The bell to the door tinkled and a chill Canterlot mountain breeze forced its way back to my office through the open waiting room door. I dropped the newspaper on my desk.
“Be right there!” I called brightly and fed magic to the illumination spell that kept the wood panel office bright, despite the lack of actual windows in the low-rent district of the city. The magical windows warmed with sketchy images of vines and trees as a I fluffed the pillows on the patients’ couch, then trotted toward the waiting room.
The stranger—I wasn’t expecting anypony for therapy until afternoon—brought with him the scent of hay, likely his lunch. He wasn’t a tall stallion, but the white unicorn made up for it in muscle. His suit jacket half-covered a nondescript streaked blue mane. The tightly tailored rag was one of those fashionable Canterlot affairs that sported tails that covered his flank, incidentally hiding his cutie mark.
That most Canterlot citizens typically wore clothing, especially mares, was one reason I lived here. I harbored no doubt that Princess Twilight “friends with unique gifts” Sparkle had reported me to Princess Celestia. The brown dress I wore now, with a cardigan sweater, not only made me look professorial, it hid my cutie mark. A bit of magenta dye to cover the chartreuse locks in my mane and I could blend. In a mass of city dwellers, mostly unicorns, I went unnoticed; that allowed me to help ponies. Twilight was wrong about me not helping. I could, no, I did help. She was right about other things, though…
The stallion studied my trompe l’oeil vista of the Ponyville plain that put the viewer on a crenelated castle rampart. After a moment, magazines rustled as he moved them across the table, stopping when he exposed the cover of PONY. It displayed that pink princess, the one who lived up north. He touched it with a dark blue hoof and said, “I hear you practice special cutie mark magic.” He didn’t look at me.
A referral! When you practiced what ponies labeled folk-medicine, you got little coverage from the physician’s guild. I stepped closer. “Yes, I do! Can I ask who referred you?”
His head turned; blue eyes appraised me, my dress, my stance.
“To thank them.” I added.
He smiled and a edge of menace dissipated. “You have a reputation.”
“One for helping ponies–“
“–who have troubles with their cutie mark. You remove them,” he said flatly, facing me, eyes meeting mine. The fellow didn’t fit the description of ponies I usually worked with. He was self-assured, confident, not anxious. I had asked my patients not to discuss my, um, unorthodox methods.
I cleared my throat. “Temporarily. I’m a therapist. I’ve learned that when a pony puts aside his cutie mark, he puts aside the related responsibilities and expectations. Talking about the difference, many find a new perspective on their life. Can I help you?”
“Perhaps. Not the usual way, I suspect.” He took in the magically enhanced storefront, then glanced out into the street. Mud had dried from last night’s storm. White stucco had peeled away from the brick building across the street. This part of town looked as tired as the pony whose hooves clopped on the old cobbles, pulling a beaten-up wagon of hay. “You don’t earn much, do you?”
Stories of protection schemes and strong-ponies flickered through my brain. But I was proud. “I have a few dozen patients. Their gratitude sees me through.”
He faced me with that confident smile. “I have a friend who needs help. I could be ‘grateful’ were you to help me help him.”
“How grateful?”
“What’s your rate?”
“Depends on the patient’s means.”
A reddish aura surrounded his horn and bits flew from a jacket pocket, ten 10-bit coins. “How about this for a consultation?”
My eyes followed them to the pink princess on the PONY magazine where the gold clinked to rest. That would pay the month’s rent. My eyes flicked back to his blue ones. I pointed my nose at the office.
“A friend.”
“Rrright.”
“Seriously.” A red aura developed around my black cape hanging on the coat rack.
“Just my hat,” I said, and the maroon beret launched itself toward me as he went to the door. The bell jangled a second time as I closed it. Though the glass, I spirited the coins into the drop safe before locking up.
Considering the custom tailoring of his suit and tails, I wasn’t surprised that we entered the Canterlot palace district. Onion-domed ivory towers and ramparts cast shadows across elegant tea shops and clothing boutiques. The cobbles were perfect, doubtlessly swept daily by unicorn civil servants. My clothing stood out here, but because of my scholarly dress I didn’t look poor so much as on a lunch break from the university. My escort glanced at a clock the Jade’s Bookstore facade, then picked up his pace.
