Grumpy Goat at Play

by De Writer

Rating: teen
Tags: Princess Celestia, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Princess Luna, Original Character, Comedy
Length: 11788

The Celestian Church (detested by Celestia herself) has been a pain in the Royal hoof for too long. The Princesses take out a contract with Grumpy to solve the problem without creating martyrs . . .

The Celestian Church (detested in writing by Celestia herself) has been a pain in the Royal hoof long enough. The Princesses take out a contract to kill the church without serious harm to any pony.
Laughter is the weapon chosen . . .

Published 2015-09-07 05:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-09-07 05:50:02 UTC

Grumpy Goat at Play

Grumpy Goat at Play
A Grumpy Goat *tail*
by
De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)
11912 words
© 2015 by Glen Ten-Eyck
Ponyville, Princess Luna and Princess Celestia are copyright by Hasboro, Inc.

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The day was fine. Not a cloud in the sky. Not a single pony trying to mess me over some way. I was wearing my best glamor spell of my handsome goat self, before the “little accident” that killed me. (for details, read A BAD DAY FOR GRUMPY GOAT)

Enhancing my good mood, my saddle bag held six new contracts to take to the Hall of Records in the Ponyville Town Hall. They were for the general ruin of particular ponies as requested and PAID FOR in advance by other ponies seeking revenges, unfair advantages, or romances. Nopony was looking to have another die, today. I liked that too. Death tends to end mortal suffering and, truth be told, I am not over fond of ponies with a few exceptions. Letting them suffer a bit more pleases me, as a general rule.

It remains hard to forget the anti-goat mob of the Unicorn Supremacist, Celestian Church followers who burned my house, destroyed my Non Equine University work and studies, near burned me to death, and when, severely burned, I got away, clutching the only book that I managed to rescue, tried to stone me to death.

My life was saved by a pair of the finest Werewolf Ponies in all of Equestria. They ran off the mob and took me in. Caramel Treat and Fangrin run a fine restaurant and their kind waitress, the palomino, Peanut Brittle, nursed me back to health.

When I have contracts to register, I always stop in to eat and visit with my friends and saviors. I was trotting across the cobbles of the town hall square when a burly orange unicorn, with a smirking partner watching, tried to block my way.

That is always unwise. Some of them have learned it without too much difficulty or embarrassment. Not these two. Celestian Church Medallions on both of them. He bumped into me and demanded, “Watch it, Goat! You owes me an apology and you gotta show me everything in your saddlebags! I gets whatever I wants, got it?”

His magic was gathering about his horn. My cue, as they say. I cheerfully said, “Blooper!” That is the one word trigger on one of my favorite defensive spells, called Friday the 13th!

Just as he was about to let fly with whatever nastiness his magic had in store, his tail tried to swat a bee. It is indelicate to say where he got stung but it was just under the tail! His magic let fly in startlement. It yanked the feet out from under his buddy.

Seeing real possibilities here, I aimed another Friday the 13th at his fallen comrade. “Blooper!” His partner tried to get to his hooves. His rear got up fine. His forelegs only came up a bit. They slipped on a slick cobble and he went back down. You could hear his teeth snap together as his jaw hit the stones of the pavement.

The day was getting even better. Unicorns, even those that are not followers of the Celestian Church, tend to forget that there is any sort of “real magic” except for their own. These two were now busy learning that lesson.

I trotted past the developing mess. I had business to attend to. My little hooves made a cheerful patter on the nice floors of the town hall. The Hall of records is a pleasant place and the mare running it is actually good to me.

She greeted me with a cheerful, “Who are you hexing today, Grumpy?”

I pulled out my contracts and laid them on the counter. “See for yourself, Mol, my lovely.”

She grinned back as she sorted the contracts and assessed the registry fee. Mol is getting on in years and my playing that she is young and beautiful is our game.

She handed me the receipt for my fifty bits fee and put the contracts neatly into my bulging files. All of my contracts are carefully drawn to be absolutely legal and they are all publicly registered. Registered dead legal ruin, managed through my Non Equine magical practice.

Mol pointed out the window to the square. With a grin, she asked, “Friday the 13th or Tanglefoot?”

She frowned prettily in spite of her age and asked, “How can you do those? I understood that you have to be paid to do your Non Equine magics?”

Joining her at the window, I grinned happily at the antics of the two Celestian Church idiots and replied, “I do have to be paid. It is in my files, way back near the beginning. Caramel Treat and Fangrin paid me five golden bits to be able to defend myself by non lethal spells. No specified endpoint to the contract.

“They also pay me a monthly retainer to protect their establishment, persons and customers when I am there or in their company, like that time at the Cumpny funeral.” (for details, read, Ivy Covered Halls)

Mol giggled at that. She reads the Ponyville Prancer and it covered the debacle of the Celestian Church's attempt to disrupt the funeral as both a blackmail ploy to enrich their coffers and gain credence through doing the funeral of a respected lawyer.

My grin got wider and so did Mol's. Out on the square, things had gotten even better (or worse, point of view issue) with the arrival of both a watching crowd and a roving reporter for the Prancer. Romaine had her camera along and was getting some great shots.

The police arrived to break things up. One of the two was trying to use his magic to assist getting to his feet. A bratty colt in the crowd had a sling shot. Popped in the rear by a pebble, the unicorn's magic let fly in startlement. It went near straight up.

Might have been harmless except for that flock of grossbeaks flying overhead! Squawks, a few feathers and mass bird bombing came back down! Most landed on the two jerks. Some got the cop. He was royally irritated by it, too.

I muttered, “Grace!” releasing the Friday the 13th tracelessly. That left our unpleasant duo with no excuses at all. They were hauled off under arrest for disturbing the peace.

Leaving the Hall of Records, I met Romaine, the reporter. “Hi, Grumpy! What did they do to you? As soon as I saw them, I recognized your hoof in the mess. Friday the 13th?”

Seeing no point in dodging the question of a friendly reporter, I replied, “It was. Big ugly orange one bumped me and demanded an apology. Might have got it, just to keep the peace, too. He demanded the right to go through my saddlebag and take whatever he wanted. That was the end of that. Fridayed him on the spot.

“He tried to use magic on me. Bad aim assisted by a bee, knocked his partner down instead. His buddy tried something too. I nailed him as well. Pure self defense.

“I registered my contracts and was just heading over to Caramel Treat's Sweets for dinner. Would you care to join this old goat? Meal on me?”

She smiled, and it was a genuine one. Romaine does not buy into the anti-goat prejudice of many ponies. “I would be delighted! I can call in my story and get the pictures to the Prancer from their place, too.”

It was a truly pleasant stroll up the tree lined cobble street to Caramel Treat's Sweets. As soon as Peanut Brittle, the sweet palomino waitress and counterpony saw us coming, she popped out and asked, “The usual for both of you, Grumpy?”

I gave her a big smile and replied, “Unless Romaine wants something else today, yes, please.”

Romaine cheerfully said, “My usual will be fine, Peanut. May I use the shop's Magic Net? I have a story to call in and pictures to transmit. If it helps at all, it is about a couple of Celestian Church nutcases getting arrested for disorderly conduct in the town hall square.”

