantastic tea, Daring. Where did you buy it?”
“A little hole in the wall not too far from here,” Daring replied impatiently, “I can write you the directions later. The Shroud, ma’am?”
“Oh, silly me, getting sidetracked like that. When you get to my age, dear, you’ll latch onto anything interesting and new.” The dean, Daring mused, was absolutely terrible at affecting youthful cheekiness.
“Ahem.” And faking throat clearing. “You are aware, of course, that Her Majesty the Princess Celestia has magnanimously granted the land next to Everfree Forest to a wandering clan. I believe they call themselves the Smiths.”
“Yes, I do know of Ponyville—I’ve heard that it’s quite promising.”
“Mmm. In any case, being a small and growing village, there are naturally rambunctious colts and fillies around, and inevitably one of them found his way into the Everfree Forest. Don’t worry, he came back, but not without the most outrageous news.”
A chill ran down Daring’s spine, though she tried not to let her excitement show preemptively. “He found the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters.”
“His precise words were: ‘old, spooky, and creepy castle that’s falling apart.’” The Dean held up one hoof. “I know. ‘He’s just a boy, and boys think everything is cooler than they are.’ Or are you going to say that it could be any of the pre-classical Unicornia forts?” The Dean chuckled at Daring’s expression. “I thought so too, darling, but… here, I’ll just save us time and show it to you.” She retrieved her bag and set it on the desk between them. Using both hooves to steady the round object, she carefully unrolled the bag from the top down with her mouth.
Daring’s jaw dropped open, and she forced it shut with some difficulty. “That’s…” She sneaked a glance at the dean, as though afraid that taking her eyes off the thing for too long would allow it to burst into confetti and ‘SURPRISE!’ tapes. “Is this really…?”
The Dean was positively beaming now. “The boy was so scared that he grabbed this for protection on the way back. Of course, it would be inadequate in all likelihood, but why look at the gift wagon’s spokes?” The Dean paused as Daring slowly reached out, as though afraid that a touch from her hooves would dissolve the prize. It didn’t; she lifted and examined it against the light.
After a while the dean said, “I haven’t shown this to anyone else, dear, but tell me, is this what I think it is?”
Daring ran the helmet against her fetlock, then very gently tapped its top side with a hoof. “A domed helmet which may or may not be made of brass, which, in addition to full protection of the skull, also covers half the width of the muzzle, a style that has not been seen since the end of the Dawn Age?” Daring ruffled the helmet’s red plumage and forgot to breathe. “This is…real hair. I–I don’t…” She turned the helmet around very carefully, this time noting every little detail. There were cracks and dents suggesting that it had indeed endured punishments, but, aside from the area around those deformities, the paint was pristine. There was also the matter of the plumage, which was unevenly cut, but on the whole did not look like something that had been rotting for hundreds of years. “I’m not quite sure what to make of this, ma’am.”
The Dean looked deflated. “Oh. So is it a fake?”
“We–ell,” Daring drawled, searching for the right words. “It is quite a study in contradictions. The helmet’s design and material points to something produced at the end of the Dawn Age at the latest. The deformities.” she pointed at each of the cracks and dents for the dean to squint at. “Suggests that it has withstood damages strong enough to give the wearer a concussion, or worse, a mortal wound. The very well-preserved state of the thing as a whole, however, is more reminiscent of a very well-researched replica that was made at most a year ago.” Daring set the helmet down gingerly—fake or not, it was still a work of art. She looked at the dean, who had a distant expression about her. “If we are absolutely convinced that the eyewitness can be trusted, we should ask Dr. Look Back to appraise it; his evaluating spell seems to be legitimate.”
The Dean snapped back to reality and blinked several times, as though surprised to see Daring still in front of her. “Oh, Dr. Look Back? Heavens, no, let’s not spread this further. Don’t want Trottingham University to find out more than they do as it is.” She pursed her lips and suddenly looked very, very serious. “There is more at stake, Daring. The Shroud of Shadows, for instance.”
The dean looked back, as if to make sure that the door was closed. She leaned forward and whispered, “Daring, what do you know about Dr. Flash Point and his research on arcanic bosons?”
“Nothing, but I assume this is relevant to the Shroud of Shadows?”
The dean nodded solemnly. Her voice lowered even further, and Daring had to lean forward to catch it. “This must not leave this room, but yes, we do have concrete reasons to believe that the Shroud exists. It is also imperative that you retrieve it as soon as possible.”
