The Rulers of Ponyville

Twilight guided the other ponies through the library.

“Rarity, you like sophisticated ponies,” Twilight said, levitating three books off a shelf. “Joanna Keynes would be perfect for you.” She looked wistfully at them for a moment before floating them over to Rarity.

“Oh, my.” Rarity looked at the smiling pony on the cover. “She does look refined.”

“Applejack, you’re a pony with good sense. Why don’t you give monetarism a try?”

“I’ll do my best,” Applejack said, grunting as Twilight set a dozen books in her hoofs. “We’ll show the Flim Flam brothers what for.”

“Hm. Rainbow Dash—“

“Nope.”

“Fluttershy, as the Element of Rationality, New Classical economics would be a good fit.”

“New Classical, huh?” Fluttershy squeaked as a stack of books thumped in front of her. Rainbow Dash cautiously peeked at them over her shoulder.

“And…Pinkie Pie, for you, New Keynesianism. It’s the perfect system of crazy and twisted logic that somehow ends up a straighter path than it has any right to be.”

Pinkie Pie beamed as Twilight levitated a few books her way. “Sounds neat!”

“And that’s it, so—“

“What about you?”

“I’m not doing this. So—“

“But I feel like we’re missing one. What did we talk about in the forest again? Oh, yeah, real business cycle theory. Since we all have one already, you can do that.”

“...No. So—“

“You’re going to stay here and explain this stuff to us, right?” Rainbow Dash said. “We can’t read all this stuff.”

“You’ll have light for hours yet,” Twilight said. “I have to see about the Flim Flam brothers.”

“Is that a good idea?” Pinkie Pie said as Twilight headed to the door.

“I can’t let them take over the town with their dumb pamphlets and terrible music.” Twilight raised a hoof. “For Princess Celestia!” She charged out the door.

Pinkie Pie watched her go. “Well, who’s ready to learn economics?”

Rainbow Dash groaned.

Twilight’s charge stalled when she realized she didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t want to return to the festival even if the Flim Flam brothers were there.

Her embarrassed indecision was interrupted by a lettuce flying out of the air and crashing against the ground before her, scattering leaves everywhere.

“We missed!” a familiar voice with a southern twang said. “Abort!”

Twilight looked in the direction of the voice in time to see a panicked Apple Bloom crash a cart containing Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo into a tree.

“You three?” she said, trotting up to them. “What are you doing?”

“Mission failed!” Apple Bloom shrieked. “Run, you two!” She hefted a lettuce.

Twilight grabbed it with her magic and pulled it out of Apple Bloom’s reach before she could commit any more violence against a vegetable.

“What is going on?” she said.

Apple Bloom jumped impotently for the lettuce. “Get your stinking magic off my property.”

“You were going to throw it at me.”

“M-Maybe I wasn’t. You don’t know that!”

In the damaged cart Scootaloo groaned and rubbed at her head. “What a blarf mission.”

“Eek!” Sweetie Belle pulled herself up and noticed Twilight. “They got us!”

“Save yourselves!” Apple Bloom cried, throwing herself between Twilight and the others. “She’s got my lettuce!”

“Stop,” Twilight said. “What is going on?”

Twilight would have assumed, based on her second-hand knowledge of filly life, that the three girls had done something wrong and were trying to keep her from finding out, probably something involving a sugar bowl, but they didn’t look guilty. Instead they looked defiant—frightened, but defiant. Apple Bloom, her forelegs spread protectively in front of her friends, gazed at Twilight with the burning fire of a revolutionary. The pink bow in her hair waved like a flag in the wind.

“Gimme my lettuce!”

Behind her, struggling out of the cart, Sweetie Belle cast a longing look back.

“Apple Bloom! I’ll wait for you!” She fell out of the cart with a squeak.

Scootaloo flapped her tiny orange wings furiously as she pulled herself up. Twilight wished she had worn a helmet. Oopsy-bumps were no laughing matter.

“Stay away from Apple Bloom!” Scootaloo said. “You don’t even know basic economics!”

Behind her was another squeak as Sweetie Belle tripped over a tree root.

“Okay,” Twilight said, “I’m going to assume there’s something going on here that I don’t understand. Just stay out of trouble, you three.”