So fast that it would have been hard to believe, if you did not know how sensitive a werewolf like Caramel's ears are, Caramel brought an extension mirror right to our table! Caramel Treat and her mate Fangrin do not like the Celestian Church any more than Celestia herself does. And Celestia detests them.

Romaine busied herself at once, transmitting her story. By the time that she was done, Peanut was bringing out our orders. We were well into the munchies. I was serenely sucking down my Trottingham Clotted Cream Milkshake and picking happily at the wonderful oversized onion rings that are a specialty of Caramel's. My Clover and Alfalfa bloom burger was history. Romaine was just tidying up her empty plates for easy busing by our favorite palomino. A most satisfactory meal indeed, made better by good company.

My first tip that something might not be quite right was Caramel and Fangrin sliding out of the kitchen doors. In their wolf forms. The unicorn Hortimer, High Priest of the Celestian Church, in his full regalia and tall funny hat was striding up the way. Along side him was Mortimer, a lawyer pony with a bulging briefcase.

As they came near, Mort ordered, “Hortimer, Sir, you must stop here. The protective order of Judge Coldheart requires that you come no closer to this establishment or the present occupants.”

He turned to us and approached. “As required by the protective order, I am here to speak for Hortimer, High Priest of Celestia.”

Romaine smiled as she held out the latest Prancer, folded open to Celestia's latest denunciation of the Church of Celestia. She suggested, “Celestia denies any connection to Hortimer and his gang. Perhaps you should rephrase that.”

Mortimer, being that rare thing, an honest lawyer, actually took the paper and read the whole piece carefully. He pointed out, “While this clearly denies any connection between Her Highness Celestia and the Church bearing her name, it does not specifically forbid them from using it, either. Thus, they are still within the bounds of the law.”

He was quite aware that Hortimer was trying to tippy toe closer to overhear what was being said and done. The shift in the stance of both of the monster wolves bracketing him told him that.

He turned about and demanded, “Hortimer, Sir! You must return to the formal line of demarcation required in the Order of Protection! If you do not, these ponies have the right and legal duty to detain you for formal arrest! As your lawyer, I am the one required to speak in your behalf.”

Hortimer petulantly retorted, “They have no right to anything! They are LESSER CREATURES, as told in the HOLY TRUTH!”

I turned to Mort and said, “This lesser creature is going to use Non Equine magic to secure him if he takes one more step in our direction. If he is of a superior sort and my magics are all lies and deception, as he so often claims, he can easily negate my spells and freely approach.

“Please so inform your client.”

Mort actually chuckled. He has to represent ponies but that does not mean that he has to like them. “Hortimer! I am to inform you that you will be detained by Non Equine magic if you come any closer! Return to the demarcation line so that I may discuss your concerns with Grumpeter Goat.”

Instead of returning, he defiantly stomped closer. Friday the 13th was tempting. So was Tanglefoot. They were also getting to be well known. I muttered, “Bee-hind!”

It took the swarm a few minutes to arrive. Hortimer was well inside Caramel's outdoor dining plaza when they zoomed in. Bees and hornets are bad enough but when they get under voluminous vestments?

Hortimer took off like a catapult shot! Right into the solid door frame of Caramel's shop. Down and out like a snuffed candle! Since he was out cold, I muttered, “Hive and home.” The hornets and bees left, pausing to gather some pollen from the blossoms in Caramel's hedges.

The police ponies had no trouble securing the unconscious Hortimer for transport.

As he was removed by cart to the jail, Mortimer said smoothly, “My client is demanding that you stop demeaning his parishioners by the use Non Equine magic. What do you say to his demand that I may report to him?”

I shrugged. “If they stop assaulting me and trying to steal from me, I will let them alone. I cannot do anything to them outside of a registered contract that is of long standing. It allows non lethal self defense. Please note that by the terms of my contract, I literally cannot do anything to them if they are not a threat to me, my goods or those citizens of Equestria who are with me.”

Mort opened his briefcase and made a couple of notes. Looking up, he said, “That is substantially what I told him the outcome would be. I am sorry to have to bother you like this, but the laws and canon of ethics require it.”

I asked him, “Are you finished with Hortimer's business?”

“I am now. Why?”

“If you are not too proud to share a table, order what you want. My treat. It will help you to clear your palate of this distasteful business.”

Peanut promptly hoofed over a menu for him.

I was less surprised that Mort promptly began to look over the menu with interest than I would have been before I discovered that he was an honest lawyer. THAT was a real jolt. (for details, read IMMORTALITY?)

He selected with reasonable care. Nodding his head respectfully to Peanut Brittle, he said, “I will have the Surf and Turf. The Seaweed puffs sound like a delightful half of the entrée. The Clover Steak should be rare, please.”

Peanut, pleased by his demeanor, asked, “And to drink?”

He replied, “I saw a honey and apple cocktail there. It sounds like the perfect thing.”

With a quick verification of the order, Peanut trotted back to the kitchen. Mort not only ate with us, he turned to me and said, “Thank you, Grumpy. I have not eaten here before. I owe you one. I think that I will be a regular here from now on.”

To Peanut, he said, “An excellent meal. I hope to return again soon.” He gave her an entire gold bit for a tip before he left. My already good opinion of Mort went up about three notches.

I took my leave and began the trek through the woods and up the mountain side to home. Almost to the ledge, in lowering dusk, I heard voices near my cave front. One was Clarence, the Litch King. The other was sweetly unfamiliar but somehow I recognized the sound without being able to put hoof on it.

That Clarence was speaking to the female voice, gave me the security to approach. As I cleared the ledge, Princess Luna turned to greet me.

I could tell by the way that she looked at me that she could see the reality of what I am. Apparently that did not bother her at all.

Her voice only shook a little as she said, “You were well named, Grumpeter. You remind me very much of your namesake.”

Her mood changed quickly. Chuckling, she told me, “Celestia is busy playing decoy for some Court busybodies while I make a bit of a contract with you! We have a few thorns in the hoof that we would like dealt with.”

Clarence offered, “Would you like to enter the 'Cave of Ultimate Evil' inhabited by myself and Grumpy, here? It would not be discrete to discuss your needs out here.”

Luna inclined her head graciously and replied, “I would be honored, Clarence.”

As I held the door for her, I couldn't help commenting, “The original Grumpeter Goat and I have a lot in common, being dead and all that.”

I was surprised at her shoulders shuddering to suppressed sobs. I mean, Grumpeter Goat was murdered at the end of the last Nightmare War, over two thousand years ago. Losing a goat among her followers still hit her that hard?

“I apologize, Princess. I had no idea that something from so long ago could affect you in that way.”

She turned eyes haunted by horror to me and replied, “Mortals tend to forget that I and my sister have PERFECT memories. For me, finding Grumpeter's beheaded corpse is still fresh and new. My poor, dear friend died trying to bring peace after ten years of war. He is still deeply missed. His death brought about the last battle and did bring peace. He just was not there to see it happen.

“You are forgiven, Grumpy.”

We shut and barred the door.

In the pale light of the everburning candle on my skull we found our seats. I offered my easy chair to Princess Luna but she refused it politely, “This is your home, Grumpy. Please be comfortable.”