Daring abandoned all pretense of professional disinterest. She grinned from ear to ear and said, “Oh, I agree, ma’am.”
“I don’t like this.”
Daring took a bite of her sandwich. “Oh, I agree,” she said after swallowing, “I didn’t pay five bits for stale daisies!”
Tabula Rasa gave her an exasperated glare, which Daring ignored as she continued to munch on her lunch. It was late in the afternoon, and Rasa was tired and hungry, so she let it go in favor of eating her own meal.
Daring had shown up in her office just as the clock struck two, and after a brief trip to the cafeteria they sat down on the roof of the Department of Mathematics. Daring seemed to find one of the gargoyles there endearing and always insisted on having lunch under its shade. Rasa had hypothesized long ago that Daring just loved being able to take off her cumbersome dress gown and let the breeze blow through her tan coat. Rasa didn’t mind: it was a cloudy afternoon with minimal wind and almost nopony else was ever around. She had been hoping for a relaxing lunch with conversations revolving around mundane things for once, but Daring seemed to want her around for professional reasons.
“Hey, can I try your soup?” the pegasus suddenly said. Rasa had bought a bowl of very thick, red soup, a new recipe that the cook was experimenting with that had almost sold out. “What’s in it, anyway?”
"You sound like my sister when she was five years old: 'Hey, Tabby, what's that? Ooh, can I try that?'" Rasa said with a smile. As she levitated the spare spoon that she had brought, a rare impulse came to her. Speaking of little sisters…
“Tabby, you do know that pegasi can’t use—” Daring clamped her jaws shut tight when the spoonful of soup hovered a hooflength away from her muzzle. Rasa almost laughed at her friend’s eyes nearly crossed trying to stare it down. Daring said, “You have a weird sense of humour, my friend. This is, what, my tenth time saying it?”
Rasa’s lips twitched in a half-smirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m just complying with your request.” For good measure she let the spoon fly around like she had seen fussing mothers do. "Say aaahhh."
Daring glanced at the door to the roof, and sighed when nopony burst from it. “I’m so going to get you back.” She snapped her jaws shut around the offending silverware. “Yuck!” she said after getting the spoon out of her mouth, “that’s so not worth it. Darn it, egghead.” She chugged down most of her water. Rasa couldn’t help but laugh at Daring’s antics. The archaeologist pouted, but soon admitted defeat and gave a chuckle or two.
“Is it really that bad? I thought it tastes okay, except with this exotic tangy aftertaste to it.” To prove it to herself, Rasa took a sip. She ignored Daring's exaggerated grimace. “I should really ask the cook what precisely he put in it.”
“Well, one pony’s treasure…” Daring’s eyebrows wriggled, as though they could finish her sentence for her. She took another bite of her sandwich.
“So says the pony who puts salt in her water,” muttered Rasa. Louder, she said, “As I was saying, I don’t like what you just told me.”
“Hmm?” Daring swallowed. “What’s wrong? It sounds straightforward to me.”
Rasa huffed, setting her bowl aside. “Besides the obvious—“
“Actually, nothing’s obvious to me about it.” And she looked and sounded completely serious, too.
“So you don’t think that a forest that is still uncharted in this age, where pegasus magic has no hold, and where unspeakable monsters that make earth pony and unicorn magic look like a child’s trick is not in the least bit obviously dangerous?”
Daring took a full second to parse all that out. “No? I mean,” she added hastily before her friend could launch into a full rant, “yes, it’s dangerous, but so were all my other adventures, and I'm still here.” She pointed at her flank, where the yellow compass rose shone proudly. “That’s my talent and my name, remember?"
Rasa resisted the urge to grind her teeth together. "I will submit that by now you have demonstrated your talent and experience enough to show that you are indeed the best pony for the job. The obvious point that I have mentioned aside, I don't like how little evidence you have in hoof before galloping off."
Daring shrugged. "The mayor of Ponyville swore up and down that if the boy said the sky was falling down then we'd better burrow. The helmet is a little sketchy, true, but I still think that the contradictions are too well crafted for it to be a hoax. Not to mention the fact that Dr. Flash Point apparently found an interesting arcanic behaviour where nopony is supposed to be—aha!" Daring tilted her head, staring at Rasa. "You're making that face. Is Dr. Point your point of contention, then?"
Rasa stared back. She was quite confident none of her facial muscles had moved in the past few seconds. "I think that there's something simply wrong with trying to prove two hypotheses in the same experiment, each of which is dependent on the validity of the other.”
