The Table at the End

Prologue

A Means to an End

He sat alone at his table, sipping his tea and wondering about the place he had ended up. He had no name, at least none he cared to share with anyone else, so in the human worlds, he was called the Man. Not that most of them asked his name, anyway; he was a tool to them, a means to an end. And he liked it that way.

His teapot had emptied. He looked about for someone to refill it. The restaurant was open-air, like all pony cafés. He liked it, he supposed, but he preferred a more private-feeling locale. What he wouldn’t do for a 50’s-style diner right now! Nevertheless, the waiters were friendly, the food reasonably tasty, and he could keep a tab without too much concern.

The only thing he didn’t like was how gosh-darn friendly everyone was. During a 12-hour day (hoof-guided by the Princess here), he seemed to see everyone in Ponyville at least three times. They all waved hello or asked him how he was. For a Man who wanted nothing but to work his deals in peace, it was rather obnoxious.

Still, this world wasn’t all bad, he mused. He was a unicorn, which meant he had access to magic – telekinesis, teleportation, you name it. It would have been difficult to use his Book, he thought, with the fingerless hooves he now possessed. The Book had come across unscathed; that was an immeasurable relief. He still had a job to do, and without the Book, it would have been impossible.

A young mare walked by his table. He had always found the color scheme of the citizens odd. Green, yellow, and blue had no place on an equine, he reasoned. Yet here she was, a beautiful purple pony with a purple mane. Her cutie mark (he was pretty sure that was what they were called) was a cluster of stars, one shining out above the rest. It suggested power, authority, and skill, yet also a tendency to stay by herself. His own cutie mark was difficult to decipher. It seemed to shift when no one was looking at it. At times, the abstract shape looked like the Book; at other times, a safe; sometimes, arrows arranged in a circle; and sometimes, a weight. Again, most rarely asked about it.

The mare had finally stopped. She looked at him, puzzled for a moment, before turning and asking him the fateful question. “Can… can you help me?”

He paused dramatically. This was always his favorite line. He looked her in the eyes and stated, “Yes I can.”