I sat and reached over to my skull, sitting on its stand by the chair, and put it on.

Luna chuckled. “Lovely glamors on your skull, Grumpy. Clarence told me about them, but seeing them is a delight.”

I gave Clarence a sideways look. “You two know each other? How did that happen? I mean, she is immortal and all. I would think that would tend to keep her from meeting the Lord of the Dead.”

Clarence said softly, “You misjudge Princess Luna greatly, Grumpy. She comes to my realm frequently to visit her friends that have passed on to me. She is the Ruler of Dreams but far more than that.”

Luna nodded, her long horn making a graceful arc as she agreed. Her mood changed again. Briskly, she said, “My Sister Ruler and I would like to make a contract with you, Grumpy. If we were to move directly against the Celestian Church, we would create martyrs and force them underground. Getting truly rid of them would be near impossible.

“What we propose is to let you take care of them. Do not kill any of them. Instead, play with them. Your way. Make them ridiculous in the eyes of their followers and others who find out about them. Laughter should destroy them far better than any amount of force.

“The contract should allow you to go against them at any time, place or way, of your choosing. If that is agreeable, I have gold along to pay you.”

I looked up and told her, “Princess, I have to be paid. That is a part of the non-equine magic that I practice. How much is up to me. One whole bit of silver should be enough. Do you think that you can swing such a sum?”

She giggled as she fished in a saddlebag and produced the coin. “You must really dislike them, Grumpy!”

Clarence gestured at my iron plate sealed cave entrance and answered for me. “He does. It only took ONE Celestian anti-goat mob burning his home, destroying all of his Non Equine University work, just short of his degree, and stoning his badly scorched body almost to death to teach him that Hate can be a TWO way street.”

I quietly pulled over a sheet of my prepared contract second page, where my clients and I specify the desired results in carefully worded form. It has to be done just so, in order to stay within the law.

Luna looked over my work and we changed a few points to be sure that the target was not so well specified as to be identifiable in the law.

At last, she nodded happily. “There, it is open enough that you could even go for Reverend Smallflower's Assembly.” She gave me a steely eye as she added, “But don't you dare!”

I snickered as I replied, “No chance. He may figure in some of my games, to his profit, but I would never touch him. He is a genuinely good pony. Not only does my friend Coalsmoke go to his Assembly, I like him. Goats are welcome in his Assembly. I even go sometimes.”

I paused to add a few more words and changed the signature and seal block. It now read, “The above contract is subject to certain oral limitations by Royal decree. These limitations have been witnessed by the bearers of the attached seals.”

I held out the copies for original seals and her signature in Luna's case. Clarence, as Lord of the Realms of the Dead, signs nothing but his seal cannot be faked or duplicated. Neither can original Royal seals.

Clarence laid a hoof in the proper spot on each of the copies and his seal burned into the parchment. Luna signed for herself and made an authorized copy of Celestia's signature before applying all three of the Royal Seals. One being the Seal of the Titular Queen of Equestria, Skyglow, Titan of Life Creation and direct creator of the Princesses.

I made a fake show of biting the silver bit to “test its purity.” We all got a giggle from the silly play. I set the coin in a special coffer in my strong box. There were only a few coins in it. Keepsakes of special work done for special friends.

Luna, with great satisfaction, took her three copies. One was her personal one. One was for her sister Celestia. The last one was for the Royal Archive.

As soon as her contracts were settled in her saddlebag, she sat herself comfortably on one of my big cushions and pulled another close by her side. Brightly, she said, “Coalsmoke will be here shortly. I took the liberty of inviting her to share in your reading of DARING DO AND MINES OF KING SOLOPONY.”

She grinned and added, “Not to mention, I have heard that you make the best Clover Bloom scramble in Equestria. Clarence told me all about it.”

I got the hint and got busy in the kitchen. Luna was watching in fascination as I worked. She said, “I love to cook! I run a food booth at fairs, Midnight's Munchies, when I can get free to join our adopted Royal Family of Rom.”

As I worked, I snickered, “So I have heard! A number of the nobility have been here to see if I can stop you from, in their words, disgracing Equestria by associating with those disreputable Rom.”

Luna gave me a sideways look, with slitted eyes.

“I refused them all. I am Evil. I am also ethical and honest. I detest most ponies, especially ones that try to undermine the happiness of others. That detestation does not usually stop me from taking their gold. I am not over fond of most ponies. Those that I DO like, I will NOT work against, unless I can weasel it to their benefit.

“I will not undertake ANY contract against you or your sister. You proclaimed the Edict of Equality. It may not be well enforced, but you did try and you take the violations that reach you seriously. That makes you one of the few totally safe from me.”

I was just finishing the scramble when there was a knock at my door. Clarence opened it without hesitation. The beautiful pure black pony Coalsmoke came in, her orange hourglass cutie mark stood out clearly, just like the one on a black widow spider.

She lifted her nose and sniffed appreciatively. “Clover bloom scramble! Is there any left for me?”

I gave her my best “evil cackle” and said, “There is. I am using it for torture on the lot of you! One, under earlier torture revealed that you would be along!”

Luna raised her wings part way and faked an innocent look as she said, “Forgive me, Coalsmoke! I tried to resist but the fiend forced it from me.”

We all sat down to eat our clover bloom scramble with a side of fine Rom Black tea. When I poured, Luna's eyes glistened with unshed tears. She may be adopted to the Rom, but she loves them and their ways. They are family to her and her sister. The only family that they have.

I got out Daring Do and the Mines of King Solopony and started to read. It was far past midnight when Luna had to call a halt. Shaking her head, she said sadly, “Royal Duties. I really must go.”

The last that we saw of her was a silhouette as she passed between us and the moon.

Coalsmoke watched her go and turned to us. “I am so glad that I got to meet her. Would you please thank her for the invitation, Clarence?”

The Lord of the Dead nodded his horn graciously and pointed out, “Grumpy had a chance to find a few things out too.

“It should be outright hilarious down at the Town Hall tomorrow, when he goes to register THAT contract!”

I had to grin an impossible grin at that. Skull being bare bone, it should not show grins or other expressions. It does anyway. Glamor spells are simple and wonderful.

The next morning, I had a leisurely breakfast that I really don't need, being dead and all, but I do like the flavors and textures of food. I know that it does my spirit body no good but, when it tastes good, who cares?

Besides, I let Coalsmoke stay and it was a pleasure to serve her a nice breakfast.

Together, in lovely warm weather, we trotted along the path down from my cave and on to Ponyville. I guessed that something was in the wind. I saw Romaine, the Ponyville Prancer's roving reporter start following at a respectful distance. She usually does that because Clarence has taken a shine to her and subtly steers her to good stories.

Her presence did not bode well for somepony.

Coalsmoke giggled like a filly as she saw that the square in front of the Town Hall was filled with Celestian Church unicorns. Saying something that might have been is a Daring Do book, she said, “Plunging into the depths of Deepest Ponyville, the intrepid explorers went in search of the ancient and abandoned Halls of Lawful business!”

The Celestains had a little stage set up and High Priest Hortimer himself was exhorting the crowd to, “Deal with the Problem of the Lesser Kinds.”