We slowed to saunter approaching a bank. The stone steps and marble columns with gold rings gave it away. An unseen clock tower chimed one o’clock, and as the sound echoed down the street, the glass doors opened and a tan stallion with a slicked black mane–wearing just a business shirt collar and red tie–stepped out. Two mare assistants accompanied him. His very red tie, adorned with a gold dollar sign, matched the mares’ dresses as if they were accessories to his wardrobe. His cutie mark, money bags, made me think he was the bank president.
The group walked away from us and my escort followed. “Your friend,” I stated. Not a question.
“My friend.”
“And you want me to help him?”
“Yes. He’s, let’s say, forgotten about the things that allowed him to reach his station in life.”
“What’s your name?"
“Black.”
“Black?”
He looked forward as we walked past a glittery jewelry store and a stock brokerage, with the smell of onion and escarole trailing us on the breeze. We turned on Neighlead Avenue. A block later, it transformed into a posh neighborhood of townhouse mansions.
Suddenly he answered. “Call me, Mr. Black.”
“White would have been slightly more believable.”
He paused, then continued strolling. “Then Mr. White it is. Thought my name matching my coat color might seem too coincidental.”
I stopped and sighed. Only I had made the mistakes in my life, and this looked like it might turn into another. “I think I am going home.”
“I really want you to help.” Without breaking stride, a pouch of coins whizzed out of his pocket. I reflexively caught them in my magic. I glanced in. The rose gold gleam of a dozen fifty-bit coins caught the light before I spirited the bundle into a sweater pocket.
Okay, maybe I could humor him a bit longer. I cantered to his side and kept pace, my eyes on his face as he looked steadfastly after the banker. There was nothing aristocratic about him, nothing that said money. No currying of his coat. No powder covering blemishes or faint black scars pocking his horn. Handsome in an Earth pony fashion, perhaps. “Equalization therapy only works if the patient wants it, and only so long as he continues to agree with the process. A very important pony taught me that, the hard way.”
Earth pony servants in white linen opened an ornate gold-accented wrought iron gate before a travertine three story townhouse built in classic Horseshoe Bay style. White’s friend bid the mares a good afternoon and disappeared inside as we walked by. White explained, “His residence while he’s in town.”
Ten minutes later, we returned to my storefront. I unlocked it. He followed me in, having not said a word since downtown. The money pouch levitated from my pocket and dumped itself on top of the magazine. I had counted wrong. There were eighteen coins. “A thousand,” I said.
“A retainer. Nine more after you help.”
Nine-thousand more. A rich stallion could afford the confidentiality. “I do make house calls, or I could visit his office.”
“Just to be clear,” Mr. White said slowly, “you will be helping me, not him.”
I went cold, all the way to my hooves. I felt my heart thud and my ears flatten. This was an OurTown fiasco all over again, where a drop of water had revealed my cutie mark prompting Party Favor to wipe it clean, exposing my necessary lie. Yeah. Here’s where it all fell apart. And this is where my degree from the Canterlot University at Trottingham paid off. And this is where my years as a bodyguard, doing quick and hard magic to survive on the street, paid off. I did the matrix math and visualizations for an emergency teleport spell while I levitated the coins back into the pouch, simultaneously drawing the ten earlier coins from the safe and shoving them into the pouch.
“No, no, and no.” I said, tossing the pouch at him.
The velvet coin purse halted midair in a red glow an inch from his nose. He raised an eyebrow, tucked the pouch back into his jacket. Without a word, he simply left. I let the teleport spell unravel, sending shocks of static electricity to the door lever and hinges as I rushed to the storefront window to watch him trot down the street and disappear as I craned to watch.
“Sweet Celestia,” I breathed, and then began to shudder. The shakes persisted, even through the first cup of strong Darjeeling I made. I didn’t break the china cup, but I dropped the lemon. Was I going to have to leave town? Or would my no mean no? I liked Canterlot. And I was helping ponies. I had to… and–I was!
Did I still deserve to have bad things happen to me?
My thoughts circled in the vein, but fortunately unwound by the time my four o’clock arrived. It was kind of wonderful to watch the worry drain out of mare when her cutie mark separated and she could stare at it in a mason jar. Golden Nail talked about her expectations during her last days as a blank flank, and how her friends reacted sourly to her talent. True to form, after about an hour of being equalized, she calmly asked for the mark back; few went more than a day without theirs. But she had a smile on her face. Her five bits reinforced mine.
