It should have been a perfect evening: ponies from all over the place had gathered; the Princesses had come, accompanied by the delegates of the Griffin Marches; Twilight had rehearsed her magical routine a thousand times, and all had been scheduled down to the most minute detail. It could not go awry.
Yet, two minutes before the beginning of the spectacle, big drops of rain began to spatter the ground; far away, thunder rolled. Twilight winced. “Hadn’t the Met office forecast a ‘serene evening, with only insignificant scattered clouds’?” she asked Celestia. The white alicorn grinned, and turned her face to Nimbo Stratus, the head of the Met office, who requited the amused glance with an embarrassed smile.
“Err… Such blunders happen from time to time. Weather forecast isn’t like scrying, there are many factors involved… I’m deeply sorry it happens on a day like this,” he replied apologetically.
There was a flash of lightning in the offing.
“Anyway, it’s too late to cancel the event. You’ll have to perform under the rain, I’m afraid. I’m not sure that will prove comfortable, but there is little choice,” Celestia said to Twilight.
Twilight sighed, bowed and walked off to her assigned spot, warm drops of water pelting down on her coat.
“Fillies and gentlecolts!” boomed the voice of Celestia, boosted through the amplifier, “Welcome to this night of wonder in honour of our visitors, the delegates of the Griffin Marches.” Trumpets blasted. “Enjoy the next hour!” Everypony stomped their hooves on the ground; the royal stand shook. The orchestra started to play, and Twilight slowly ascended the steps leading to the high metallic rostrum, while the animals proceeded into the arena.
She felt a little nervous. Through the blare of trumpets and horns, she thought she could hear another rumble of thunder, nearer this time. Unflinching, she looked down at the animals, which were stoically enduring the shower at the foot of the rostrum. She smiled to them, then turned her attention to the music, and waited for the right bar.
She concentrated, pranced up, summoned her magic.
In a dazzling flash, lightning stroke her horn. She was swept away from the rostrum by the blow. Amidst a deafening crash of thunder, her body flew in mid-air, as limp as a puppet, and she fell heavily on the ground, unconscious.
⁂
When she wearily opened her eyes, she saw the face of Celestia bent over her. She batted her eyes several times. “What happened?” she asked.
“You were struck by lightning,” replied Celestia. “It’s a miracle you’re still alive. How do you feel?”
“Woozy.” Twilight’s head was feeling numb, and all her body was aching. “Give me a few minutes to recover.”
“Certainly,” said Celestia, who turned around. “Nimbo Stratus!” she bellowed, in a commanding tone.
A hush fell, and with a distant roll of thunder, the humble grey pony came forward quaking; fear was in his eyes. He flung himself to the ground at the hooves of the princess.
“Pity, pity, your majesty!” he bleated, grovelling.
But Celestia, impassive, looked down on him and roared: “Your negligence has endangered the life of a princess of Equestria. For such a crime, there is but one punishment.” She blinked, and, suddenly springing from her horn, a shaft of red light descended upon Nimbo Stratus who screamed in pain. For seemingly endless seconds he twitched and lurched on the ground, and wailed, howled in agony amidst the eerie surrounding silence, until, with a last jerk and squeal, something cracked ominously inside his disarticulated body. Only then did Celestia release her magical vice.
She glanced icily at the broken corpse. “Goodbye, Nimbo Stratus. I hope your successor will be smarter than you,” she said. Turning around, she tilted briefly her head toward the nearby guards. Two of them approached, loaded the stiff on a stretcher, and trotted off.
Twilight had witnessed the whole scene petrified. She looked up at Celestia and gasped in awe.
On the flank of the princess, glimmering in the gloom, the familiar sun design was pierced by a bloody sword.
⁂
Twilight was heading back home; she had pretended a fit of weakness to take her leave of the celebration early. She still did not understand what had happened, but something – everything? – had changed. That Celestia was not the Celestia she knew, for sure. How could her gentle and benevolent mentor have tortured to death one of the state servants, without the slightest compunction? What about this strange cutie mark, both alike and so different? But if that Celestia was not the true one, where had she come from? Why had nopony protested? And what had befallen her Celestia? That was beyond her ken.