I planned to just go around the whole group of them by passing around the edge of the square. The route took us well back of the portable stage. I saw that Romaine had her camera out and had taken notes on the very illegal statement about “lesser kinds.” Violation of the Edict of Equality and all that.

Trivial things like it being against the law never stopped Hortimer before and did not now. He was happily in mid rant when somepony called out, “A GOAT and a Lesser Mare are violating our Pure space!”

Magic of many colors and hues began to swirl about the horns of the multitude. Coalsmoke looked worried for a moment. Then she saw me grinning. Her look changed from worry to anticipation as she watched the mob.

She saw and heard me mutter, “Tangle all!”

One near the back of the mob reared up to try seeing “the menace” and accidentally thumped one next to him. That one shoved back. Irritated, the rearing one let the shover have it with a magic slap. Off balance, he missed and swatted yet another, who also had gathered magic to use against “the intruders” in the public square. In startlement, that one triggered off, without focus, and the whole huge lot of totally uncoordinated magic roared up.

They were all trying to pay attention to Hortimer. That unworthy unicorn not only got hit, it took him from his feet! The impact of his fall broke the stage, and dumped him on his ass! And I do not mean a donkey!

The mob surged forward, attempting to assist their fallen leader! They tripped on each other! The tangle of unicorns unleashed more unfocused wild magic that managed to entrap a flock of pigeons as fumbling, tumbling unicorns rolled toward the helpless Hortimer.

The pigeons got there first. Apparently they thought that he was a statue because they did to him what they do to statues!

In the background of the whole disaster was the incessant clicking of Romaine's camera!

Coalsmoke and I made it to the Town Hall without any problem at all. We went inside, hooves clicking cheerfully on the polished hardwood flooring. Coalsmoke was giggling at the spectacle outside.

In the Hall of Records, we were greeted by Mol's laughter. She was at the window, watching the mess outside. The police ponies had Paddy Wagons lined up and were unpileing and loading the assorted ponies to be hauled off to the jail.

The cheerful jangle of the counter bell brought the laughing mare back to the job at hoof. “Who are you hexing today, Grumpy? Besides that lot out there, I mean. I was so glad to see that happen! When I came back from my break, they had the nerve to call me a Lesser Being!”

I laid out three contracts on the counter. Her eyes widened as she saw the genuine Royal Seals of Equestria on the one. They only got wider as she saw the fourth seal. The genuine and impossible to counterfeit seal of the Litch King himself!

I grinned at her and said, “Never expected to see those original seals in your lifetime, did you, Mol my beauteous mare?”

She sobered at once and went to her racks of document verification books. This was too important not to do exactly right. Closing the last of the tomes, she filled out her paperwork and assessed the twenty five bits registration fee.

She did snoop the one with the Royal Seals. Perfectly legal to do so too. It was PUBLICLY registered. Her eyes widened again as she saw the target and limitations. She grinned hugely and switched her tail toward the mess outside, that the police ponies were still sorting out.

“Off to a great start, Grumpy!”

Coalsmoke smiled as she said, “The contract did not take effect until registry. That was just High Priest Hortimer and his idiot followers doing what they do best.”

Mol's giggles followed us out of the Hall of Records.

We courteously waited while the Mad Hatter tangle of “Superior” unicorns got taken care of. Besides the fun of watching it happen, we were waiting for Romaine to be done shooting her story. She is always pleasant and fun company at lunch in Caramel Treat's Sweets.

Romaine was sitting on the Town Hall steps for a good vantage point as she got excellent shots of the attempt to extricate the pigeon soiled High Priest Hortimer from the stage wreckage.

At last, it was all done and nothing remained but the wreckage of the stage. It was Coalsmoke who noticed the fluttering bits of paper.

She grinned happily as she called out, “Look, Grumpy! Besides everything else, they littered the square!”

We chased the papers down, making a game of catching them under hoof and gathering them up, as the breezes flipped them about. “Trash can for this lot!” Coalsmoke exclaimed happily.

Romaine actually looked at her batch and cried out, “NO! Take a look! These are Hortimer's speech notes, in his own hoof! These are evidence of criminal hate speech! They violate the Edict of Equality in plain words!”

Romaine grinned savagely as she photographed each page. She is less than fond of the Celestians.

We detoured back inside the Town Hall and took the papers and all to the Ponyville Police Department.

The desk Sargent greeted us sourly, “What do you lot want?”

Romaine smiled almost angelically as she spoke sweetly, “We want to see the Prosecutor. We have evidence in a recent criminal case.”

The Sargent snarled, “Just hoof it over. The Prosecutor is real busy right now. Can't be bothered by the likes of ponies that will hang out with a dammed goat.”

I could not believe my ears. I was hearing a direct violation of the Equality Edict in a Police Department? Very few are that dumb.

Romaine innocently remarked, “It must have been awful, having that stage collapse right under you. And poor Hortimer! Not only the indignity of the stage failing like that, all those pigeons! What a mess! There is a dropping on your back that you missed, when cleaning up!”

Suddenly Romaine's skills as an interviewer were seen in a razor sharp focus!

He grudgingly replied, “I was lucky I rolled free without tearing my uniform! I joined the other responders to deal with the crowd. Never seen anything like that mess.”

Romaine nodded sympathetically, drawing him further into the trap. “I know. I was lucky too. I was listening from the park across from the square. Hortimer is such a sensible pony. I mean, he makes his position so easy to understand.

“I saw it happen. A yellow unicorn at the rear of the crowd reared up, showing magic. Not sure why, but somepony slapped at him and he slapped back. Everything sort of fell apart with ponies striking out all over.”

Nodding sadly, she added, “It wasn't your fault at all. I guess that I will never hear the rest of what Hortimer was saying. Pity.”

The Sargent was leaning forward on the counter following Romaine's comments and nodding. He spoke gently, “So, you were a witness? I will go and see if maybe the Prosecutor can find a little time for you.”

As he retreated into the office, Coalsmoke offered, “That was the smoothest neck cutting that I ever saw!”

Romaine nodded smugly, “Gotta watch out for us reporters. Some of us can be pretty slick.”

Soon a lean, fit middle aged Earth Pony came out and said, “Sargent Mire told me that you were a witness to the recent debacle?”

“Indeed we were, Sir. We need to discuss the matter privately because there are some sensitive issues involved,” Coalsmoke said calmly.

He raised his eyebrows and said, “If you say so, Coalsmoke. I have heard from many sources about you. None have ever said that you were less than truthful.” He nodded ruefully and added, “Some have had worse things to say, including accusations of murder. Not one of those has held up at all.”

Coalsmoke shrugged. “You think that I have not heard them as well? I have had seven husbands. None has lived longer than three years. I have done well in their wills. Their families have done well, too.

“After Partin Cumpny, my second husband, they have all fallen to terminal illnesses or conditions. When we knew that they were dying, I have brought them to Grumpy Goat to negotiate their passing in circumstances that let them go with the least discomfort.

“The Medical Society hates that. They want to perform a final and vital cashectomy of the wallet. Grumpy's contracts, which are all publicly registered and legal, prevent that.”

He seemed to be a bit shocked. “You are very open about this.”