“Ponies act!” Apple Bloom said, her voice quavering but strong. “That’s a, a f-fundamental, uh, axiom from which all revenant—“

“Relevant.”

“—theorems may, uh, may be deranged!”

“Yeah,” Scootaloo said. “It’s called plagiarism.”

“I think you mean praxeology. And I don’t care. Do you three know where the Flim Flam brothers are?”

“The science of economics can only make pattern predictions,” Apple Bloom said.

Twilight glared at her.

“But, uh, but they probably went out past the Carousel Boutique. They got all their machines there, looking for the profit opportunities. They’re a pair of, uh, entendres—“

“Entrepreneurs.”

“—Not that you’d know anything about. The market’s a process,” Apple Bloom said smugly.

“Right, obviously. What are they doing there?”

“Digging up ancient eldritch monstrosities what pony was not meant to disturb,” Scootaloo said. “That’s what they said.”

“That’s what they said?”

“That’s what they said.”

“Right. Then I’m going.”

“Wait!” Apple Bloom said. “Gimme back my property, not that means anything to you.”

Twilight returned the lettuce. “Just don’t throw it at ponies, okay?”

Apple Bloom tossed the lettuce in the cart, pulled the cart away from the tree and started pushing it as fast as she could in the other direction, while Scootaloo shook her hoof in defiance. Sweetie Belle jumped into the cart as it passed her, and they faded into the distance along with their parting cry.

“Socialiiiiiiist!”

Pinkie Pie quickly became the expert on rap music by virtue of being the first to make things up about it.

“Listen up!” she snapped at the ponies assembled in formation in the clear space past the shelves of Twilight’s library. Half-read books lay scattered all around them, and Pinkie Pie thought they ought to get some practice rapping before Tuesday. Spike was near Rarity, ready to fetch more books. “Rap music is all about being aggressive and having an in-your-muzzle attitude. Your soul is baptized in the furious river of rhyme that you spit like you sucked on a sour lime!”

They stared at her.

“Who’s ready to try?” Pinkie said. She pointed at Fluttershy, sneering. “You! Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Rainbow Dash was only too happy to push Fluttershy out into the center. She trembled, her wings folding in front of herself protectively.

“Everypony needs a rap name,” Pinkie said. “It needs to be snappy, aggressive, and defining. When ponies hear your rap name, they need to know some fool’s about to get rhymed, daughter. I’m Big Pie. What’s your rap name?”

Fluttershy squeaked.

“What’s that?” Big Pie cupped her ear. “I can’t hear you. Speak up!”

Fluttershy tried to back away, but she tripped over a book. She wrapped her wings around herself, but Big Pie wasn’t having any of it. She stepped forward until she could glare down at Fluttershy. “Get a rap name before I take you to rap school, fool. It’s gotta be cool, that’s the rule. Wikka wikka wah!”

“What was that?” Rarity said, sounding concerned. “Pinkie Pie, have you suffered a stroke?”

“I think it’s like doing scales,” Big Pie answered. “To rap you have to be ready at any moment to make up a word to rhyme, so rappers warm up by making nonsense sounds.”

“Oh, like babies.”

Big Pie returned her hard glare to Fluttershy’s desperate eyes. “Well? Picked a name yet?”

“I…I….”

“Something tough and mean that tells ponies what you’re all about!”

“I…I…I’m nice.”

“That’s not a rap name. You have to pick a rap name!”

“N-Nice.”

“It has to be mean! Tough!”

“I’m nice,” Fluttershy said stubbornly.

“Maybe if we just misspell it and add a ‘z’ somewhere,” Big Pie said. “Yeah, Naz! That’s you’re rap name. Now let’s battle. Drop the beat!”

There was a pause.

“How do we do that?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“Spit into your hoofs and cough and stuff,” Big Pie said. “Do I have to explain everything? Now drop the beat!”

Hesitantly, Rainbow Dash, Applejack, and Rarity began to spit and cough on their hoofs, trying to avoid eye contact with each other.

Pinkie “Big Pie” Pie vs Fluttershy aka “Naz”

“The Battle in the Library”

Verse 1: Big Pie

They call me Big Pie cuz I like to bake

Everypony knows my rhymes ain’t fake

And though you know I don’t like to boast

I’m a six course meal and you’re just burnt toast

Fluttershy gasped.