Arriving at the library, she saw that the entrance was guarded by two burly stallions. When she approached, the guards moved aside, made a sort of martial salute, and Twilight proceeded inside. Closing the door behind her, she was welcomed by the familiar voice of her staunch assistant.
“Hey Twilight!” exclaimed Spike. “A guard told me what happened. Are you all right?”
“I’m feeling as if I had been put through the wringer,” answered Twilight. “But I don’t think anything has been broken or otherwise hurt. But… I just can’t believe what Celestia did to Nimbo Stratus. Were you told, too?”
“Oh!” said Spike, “I suppose you mean that Celestia has been too merciful, and you’re right. That twerp deserved to be tortured much longer before being put to death.”
“Yes, that’s…” Twilight broke off as Spike’s sentence sunk in. “…exactly what I meant,” she concluded in a faltering voice.
“I suppose that, in the presence of the foreign delegation, Celestia somehow found fitting to hold her horses, so to speak. I wish I was there; I would have relished singeing him before handing him over to the princess,” carried on Spike, smirking.
Twilight floundered for a possible way of escape; she found none. “Spike,” she finally said, “excuse me, but I really feel fatigued. Do you mind if I go to bed?”
“No, not at all,” answered the baby dragon. “I’ll finish to put your references on dark magic in order and will do the same. Good night!”
“Good night Spike!” responded Twilight almost automatically.
On her way to bed, she halted by her desk; a dried (what is it? Sweet Celestia, a… heart?) was lying on it, next to a flask of some dark, noisome liquid; she eyed an opened book, was terrified by what she saw written inside; closing it, she glimpsed its title: The definitive poison compendium. More unsettled than ever, she ascended the steps to her bedroom, laid herself on the bed and nestled under the duvet. Where am I? What is this place? It is my library, but something’s wrong. Really wrong. Right place, wrong ponies. As if everypony had turned evil. She was groping for an answer. Mulling over and over, rolling uneasily under the duvet, she heard Spike padding to bed. Silence returned. An unexpected tiredness seized her and she finally fell into a troubled slumber.
⁂
She was woken up by the unmistakable sound of hooves pounding the ground; drums beating and trumpets blasting; the metallic, rhythmic clang of… She stood up at once and rushed to the window. A squad of armed earth ponies was passing by, garbed in full uniform. The library was shivering each time their hooves trampled the ground in unison.
“Spike!” she bellowed, trying to overcome the ambiant din. The lack of response betrayed that the young dragon was absent, probably away on some matinal errand. She walked downstairs, looked around and glimpsed what seemed to be the daily edition of the Ponyville express, carelessly abandoned on the table. She came closer. WAR! was proclaiming the splash title in extra bold characters, written over a photograph of a regiment marching through one of the widest avenues of Canterlot. She feverishly opened the newspaper, and read: “Following the unsuccessful assassination attempt against Princess Twilight Sparkle yesternight by the delegates of the Griffin Marches, our beloved ruler, Princess Celestia, had the criminals immediately gaoled. A declaration of war has been sent and all armies have been placed on full alert, readying themselves for the imminent invasion of the land of these treacherous and vile creatures who did not hesitate to send a squad of hoodlums under the cover of a diplomatic mission. The generals commanding the three armies will hold a crisis meeting later today under the authority of Princess Twilight Sparkle herself who has, by miracle, escaped a certain death, when a bolt of thunder, conjured by a magical device that was found on one of the Griffin Marches’s delegates, hit her. It is likely that…” At this moment, the entrance door opened and Spike rushed in.
“Twilight! Twilight!” he yelled. He then saw the princess. “Ah! Glad you’re awaken and sound. You are expected most urgently in Canterlot to preside the military meeting scheduled at 11 am this morning. Princess Celestia’s orders. You better get ready quickly. You know she doesn’t like tardy ponies, princesses or not.”