“I need to be, if my evidence is to be of any value, the things that might discredit me should be out in the open from the start.”

Dryly, he said, “If you will all come this way, we can use the conference room.” He looked closely at my lovely green mare companion and spoke courteously, “Romaine, I believe? Reporter for the Ponyville Prancer?”

She flashed him a smile and offered, “I sure am. I was covering High Priest Hortimer's speech and got the whole mess on both film, recording and notes.”

Shutting the conference room door behind us, the Prosecutor asked, “Are you running a vendetta against the Celestian Church? Most of your pieces have dealt with assorted foul-ups by Hortimer or his followers.”

Romaine replied calmly, “I do not like them, it is true. There is no need to run a vendetta against them. I just cover their events. As nearly as can be seen, they do the rest all by themselves. Today was a case in point.”

“I see . . .”

The rest of the meeting was friendly. The Prosecutor carefully gathered his evidence and statements. The speech notes were examined very closely. Romaine let him check out her photos and select ones that would help his case.

We left the police station and went up the way to Caramel Treat's Sweets. It was a truly fine way to celebrate.

While we were eating, I casually suggested to Romaine that she might take the trouble to look up my latest contract registry. “Strictly for your own information, of course.

“I mean, I would NEVER do anything against the Celestian Church . . .”

Coalsmoke cut in and finished for me, “Unless you were alone or with some pony or other being! You love them as much as I do!”

I spoke around a mouthful of my favorite clover-top burger, “True that I do detest them. Beyond trivial injuries I am not going to harm them at all.”

Caramel Treat joined us at the table in wolf form. She arrived as silently as a ghost. “Is our self defense contract with you still in effect, Grumpy? It only allows self defense, not offensive action.”

I put a hoof around her neck and gave her a hug. “Yes, Caramel, our contract is intact. I recently got another that allows me a freer hoof with the Celestians specifically, that is all.”

Her tongue lolled out in a wolf's laughter. “Oh, I wish that we did have a claw in that! I did not want to even appear to be actively against any particular being or group. Individual Celestians who behave themselves are welcome here.” She twisted her lips sideways and added, “Sort of.”

We all got a chuckle out of that.

Coalsmoke, eyes full of lively curiosity, asked, “So what is the first thing that is going to happen to them?”

Romaine was watching the conversation avidly but making no notes of any kind. At my sidways glance, she cheerfully replied to the un asked question, “Just trying to figure out where to be and what the best camera angles will be for a PERFECTLY NATURAL event!”

I turned my attention back to Coalsmoke, always a pleasant mare to contemplate. “What is Hortimer's greatest personal weakness?”

She paused, thinking carefully. “Umm . . . Power mad? No . . . Greed? . . . No . . . Vanity! He is never seen in public without flashy robes and that funny tall hat!”

I gave the loveliest mare in Ponyville an innocent look that would have done credit to a fox caught in a hen yard. And just as real. I simply smiled.

Romaine was looking puzzled at first. She dug out a schedule of upcoming Celestian Church events. Muttering quietly to herself, she ran a hoof down the list. Suddenly she folded up the schedule and put it away. With a grin.

She checked the film in her camera and her quick load cassettes. She called Peanut over. “Gotta run, Peanut! I should be in time for a great story but I have to fly! Well, run anyway!”

I looked up, trying my innocent look on Peanut. She just snickered at it and asked, “Will you cover her tab?”

At my nod, she said, “Scoot, Romaine! You are faded for the bill!”

Romaine was gone that fast.

Coalsmoke snickered and said, “I am going to HAVE to pick up the Prancer's Late Edition! If Romaine is that enthusiastic, it has to be good!”

I was up on my cave ledge watching the sunset as a young pony toiled up the trail to my cave. He had a late edition Prancer with him. I tipped him well for the kind service.

After the youngster left, Clarence popped out of my door. The Litch King looked over my shoulder as we looked at the headline.

It solemnly declared, “DISASTER AT THE CELESTIAN CHURCH!”

There was a front page photo of Hortimer balancing on all four hooves, standing on the tiny pulpit. There were three cats clinging to his vestments by their claws. A fourth one was desperately clawing for safety on Hortimer's Miter. The silly hat was over half way off of his horn. His forelock wig was half way to the Miter, giving his horn a fuzzy collar and showing the big bald spot around the base of his horn admirably

The cause of the disaster was simple. Hortimer tried to do his annual “Blessing of the Beasts. His followers brought in their many pets for the blessing. All went well as he blessed the dogs with fairly heavy sprinkles of his “Holy Waters."

For some reason, the cats took exception to being splashed with water, Holy or not! Wet cats squalled and tried to run. That set off the dogs. They went after the cats who promptly ran between the legs of Hortimer and his fellow priests. Attempting to climb to safety up assorted priestly robes and vestments, the cats led the dogs to priestly ankles!

Hortimer jumped to a bench but the frantic dogs nearly overset it. He jumped again, landing on the pulpit, a sea of leaping dogs below him!

A junior priest tried, logically enough, to gather the dogs with his magic and move them out of the church. He was nearly successful when a frantic cat climbing up the rear of his robes snagged something delicate with sharp claws!

The nearly displaced dogs rushed back to the fray, dumping over a big travel coop of homing pigeons! The frightened birds fled in a thunder of wings to the open beams of the church roof. They relieved their bowels as they flew, hitting all of the frantic priests, but especially Hortimer, whose pulpit was just below the highest point of the roof!

The almost familiar sensation of being bird bombed, caused Hortimer to lose his balance entirely. The noise and commotion of his fall frightened the dogs enough for some of the owners to corral their wayward pets.

Order was slowly restored but ambulances carried away the bandaged priests of Celestia for further observation at the Ponyville General Horspital. None of the injuries were serious but many bruises, minor dog nips, cat scratches and the like had been contaminated by pigeon poop and needed proper cleaning.

Romaine's lively prose made the whole thing even funnier.

Clarence, the Litch King, nearly did the impossible. He almost died laughing at Romaine's final line.

“At least they did not burn down their church, like last time. Not yet, anyway.”

Getting control of himself, Clarence asked too innocently, “Should we burn it?”

I grinned as I firmly replied, “No, Clarence. We already did that once. It is not good showmanship to repeat an effect. We need to think of something else.”

Clarence cheerfully put a hoof to his chin in thought as he muttered, “Something else? Humm . . .”

The next morning dawned bright and clear. It was a lovely view. That only got better when Clarence and I, having a breakfast of Clover Bloom Scramble and strong Rom Black tea out on the ledge, saw both Coalsmoke and the lovely green mare, Romaine, coming up the path. Romaine is a roving reporter for the Ponyville Prancer. And she had her camera along.

Coalsmoke said cheerfully, “I know that you two aren't camera shy and Romaine did look up that recent contract. She wants an interview if practical. If not, she can listen to Daring Do and the Serpent Pit of Zian with us.”

I scooted over and patted the rock. “Have a seat, Romaine and ask. Not granting an interview exactly but could be an anonymous source close to the situation.”

She nodded at once and sat. I hoofed over a portion of Clover Top scramble for her and one for Coalsmoke too. Only right to be courteous to friends.