“What kind of spread on that toast?” Applejack asked.

“Marmalade. Orange marmalade.”

While Applejack was left speechless, Pinkie Pie continued.

My rhymes are great, the bestest ever

I invent new words cuz I’m so clever

Your rhymes are bad like you don’t even try

Mess with me and I’ll hit you with a pie

Fluttershy’s eyes widened. They began to tremble.

Fluttershy, better go bye-bye

Better believe the end is nigh

Excuse me if this rap is brusque

I need to go clean my elephant tusk

Big Pie wiggled her legs threateningly. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Nizzle!”

Pinkie “Big Pie” Pie vs Fluttershy aka “Naz”

“The Battle in the Library”

Verse 2: Naz

W…

Wuh….

Ebehh…

EEEEEEEEEE!

Fluttershy burst into tears, emitting pathetic squeaks in between gasps for breath.

“Pinkie!” Applejack said. “That was real mean!”

“Pinkie Pie, you made her cry,” Rainbow Dash said accusingly, tucking Fluttershy’s head inside her wings.

“Good one,” Big Pie said. “But you need more than one line.”

“I have next,” Rarity said quickly. “Who’s ready to, ah, ‘throw down?’” She looked at Big Pie, who nodded approvingly.

And none of them noticed the two pale glowing lights in the corner of the room, not the red dots that flashed at their center nor the green fog that vanished within. And so it was, and so it might have been, for the fog is not merely invisible but wholly undetectable to the five senses.

“…Elephant tusk,” Fluttershy hiccuped into Rainbow Dash’s chest.

Twilight was stopped on the way to the Flim Flam brothers by a pale glowing light with a red dot in the center. It floated in front of her.

“Hello,” Twilight said, giving the phantom a nervous smile. She was really much too concerned about the Flim Flam brothers to be disturbed by the sight. “Excuse me, but I need to pass.”

“Thou most not,” said the pale glowing light with a red dot in the center. Her voice was melodious and familiar, cool and distant like a muffled waterfall. “Beyond this violet flower are the froward twins and their swinking machines.”

“Violet flower?” Twilight looked at the sparkling Carousel Boutique nearby. It seemed a fitting description, at least coming from something that spoke like somepony from out of one of Twilight’s old books. Sometimes Princess Cadance lapsed into the old speech, and so had Nightmare Moon. “I know the Flim Flam brothers are up to no good. Don’t worry, I’m going to stop them.”

“To stop them thou shalt be brave and good, madame economist.”

“How do you know I’m an economist? Who are you, anyway?”

“I smelle hit you on. The pollene of the Everfree Forest are in thy pores.”

“What?” Twilight instinctively shielded herself, trying to expel foreign agents. “That’s bad, I’m allergic!”

The light bobbed in the air. “Peace, madame economist. Hit is settlede now and impotent. Thou art equipollent.”

“I guess I’d already be dead.” Twilight lowered the shield. “Well, um, thanks. I really need to go talk to the Flim Flam brothers.”

“I will joine thee. I can help. I ken things anent this towne. I was here at the beginning of hit all, and I ken what the twins want. Hit sleepeth underground.”

“Oil? Gas?”

“Oil and gas not sleepen. The twins wishen to awaken something.”

“…Oh. Well, that sounds bad. So what are you, anyway?”

“I am a ghost. My name is Slow.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Twilight Sparkle, the Chief Executive Economist of the Daughter bank here. Want me to talk to Deathpony for you? I know she can be scary.”

“No. Forgive me, madame economist, but thou smellest also like the sun.”

“Really? Really really?” Twilight controlled herself. “Oh, um, it’s probably because I was Princess Celestia’s student for so long.”

“Thou art banished?”

“No, no! She just sent me far away from her with...no indication of when or if I would ever be able to see her again.”

“Madame economist, though many things are changede my living sith, that soundeth like a banishment unto me.”

Twilight didn’t answer for a moment. “I’m sure I will be able to see her and all my sisters at the Grand Galloping Gala. She did send tickets. Until then, I will do my best to assist the Bank from Ponyville.”

