My mother never really spoke of her sister; my Aunt Patty. I was aware she lived very far away, and that she cared not to visit. I’d never seen her, or even spoken to her, so it came as quite the surprise when I received a package from her nearly ten years after my mother’s passing.
Attached to the small wooden box was a yellow envelope with my name and address written neatly on it. After some small talk with the mail mare, I went inside and set the box on the kitchen table. Only after opening the envelope and reading over the letter inside did I find it had come from my aunt.
My now deceased aunt.
Dear Final Draft,
We regret to inform you that your aunt, Miss. Patricia O’Draft, has passed away. Per order of her last will and testament, she leaves you this package. No further instructions were given, so please accept our deepest condolences for your loss.
I stared at the short message for a few moments, mostly focused on the unfamiliar name. Patricia O’Draft? I ran the name through my head and finally came back with Aunt Patty. What’s with the O’Draft, though?
I’d never been particularly interested in my heritage. My father was born and raised in Manehatten—that I knew, but my mother was secretive about her origin. Maybe she was ashamed of it. Her accent, now that I think of it, was greatly different from my father’s. (For my father, “coffee” became “cawfee” and for my mother, “think” always became “tink”.) Had my mother dropped the “O’” from “O’Draft”?
With those thoughts aside, I set the letter down and turned my attention to the wooden box that had accompanied the letter. A single piece of twine was wrapped tightly around the box’s lid, forming a bow. I tugged at it with my teeth and the knot came undone.
From the box’s construction, I could infer it was once used to hold cigars. I slid the lid off and peered inside. Entirely surrounded by dried hay was a large emerald pendant. It glistened in the light, and I looked at it in surprise. An aunt I’d never known had really left me something like this?
I tilted the box and allowed the pendant to slide out onto the table. Its long gold chain snaked out behind it, coiling beside it. I picked it up by the chain and admired how heavy it was. The emerald was cut into some sort of crazy tetra-whatever, remaining perfectly symmetrical. What I can only describe as vines made of gold wrapped around the emerald, holding it in place. Surely something like this was extremely valuable
Carefully, I put the pendant back in its box, but I left the lid off so I could still look at it. My mind started thinking of all the bills and debts I could take care of with such a valuable piece of jewelry. I’d have to get it appraised, but the nearest jeweler was in Canterlot.
Something in the back of my mind shouted, trying to be heard over the thoughts of money. This is clearly a family heirloom. Are you really going to just sell it?
Had it been my mother that had given it to me, there’s no way I would have sold it. Had I known that it was a family heirloom and not just a random piece from an incomplete set, I wouldn’t have thought to sell it. Had my bills not been piling up for the last three months, I wouldn’t have needed to sell it.
With one last look at the pendant, I put the lid back on the box and tied the twine back around it. I’d make the journey to Canterlot and get it appraised, if nothing else. There’s no harm in finding out how much it’s worth.
I grabbed my saddlebag and carefully set the box at the very bottom. The road to Canterlot was usually safe, but it seemed to attract a fair amount of shady ponies. I decided to cover the box with some other things, just as a precaution. I put my travel cloak, a few books, and my coin purse into the saddlebag in that order. If I were to get mugged, they would check the coin purse first and see that I was a relatively broke individual.
What few bits I did have rattled inside the coin purse as I slung the saddlebag over my back. I hoped to come back with the coin purse filled to its bursting point, or maybe even the saddlebag itself full of coins. The thought put a smile on my face and I quickly locked my front door behind me. The sun was still making its way to the center of the sky, and I knew I had plenty of time to get to Canterlot and back before dark.
I could see Canterlot Castle looming in the distance as I trotted down the well-traveled dirt path. Various merchants passed by me; either heading to or away from the city with their loaded carts. After a while, the tops of the trees obscured my view of the glorious marble and gold towers. I knew I was still going the right way, but I began seeing less and less other travelers.
A cold wind whipped through the trees and sent chills down my back. I contemplated taking out my traveling cloak, but I had an eerie sense I was being watched, and didn’t feel like stopping. My hooves continued carrying me toward my destination at a slightly more brisk pace.