Around a mouthful of scramble, Romaine asked, “Are the oral limitations mentioned in the contract an open topic?”

Clarence said firmly, “It provides specific protection for a particular individual and his followers. Neither Princess wishes it discussed further.”

As Romaine was about to say something else, there came a clangor of supposedly tuned bells being very poorly played. The Celestian Church recently installed a Carillon to Ring the Changes of their church Offices, which, for their own so called reasons, do not match any rational time marks.

Romaine winced at the ghastly missed and mis-struck notes. “I wish that somepony could do something about those vile bells. I was at the Council session where they won the right to keep playing them as a religious observance.”

Coalsmoke saw Clarence and I stare at each other in delight. She grinned and said, “You did it, Romaine! They have some perfectly evil idea cooking!”

Clarence simply held out a hoof. A thick package of papers appeared in it. Ignoring everything else, he and I began going over the plans of the Celestian Church. We were happily pointing out some amusing items about the structure.

Clarence held out a hoof again. More papers, much smaller packet this time. The carillon specifications. We took one look at the sheer mass of the bells and nodded serenely.

Romaine quietly asked, “When would be a good time to do a photo essay on the Celestian Church's new bells?”

Clarence managed to look completely innocent, like a cat sitting in an otherwise empty bird cage, surrounded by feathers. “Oh, I don't know, Romaine. Perhaps the day after tomorrow, on Celesday, you could start before sunrise to catch the lovely light on the bells as they start to ring the day's first Change in. Get the priests to explain all of the bell's wonders and mystical significance.”

Turning to me he exclaimed, “How is Daring Do going to get out of THIS one, Grumpy?”

Romaine, being very quick, simply sat and asked, “Is she in the Pit yet?”

Nodding happily at the outcome of her bringing a guest up, Coalsmoke sat too. Clarence joined the lovelies, all of his papers magically cleaned up. It must be wonderful to have library imps. Opening the book to our place, I began to read.

Romaine was an excellent guest. She had a tip, if not the story that she hoped to get. She was wise enough to not press the issue. Instead, she listened as Daring Do got into trouble. And more trouble while getting out of the first trouble.

When we reached the chapter's end, Clarence thoughtfully stared at Romaine. Nodding to himself, he suggested, “The Celestians are having a rally tomorrow. Grumpy will be at Caramel Treat's dining. You might want to position yourself upwind and well back from them. I can say no more about the event.”

Romaine simply nodded. She knew that she was going to get nothing more. She was totally aware of who and what Clarence was.

We all had a nice luncheon on the ledge, with its lovely view, marred only by the clangor the not-truly-noonday Office of the Celestian Carillon.

Shortly after the two lovely mares left, we got several of our more usual visitors. From my viewpoint, it made for a perfectly lovely day. First the wonderful company of two of Ponyville's finest mares, followed by the delight for me of misery, ruin, and defeat for ponies, bought with cash by other ponies.

The next day, true to Clarence's prediction, I trotted happily down my trail to Ponyville for the Registry of my nice new contracts. For a wonder, the town hall square was clear of Celestians or other obstructions.

I wandered in and said cheerfully, “More work for you, Mol, my lovely darling!”

She turned a haggard face to me just as the bells began to peal again. “Grumpy, I may need your services after all. I only live about five blocks from that vile Church and its bells. I can't get any sleep!”

“Mol, sweet, lovely Mol, I need you to keep a secret. Can you?”

“You know that I can, Grumpy. Why?”

“It is simply this. Bear with the carillon until Celesday. Be in the small park across from the Celestian Church before dawn. Find a bench that has a fine view to watch and hear them play their First Office.

“I can say no more.”

I have never in my whole life seen a more savagely serene smile! She quietly began sorting my contracts to assess the Registry Fee. As she was working, she softly said, “Thank you, Grumpy. I will be there.” More briskly, she filed them all and said, “This batch comes to twenty bits!” And beat me to paying it.

Bemused, I left for Caramel Treat's.

I was sitting at my favorite table on the dining plaza watching the park across the way. Hortimer and his followers were there, as they were so often. For a wonder, they were being polite to passersby.

Peanut Brittle, the palomino waitress, commented, “They are really acting weird today, Grumpy. They sent over a pony to buy refreshments and he was totally courteous. What's up?”

I pointed with a hoof. “Look at Hortimer himself. His rectory is that little house to the left of the bell tower housing the carillon. See how haggard he looks?”

Caramel and Fangrin were out next to the table in a near instant! Werewolf hearing has to observed in action to be really grasped. Her tongue lolling in Wolf laughter, she said, “It's true! Look, Fangrin my love! Hortimer has already got the worst of his own cruelty!”

Fangrin, almost sadly, pointed out, “They haven't even given Grumpy cause to do anything to them. Pity, that.”

I counseled, “Patience, my friends. Let us all share a table and watch events unfold.”

They were looking at me strangely for a moment until Peanut spotted it. As quietly as a serious birder, spotting a rare songbird, she pointed.

Romaine was quietly covering this gathering of Hortimer's. That is always a sign that Clarence has a hoof in the proceedings. Ever since he discovered that she is paid by published column inches in the Ponyville Prancer, he subtly steers her to good stories.

Hortimer got up on his portable stage. It was solid now. They had learned from past errors. He got up to speak, haggard of face but resplendent in his robes and funny tall hat. He barely began when the off-noonday Change began to peal its discordant clangor across his unctuous words.

In the plain view of all, he clapped his hooves to his ears and exclaimed, “Dear Celestia! Can't he EVER hit one note right? I . . .”

His face as he realized what he had just done was priceless!

Romaine quietly got up from her bench where she had got the whole thing with her camera and recorded notes.

She quietly joined us and said with a delighted smile, “I think that was better than the stage collapsing or anything else! He fought to get that carillon past the council and now it is hitting him in the ears.

“Front Page! Not that many inches unless they blow up the picture but so-o-o good!”

That afternoon, Coalsmoke brought up the latest Prancer. The Celestian Carillon was such a nuisance that they had run a special edition. The haggard Hortimer clapping his hooves to his ears took up almost the whole front page!

We all celebrated in our own way! We had a fine dinner and read Daring Do until the light failed. It was a lovely sunset.

The next morning's Sunday, and for the first time, also called in print, the Celesday edition of the Prancer had a spectacular set of photos.

They led off with a reprint of yesterday's fine portrait of High Priest Horitmer clapping hooves to ears at “Chiming of the Office” That was followed by the first light of the dawn shining on the carillon's great bell high up in the bell tower, silhouetted against the clear sky.

The bell beginning its swing and the powerful strike of its discordant chime. The stone work of the mounting crumbling under the powerful vibration and the the massive load of swinging metal.

The whole of the carillon's eight massive bells smashing straight down through the center of the tower like a great wedge, bursting the masonry walls outward in a potentially deadly hail of stone and shattered timbers.

At the end, the fractured stump of the tower was standing barely higher than the destroyed roof of the Celestian Church. Two of the great bells visibly split in half laying in the ruins.

The ringer himself survived. The masonry of the entrance arch was strong enough that, though it cracked severely under the impact of the falling wreckage, the arch failed to cave in, saving his life.

