Magister Blot: An Exchange
Canterlot, the shining jewel of Equestria; never in the history of the nation had such a city shone so brightly over the land. Unicorn-built, it somehow balanced perched on the very side of Mount Canter, high above the rest of the land. The only competition for sheer glamour was the far-off central palace of the Crystal Empire. Below the glint and glimmer, though, in the ever-shaded bowl of the city, shadows grew dark indeed.
Magister Ink Blot, of the Ordinem Elementorum, now crept through those very shadows. He was familiar with the area; he’d even made this very trip before. Rare books were so very hard to find. His contact could occasionally be harder to locate, though thus far he had not been let down.
“That you, Blot?” Magister Blot nearly leapt from his skin as the hissing voice bubbled from the shadows. Slowly, purposely dramatic, a thin line of green flame flickered across an equinoid form. A red-maned black pony stepped out from the darkness.
Blot snorted irritably. “Who else do you think it would be at this Celestia-forsaken, Luna-blessed hour? And honestly, red-on-black? You look like a foal’s scribbling.”
It was the pegasus’ turn to snort. “I like what I like. Deal with it. At least I don’t look a hundred years older than I am.” Skeet grinned. Blot’s particular coloration, an inky-looking dark blue with a faded gray mane, combined with the genuinely archaic way Ink Blot spoke made him look and sound like a grandfather instead of the thirty-something he actually was. Skeet made sure to make mention of it every time they met.
“Do you have it?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. You prepared for the exchange?” The pegasus leaned forward, ill able to contain the eager expression on her face.
Magister Blot had met Skeet through sheer chance. Skeet had taken refuge in Blot’s private library during the clean up after the changeling invasion of Canterlot, hiding deep within the subterranean archives. Magister Blot had fully intended to turn Skeet in to the guards combing the city, but Skeet had managed to pique Blot’s interest: she’d given Blot a strange book, translating the written language of the changelings into modern Equestrian. Blot sheltered Skeet in exchange, and struck a bargain with her: bring Blot any interesting books (the older the better) and Blot would pay her in kind for it. Thanks to the arrangement, Blot was gathering a (possibly forbidden) private library of knowledge. He hoped that should it become known, his position of magister within the Ordinem Elementorum would be reason enough to allow him to maintain possession of these materials.
“Once I’ve verified the contents of the book, yes. If you try anything beforehoof, I’ll personally see to it you’re formlocked as something quite unpleasant. Advanced degrees in Polymorphology and non-alchemical Transmutology, you know.” Blot let the implication (and mostly empty) threat hang in the air. The “pegasus” in front of him had always come through on its end.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Here.” The dark pony held forward an old, brittle-looking book. The cover, a charcoal gray, was pockmarked in a purposeful manner, the script on the cover unreadable to most. The metallic green binding was dull with age, and the spine, though it yet held the book together, seemed only moments from breaking.
“And open it.”
“Of course. Never judge a book by its cover, right?” The pegasus chuckled, opening the aged, beaten cover to the first page; where the outer book seemed decrepit with age, the inner pages shone with a newness that even script freshly printed would be jealous of. The ink nearly glowed with wetness, the strange script dark and new. The pegasus shut the book.
“Truly,” Magister Blot honestly stated, “the magics your kind possess are amazing. Even I might otherwise pass this tome by in an average selection, for fear of damaging it if nothing else.”
“Satisfied?” the pegasus asked irritably.
“Yes, yes.” Magister Blot opened his saddlebag with a light application of his horn’s telekinetic field. The pony before him dropped the book in carefully. Magister Blot closed his eyes, preparing the payment; he thought of some of his favorite writings. An Article on the Changing of Forme, Celestian Era Taxonomy, Post-Lunan Activities of the Chiropteran Equus (third revision), and even Daring Do and the Diamond Dog Dementor. Even though it was considered a weak effort on A.K. Yearling’s part, Blot found it an interesting read nonetheless.
As each title crossed his mind, the pegasus before him practically glowed in pleasure, a thin beam of green arcing between the two’s foreheads. With each thought of each title, Blot found himself a little less enamored with each individually. Soon, the beam terminated. Ink Blot wobbled a moment before steadying himself, then stared at the pegasus again.
“Satisfied, Skeet?”
“For weeks, Blot. Pleasure doing business with you.”
“Technically, this is probably treason, not business, for both of us.”
“We’re both still here, ain’t we? I’m gone. You know how to find me. Letcha know if anything… interesting pops up.” Skeet seemed to melt back into the shadows. Blot considered waiting about to ruin Skeet’s dramatic exit. Changelings, after all, couldn’t go invisible. Blot decided, however, to let the changeling have her way.
Blot simply nodded instead, then turned and left, stepping lightly from the undercity alleys back in the bright moonlight of the comfortably cool Canterlot night. He blended into the mid-evening crowd, most of whom were going home from late nights at work, finishing evening meals out, or even just exiting the myriad of shows and plays. Canterlot truly loved Luna’s night. Ink Blot, for his part, much preferred using this portion of the evening to sit in his favorite chair with whichever tome he’d chosen to read.
The joke was, as always, on Skeet. Blot would re-read and rediscover his love of the titles he’d thought of. Skeet afforded him an opportunity to avoid stagnation, a chance to again rediscover books long ignored. The book he received in turn, an old spellbook of the Changeling Empire, was, as far as Blot was concerned, his for free.