As I levitated a basket, preparing to leave for the late market for some fresh greens for dinner, Mr. White pushed open the door. "My superior agreed to provide more incentive, Miss Glimmer." Not Dr. Glimmer like my patients called me. He wore very tasteful, no doubt designer, dark brown rouge-rubbed vegetable-leather messenger saddle bags, unadorned by the customary cutie mark. A red aura gathered them into the air.
They jingled heavily onto the waiting room table, displacing the PONY magazine to the cracked cement floor. I stared at the pink princess on the cover, now torn, like my finely crafted new life.
"Five now. Fifteen later. Filthy Rich—what an appropriate name—will return from the restaurant sharply at 10 o’clock. He lets his servants go home early on weekdays, so nopony will be home when he returns. There will be a jar in the shrubs.”
My hooves went cold. Leaden. A tremor began, but my shock held it in check. "I—I—"
"Replace it when you're done. Don’t. Be. Seen. The new princess talked about your recent adventure, but the royals and the top constabulary decided to keep it hushed. If you do this right—"
My eyes locked onto his blue ones.
"If. We'll break the bottle and nopony will see his disembodied cutie mark. Tomorrow will be another normal day. He'll return to Ponyville; your paths won't cross."
I started to shake my head when he added, "Your renumeration will be on the table when you return from helping." My whole body went ice cold.
The door janged. A cold gust that passed in and started me shivering. When I looked at the saddle bags, acid rose in my throat. I counted the gold 10-bits. Twice, but couldn’t bring myself to open the messenger flap on either saddle bag. It was an opportunity… Resettlement in a southern city with enough capital to—
"No. Not his time!" I flung down the yellow whicker shopping basket I'd held aloft through the visit. If what White said was true, Miss Purple Princess had made it that I had a second chance. If I learned anything from my cutie mark magic, power was small comfort, the power of being a town mayor or having wealth.
I liked my life, now.
I threw the saddle bags on so roughly that I’d find bruises tonight. I threw on my cloak. The beret followed to my head as I locked myself out with a snick from the key, and clattered down the street. No Mr. White to be seen.
I got turned around in the gathering dusk. Finally, I asked a lamplighter, a pink unicorn with a spark and flint cutie mark who lit each gas light while cantering down the road. Yes, the palace constabulary was likely the best; ponies there would be more polite even after they heard my story.
I had misgivings an hour later as I neared the end of the queue awaiting a detective. The white stone walls and the clatter of typewriters amongst worn pine desks did not hide that this was still a police station. If anypony knew of my notoriety, it would be here, hock and flank with the royals.
Then he walked in.
In the back. He wore the archaic brass armor of the royal guard, his blue mane pushed up through the helmet. A few streaks of white gleamed in his hair in the mix of magic and gas ceiling lighting.
I turned, jostled the ruddy mare behind me, apologized, and trotted out barely holding my self from a gallop. I couldn’t read rank, but Mr. White was definitely an officer of the royal guard.
I ought have let Princess Sparkle capture me and taken my punishment immediately; it might have ended by now. Now something was totally upside down and I was in the middle of it. What a burnt hay burger it was: crime and corruption.
I found myself on a street on the opposite side of the palace. I hailed a taxi. The only win left me was to flee to a town nopony heard of. I overpaid bits I could ill afford and hurried inside. All the magazines scattered this time as I spun the saddlebags to the table. I could barely see the pink princess in the gloom and belatedly magicked on the light in my office, which served as my bedroom at night. Out the back door, I removed the tarp from my Pony-Petite wagon in the alley and shoved my few things into the compact slat bed. I left the full saddlebags on the table. Stealing from thieves was likely a bad idea, and I was already too deep in muddy waters; and since Mr. White had implied a locked door was no issue, I was sure he'd retrieve it.
I hitched up. After settling my cloak over the simple steel barrel harness, I pulled out of the alleyway into the chill evening. I had liked Canterlot. By lamplight, even the poorer parts of town remained friendly and well-tended, if somewhat downtrodden. Ponies occasionally nodded, but mostly minded their own business trotting home from work or the night market, or beginning a night on the town. Workpony-denim mixed with suits and couture dresses. Canterlot was a wealthy town, not a bustling city. Nopony rushed, and neither did I, though at this time of night, I was the only one pulling.