The roof and two walls of Hortimer's rectory were totally destroyed by the rubble of falling masonry from the destroyed tower.

If there was such a thing as a miracle in the disaster, not one pony was actually injured beyond a few bruises.

The photos did not end with the mere ruin of the Celestian Church. There were more. Many more, as the Ponyville Fire Department battled the blaze that engulfed the ruins. The Celestian Church structures were a total loss ~ ~ Again.

The cooks were innocent of the fire that engulfed the destroyed Celestian Church buildings this time. They remembered the hornet disaster and shut everything off properly. It was not their fault that broken and falling masonry cracked a gas line. And the stoves had pilot lights . . .

Clarence and I clapped hooves in a “high-five” of delight.

We were sitting out on the ledge in front of my cave, enjoying the view of Ponyville enhanced by the absence of any sign of the Celestian Church except for a small curl of smoke.

There was a modest thunder of powerful wings as Celestia rounded the shoulder of my mountain and touched lightly down on my ledge.

In her sweet voice she said happily, “Hello, Grumpy! Hi, Clarence! I have just seen that lovely Sunday Ponyville Prancer. I not only have my latest Broadside against the Celestian Church along, I have a commission for both Romaine and the Prancer jointly. Coalsmoke is bringing up both Romaine and Truetype, the Editor in Chief and Publisher of the Ponyville Prancer.

“I expect some others soon. That means,” she said, mouth watering, “That you, Grumpy need to get cracking on the Clover Top Scrambles! I brought ingredients! Luna told me all about it!” Celestia produced a large package from a saddlebag and handed it over.

With a, “By your leave, Your Highness?” I ducked back into my cave and pulled out pans and mixing bowls. I got busy producing Clover Top Scrambles as fast I could.

In a few moments, I realized that I had company. Celestia was somehow molding stones into plates with shiny surfaces. Seeing my curiosity, she explained, “It is a minor variation of the method that we used to make Fortress Canterlot.” A tear rolled from her eye as she finished, “De Writer, our dear foster father invented the technique. I miss him so.”

As fast as she made a new plate, she loaded it with Scramble and popped out to deliver the goodies to waiting ponies.

That tipped me off that there were far more ponies out there than when I went in to cook.

The last of the ingredients cooked up, I went out to see for myself. Coalsmoke mischievously looked up and said, “You are too late! There is none left! Pity, it was so o o good!” She then hoofed me a plate full of my Scramble.

Romaine was beside her and there was an elderly pony, black and white pinto with a typewriter for a cutie mark and going gray at the muzzle. I had never met Truetype before but I had seen his picture.

To my surprise, Reverend Smallflower was there, just finishing up a plate of Scramble. He looked up with a smile and doffed his simple flat hat to me. “Most excellent, Grumpeter. For a self acknowledged Evil being, you are an excellent cook!”

As soon as I finished my bite, I acknowledged, “Being Evil in no way stops one from excelling at those things that are fun to do. Now, what can I do for a pony who so exemplifies all that is truly best that a pony can be?”

He replied courteously, “I have business with Hortimer, self styled High Priest of the Church of Celestia. It is my understanding that he will be here soon.”

There is a saying about speaking of evil drawing vile things. There, toiling up my trail was Hortimer, in a mobility cart, being pushed by two husky attendants. There was a big brace on his neck and bandages on three of his legs.

His lawyer, Mortimer Mollycoddle, was walking with him. He looked troubled.

There was another group behind them, with a member of the Ponyville Fire Department and several others. One I recognized. He was from the Department of Building and Structures. There were Two uniformed members of the Ponyville Police Department as well.

It was shaping up to be a merry meeting indeed. Just the sort that I like most.

Hortimer did not even bother with trying to exorcise the ledge. He was sort of in shock. There was Celestia HERSELF, happily chatting with Clarence, Coalsmoke, Romaine, Truetype and I. “Did you know that Roamine got that WHOLE collapse and fire on MOVING pictures? They are most enlightening. I requested that she give copies to the Department of Buildings and to the Fire Department.”

This was delivered in a voice calculated to by overheard by the approaching Hortimer. He was past horrified.

Mortimer simply opened his brief case and said, “Your Highness, I am Mortimer Mollycoddle, lawyer for Hortimer, High Priest of the Church of Celestia. I have here a lawful copy of a contract executed between your Royal Sister Luna and Grumpeter Goat regarding certain actions to be taken against the Celestian Church and Hortimer in particular.

“He represents that, in violation of the contract, he has been grievously injured. He therefore is requiring the payment of the specified indemnity to your Highnesses and requesting a Royal mercy to receive the monies paid to you by Grumpeter Goat.”

Celestia looked up with delight. Mortimer was smart enough to know a REALLY bad sign when he saw it. He stopped cold. “What is it, Your Highness?”

“Do you have legal evidence for these injuries? I mean besides your client being braced and wrapped in bandages?”

“I do. I have here the formal Injury Report of Doctor Bale, registered in Hortimer's chart at Ponyville General Horsepital. The injury report has also been filed with the Claims Department of Ponyville Casualty and Risk, LLC.”

Celestia smiled so sweetly that a starving tiger would have gone to look for safer prey if it saw that smile on a mouse. “I am a fully qualified Battle Surgeon, Mister Mollycoddle. I am formally ranked as third best Surgeon in Equestria. May I examine the report first and then your client?”

Without hesitation, Mort handed Celestia the report. She carefully read it through in its entirety. Then she stepped over to the mobility cart and touched Horitmer in several places, over his bandages. He yelped in apparent pain.

She told Mortimer, “I shall now do a magical verification of injuries. I will neither heal nor alter anything. Do you understand?”

At Mort's nod, a soft veil of Celestia's many hued magic simply soaked into Hortimer as if it was water soaking into a damp cloth.

Celestia's lips snarled, “Police! Take Hortimer and his cohorts into custody! Now! Remove him from the cart. He needs it about as much as frog needs a hot desert.”

I spoke up. “Celestia, Your Highness, I know Mortimer. If he presented that report to you and it is false, he was duped into doing so. He is that rare creature, an honest lawyer.”

Celestia stopped for a moment and looked over to Clarence. The Litch King, Lord of the Dead, nodded. Celestia turned her attention back to the group in front of her. “Release Mister Mollycoddle. He has information of value to the case but is not involved in the conspiracy to defraud.”

A relieved Mort stepped aside.

The group that the police came from stepped forward. “Your Highness, may we also speak with both Hortimer and yourself? We have the accident reports for the recent Celestian Church collapse and fire. There are gross violations of the ordinances regarding buildings and structures.”

Hortimer promptly sneered, “As a church, we are exempt from your petty bureaucratic rules.”

Celestia cut him off. “ONLY if your church is not open to the public. If it is open, with no charge, then it IS SUBJECT TO PUBLIC SAFETY rules, regulations and laws.

“Do go on, gentleponies." One, in the uniform of the Ponyville Fire Department, stepped forward. “Our report may be summarized thus. The cause of the fire was accidental . . .”

Hortimer cut him off with a, “You see! Not our fault at all!”

Celestia said mildly, “You might let the egg be laid before cackling about it. Do go on, Sir.”

