Run for the Roses

Chapters

For
The
Roses
Run

For

Wednesday

Wednesday lunchtime is always busy. Something about it simply being the middle of the week seems to make ponies think it’s a particularly good time to enjoy a midday meal with friends. Wednesdays also play host to Market day in town, which brings out almost everypony for shopping, trading and socialising. Hoof-fall is heavy, passing trade is high, and between the three main places to find food in Ponyville – be it Horse D’oeuvre’s restaurant, Sugarcube Corner’s cafe or my own humble establishment – we’re all always filled with ponies wanting something to eat.

It was pretty hectic by around one-o’clock, the bar alive and filled with talkative, upbeat ponies with no spare seats to be found. Chef Waldorf was working frantically crafting dozens of his popular signature salads – and loving every second of it I should add – and I was pulling double duty helping Silver Lining get orders out to all of the tables while still trying to man the bar for ponies who needed more drinks or who came to settle their bills.

When it gets busy the three of us get into a really good pattern. Everything just flows smoothly and naturally. We each know exactly what the other two are doing and we’re pretty darn good at keeping folks happy if I do say so myself. It’s the kind of ‘in the zone’ feeling you only get when you’re working with people you trust and who trust you back. Again, it’s not something I’ve ever found working anywhere else except in Ponyville.

And at about half-past-one, it all came to a crashing halt.

I was behind the bar adding up table-four’s bill when all of a sudden the front door was opened with a firm thud and into the inn, in full sets of gleaming golden armour, strode eight Royal Guards.

The stallion at the front of the group – a sergeant from the looks of his insignia – walked directly to me at the bar, but in an act of patience that I wasn’t expecting at least allowed me to finish dealing with my customer before addressing me.

“Sir,” he said, his tone all business, “we have a royal edict to search this premises from top to bottom. I’m going to need you to vacate all of the patrons so we can conduct a thorough exam of the building.”

I gawped. “What?” was my first, dumbstruck response. Followed swiftly by anger. “On whose say-so?!”

“Uh... that would be mine,” came a voice from the rear, authoritative but at the same time bearing a touch of the nerves. The guards-ponies parted – or at least they tried to, several of them already regretting marching so boldly into a room wearing full armour when there had been barely any free space to begin with – to allow the approach of the voice’s owner.

She came to the bar and spoke to me. “I’m very sorry about this,” she said. “I’m really hoping to do this with your co-operation. Please?”

I felt my brow knit into an angrier frown. “Twilight—” I started before catching myself. “Princess Twilight... what are you doing? What’s the meaning of this?!” I asked in a low voice meant for her and not for the sergeant.

She gave a professional, but sympathetic look back. “Ponyville has officially declared Applejack as a Missing Pony. We’re starting to organise search-parties to go looking for her, but before we do, we have to search the place she was last seen. It’s standard procedure.”

“This is ridiculous!” I cried. “She’s not here, Twilight! If she were, I think I would have noticed sometime in the last few days!”

“But we have to eliminate this building before we start searching elsewhere!” argued Twilight. “What if there’s some clue here that could tell us where she’s gone? We might waste valuable time later searching all the wrong places if we don’t look here first. A thorough search of the place she was last known to be is the only logical first step to finding her.” She took a breath and her face softened. She lowered her voice to match mine, her dialogue now only for my ears and not for the attendant guard’s. “Please, Single Measure. My friend is missing and I don’t know where she is. I just want to find her. I want her back safe. Please, just let us look. We’ll be as fast as we can.”

My frown lessened but didn’t leave. “You couldn’t have come yesterday?” I grumped. “There was no-one here then!”

“Sorry,” she repeated. The sergeant at her side shifted impatiently.

I gave a long, frustrated sigh. “Meet me halfway, Twilight,” I said. “Applejack’s not in this room, is she? Don’t make me turf everypony out onto the street halfway through lunch. Start upstairs, in the back, wherever. At least give the ones who are eating a chance to finish.”

“Fair enough,” she agreed. Turning to the sergeant she gave a nod.

The sergeant addressed me. “Sir?”

I pointed to the doorway in the wall to my right. “Through there,” I said. He glanced at the door, nodded and headed through it, the remainder of his company following behind in single file.

There is a brass bell suspended from a bracket on the left wall just above where the bar meets it. At the end of every night I ring it once to signal Last Orders and twice to call Time. Using my magic I gave it two loud rings now and reluctantly raised my head to address the ponies in the room in my best professional voice. “Fillies and Gentlecolts,” I called, “I regret that the Roses is forced to close early this lunchtime. I must ask all of you to gather any belongings you may have and make your way outside. Those of you still eating are welcome to remain until you have finished. Those of you who have not yet paid will not be charged for your meals or drinks. I sincerely regret the inconvenience this may cause you all, but please believe I would not be asking if it were not absolutely necessary.”