“But, Spike, this is ridiculous. Nopony tried–” protested Twilight.
“There’s no time for shooting the breeze,” Spike cut in. “Twilight, hurry up, for Quatresie’s sake! We’re at war!”
“Okay, okay,” Twilight gave in. “I’m going to teleport directly at the castle entrance.”
“A wise decision,” approved Spike.
She returned to her bedroom, trimmed her coat and her tail, rummaged in her dresser, out of which she drew her crown, that she put on her head. Whatever was ahead of her, it would not be pleasant; but she would have to put up with it. Besides, once in Canterlot, she would have access to the royal library and maybe find out what had happened. She examined her reflection in the mirror one last time, unleashed her magic and whisked away.
⁂
She was immediately led to the briefing room by one of the on-duty guard. As she entered, all the ponies inside quit chatting, stood up and bobbed. She glanced around, recognised Crushing Anvil, the general commanding the earth ponies, Spitfire, who, as the head of the Wonderbolts, was apparently in charge of the air forces, and her own brother, Shining Armour, who, she supposed, was leading the unicorns; she smiled to him, and he responded by a short nod. There were three other ponies whom she didn’t know around the table, one of each tribe; she assumed they were the respective deputy commanders.
She made her way to her assigned cushion, at the far end of the table. Once she was comfortably installed, she opened the meeting, using her sternest voice. “Fillies and gentlecolts, good morning. We are here to examine the possible consequences of yesterday’s incident. No time to squander. Anvil, your report please.”
Crushing Anvil rose. “First of all, your highness, how do you feel?”
“Fine, thank you. A good night of rest has made the pain vanish…” Twilight unfolded one of her wings and winced. “Well, almost. Carry on, please.”
“We have swiftly deployed troops along the Griffin Marches’s borders. Have a look.” He seized a roll of paper that he unfurled on the table, revealing a map of Equestria (no, not Equestria. That’s not what’s written on the map. Quatresie?). Everypony hunched to see better. “We have three legions of earth ponies currently posted here, here and here” – he pointed some locations with his hoof – “no farther than a day away from the Marches’s main cities and targets. The Griffin Marches is essentially a flat and grassy land, so we will be able to move the soldiers at maximum speed, delivering a swift and massive stroke, once the order is given. We are expecting aerial squadrons to be ready in a couple of hours, and will also teleport several contingents of unicorns to bolster the attack with magical ressources. Absent any snag, we can launch the offensive in less than three hours; subject to your approval, of course.”
“Military capabilities of the enemy?” asked Twilight.
“None,” responded Crushing Anvil. “No resistance expected. It’s regrettable that this society has chosen suicide rather than submission.”
“Please elaborate,” said Twilight, trying to get more background information.
Crushing Anvil looked surprised, as if Twilight’s question did not make sense. “Surely, Princess, you know that the stubborn refusal by the Griffin council to give us permission to mine the almost inexhaustible seams of pure chromium that land contains has severely damaged our industry and hobbled several military research programs, amongst which your very own. This situation cannot be tolerated anymore. I was told you were yourself planning an imminent attack.”
“Why such a haste?” asked Twilight.
“Princess Celestia, our beloved ruler…” He broke off and made the same salute as the guards in front of the library the day before, “has seen in yesterday’s mishap an unmissable opportunity to contrive a casus belli. It was a breeze to arrest the delegates after the show, pin the responsibility of the lightning stroke on them and then let the propaganda bureau deal with the newspapers.”
Twilight rose and paced slowly from the table to the nearest window, trying to recall some basic data about the Griffin Marches. Anvil was right: the griffons inhabiting the Marshes were a harmless and pacific folk, whose only goal seemed to be living in harmony with nature; the mere concept of violence was completely alien to them. Communities of idealistic ponies had joined them, and both races were living in harmony. They were a threat for nopony. Twilight gritted her teeth. I cannot allow this to happen. There must be a way to save them. But how? HOW?! Through the window, she contemplated the sea of variegated roofs that was Canterlot’s downtown. Here and there, a billow of smoke was rising from a chimney top; a few pegasi were flying slowly, almost aimlessly, over the old gables. Hadn’t it been for this meeting, there would have been no indication whatsoever that this land was about to wage a brutal and wicked war.