“Soothly thou art a blessing unto the Sun Princess. Let us hasten to put a stop to the twin's schemes. They disturbede my rest and my sisters’.”

“You have sisters too?” Twilight trotted down the path with Slow floating along. “What kind of a pony were you in your life? Where did you live?”

“We livede in the Golden Tree and Oake.”

“Neat, that’s where I live now.” Twilight smiled, and Slow bobbed in the air.

“This Grand Gala and Galloping thou speakest of, I not remember hit. What is hit?”

“It’s an annual party for all the most important ponies and other species in Equestria. The gryphons send representatives, the Wonderbolts attended last year…it’s a big deal.”

“Hast thou attendedest afore?”

“No, I was always too busy. And I don’t really like parties.”

“And now the Sun Princess thy presence demandeth. Is thy work no longer important unto the Sun Princess? Thy wishes not moven her?”

“I—I’m sure she just really wants all the Chief Executive Economists there. And Trixie. To, um, inspire confidence. Probably.”

“Existen ponies unconfident in the Sun Princess?”

“Well…um….”

Most of the Ponyville ponies, thanks to me.

Like Charles’s moat, they heard the Flim Flam brothers before they saw them. The machines loomed in the clearing past the Carousel Boutique like the trees of the Everfree Forest once had, but unlike the trees Twilight could see no faces in the machines, no kind of body or whole. They were simply parts built to serve a purpose. They lacked even the equinity to be slaves.

There were big ones and bigger ones, steamy ones and steamier ones, noisy ones and ones so loud Twilight’s skin shook under her fur with the vibrations. Each was attended to by several stallions. Many others milled around. Few of the machines actually seemed to be doing anything. It almost seemed like the whole point of the operation was just to make as much noise as possible.

Twilight spotted Flim and Flam, a tall parchment spread out between the two of them as they argued. She trotted up to them, tossing her mane in a way she hoped looked powerful. She thought as she strutted toward them that she really ought to have done it in front of Rarity once or twice.

“Brothers Flim and Flam, what are you doing here?” Twilight demanded. “You must cease this operation at once.”

They ignored her. Twilight slowed to a walk and stopped right in front of them, waving her hoofs. “Hello? Are you listening to me?” Her purple magic surrounded the plans or whatever they were discussing and rolled it up. “Pay attention to me.”

They looked annoyed at the interruption. “Hello, madame economist.We have permits.” They were older than Twilight had realized, with wrinkles under their eyes and grey hairs at the roots.

“I am the ruler of this town, and I insist that you pack up and leave.”

“What?”

“You have to leave!”

“What?”

Twilight tried to shout over the noise of the machines. “You! Have! To! Leave! And turn your machines off!”

Their horns glowed again, a messaging spell. Within a minute the machines had stopped, and the working stallions looked to be on break. Flim and Flam removed their earplugs.

“What is this operation?” Twilight demanded.

“We’re breaking the rock,” Flim or Flam said. “Using pressurized water,” the other added.

“What’s underneath the rock that you want?”

“That’s what we intend to find out. Who can see through a stony heart?”

“I’m in charge, you have to go.”

“We are well within our rights,” said the mustachioed one. Twilight decided to think of him as Flim.

“You have no right to lie about economics. Seriously. It’s the law. Rule Zero, look it up.”

“Your machines art amain loud,” Slow said, coming out from behind Twilight’s head. “My sisters tiren. Avaunteth, then, or parfay ye will woosten a ghost’s wrath.”

Flim and Flam reared back.

“A ghost! The same one from before.”

“I see it, brother.”

“They do tend to follow us.”

“We attract them. A summoning gone wrong?”

“So many things creeping out of the past.”

“We part the earth. We break the dirt ceiling, if you will. What rises? Gravity pulls things down. We supply the energy to do something about that.”

“Stop talking to yourselves,” Twilight snapped. Flim and Flam were surprised by the ghost, but not scared, and that made her nervous. She hadn’t actually thought of how she was going to get them to go away. Somehow righteous anger had seemed like a plan.

“Whom else may we speak to? We offered our pamphlets, and you destroyed it.”

“Your pamphlets are all lies!”

“Lies?” Flim or Flam looked shocked. “But madame economist, surely you understand that a question may be neither true nor false, and all we do in our pamphlets is ask questions.”