“As I was saying, Your Highness, the fire was an accidental consequence of the building collapse caused by gross violations of Public Safety regulations. My colleague here can detail those.”

Celestia nodded. “Please tell me, Sir. You may omit my titles.”

He took a deep breath. “It began with the rebuilding of the Celestian Church after their previous fire. The plan that they filed called for a two and a half story bell tower to support a single bell of one and a half tonnes mass.”

He paused and shook his head. “They installed a four story tower sufficiently strong for the single one and a half tonne bell.

“We assessed a fine of two thousand golden bits for the violation. They pled an ecclesiastical exemption and also attempted to pay with a receipt for a donation from the city of the two thousand golden bits fine. That ploy was refused. The exemption is still being fought in the courts.”

He sat as if worn out. “They installed the carillon without bothering to even let us know that it was coming. It weighed over ten tonnes. The only wonder is that it did not fall sooner.

“We tried to file a breach of public safety but they got the Council to accept the carillon as a religious observance. The rest, you know.”

Celestia nodded and got a faraway look in her eyes. Her horn lit like a beacon, a shaft of magic like I had never even heard of, streaked towards Canterlot, on its far mountain side.

“I have sent for my sister, Luna. As of this moment, the entire case is under the Royal Wing. We shall hear all and render a judgment from which there is NO appeal.”

She turned to Mortimer and said softly, “We shall attempt not to violate your lawyer/client privacy. If it is deemed necessary to get to the truth, we may do so. Is this understood?”

Glumly, Mort nodded. “It is, Your Highness.”

Very shortly, we heard a fluttering thunder in the air. One of the two fastest fliers in Equestria, Princess Luna, was leaving a path of shattered clouds drawn into a pencil like line by the suction of her passage, coming straight to my mountain.

She lit so softly that she was almost unnoticed as she touched down. Soft as a Dream, as it were. Her huge dark wings folded in without a sound.

In a voice that was soft but carried deep into the mind and heart of every being there, Luna said, “I was summoned by my Sister of the Day to hear a case of crimes under the Royal Wing. I am here.

“We are informal in such trials as this. Our concern is to find the truth and reach as just and honorable a verdict as possible.

“I was summoned because Celestia is so upset and enraged at the behavior of the principal in the case that she fears a fair and impartial result if she hears it alone, as is HER right.”

Hortimer was just starting to say, “I absolutely reject the judgment of the EVIL night . . .” when Mortimer slapped a hoof over his client's big mouth.

He hissed into Hortimer's ear, “ROYAL PRINCESS! Celestia already finds you guilty of ALL charges. Those include Violation of the Edict of Equality and sedition against the Nation. You could be sentenced to the Traitor's Drop for this.

“For once in your life, SHUT UP unless directly spoken to.”

Luna looked measuringly at Mortimer. “Part of my call was a précis of the evidence and statements made. I have Celestia's surgical report. I will verify that.

“Please inform your client that I will alter no thing about his so-called injuries. I will perform a magical assessment. Celestia admits to such anger that she might have missed something.”

Her magic flowed like a wisp of midnight into Hortimer. Angrily, she stated, “Add, Sister, that Hortimer, supposedly gravely injured, walked halfway across Ponyville to Doctor Bale's house. Doctor Bale called Medical Transport to deliver Hortimer to Ponyville General. There, they concocted the scheme to defraud insurance and gain illegal income from Us through a bogus claim of injury great enough to violate the Contact that We hold with Grumpeter Goat.”

Celestia chuckled, “I know about that one. He pressed the claim in my presence.” She shook her head, making her glorious mane swirl, “All that work for a measly One silver, one.”

Luna chuckled too.

Hortimer shaking off Mortimer, snapped, “That vile GOAT, a Lesser Being, never does anything for less than a Hundred gold! A lot of his so-called work is way more expensive! The contract has to be for thousands to take down our Church!”

Coalsmoke laughed. “There are exceptions. If Grumpy really detests the pony or organization that the contract is against OR if he really likes the pony he is helping. Of course, in this case, it was BOTH!”

Luna requested, “I need to see the plans and specifications for both what was proposed and what was built in regards to the Church structure.”

The pony from the Buildings and Structures Department opened his case and handed over everything. “I fear, your Highness, that these are mere Elevations and notes. We will have to send for more detailed information.”

Luna was hoofing through the lot, examining the legal records as well. “I do need more than just this, Sir. Could you please . . .”

Clarence spoke across the request. “If you will trust me, Luna, dear, I have everything including the full plans and specifications for the carillon itself.”

“Thank you, Litch King. I accept. As long as we have known each other, why would I not trust you?”

As he simply hoofed over the thick packet of plans and specifications, Clarence said, “Oh, you know. Some mortals are sort of funny about that. Not trusting Death, I mean.”

Luna was actually digging into the plans. She absently pulled a big circular sliding rule calculator out of her saddlebag and began expertly flipping the slides and hairline about.

She looked up with awe. “How could ANY PONY be this stupid?

“Enter a summary judgment for the full amount sought by Ponyville, including the costs of the fire fighting and demolition of the ruins. Add 1000 golden bits for the attempt to defraud the city with the receipt ploy.”

She nodded softly, “Romaine, dear, do you remember the speech notes that you picked up? Will you consent to my using a Bridge of Dream to get at all that you know of Hortimer and his Church?”

“No, Princess. Do as you see fit. I trust you. If it helps any, I did know that Celestia was going to be here so I brought my whole records, notes and photos along.”

“That will be a great help, Romaine. Celestia will want to begin reviewing them at once.

“Tia, please start going through Romaine's records, especially the photos and notes!”

Celestia nodded grimly and started in. Suddenly she brayed laughter. She began snorting and chuckling. Trying unsuccessfully to stifle giggles. I peeked. She was seeing a speech go awry. Horimer's hooves waiving in the air, sticking up through a hole in the portable stage. Pigeons doing their doody. The notes sobered her some, until she hit the next public disaster.

It was a laughingly cheerful Celestia who pronounced, “Edict of Equality violation, Guilty. Sedition to overthrow the government, Guilty.

Turning to Truetype and Romaine, Celestia said, “This is pure gold. I wanted to discuss a book deal on Hortimer and his Church. Use this. These photos. I want lots of the unpublished ones. I don't care how big the book turns out. Luna and I will subsidize one half of the publication and distribution costs. Make both cheap and quality editions. We will want a 20 percent royalty on the final sales price. Deal?”

Truetype and Romaine agreed instantly. Truetype said it for both of them. “We could never get a deal like that again!”

They did not execute Hortimer. It was far worse.

They caged him in his best vestment and tall, funny hat. And sent him around to book parties. With a very customized Friday the 13th spell tuned only to him.

It makes a great attraction at the book stores where Romaine does her signings. All of Equestria is pealing with laughter.

--THE END--

Author's Note

EVERY society has an underside. Those on the bottom rungs of the social ladder. Not even MLP is free of it, though the show is careful not to display it.

My stories are built around that premise and are the View From the BOTTOM. We see the discriminated against, the nut cases and general lower class things.

OR you can regard my stories as Alternate Universe tales. EITHER ONE WORKS.