“Your highness?” uttered the voice of Anvil behind her back. She was snatched away from her reverie and turned around.
“Are the necessary facilities to accommodate the influx of prisoners already operational?” asked Twilight.
Crushing Anvil appeared to be dazed. He did not answer immediately, but looked awkwardly around at the other ponies, as if calling for help; none of them moved. Then finally: “Your highness, I thought you had been filled in by Princess Celestia before coming here, but it appears you have not. This is a code X operation…”
Twilight gazed at him dumbfounded. There was a sliver of uneasy silence, before Anvil finally added: “Our aim is the total extermination of the griffons. There shall be neither prisoners nor survivors… Princess Celestia’s orders are unequivocal.”
Twilight tottered under the blow. “What?!” she blurted. “But…” Watch out! whispered a little voice in her head. If you want to help those poor griffons, nopony shall suspect you’re not their Twilight. The slightest mistake, and you risk death. “…what about the ponies that dwell in the Marshes?”
“That scum of pacifists? I suppose we’ll implement the standard procedure: either they submit and are sent to re-education camps for reconditioning, or they die,” said Anvil.
“Mmm…” grunted Twilight. She turned once more to the window. Far away, a line of dark, ominous clouds was slowly devouring the expanse of blue sky. Suddenly an idea popped into her mind. She whirled.
“Weather forecast on the Marches?” she asked harshly.
Anvil was taken aback. “Errr… I don’t think—”
“It is out of question to launch this attack under bad weather conditions. The armies can get lost in the moors, rain and reduced visibility will make shelling much less efficient; pegasi squadrons will be unable to fly if the rain or the wind is too intense,” hammered Twilight.
Spitfire nodded: “Make sense,” she approved. “I second the Princess.”
“I’m sorry your highness,” answered Anvil. “In the rush, we forgot to check. Besides, after yesternight’s incident, it’s difficult to get reliable forecasts from the weather bureau, at least as long as Nimbo Stratus’s successor has not been appointed.”
“Then fix this as soon as possible. I want a detailed and dependable weather forecast before giving the green light to the attack. This meeting is now in recess. We shall reconvene in six hours,” said Twilight.
“Six hours?!” spat Anvil. “But, your highness, in an operation like this, surprise and swiftness are essential. We cannot afford to lose six hours!”
“Surprise and swiftness will amount to nothing if the armies dash into quagmires. Six hours seem the bare minimum to get a clear idea of the weather for tomorrow and the day after. Besides, as you exposed yourself, the griffons have no military capabilities, so six additional hours will make no difference. There will be no further discussion. Dismissed!” Twilight ordered.
“Six hours,” Anvil grumbled. “This is unprecedented. You leave me no choice but to report your decision to Princess Celestia.”
“Crushing Anvil!” boomed Twilight threateningly. “Princess Celestia has personally entrusted me with the supreme commandement of this operation. I shall report directly to her, and shall tolerate no interference. If I come to know that you’ve had the gall to bypass or discuss my command, I promise you an immediate and brutal demotion, at best. Did I make myself clear?”
Crushing Anvil yielded under the violence of Twilight’s sudden wrath. He bowed low: “Certainly your highness. I beg forgiveness.”
All the ponies stood up and slowly left the room in silence. Only Shining Armour remained. He came to Twilight.
“Well done sister!” he said, once the room was empty. “That Crushing Anvil has become so smug lately. He thinks he’s holding the key of all Quatresie’s military system because he commands the terrestrial forces. He deserved to be taken down a peg or two, and you’ve done it masterfully! I like your strops!”
Twilight smiled. “Thank you, my brother!” she said.