“That is the lamest, thinnest excuse for doing anything I have ever heard.”

“Yes, welcome to acquiring permits for things. You have all that taken care of for you, I imagine.”

“I’m going to tell everypony the truth about the Bank and macroeconomics.”

“Get in line.”

Twilight stared into first into Flim’s eyes, then Flam’s. “You really believe all this rubbish you put out, don’t you? You have all this money and nothing better to do with it then mislead people about the realities of economics and politics! I don’t even see the self-interested angle, honestly. You two would benefit from the Bank’s proper practice as well. So what is this? A power trip? The terrible confluence of confusion and money? I don’t understand ponies like you!”

They gazed evenly back at her. “We could ask the same of you, Twilight Sparkle. Wipe off the grime of the Bank and shine anew.”

“Oh, for the love of—“

(At this point Twilight said some rather unfortunate things that I shall hardly reprint here. Suffice to say that any pony of decency would quickly cover their ears and hum a tune for the duration of Twilight’s tirade.)

“—And your hats look dumb,” Twilight huffed, her belly heaving with every breath.

“Are you quite done?” Flim asked coldly.

“Yes. Wait! You ignoble ignoramuses.” Twilight exhaled. “Okay, done.”

“Good.” Their horns glowed green, inserting the earplugs into their ears. “Back to work, ponies!” they shouted at the stallions lounging about.

“Don’t walk away from me!” Twilight said as the Flim Flam brothers did just that. “Cowards! Don’t you have anything to say for yourselves?”

Flim turned his head. “If you have a problem with Celestia’s laws, I suggest you write to her.”

“That’s Princess Celestia—and maybe I will! The only reason you two feel so bold defaming her is because of the freedoms she affords you!”

“Oh, you brainwashed little—“ Flim began, but Flam put a hoof on his shoulder, shaking his head. Flim turned back, and the machines started their roar and steam again. Twilight tried to act like it didn’t bother her, but it was really unpleasant, and soon she turned back, shaking with anger. Nightmare Moon she could fight, the Everfree Forest could be reasoned with, but the Flim Flam brothers were beyond the reach of horn or tongue.

“Thou most do as they do,” Slow said. “Thou them must in the public square confronte. A battle, an argument like Ponyville hath not seen the days of yore sith.”

Twilight narrowed her eyes. “I could crush them.”

“Fight!” Slow urged. “Thou hast no choice. The slumbering beast awaketh.”

“Just what is this thing they’re trying to dig up anyway?” Twilight said, slowing her pace and coming to a stop in front of the ghost. “What happened in the past here? Why do the Flim Flam brothers recognize you?”

The ghost bobbed agitatedly, as if conflicted. Then it seemed to settle down.

“I thee will…nay, I thee shall tell. Come yonside to the graveyard me with, Twilight Sparkle. I thee shall tell this town’s true history.”

Once the five newly self-christened macroeconomists had gotten a hoof on the basics of rhythm and rhyme, they dived right into the controversy.

“It’s simpler than a rattlesnake that’s spent too long in the sun,” Applemore said hotly. “Get the money supply right and the economy’ll take care of itself. What can’t you ponies understand about this?”

Rainbow Best pushed Naz, who stubbornly shook her head.

“I’m Naz, and I, um, I just wanted to, um, rabbits and bunnies and stuff, remind everypony that expectations are forward-looking, not backward-looking,” Rainbow Best said in a high-pitched voice.

“So get them to expect the right money supply.”

“Huh?” Rainbow Best dug around in her ear. “Sorry, I have this problem where I can’t understand anything that isn’t phrased in terms of general equilibrium and rigorous microfoundations.”

“I said—“

“Huh? What?”

While Applemore ground her teeth, De La Fashion strutted across the room, tossing her purple hair. “We have seen in the recent crisis that monetary policy is impotent. Falling wages must be counteracted by a demand shock in the form of fiscal stimulus.” Rainbow Best snorted and pushed Naz again.

“Good, good,” Big Pie said. “Let the rhyme flow through you. Now you are ready to practice battling.”

“I’m not afraid,” Rainbow Best said.

“Oh, you will be. You will be. Cuz I spit fire, yo!”