“Really? The Dean made it sound like… here, I’ll tell you what she said and then you can tell me if that’s true.” Daring stood up and physically slid into her veritable perfect lecturer of the capital’s university mode, Rasa realized, and smothered a giggle just in time. Daring cleared her throat and began, “Physicists theorized, and only fairly recently experimentally proved, that there existed particulates smaller than atoms –in fact that they are the building blocks of atoms. In addition, it’s been known for some time that any use of unicorn magic releases a different–quark?–that’s totally detectable but short-lived.” She paused, as though waiting for Rasa’s approval.
“Not the quark, but the boson that forms when the quarks collide, and you’re simplifying a great deal… but do go on.”
“Right. So Dr. Point discovered another boson that is not only very detectable and long-lived, but he also has a thingymagic that can measure the halftime to estimate either the intensity or the age of the spell that generated the boson.” Daring frowned. “I think. Oh, and this thingymagoo detected a spell either very old or very powerful going off in the Everfree Forest at the approximate time the colt was out there. Dr. Point and the Dean thought it would make for a conclusive data for his theory.” She cocked her head to one side, her lecturer persona slouching off. “You’re making that face again.”
“And you keep saying that,” Rasa retorted. “Did the Dean also mentioned to you that absolutely no one else in the scientific community has seen, much less reviewed, so much as a preliminary data report?” She caught herself and slowly rubbed her forehead with her fetlock. She raised a hoof to forestall Daring’s reply. “Wait, let me finish. It’s like…” Her mind worked furiously to find an appropriate analogy – she did not know much about archeology, unfortunately. “Here, how would you feel if someone suddenly announced that Star Swirl the Bearded was just a fictional character created by the unicorns of old to, to intimidate the other tribes? And that someone refused to even hint at his resources until all materials have been edited, reviewed, and deemed ready for publications?”
“Was that what he said, verbatim?” Daring looked thoughtful, rubbing one hoof on her chin. “I don’t know, it’s unusual, but I can totally understand not wanting to have your thunder stolen.” She shrugged. “Or you could just tell me why you hate–‘scuse me, don’t care about–Dr. Point so much.”
Rasa shook her head. “No. What is there to say about not caring for something?” She jumped onto her hooves and stretched. Her joints made wonderful cracking sounds. Before Daring could make a comment about Rasa’s fitness, she wandered to the side of the rooftop that was closest to the physics building. There was a fairly accurate sundial clock etched on its side, and the sun had just come out. She was more than appalled to find that she had overshot her allotted break time yet again. She turned her head aside at the sound of clopping hooves and found Daring pouting at the clock.
Daring sighed loudly. “Oh, no, back to the dungeon with me; the papers my cage, the students my jailers.” Her eyes rolled up to the heavens as though they were responsible.
Rasa shook her head, making sure that Daring could see her lopsided smile. She said, “The head of Department of Archaeology, ladies and gentlecolts.” She rolled her eyes Daring theatrically swooned. “Oh, stop that.”
“But Tabby, the agony! Four more days and nights of drudgery before I can go on my big adventure!” She went to retrieve her dress robes anyway and went down the roof by the stairs like a respectable professor.
Rasa had promptly forgotten about mythical alicorn’s remnants and equally mythical bosons by the end of the day. The next day saw her spending the whole morning listening to a petty lord’s ramble on how poorly the introductory course to Arcane Magic was taught. She did not have much of a chance to get a word in edgewise, let alone to explain that no, the minor lord’s son having to repeat the course due to missing all but the first lectures was not terrible in any sense of the word. He was, however, a lord, and–more importantly–his family had been donating a large sum to the department. She had donned her best simpering smile and settled for allowing the colt to register for the next course in sequence on probation.
And if he fails that one and his father comes back again, I can offer him a full term of internship with Dr. Resonant Ring. Dr. Ring was not a professor that she would normally recommend to just about any student – he thought that teaching a course was a waste of his time and an undergraduate student was a tolerable lab-hoof at best and a torture to talk to at worst. Most of the graduate students who did manage to stick with him turned out all right, though. She entertained the fantasy of giving his lordship’s son to Dr. Ring and getting back somepony more decent, or at least diligent. Everypony would hate each other and her in a perfect ouroboros, she thought with not a little sardonic glee.Still, the whole debacle was an unpleasant reminder that funding was starting to claw its way up her priorities.