“But don’t rejoice too soon,” carried on Shining Armour. “He’s perverse and treacherous; I’m not sure he will heed your warning. If he considers you a hurdle in the path of his ambition, he will not hesitate to call up all his guile to push you aside or even liquidate you, although he is not interested in alicornhood. If I were you, I’d be more than wary during the next days. Besides, you’ve given him grist to his mill. I don’t understand your indecision regarding the current operation; I’ve never seen you so irresolute, as if you were somehow trying to forestall the attack. It’s definitely not like you.”
Twilight hesitated, ever-so-slightly. “It must be the sequel of yesterday’s stroke,” she explained. “I still find my ideas somewhat confused at times. I suppose it’ll wear off eventually. Meanwhile, I have some personal work to carry out. Thanks for your advice. As usual, your help and support is precious to me, brother.”
“You’re most welcome, my dear sister. But please remember that we are both in the same boat: if you fall into disgrace, I’m finished, too, and surely vice-versa. I am firmly convinced you have the mettle to handle this operation successfully. So please, don’t jeopardise our position by indulging in dubious dithering. Okay?” Then he added, whispering: “That is, until you’ve taken over Celestia’s throne, of course…” He smiled.
Twilight hugged him, and they both went their ways.
⁂
She rushed into the royal library. Once inside, she proceeded right away towards the Regulus Celestiæ section, where all the scientific books were stored, ignoring the clerk at the reception. She had her theory right now, but she would need additional elements to vindicate it. She looked for the shelves dedicated to astrophysics and cosmology, found them, and started sifting through each title, until she located what she was looking for: M-Branes, String theory and the multiverse. She plucked the book, and sat in a nearby free carrel.
She opened the reference, jumped to the contents table, selected the relevant chapter and began to read. About half-way, she found the passage she had been faintly remembering: “Even if M-Branes are understood to exist simultaneously in a multidimensional universe, no known geodesic connects the various hyperplanes, and therefore exchange of material objects, or even light, between them is impossible; each brane is totally independent. However, preliminary calculations in quantum gravitation seem to indicate that under exceptional conditions, such as beaming a highly concentrated electromagnetic field over a sufficient population of anti-gravitons, a multidimensional wormhole could be created connecting, at least temporarily, two branes. And since those channels are orthogonal to the branes, travel through them should be instantaneous. These computations are, however, speculative and demand to be carried further, to assess the spatial and temporal size of such tunnels.”
What was that? she thought. There exist multiples planes of existence that do not communicate; yet, if a highly concentrated electromagnetic field acts on a population of anti-gravitons, a temporary inter-dimensional channel can be created between two of them. And what is lightning if not a highly concentrated electromagnetic field? Furthermore, levitation magic brings up quantities of anti-gravitons, that annihilate with the gravitons, therefore negating the gravitational field. In a wink of an eye, there must have been an exchange between me and this world’s Twilight. I see no other explanation.
She closed the book and dawdled thoughtfully toward the exit. But if I’m here, then my counterpart… Oh no! She must be in my Equestria. She shuddered.
“Princess Celestia, why do you have me gaoled? What did I do wrong?” groaned Twilight. She was locked in her own anti-magic cage, that was glowing red-purple in the dim library as it floated above the floor.
“Oh, Twilight!” said Celestia earnestly, “I am not sure that releasing you would be beneficial, at least not before I have checked my theory out…”
“Has the whole Quatresie gone crazy?!” exclaimed Twilight, enraged. “What happened to your cutie mark? Where are my personal guards?! What kind of books are these?!”
“I’m afraid I can answer none of your questions at this time,” Celestia said. “But until we find out what exactly happened, you will remain safely locked inside this anti-magic cage—”
“But, your highness, I have a war against the Griffin Marches to organise!” protested Twilight.
“Twilight, there has been and shall be no such war.” Celestia contemplated the purple alicorn. “Apparently, some kind of transposition has taken place. I intend to investigate.” She turned around and trotted off. Where comes this Twilight from? she thought. What kind of world does she live in? I fear the worst. And my Twilight… what happened to her over there? Will she ever be able to come back? She shuddered.