The graveyard wasn’t the only part of Ponyville Twilight had never been to. To her displeasure the trip took them all the way from the Carousel Boutique to past Sweet Apple Acres. Twilight was not in a mood to see everypony with their noses buried in a Flim Flam pamphlet. She didn’t, actually, and Twilight was forced to remind herself that most ponies simply didn’t care all that much about economics. If anything, seeing that illness everywhere was even more disturbing, a perfectly peaceful zombie apocalypse. “Brains,” was not their cry.

The graveyard itself was beautiful, green and flowered, with the grey tombstones scattered in non-geometric fashion that set off Twilight’s itch for organization. She trotted around, looking at the markings curiously. The Apple family seemed to have a section all to their own, a stretch of plots fluey with pale apple blossoms. A cool septentrional breeze swept through the graveyard. Twilight shivered as Slow swirled around her.

Twilight listened as the ghost spoke.

“Ere the first Monday-week molten everything was.”

“How long ago does this story take place?” Twilight interrupted as the pale light circled her and came to a stop in front of her horn, glowing paler, it seemed.

“Ht begineth at the beginning. Molten everything was ere the first Monday-week….”

It may be said that at the heart of every story is a question. What happens when an earth pony’s hubris surpasses her wisdom? Why is there no market for lemons, and what might a serpent fleeing on his belly from a resplendent garden have to do with that? Is friendship magic?

Slow asked how a Snow might be melted.

The sun’s heat, of course, but this begs the question. Why should the stars have aided the ponies in their escape? How could Celestia, not then a princess, have known the feel of a distant spinning ball of plasma?

Questions beget questions, until they don’t. In the caves that would one day overlook Canterlot, Celestia saw something she had never seen before.

The horizon was on fire. Celestia went to it, and there was a bird sitting on a tree in a perfect circle of hard, dry earth with a radius of miles, waiting for her.

“Shall you be named Philomena?” Celestia might have asked, and Philomena might have inclined her head. It is very important to have a pet.

To move from the, hm, null equilibrium to an equilibrium of vitality and life requires a spark, a spark to truck, barter, and exchange, and who better to provide that spark than a bird of pure fire?

Velocity of money = the price level x the real value of final expenditures over some period divided by the total amount of money over that same period. And an increase in velocity leads to an exponential increase in energy, and energy equals heat….

So the Snow melted, and the ponies went about creating Equestria. The tree that stood in the center of what would become Ponyville had clearly always been there and therefore deserved no more explanation than the fact of the ground or the growing wealth that lifted Equestria ever-upwards.

But, if you think about it, this story, a story about heat, is circular. The ponies acquired the spark from the phoenix Philomena, but where did she acquire her flame? And if there is no source, then the answer must be that her flame never went out.

Here is the truth as Slow had guessed it: for centuries or millennia the phoenix incubated within the earth’s core. Who knows what she was waiting for? Perhaps she found the silly bicycles embarrassing, or maybe never there was a young destined child of sufficient purity and courage to guide her flames until the Snow abated even that concern.

Or perhaps the reason is much simpler than that: phoenixes are fundamentally animals—ones quite comfortable being on fire, but animals nevertheless. And phoenixes, like many animals, have certain schedules ingrained into them by a billion years of evolution; they can sense, somehow, the change of seasons, the ebb and flow of life reverberating around and throughout the earth, and when the time is not right…they wait. They wait until they have a home, a place where they can lay their eggs, for where else does the impetus for all life’s motion come from?

Celestia found Philomena waiting in a tree, a golden oak tree, to be specific. That tree, like Philomena herself, must have been underground before the Snow. And there is only one forest that could possibly be its source.

The conclusion, then, is quite obvious. Ponyville is a phoenix’s nest, and one day it will be set on fire.

…That is the story the ghost Slow told Twilight Sparkle on that day in the graveyard.

Twilight Sparkle made two further deductions. The first was that Princess Celestia had known of Nightmare Moon’s coming. So Philomena would have laid her egg then, to avoid risking the destruction of her species.

The second was that Monday-week was a festival unique to Ponyville. Even Pinkie Pie, master of parties, couldn’t say what its purpose was. But now Twilight had a guess.