Ponyville Way was the sole boulevard out of the city, becoming a brick road that wound down the mountain in switchbacks for over two leagues. As a cross-town, it also intersected Neighlead Avenue. I stopped at the intersection and stared downtown, at the palace and stark white ramparts softly lit at the end of the arrow-straight street. I turned left.
Mr. Rich's townhouse was that way.
Five minutes later, I unhitched in front of the iron gates. All three levels of windows were lit and I could smell baking bread from a neighboring house. The sound my hoof made the gate rang louder than I hoped.
A midnight black stallion came out, wearing white linen and knit white cap. “My lady?" he said. I recognized a Trottingham accent.
"Dr. Starlight Glimmer to see Mr. Rich." Being somepony might improve my chances. The title was real, but not medically related. Mayor would have required former. Lady. That brought up a past I didn't want to think about. I fluttered my eye-lashes; that was from worry. What was I doing?
Magenta eyes glanced to my worn wagon, then to my night garb. His ears lowered, marginally. His hooves clattered on the flagstones. Finally, "Is he expecting you?"
"It's a brief courtesy call. To inform him of an important matter."
"Of?"
Deep breath. Out. "His safety."
A pause. The Earth pony butler grabbed the key hanging from his neck with his mouth and opened the gate. I followed him wordlessly and let the gate clank closed behind me. I glanced at my wagon. In this neighborhood… probably safe unattended.
"Wait," the butler said in the three story vestibule. A hexagonal lantern sconce with wavy crystal glass threw patterned light over the lace-plaster walls. The oil painting filling half the opposite wall was a portrait of Filthy Rich, a peach-colored mare, and a pink filly. The servant disappeared through a door to the left.
A bell tinkled thrice down the hallway ahead. A minute later, the butler reappeared. A few linen-clad servants, one lime-green and another piebald gray, walked down the hall.
"Really, Wise Step. She’s harmless.” I turned to see Filthy Rich stepping out behind his butler from a richly paneled study, lit by gas lamps, and filled with red velvet furniture. Rich cleared his throat, then smiled at me.
"They should stay," I said as the servants made to retreat. I shook my mane as a shiver of worry ran up my spine at what I was about to say, but I knew I had to. "You don't know me—"
"But I saw you this afternoon, when you followed me past the bank and past my home."
My face heated and my ears lay momentarily askance. "This is true. I—I need to warn you. A—a shady stallion tried to make me, no, buy my services to… Well, that doesn't matter, but I think you need to hire some guards." I looked down. "And—and, that's all…" I turned.
"Who was he?"
"Mr. White, Black— It wasn't a real name, but I saw him at the Constabulary when I went to report it. A royal guard. I don't feel safe. I need to leave."
"Please wait, Dr. Glimmer. Can you sketch him?"
Rich had indigo eyes set deeply in a tan face. His slicked dark hair could have made him look pompous, but I saw worry mirroring mine in the angle of his ears. When he brought a gilt silver pen on a legal pad in his mouth from his study, I complied.
I trotted a bit too rapidly down the block a few minutes afterwords, my heart beating rapidly. Now I had enemies; I did not count on Filthy Rich being a friend. I missed Ponyville Way by blocks when I came to a stop. Tossing my head in disgust, I took a less well-lit diagonal side street since nopony was following me. The sooner I left town, the better.
A block down, I passed a night-cloaked unicorn on a green wrought iron bench under a dead streetlamp. The bench was small because the hooves of the shadowed mare hung over the right edge, her head wearily resting on her legs. I did not change my pace as I passed her by.
Moments later, a sweet voice called from behind. "But did you learn a lesson?"
My throat clenched. I heard no clatter of hooves so I didn't stop my trot, nor deigned to notice.
"Did you?" the voice asked, still sounding kindly. But there was a command there. And her voice really carried.