Twilight screamed madly. She jolted the rods, tried to cast a teleportation spell, whose energy was immediately deflected by the shield. Defeated, she lay down, cursing the name of Celestia, and waited.
Twilight left the library. She barely had rounded the main door that a dark, shadowy, hooded figure crept out of a corner to the carrel where she had been reading. It opened the book Twilight had left behind and began to read.
⁂
Twilight opened the door of her seldom used private flat here in the castle. She trod in, paused to sniff the musty air, then headed directly for a small bedside cupboard; she rummaged in the drawers until she found what she was looking for: a shining metallic cube, no larger than a small lump of sugar. She concentrated; a beam of magic light sprung from her horn and focussed on the trinket. It lasted just a second. Satisfied, Twilight put the object into a small pouch and left the room hurriedly.
⁂
“Thank you guard,” said Twilight; it was a clear dismissal.
The prison was squalid. The corridors had been carved directly in the stone; they were dank, uneven and hardly lit by sparse sconses; big rats were scurrying everywhere; a stench of sewage pervaded the whole place. It was nauseating; Twilight stifled a belch.
The guard bobbed, turned around and vanished in the gloom. Courageously, Twilight overcame her revulsion and proceeded cautiously until she arrived at a large lateral grating barring the access to an obscure recess. She halted and peered in the cave: three avian forms were seating on a crude cot that could barely accommodate them. They were chatting softly, ignoring Twilight’s presence. The alicorn cleared her throat noisily; the three figures stopped talking and turned their head toward Twilight.
“Hello,” said Twilight uneasily. “May I speak to you, please?”
“Unbelievable! Princess Twilight Sparkle herself!” replied one of the delegates, with a tinge of scorn. “What do you have to say to us? That our execution has been advanced maybe? How merciful of you.”
Twilight glanced sideways. Nopony was around. “Please, it’s important!” she said in a low, almost supplicant voice.
The delegate looked at his peers, shrugged, stood up and slowly paced to the grating. “What is it you have so urgent to tell us?” he sneered.
“I cannot save your country, but I have bought you a six hours delay,” whispered Twilight. “That’s the best I could do.”
The delegate’s eyes bulged. “What?” he let out. “But… But…” he spluttered, completely fazed.
“Shhh…” Twilight cut in, placing a hoof over her mouth. “Here.” She opened her pouch and drew the shiny die out, that she pushed magically through the grating; the delegate grabbed it. “This cube has been loaded with a single telepathic spell. Clutch it and you will be able to communicate with one being of your choice for one minute. After this period, it will wear out and become inert. I’m taking an awful risk here, so please listen to me: don’t discard it, it might be found. Swallow it instead; it will dissolve in your stomach and leave no trace. Remember, you have six hours, no more, to organise the evacuation of your country. Good luck! I cannot remain here any longer.” She looked around nervously.
“But why? Why?” asked the delegate astounded, gazing dubiously at the cube in his claw. “It’s a trap, isn’t it?”
“No, I promise you it’s no trap. Honest! It’s your only chance to rescue what can be rescued. Believe me. What do you have to lose anyway? I–” A faint clop began to be heard; it gradually became louder. “Princess Celestia was right!” said Twilight loudly. “You are lost causes. The sooner you’ll be dead, the better.” She winked to the delegate, who precipitately hid the die under his feathers.
A guard loomed out of the surrounding darkness. “Guard!” yelled Twilight.
“Yes Princess?” answered the guard.
“Show me the way out,” asked Twilight gruffly. “I don’t want to speak to these morons anymore.”
“Certainly your highness. This way please!” replied the guard.
Twilight followed him and both disappeared into the corridor.
A few seconds later, the grating of an adjacent cell hinged slowly open, and a dark, shadowy, hooded figure emerged from it.