It was a baby shower.

“The Flim Flam brothers are here to steal the baby phoenix,” Twilight guessed, but Slow revolved like she might have been shaking her head.

“Hasten not. There is yet no phoenix bird.”

“What do you mean?

Now the ghost was visibly agitated, flying in a jagged back-and-forth pattern. Twilight wondered when Slow had last tried to articulate…anything.

“Things comen up, up and out from Ponyville. The firebird, the Golden Tree and Oake. Things that were by any logic dead.”

Twilight thought of the Flim Flam brothers and their terrible economics. “I see what you mean.”

“Beautiful things returnen, flaming beasts purple and gold. And terrible things of grey and green, words that reeken of rot, the stench of the spreaden of nothingness.”

“Zombies.”

“Yea, zombies. Monday-week is a celebration to ensures the phoenix’s flame. If it should ever turn from hale purple to ill green….”

“But how could that happen? I don’t understand.”

“The roots of the Golden Tree and Oak deep through Ponyville runen. They the egg sustainen, and the creature inside of it. Hast thou heard the phrase, ‘Thou art what thou eateth?’ It is a terrible thing to feeden a suckling foal on soured milk.”

Twilight thought of the pamphlets and the terrible “music.”

“I understand,” she said. “I’ll put a stop to their evil scheme. Then you and your sisters will be able to sleep again.”

Slow bobbed, nodding.

The battle raged. Big Pie, crouched behind an upturned table, peeked over the top. She rubbed at a burn on her rump. Her pupils had learned fast.

Applemore was in the center of the room, panting hard. Her mane was a mess, and her hat had fallen off. She had spent a lot of energy trying to catch Rainbow Best. Her lassoing skills were top-notch, but she always aimed based on what Rainbow Best's trajectory had been rather than what it would be. Now Rainbow Best floated above, sneering down at everypony while Naz mumbled encouragement and tried not to be seen. De La Fashion, that poor Unicorn, was desperately trying to get anypony to pay attention to her. It wasn't working.

“Just print more money,” Applemore insisted. “I send Apple Bloom to the thrift shop at least five times a week, and it’s plenty obvious folks would spend more if they thought their lifetime incomes would go up. And I’m going to argue about this for decades if I have to until everypony agrees with me.”

Rainbow Best adjusted the pair of ridiculous oversized louvered sunglasses she had acquired somehow. “Would you believe in what you believe in if you were the only pony who believed it?” she challenged. “I hate when you use this partial equilibrium reasoning—it’s like I’m on a flight and I’m in the zone and then I see a pegafilly flying nearby and it’s like, oh great now I have to be responsible for this filly. Everything means nothing if it doesn’t have microfoundations. How’re you going to convince ponies their incomes will rise?”

Applemore narrowed her eyes. “I’m considering a pegasus drop.”

“Whoa, whoa, I’m no chief executive economist. I’m not running for a position at the Bank. I’m not holding onto anypony’s money—I drop it and you ponies sue me and stuff.”

"Stop ignoring me!" De La Fashion whined.

"What?" Rainbow Best said loudly. "Was that you, Big Pie?"

The door opened. They all jumped. Twilight stood in the entrance, looking bemused.

“Rainbow Dash, what are those things on your face?”

“I’m Rainbow Best now. These things are my new shades. They’re cool.”

“They’re dumb, and that’s not your name. How did the macroeconomics go, everypony?”

“It was fabulous,” De La Fashion said, eying Applemore suspiciously. “Now if you excuse me, I need to prepare for my debut tomorrow.” With that she strutted out of the treehouse, her tail flicking proudly behind her.

“I gotta get going too,” Applemore said. “These rhymes won’t write themselves.”

Twilight watched her leave. “What is going on?”

“Me and Naz had better leave too,” Rainbow Best said, tugging on her sunglasses self-consciously. “The best ponies need the best night’s sleep.”

The door shut. Twilight looked at Big Pie, who looked a little guilty. “What is everypony talking about? Did you all learn economics? Are we ready to take on the Flim Flam brothers?”

"Sort of," Big Pie said. "I think we're ready for war, Joe."

"Good," Twilight said. "The Flim Flam brothers want to start a fight with the Bank? Then let's battle."