I answered the dark, "Forcing ponies to do what they don't want to do is always a bad idea." Gah, wasn't that the truth? I flicked my mane, but this wasn't a shudder. It was anger. I had resources. Sums and derivative solutions whirled through my field of vision as I prepared a teleport that would get me about a block down the street. Perhaps it was nerves, but the matrix quantities emptied as I filled them. Even chased through the mountains by my former townsfolk, or enduring Princess Twilight's monologuing, I still quickly prepared spells. You didn't survive as a bodyguard if you weren't quick and accurate.
Don't. Get. Rattled.
The pony replied, no louder nor fainter than before. "I do wish I could apply that advice. It's a good lesson learned. What else did you learn?"
I switched my gait from a trot to a canter. Hoof beats echoed from buildings of brick and shadowy stone. I needed a populated street. Now.
"Doing the right thing is hard," I said, huffing. Perspiration began lathering beneath my cheap harness. The unruly twirling numbers wouldn't coalesce; it was almost as if I were bucking a counter-spell, but that never happened to a unicorn at my level. My aura cast the shadow of my muzzle on the street as my forehead began to overheat. I wasn't fooling anypony.
"It is terribly hard... But you did it?"
"I did. I did it! Can't you understand and please leave me alone?"
"Twilight thought you had potential. I'm sorry, but I had to test you."
The numbers in my head tumbled, shot to my left, then spiraled out of existence. Angry, ears flat forward, I shoved hard right on the harness and turned around, skidding the wheels loudly across the weathered cobbles. One buck would unlatch the harness. Other spells required less prep. I could, no, I would protect myself—
Well, well. I coughed. The bench hadn't been small after all. And I had fought a counter-spell.
A white alicorn hovered a few paces in front of me. No gold shoes. No purple breastplate. No sparkly crown. Just a dark cloak, which only hissed faintly as she beat her angelic wings. But Celestia was no angel; historical gaps and consistent scary legends and a long life, compared to her enemies and allies alike, proved that. My first impulse was bow. Anger won out. I bucked. The loud bang released the harness and I heard the wagon roll back. "Yes. Why?" I yelled. I locked eyes with her, my jaw clenching.
"When we discovered you had taken residence on South Dawn Carriageway, my captain of the guard grew concerned. I do take advice, sometimes," she said, settling to the roadway. A faint golden glow answered the question as to why the area appeared abandoned: a crowd clearing spell. "Twilight's advice was that you had good intentions. She thinks that the first cutie marks you stole were those of her friends, and then only under duress."
"I was deluded." I said it like a curse. The truth now. "I convinced myself that equalization brought happiness. And then I saw opportunity and power and a way to spread my truth. But it unraveled. Choice and choice alone allows equalization to help a pony." Even with cutie marks flying home to their owners from my smashed vault, like bright particolored comets, I had failed to see that. Not until I was alone, in the snowy mountains, shivering, having helped no one, the least of all myself, and with nopony to help me. "Choice."
"Lesson learned." The alicorn nodded. “It was I who sent you Emerald Bright, and Pen and Quill. They both volunteered."
A police officer too shy to effectively use force, and an argumentative archivist from Canterlot University. So, it was...
"A test?" My anger faded, then rekindled as I realized the implication. White was a royal guard. Rich was his friend. And Celestia thought I could hurt somepony but sent ponies to me anyway, ponies I might potentially hurt. "Not worth it. How could you have thought it worth it?"
"Everypony is worth something, my little pony. Some more than others, arguably, but we—you have worth, and needed redemption. And you've proven Twilight right, once again."
I held my breath as my emotions drained out of me like a burst dam. I felt wobbly, but wasn't going to show it in front of the princess. Her eyes gleamed as the damper on the street faded and lamps began to glow brightly. "Pen and Quill talked to the director of the medical guild about how very helpful his experience with you was. The psychiatry bureau would like to study your techniques. And, you know, really, you need to get certified if you want to start a real counseling practice."
I began blinking rapidly. No. Visible. Emotion. But I was losing control, and that was alright.
"I would like that."
Author's Note
4000 words in less than 12 hours, but I had a deadline and a story idea and an understanding of my character that let her tell her story with me simply typing the keys. The good stuff, for me, anyway. I apologize for the story's first draft rough edges and a minor plot hole.
Edit: Some revisions in typography and sentence structure, not to the story.
Edit: Some revisionist changes to fit better into the Enforcer cycle, but still be an alternative end point before consideration of S5E25-26.