⁂
I have done what I can to save the griffons. It’s up to them now. Twilight was back in her flat. More than an hour had already passed since the end of the meeting, meaning she had now less than five hours left. Now it’s time to think of my own escape. I have no alternative but to try to reproduce the conditions that sent me here the best I can. Lightning… She quivered at the idea to have to go through the same ordeal once again. I can maybe recreate it with the huge electrostatic machine in the central laboratory. She was faintly remembering an enormous, clunky machine with many dials, levers and switches, that could generate fields well over a million volts per meter. But she would not be able to adjust the machine, release the lightning and cast her levitation magic simultaneously: somepony would have to help her; and that somepony would have to be clever and maybe able to cast some minor spells, too. Who could it be? Rarity. It was the logical choice. But how to explain her? If I confess everything, she will doubtlessly think I’ve gone nuts. I am going to pretend this is some sort of experiment. After all, she won’t reckon the difference. Let’s go.
Her decision taken, she concentrated once more and teleported directly in front of the boutique. She knocked at the door. After a few seconds, hoofsteps could be heard inside and the door opened, disclosing the familiar face of Rarity.
“Princess Twilight!” exclaimed the white unicorn with a glee. “I would lie if I pretended I wasn’t expecting you!”
“You know I like to confer with you before taking crucial decisions,” replied Twilight, beaming in return.
“Indeed, and I’ve heard you were much confused about the imminent war,” said Rarity. “But don’t tarry on the threshold. Please enter my dear.”
Twilight ambled in. “How do you know about this morning’s meeting?” she asked, somewhat flabbergasted.
“Oh, it wasn’t hard. All the radios of Canterlot have broadcast that you had officially postponed the attack for six hours. Another one of Crushing Anvil’s deliberate leaks in order to mar your reputation, I suppose,” explained Rarity.
Twilight bit her lips. “How durst he—” she began.
“You should know him,” Rarity cut in. “He’d sell his soul to slake his ambition.”
“I don’t understand. On the one side he emphasises the surprise effect, and on the other side he trumpets the delay I ordered,” said Twilight.
Rarity shrugged. “He couldn’t care less about contradictions, as long as they benefit him. But please go to the living room and take a seat while I brew some tea in the kitchen.”
“Sure,” said Twilight, who walked to the nearest door. Thoughtful, she opened it, made a couple of steps farther and suddenly noticed that the way ahead was barred by a metal grating. She whirled, barely in time to see the wooden door close and another grating slide down into place; it latched up with a clang; a faint purple glow appeared around the… cage?, that started to float over the ground, hauling up Twilight within it. “What?” blurted Twilight. “This is my magic-proof cage. But…” She realised that she was trapped inside. “RARITY!” she shouted. But nothing seemed to happen. “RARITY, PLEASE!” she shouted again. No response. “It must be some sort of mistake,” she sighed, and waited. A minute later or so, she perceived hoofsteps in the adjacent room. The door hinged, jolting the cage somewhat farther into the room. Rarity trod in with a platter and glanced at Twilight. “Oh!” she said, stolidly. “I had invited you to take a seat, not to head into a cage.” She smirked.
“How did you bring my magic-proof cage here and why this ludicrous set-up?” asked Twilight.
“Please, please, darling,” answered Rarity, shaking her head. She bunged the platter on a nearby table. “One question at a time. How did I put my hoof on your cage? It was a breeze. Very easy, indeed, to lure somepony from your kith and kin into bringing it here on my behalf. Well, actually not somepony, but —”
“Spike!” exclaimed Twilight.
“Yes, Spike,” acknowledged Rarity. “I merely pretended you wanted to carry out a new experiment here. Then, let’s say I prodded him with the promise of some special reward… He was so awfully cute with his twinkling eyes and his beam when I told him that…”
“What did you do to him?” asked Twilight with a tremor in her voice.
“I carried out my own research: it’s been a long time since I’ve been wondering if baby dragons were waterproof in addition of being fireproof. But I am afraid the response is negative, as you can see by yourself…” Her horn lit, and she magically lifted a sort of large box covered with a piece of one of her dark fabrics out of a corner. She shook it; the fabric fell on the ground, revealing a sealed glass cube completely filled with water; inside it floated the helpless and insensate shape of Spike.