Finally, up in the distance, I saw another pony. Even from afar, I could tell it was a stallion; one with green fur and an orange mane. He was just sitting off to the side of the road, looking in the opposite direction. As I approached, the sound of my hooves against the gravel attracted his attention, and he turned to look at me. His eyes (a light blue) fixed on me as I approached.
And then I saw the upside down hat on the ground in front of him. He was a beggar, set up on a busy road, trying to take advantage of the generosity of strangers. Or so I assumed anyway.
I contemplated moving to the other side of the road and passing by like I hadn’t noticed him, but his eyes just kept following me. If he tries to flag me down, I’ll just explain I don’t have any money, I thought to myself. Well, it wasn’t that far from the truth, but I knew I was carrying something worth a hundred times what was in my coin purse. Or, rather, I assumed it was.
“Top o’ da mornin’ to ya,” the beggar said brightly. His accent was so reminiscent of my mother’s that I almost stopped in my tracks.
“Hello,” I managed to say as I continued walking. I was about four yards away from him, and I could see his features clearly. He was just a plain earth pony like me; no wings or horn attached. He had stubble wrapping around his chin the same shade of orange as his mane and tail; an indication he hadn’t had a good shave in days.
The beggar remained seated in the shade, sizing me up as I approached. When there were only a couple feet between us, he said, “I hate ta be a bother, but could ye spare me a bit or two?”
My first reaction would have been to simply ignore him and keep walking. It’s what my father had always done in this situation back in Manehatten, and he taught me to do the same. He told me that they would take my money and spend it on booze and drugs. My mother, however, had taught me to be generous to those less fortunate. In retrospect, it was kinda the reason I had three months of unpaid bills and debt up to my flank.
I found my hooves navigating toward the beggar despite my brain telling me to continue to Canterlot. Just one bit, nothing more, I told myself. “I haven’t a lot to spare, I’m sorry,” I said as I lifted the flap of my saddlebag.
“I appreciate any’tin' and evry’tin',” he replied.
I was finally able to get my teeth on a single bit coin and removed my head from my saddlebag. The beggar was still sitting there, looking at me with a big smile on his face. I dropped the coin into his upturned hat and it made a metal cling as it bounced off one of the few coins he’d collected.
“Many tanks, friend,” he said, taking a small bow. “It ain’t often I come cross ponies o’ such generosity.”
Such generosity? It was one bit.
I finished retying my coin purse and turned to look at him again. He scooped the bits out of his hat and tossed them into his own saddlebag. With the wool cap empty, he tossed it onto his head and stood up.
“May I ask where ye be headed, stranger? If it’s no trouble, I’d like ta walk wit’cha.”
Oh, here we go…give a mouse a cookie, and all that happy hoo-ha.
“Canterlot,” I quickly replied, turning to resume my trek. I tried to nonverbally convey that I didn’t want him following me during my travels. He trotted right up beside me, however, and matched my pace.
“Canterlot, eh? Bit o’ a journey dat is, ye’ll be wantin’ some company!”
“I’m all set, actually,” I said, keeping my eyes forward.
“Nonsense! It’ll help pass da time, and it’s safer. Der be whisperin’s of tieves in ‘dese here parts,” he said with his heavy accent.
“Tieves?” I asked, unsure just what he was referring to.
“Crooks, scoundrels, swindlers—tieves, ya eejit!” he clarified.
“Ah, thieves,” I pronounced without his accent. I had a fair understand of what an eejit was, at least. My mother had always called my father one when he’d done something foolish. “So,” I continued on, “you weren’t worried you’d be robbed while just sitting alone out here?”
“Not one bit worried,” he replied, almost as if I’d insulted him. “Dey pay me less attention den da normal folk.”
We’d already traveled a little way from his spot and I realized he wasn’t going to just leave me be. I sighed and turned to look at him. “Hey, my name’s Final Draft, what’s yours?”