Around the room surprised chatter began to brew and ponies started getting to their hooves. Some with looks of bafflement, some looking annoyed. Quite possibly several of them wouldn’t be coming back for a long while and who could blame them? The exodus was slow at first, but at least they were being allowed to leave on their own terms and not ejected by a phalanx of soldiers. Two minutes later and by the time the hubbub had died down the entire bar had emptied. Even the tables that still had half-full plates on them were now disappointingly vacant, despite my attempts to reassure the ponies at them to stay. Having your lunch interrupted by a platoon of armoured guards probably didn’t make for a relaxing atmosphere, I supposed.

Then there was a commotion of an entirely different kind, coming from the rear of the pub. A lot of angry shouting and near-swearing accompanied by a great deal of bluster that could only be one pony. A moment later Waldorf and Silver Lining, both exasperated, came stampeding through the door into the bar.

“Boss...? what’s happening?” asked Silver, only to be drowned out by the chef.

“Single! What’s going on!? Why are there half a dozen guards going through my fridges!?” cried Waldorf, a thick-set earth-pony with a pale grey coat and green eyes framed by bushy white eyebrows.

“Calm down, Wally. They won’t be long.”

“I have eight salads out there ready to go and now they’re going to go to waste!” he shouted. “And Celestia help them if their clumsy hooves mess up my desserts!” He directed his attention to Twilight. “You haven’t heard the last of this, Princess! I’ll put in a complaint to the Mayor. And Single! Why are you letting them do this? Coming in here, poking their noses in wherever they want?”

I glared at Waldorf for a quiet moment before I found my reply. “Because the sooner they’re done here the sooner they can start looking for Applejack,” I said levelly. “She’s missing, Wally. That’s all this is about. Twilight wants to start searching as soon as possible and this is step one. And if them starting here now means she’s found okay later, then as far as I’m concerned that’s a good result. If your salads spoil, you can make more. If our customers leave we’ll work hard to bring them back. But if Applejack isn’t found... unless you know where to get another one, I don’t know how to fix that.”

Waldorf snorted an indignant snort, but I’ve known him long enough to know that that means he’s accepted what I’ve said. Whether it’s because I’ve convinced him, or because I’m his boss, is more difficult to determine. Silver Lining nodded agreeably and looked up at Waldorf with an encouraging smile. “Come on, Wally. Let’s get back in there. I’m sure if you ask them nicely they’ll be gentle with your puddings.” She led him back through the door towards the rear of the building.

“Thank you,” Twilight said to me.

“If it helps you find her sooner...” I said dispassionately.

“Look, uh... since you’re helping and all... I wondered if you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions about Sunday night?”

I tried to stifle a groan. “Fine. Go on.”

But instead of asking me a question, she turned toward the front door and called out. “Rarity?”

A moment later, through the door waltzed Rarity, very much making an entrance. At her side was Spike, looking devotedly at her as he tends to. But Rarity herself! What was she even...? She was wearing a long, navy blue trenchcoat and a dark, wide-brimmed fedora, with eyelashes that looked twice as long as normal, even for her. She walked with a slow swish and her face was hard and cold, but somehow not seriously so. As though she were relishing playing the private eye from some pulpy detective novel or something. Twilight looked back to me apologetically. “She does have the most amazing eye for detail...”

Rarity stopped at the bar next to Twilight and Spike hopped onto a bar-stool to the left of the two mares. Rarity gave me a smile I could only describe as, ‘sultry’ while Twilight tried, apparently, to will the floor to open up and swallow her.

“My good stallion,” began Rarity in a husky voice. “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to mix me a... vodka martini? Shaken. Not stirred.”

I gave her a scowl. “Sorry,” I said. “Bar’s closed. Haven’t you heard? A bunch of Royal Guards closed the pub so they can search it.”

“Ah... uh... well yes, I suppose...” stammered Rarity, losing her verbal footing.

I brought a hoof to my head and gave another long sigh. “Look, I’m having a really bad day, apparently. So tell me what you need to know and I’ll tell you what I can. And then I think I’m going to lie down.”

Rarity nodded. “Well, can you tell us what time she came in...?”