Drowned.
Dead.
“Why did you do that?!” exploded Twilight. “He was just a harmless baby! You’ve gone completely crazy!”
“Crazy? Me? I don’t think so,” rejoined Rarity. “Look Twilight, what’s the use of a sidekick when his master is dead?”
“What?!” exclaimed Twilight. “But—”
“Oh, don’t worry Twilight,” Rarity carried on. “Nopony will miss a princess who has lost the confidence of Celestia. Especially not Crushing Anvil.”
Twilight tottered, her head spinning. “I… I don’t understand how my death is supposed to help you.”
“Why Twilight,” answered Rarity, “I thought you would be quicker on the uptake. With you dead, Celestia will need another princess. A logical choice would be to pick another one of the six – oh, I mean of the five, of course. Fluttershy? She’s paralysed each time she leaves her cottage. Applejack? Who wants a hick as princess? Rainbow? She is completely obsessed with the Wonderbolts. Pinkie? Come on, let’s be serious. So that leaves a unique possibility: ME! Me, the next alicorn. Me with wonderful, immaculate wings. Wouldn’t I look fabulous?” She sashayed around, pouted and batted her eyes. “Besides, you had no qualms disintegrating Cadence the day before her wedding, with the complicity of your brother. I don’t think you’re entitled to lecture me on the merits of cold-blooded assassination to reach alicornhood.”
Twilight did not answer. She was desperately mustering all her knowledge to figure out a possible escape. But there was none she could think of. The cage was built to absorb any kind of magic, and the rods were solid enough. There was no way out, except somepony unfastening the latches from outside. She was at Rarity’s total mercy.
“Well well, I see my arguments are conclusive,” said Rarity. “Good. It’s not that I’m getting bored of your company, but I’ve got a pyre to prepare.”
“A what?!” exclaimed Twilight.
“My dear, your beloved pet did not pass the test of waterproofness, and please accept my deepest apologies for his loss. Now I’m curious to know if you will pass the test of fireproofness. To find that out, I intend to place you, within that cage naturally, over a well-tended fire, and behold what happens.” She winked, smiled to Twilight and walked away.
Twilight screamed madly. She jolted the rods, tried to cast a teleportation spell, whose energy was immediately deflected by the shield. Defeated, she lay down and waited.
Round about a quarter of an hour later, Rarity turned back. “Everything is ready,” she declared with a grin. “Be my guest for my afternoon impromptu barbecue! You’ll be the toast of the event, for sure!”
“You are aware,” responded Twilight, “that my brother will do anything possible to avenge my death.”
“Oh, Twilight, do you think I am a freshmare? Your brother may not be interested in mares – which, by the way, is a real waste of material – but I can guarantee you his deputy is. The kind of stallion who would gladly exchange minute services against… Against, well, some enjoyable time spent with a lady, every now and then; I must confess I’ve become somewhat fond of these rendez-vous lately, to my own dismay. Top that with a promise to get your brother’s position and you have the whole picture painted. Shall I detail more?”
“It might prove more difficult than you think,” grumbled Twilight. But she knew that was just a charade, and Rarity knew it too. She giggled. “Come on Twilight, time to roast…” She walked to the glass wall, slid one big panel open. Coming back to the cage, she grabbed a long gaff with which she hooked one of the rods, that she lugged outside. She turned right and proceeded along the wall; an unmistakable waft of smoke tingled Twilight’s nostrils. Eventually, they came into view of a large heap of flaming boughs. Rarity stopped.
“Any last word Twilight? I read in several of your books that this was a customary tradition back in the days in which Celestia used to burn opponents at the stake.”
“GO TO TARTARUS AND ROT THERE FOR ALL ETERNITY!” screamed Twilight as loud as she could.
“Thank you, Twilight,” answered Rarity calmly. “That was really interesting. Now, on with le chaud…”
And she began to guide the cage towards the fire.