She had thought she was rid of the entire sordid affair and nearly groaned out loud when Dean Beaker appeared in her hallway. Her hopes that the dean had been looking for Dr. Watch Cricket, whose office was next to hers, were thoroughly dashed when the elderly mare cleared her throat louder than necessary and knocked on Rasa’s door. She let her in and offered tea and crumpets, which the dean reluctantly declined, claiming that she would rather be quick. She also kept looking back through her shoulder, so Rasa asked if she was expecting somepony else.
“Yes, I am. I believe you know of him—“
As though they had arranged for it, another pony showed up on her doorstep. He was a thin earth pony with very short emerald coat and no mane—all of his hair was reserved for his very bushy mustache and beard, both of which grew past his muzzle. She needed only one look at the color of his dress robe lining–blue for Physics–and the odd device strapped around his neck to confirm her suspicion.
“Ladies,” he rasped, and without further ado sat on his haunches next to the dean. Rasa fixed her glasses, which had slid down due to her eyes’ widening.
The dean carried on as though nothing had happened. “—Dr. Flash Point, this is Dr. Tabula Rasa—“
“The Head of the Department of Arcane Magic, yes, I know.” His eyes squinted in concentration. “In fact, I do know you. You were that filly who dispelled Falada’s perfect cycle in my class.” His mouth curled into something that could generously be called a smile. The dean raised an eyebrow, and he explained, “Some idiot boy thought he could be cleverer than every other scientists in history and disproved the laws of thermodynamics. So he conjured a perpetual gas cycle that converted external magic to make up for heat loss. We would all have been a happy mess on the walls of the university if it were not for her.”
She felt all her blood rushing to her head. “Thank you,” she said automatically, before adding with a softer voice, “that was a long time ago.” So long ago that she was still reeling from the fact that he remembered at all, considering the lengths that she had gone through to avoid attention in the aftermath. There was nothing modest about it—Rasa just didn’t want it to be known that she had been the one that told the ‘idiot boy’ how... and at the end of the day, his antics only proved the sanctity of the laws of the universe.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your collective company?” she asked hastily, lest the dean got curious. As the words left her mouth, Dr. Point carefully removed the item hung around his neck. She had never seen it, but Rasa had a sinking feeling that she knew what they were here about.
It was the dean who answered. “First of all let me preface this with a request that the following discussion will not leave.” She waited for Rasa’s affirmation, which was given as a nod, and continued, “You are aware of Dr. Point’s latest work, of course.”
“Yes.” Privately, she added, all the whispers about it, which is all that there is to be talked about.This was not a conversation she wanted to spend all afternoon on. Without beating the bush, she said, “Dr. Daring Do has, in fact, asked my opinion of it, especially as applied to the Shroud of Shadows.”
“Oh, wonderful! Then you already know the relevant details,” the dean said as Dr. Point raised one eyebrow. “But just to be sure, did she mention that Dr. Point’s device lends a strong credence to the colt’s testimony, and vice versa? … Dr. Do did mention the colt and his helmet, didn’t she?”
He snorted and the dean hurried on. “In any case, the remnants of the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters is a boon to the scientific world, the likes of which we have not seen in decades.”
The grinding sound returned, and only when the dean threw a sidelong glance at Dr. Point did Rasa realize its source. When the old, short-coated stallion spoke, Rasa couldn’t shake the sense that he was in desperate need of re-hydration. She missed almost all of his sentences. “… proper measurements from such an old and powerful magic, which is all but extinct today.” His eyes narrowed, a sign that if this were a classroom he would have called her out.
She looked him in the eye, accepting the challenge. “I await the results eagerly, and wish the expedition nothing but the best of luck.” She meant the last part sincerely, if only for Daring’s sake.
He didn’t even blink, but somehow Dr. Point managed to make her feel as though she had disappointed him. She hoped to the heavens her expression didn’t change—Daring always made it sound as though Rasa’s emotions always leaked. The dean, seemingly oblivious to their little exchange, said, “I hope so too, dear, since you will be accompanying Dr. Do.”
Rasa’s head turned so fast she felt a muscle pull. “I beg your pardon? I… surely Dr. Point’s co-workers, those who have actually worked with the device, are better choices.” Her eyes fell to the device hung from Point’s neck, the particulate accelerator he claimed to be just as effective as its gargantuan, yet more tried and true cousins. Does he think I was born yesterday? That I’m stupid? Or maybe she needed a cup of tea or two.