Big Pie nodded. Two pale lights faded through the tree house walls and floated out into the night.

Spike was sitting on the edge of Twilight’s bed when she came into their room.

“Today was a really long day,” Twilight said. “You need your sleep.”

“I have a bad feeling about the rest of this Monday-week,” Spike said. “I think all this rapping and macroeconomics might be a bad idea.”

“Macroeconomics is never a bad idea.”

“It just seems ponies are fighting a lot all of a sudden. You’re the CEE of the Ponyville Daughter, and now you’re feuding with the Flim Flam brothers. Applemore—I mean, Applejack, seems kind of mad at Rarity for some reason, and Rainbow Dash spend the afternoon ignoring everypony but Pinkie Pie.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to crush the Flim Flam brothers. They’re no match for me in open economic warfare.”

“Well, but…we made friends with the Everfree Forest, remember? A millennia-old evil forest that eats ponies? We made friends with it, and now we’re fighting with a couple of stallions.”

Twilight hesitated. “It’s different. The Flim Flam brothers are beyond the reach of reason.”

“Seems like they ought to be a lot closer than a bunch of trees,” Spike said, but Twilight was already shaking her head.

“You’ll understand when you’re older, Spike. Some things need to be done.”

“It just seems like everypony could be trying a lot harder to learn from each other.”

“Oh, I’ve learned plenty from Flim and Flam,” Twilight said. “Now…oh, actually, before we go to bed, I want to write a letter to Princess Celestia. Get a pen and paper.”

Pinkie Pie dreamed of a future of ponies arguing forever. Every time the argument seemed to be running low on fuel, some kind of green fog drifted in through everypony’s ears and pores and everywhere it could, and then their eyes burned with deadly green fire. It was like the ponies themselves were the fuel for it all.

It looked unhealthy. Pinkie Pie tried to warn them, but it was a dream and she had to get a cake to the doctor straight away because her hoof itched.

But she could still think. That fog wasn’t green. The words she needed didn’t exist. The fog couldn’t be seen, or heard, or smelled, or touched, or tasted. It existed in a place beyond the corporeal pony, a world of spirits. Not opposed to our world, exactly, but a reversed distortion, like the reflection of a mirror. Chicken soup for the soul, but served by the wicked old witch.

What could not be seen or heard or smelled or touched or tasted could be knorped.

Pinkie Pie shot upright in her bed, sweating profusely through her coat.

“Rap music is an evil occult magic designed to break our friendship and make us argue so eldritch spirits from a mirror world of our own can feed off the discord! And it’s all my fault! I have to save our friendship!”

They couldn’t work through the night. It wasn’t worth the noise complaints. Flim and Flam ordered the working stallions to start putting the machines to rest.

“Sir!” somepony shouted. “Sir, we’ve hit something!”

Flim and Flam hurried over. A stallion gestured at a small crater formed by clearing away the busted rock. At the very center of it was a small ovoid. Flim cast light on it with his horn, and Flam clambered down to see it.

“Brother,” he said, levitating it up to eye level. “Brother, come see this!”

Flim levitated it up from his brother and peered at it. It was an egg, and even in the ghostly green light of his horn it shined a radiant purple striped with green and flecked with orange and gold. He tapped it with his hoof, listening intently.

“It’s a phoenix egg,” Flim said finally. “Almost awake, I’d say. Needs a little more noise.”

Flam climbed out of the hole, helped by the worker stallions. “Is it new life? Or animated decay?”

“I can’t tell,” Flim answered. “But I think we’ve found the grand prize for the Monday-week competition we’re sponsoring.”

“I didn’t know you were sponsoring a competition,” a stallion said.

“We are now. The FlimFlam Industries Macroeconomics Rap Battle begins Tuesday and ends Sunday evening, with a phoenix egg as the first-place prize.”

Three pale glowing spirits swirled around the Flim Flam brothers. The other stallions reared back in fright.

“A deal’s a deal,” Flim said, the green light reflecting off the egg and illuminating his wrinkled face. “I don’t know if there’s life or death inside this thing, but whatever it is, it’s the whole future of Equestria.”

The spirits came level with the egg. They said nothing, but continued to float around it until Flim stowed it away for the night.