He looked at me with a sly grin, and said, “I be Sleight O’Hoof. Ye be alright, Mr. Draft.”
And then he held up my aunt’s emerald pendant.
My mind took several moments to register just what I was seeing. “How did you—How did you get that?!” I swiped at the pendant and, surprisingly, he made no effort to keep it from me. With it firmly in my hoof, I stopped walking and glared at my “companion”.
“It’s a beautiful piece, Mr. Draft,” he said, still eying the large piece of jewelry. “It reminds me of da emerald hills o’ me homeland.”
I ignored him as I threw my saddlebag onto the ground and looked inside. Granted, I had been trying to ignore him, I surely would have noticed him rummaging through my saddlebag. And he was walking on my right! The pocket with the pendant was on my left! How did he get into it without me noticing?! My coin purse was still on top of my books, and beneath them, my travel cloak was still neatly folded. I dumped them onto the ground until the only thing left was the cigar box at the bottom.
It didn’t make any sense; the twine was still tied around the box exactly as I had tied it that morning. I picked it up and furiously untied the twine. The lid slid off of the box and revealed exactly what I’d already known; the pendant wasn’t inside. I bet not even a single straw of the dried hay inside had been disturbed.
I turned to look at Sleight O’Hoof and found him in exactly the same spot. He hadn’t tried to run, he hadn’t tried to kill me; he was just sitting there with a smile on his face. “How did you get the pendant?” I asked angrily.
“Trick o’ da trade, Draftie,” he said, tilting his cap and winking. “Might I ask why ye be travelin’ wiv it in da first place?”
I wasn’t going to tell him I had planned on selling it. If I said that, he might have thought that I stole it. “I’m uh, delivering it to my, uh, my sister in Canterlot,” I lied. “It’s a birthday present for her.”
I’m a terrible liar, and Sleight knew it. He raised an eyebrow and grinned at me. “Is dat so?” he smiled. “I bet a gift like dat cost ye a pretty bit. How much ye pay fer it, hmm?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared at the pendant. There wasn’t a lie I could tell believably, so I simply said, “That’s none of your concern.” The smile disappeared from Sleight’s face as I put the pendant back in its box.
“No need ta take offense; I was just askin’,” Sleight said, scuffing his hoof against the ground. He watched as I tied the twine into as many knots I could around the box, and threw it back into my saddlebag. I threw all my other belongings in as well, and snapped the clasp.
“Now,” I said, turning to him, “how did you get into my saddlebag, and why did you give me the pendant back?” The second question was what I really wanted to know. He would have been long gone by the time I realized the pendant was no longer in the box, so why show me he had it at all?
His hoof kept scuffing the ground as he looked up at me. “I told ya, boy, ye be alright.”
Good, a thief likes me, I thought to myself and rolled my eyes. “Go on.”
“I gave it back ‘cause ye gave me sometin’ in return,” he said.
But that implied he’d stolen the pendant before I gave him the bit. That’s impossible, when would he have had the chance? “When and how did you take the pendant?” I asked, getting more agitated with my confusion.
“I’ll tell ya da first, but not da second,” he smiled, and removed his cap. Sitting in his matted orange mane was the emerald pendant I KNEW I had just put in my saddlebag. My eyes went wide as he tilted his head and the pendant slid into his waiting hoof. “I lifted dis before I even asked ya fer anytin’. Dat’s how I work.”
“Wait, what?” I asked in bewilderment. “H-how did you get it again? And what do you mean, that’s how you work?” My obvious frustration only made the grin on Sleight’s face grow larger.
“Ye have a lot o’ questions,” he said, and tossed the pendant at me. “Let’s say we keep walkin’?”
I caught the pendant and stared at it closely. How? How did he keep getting into my saddlebag without me noticing?! It was driving me crazy, but it was clear that Sleight was having too much fun to let the cat out of the bag just yet.
Author's Note
It's odd writing an Everyone rated comedy with a Stephen King feel to it. I like it though, and I hope you are so far.