Dr. Point snorted. “Oh please. None of them can even sustain the light spell for more than an hour.”
“What Dr. Point meant to say,” the dean cut in, “is that the device requires a highly skilled unicorn to operate. It also happens that Dr. Point needs—” The dean paused very briefly to glance at Dr. Point, and taking the rustling of his whiskers as a sign of approval, went on, “—the evaluation of an expert who is not involved in this project. It would also behoove us all to keep knowledge of both discoveries to as few need-to-know people as possible.”
“And in your judgement, I fulfill all the above,” Rasa said. She felt light-headed all of a sudden. Forget tea, I need at least a glass of brandy. It was not really a dilemma, however: she could refuse, or appeal to the President of the Canterlot University if they were still insistent and if she so wished. And why would I wish to be hamstrung into this tomfoolery? To Point, she said, “I… will have to think about this.”
For the first time, something like annoyance surfaced on the old stallion’s face. “I don’t think you understand,” he growled, “I’m offering you co-authorship, and potentially future collaborative work, on the discovery that will change the world. Even if for some Celestia forsaken reason that does not interest you—“
He let out a wracking cough; Rasa was already half-way around the desk before he stood. Still coughing, he shied away from the dean’s questions and paced towards the other side of the room. The dean looked as worried as Rasa felt, but neither of them was eager to take away his dignity just yet. Rasa thought instead of the rumors of his declining health and whispers of overworked graduate students–gossips, all of them–that persisted in spite of Point and team’s silence. She thought back to her conversation with Daring and, more tellingly, her thoughts and feelings that Point’s mere presence elicited. No, she amended with a tinge of shame, because of his silence, and because, to all appearances, he was on the verge of turning the scientific world on its head again despite his isolation from other scientists.
A long time ago, when her little sister had been in the awkward stage between worshipping Rasa and wanting to annoy her to death, Lassez Faire had asked (innocently, Rasa would have liked to believe) why scientists kept making a big deal out of their discoveries, only for them to be debunked in as little as a year. Even more boggling to her was the fact that some scientists were happy to be proven wrong, to be upstaged and had their names remembered as the one who got it wrong, if they were remembered at all. Rasa, who had not yet been completely buried in her studies and had still been a well-to-do earth pony family’s heiress, had declared that the advancement of science and unveiling of truth were always their own reward.
She should have realized that, even in the insulated bubble that was academia, money had always been and would forever be a driving force.
The dean looked beseechingly at Rasa, who for her part was starting to feel that everything was spinning out of control. Rasa turned and summoned three glasses and a water jug, pouring for one for each of them as casually as she could. It bought her time to think, and when Dr. Point finally came back and downed his glass in one swig, they could all pretend the conversation had not been interrupted by anything.
“I would go, griffons take it,” he said with a voice so hoarse that she reflexively poured him another glass. “The hoofprints of powers beyond us mortal ponies; the only reminder that there was once a time when the sun would not with certainty lend us its light.” His gaze on her was so intense that it took all her self-control not to look away. “Lady, I would go even if it means the death of me.”
“Surely not!” The dean exclaimed. Dr. Point turned to her, blinking owlishly as though he had forgotten that she was there. “You still have your magnum opus to finish.”
“Ah, I suppose.” From his look and tone, the dean might have as well as been talking about a side column embedded in the ads section.
“Now, Flash—“
Rasa released the breath she didn’t know she was holding. “That won’t be necessary, Dr. Point. I will join Dr. Do’s expedition and perform the experiments requisite to validating your theorem.” She levitated Dr. Point’s strange device closer to her eyes. It was a curious thing. At a glance it was an unassuming rectangular object the length and width of her arms, though it looked rather thick and from the strain it put on her telekinesis was denser than it looked. She wondered how the gaunt-looking Dr. Point was able to carry it around so casually. It had an opaque blue screen – she wondered if it was piezomagical – and about a dozen or so of small buttons underneath it. She reluctantly set it aside, reminding herself that she was still in the presence of guests.
“I want second authorship of the first publication that we’ll work on,” she said firmly, and paused.When he nodded, she went on, “And… I have some ideas that I will need your expert advice on.” She could be the pony who proved him wrong, or less famously, a collaborator riding on his genius. Either would bring attention to her department, and with it, financial support as well as pony resource. Acceptable reward for braving the Everfree Forest.
Other people always made lying to themselves look so much easier than it was.
