In the Eyes of the Gods

Some of the concepts I divulge in this chapter have had unfortunate consequences and I must warn you that I do not accept liability for any permanent disability or inconveniences caused by the following.

Many forget that many years ago I was considered to be scholar of some repute. Clearly, they also forget that it was I who wielded the element of magic when Luna and I held the Elements of Harmony, and it is also me who has run a school for gifted unicorns for nearly two hundred years.
It really shouldn’t come a surprise then that I still valuable insight to offer to the world of science and magic, even if only on occasion. Unfortunately, my royal duties often prevent me from deep investigations meaning that many ideas that I have to live their sad lives buried in the back of my mind, or else be outsourced to other researches. Finding low-hanging fruit the scientific world was something I thought impossible. It is a belief I have since remedied.

It was several hundred years ago that this though first came to me – sitting at an incredibly tedious peace meeting with the Griffon Empire - and ever since then I’ve brought it up to confound unpleasant guests or to “test” the intellectually ingenuity of some of my advisors.
Such was the case with Kibitz’s, who at the time was soon to begin as my personal advisor, his predecessor, Gilded Hooves, having earned himself a rapid retirement to an oft pirate-plagued but otherwise utopian tropical atoll. He had first joined palace staff as a kitchen-hoof and had quickly moved up through first junior than managerial ranks owing in no small part to his diligence and “immeasurable professional enthusiasm” – a virtue he ascribed to be his defining feature.

He had passed his interviews with ease and I was immensely looking forward to his professionalism and wry humour that was so unlike his predecessor’s …. Less desirable traits. Most of all, I wanted to see his reaction to my little theory.

With careful deliberation in my admittedly few spare moments, I had picked the perfect place and time for our destined conversation. At eleven-past ten in the morning, I had invited him to room 12-25 for a game of chess. It was a secluded room high in the palace’s array of spires, chosen as much as a test of his navigational prowess as it was for its two-story window that looks out onto a hell-torn landscape under a perpetually thunderous sky. I suspected that whoever had originally owned the room had a flare for drama, but if I had ever known the pony, I had long since forgotten them. Clearly they clearly didn’t leave as big an impression on ponies as they thought. As it was now, the dais in front of the window which probably once held a grand chair and opulent desk was now the more home to a more modest duo of floor cushions and a large floating chess set.

I occupied one of these cushions bemoaning the lack of clocks anywhere in the room. I had no way to tell whether Kibitz was late or not, and the timeless storm out the window wasn’t helping. Watches may look ridiculous, but there certainly were times when they were practical. I closed my eyes and concentrated. My magical and spiritual link to the sun was strong enough that I could feel its movements and deduce the time from that, but after what felt like several minutes of pouring both my concentration and magic, I could only come to the conclusion that it was around ten-thirty. Which was, understandably, utterly useless.

I was considering the existential questions posed by my life having devolved into a centuries-long exercise in schedules and meetings when a flustered Kibitz cantered in. He drew out a pocket handkerchief and wiped his brow with it before noticing the twisted landscape in the window.
“My, my, Princess. This is quite the room you’ve found here.”

“I trust it was easier to find than it is impressive once found?”

He blinked heavily “Um…. Yes. Quite.”

He sat down opposite me, and the chess board flared into life. The ancient enchantments worked, the pieces flowing up out of the marble surface and settling into the recognisable forms of the game.

I considered how best to approach this. Not the game of course. I had played so much chess over my lifetime that I was the equal of any grandmaster. Practice can, it seems, overcome talent. No, I was considering how best to approach my little test. It was something I performed on Earth Ponies or Pegasi, but for a unicorn with telekinesis, the task was a more difficult one.

First, I had to get him to use his hoof instead of his magic to play the game. I found the best way to do this was to lead by example. Making a very deliberate attempt to appear as casual as possible (expertise is the art of making the difficult appear effortless, after all), I made my move - Knight to C3.

Kibitz followed, pawn to D5, using his magic. He seemed rather distracted by the window. In hindsight, I probably should have picked a less obtrusive view.

I picked up a pawn and moved it to E4, again with my hoof.

He took it with his pawn, this time with his hoof. He was gazing out the window. Actually, in hind-hindsight his distractedness probably made him even more susceptible to suggestion.

I moved my white captain to B5, using my magic.

“Check, Kibitz”. Again, as casual as possible.

“Hm… what?” He furrowed his brow, glaring intently at the offending pieces. “Indeed I am. It would seem as though I wasn’t paying particular attention. So terribly sorry, I do swear I’m better at chess than this.”

“It’s quite alright, Kibitz. I didn’t hire you for your aptitude at chess.” I chuckled to myself.

He moved a pawn forward to C6, blocking my captain. To my luck, he used his hoof.

“How did you do that?” I pretended to be utterly confounded.

“It was a completely legal move, wasn’t it?”

“No. I mean,” I pointed to his foreleg, “how did you use that?”

“What, my hoof?” he looked over it as if it were some strange growth.

“Yes. How did you do that?”

“Like… this?” He picked up a rook, moved it forward, moved it back again, then looked up at me expectantly.

“Like that.” I nodded sternly.

“I don’t see how that’s in any way peculiar, your highness.”

“Don’t you see what you’ve just done?” I edged towards an authoritarian tone, to scare him a bit. Not too much though, the poor stallion was oh-so confused and making him loose his shoes in fear wouldn’t aid anypony.

“I… I can use my magic if you prefer, Princess.”

I toned myself back a bit, Kibitz was turning pale. “You do realise that you’ve just picked up a small, complex object with a completely flat surface, don’t you?”

“No,” he sounded genuinely disbelieving. He held a hoof in front of his face, and ran his other along its surface. “You’re right. How could I never notice that? I feel so-“

“Stupid? Blind? Un-observant?”

He sighed, and slumped back in his chair. “Yes, I suppose.” He looked back up at me “Well, then, how do hooves work? Because there’s no way that this should be physically possible.”

“Yes. It is quite the interesting puzzle. Trying moving the chess piece again, and see if you can find any helpful hints.

Kibitz tried to pick up the rook again, but his hoof was as useless as a plank of wood.

“I…. I can’t”. Kibitz made one last attempt, but only succeeded in knocking the piece over.

“Hm. Interesting.” I set the piece straight with my hoof, then rose from the table. I turned and walked away. I paused at the door, “let me know if you find anything, interesting, Mr. Kibitz. Oh, and welcome to your new job. I’m so glad I’ll have a stallion as capable as you as my assistant.”

I walked out of the room, gently closing the ancient door behind me, leaving Kibitz still sitting there in front of the apocalyptic window, staring at his hooves with more interest than he ever thought possible.

It took me fifty seven years before I could use my hooves again. I wished Kibitz the best of luck, but still couldn’t help but hum to myself as I walked down the corridor.