I told them everything I knew, recounting the events from Sunday evening as best I could. An eye for detail is one thing, but Rarity’s interrogation was relentless. Thorough though, and I couldn’t fault it. More than once she managed to tease details out of me that I hadn’t initially recalled just by asking the right questions, but even so none of it sounded helpful to my ears. I even directed them to the table near the window that Applejack had sat at, which they examined thoroughly.

Eventually I’d told them everything I had to offer, including what Applejack had ordered, and described how far she’d let herself go; how I’d been worried for her when she started stumbling her way towards the door; and how I’d insisted she stay the night in one of the vacant rooms upstairs. The next morning I’d found her already gone.

“Can we see the room?” asked Rarity.

I turned and retrieved the key from its hook behind the bar. “Upstairs, last one on the left,” I said, motioning them towards the door. The two mares left, leaving Spike sat on the bar-stool and the room otherwise empty.

“So, uh... how ‘bout a beer?” he chanced.

“In your dreams, Spike,” I retorted.

“Fine. Apple juice?”

I let out a low grumble. “Alright, sure,” I agreed.

An hour later the sergeant came to me and asked me to join him in the corridor. I stood with him in front of the doorway between the kitchen door and the one leading into the bar.

“We’ve searched the whole building except this cupboard,” he said. “It’s locked. If you wouldn’t mind?”

I rolled my eyes. “It isn’t locked it’s just... stiff!” I said, giving the stuck door a forceful shove with my shoulder. “And it’s not a cupboard, it’s the cellar.” I gestured towards the narrow set of stairs revealed beyond the opening door, leading down into the stone-walled basement.

“What’s down there?”

“Wine racks, barrels, pipes, bottles of spirits and soft drinks...” I said.

The sergeant considered the gloomy staircase and then turned to the nearest of his guards. “Private?”

“Yes sir,” replied the guard, trotting smartly down the steps, the other six guards chuntering after him into a cellar that would be a pretty tight squeeze for all of them.

A quiet moment passed.

“We’ll be out of your mane soon,” assured the sergeant.

I could only muster a grunt in reply.

There was more chuntering, and six guards came trotting back up the cellar steps one by one, with the private that the sergeant had spoken to bringing up the rear. “We found this spoon, sir!” he said, holding up a large, completely unremarkable wooden utensil.

The sergeant examined it critically. “Very good, Private. Take–”

“Just... give me that!” I snapped irritably. It was down there for a reason. It’s the spoon I use to gauge how full the barrels are by the sound they make when I hit them with it. I need it for working out orders and stock levels. It’s a very important spoon.

I gave the sergeant a quite impatient glare, and at a gesture he ordered his troops back into the bar where Twilight, Rarity and Spike were now sat waiting for the search to conclude.

“Princess, we’ve conducted a thorough search and we can confirm that there are no ponies here except for ourselves and the staff,” said the sergeant. He paused a moment and then continued, slightly less formally. “I’m afraid we’ve found nothing that could point us in the right direction either,” he said with a clear air of disappointment.

“Thank you, sergeant,” said Twilight. “Take the guards outside and we’ll begin organising the search proper. We’ll be out in a moment.”

“Yes, your highness.” The eight guards quick-marched out of the pub, their armour still making that metallic chuntering noise.

With the guards gone and silence falling once more, Twilight seemed to take a reflective moment for herself and then turned to her friend. “Rarity?” she asked.

Rarity shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry darling, I couldn’t find anything untoward. Certainly nothing that might tell us where she’s gone.”

“Okay. Spike?”

Spike looked up from the dish of peanuts on the bar that he’d been scoffing, apparently surprised he’d been asked. He shrugged his shoulders, palms facing the ceiling. “I got nuffin’,” he mumbled with his mouth full.

“Okay.” Twilight looked up to me. “Thank you. And... I’m sorry about all this,” she said, before turning and leading her two friends towards the door.

As she reached it, on impulse I called out. “Twilight? If you need help searching...?”

She smiled back. “We’ve got it covered for now. But when we get to the point where we need more ponies... thanks.”

And with that they were gone.

I stood at the bar for a moment in silence. After half a minute the door to my right opened, admitting Silver Lining who must have caught my expression. “You alright, boss?”

“Yeah,” I said, looking up. “How’s Wally? He didn’t upset the guards too much did he?”

“No, he was okay. He gets it.”

“Okay. Good.”

“So... what’s the story? Are we open again?”

I checked the clock to find it was past three o’clock already. “We’ll open back up this evening,” I said. I just hoped I’d have some customers to show for it.

* * *

In the event, Wednesday evening wasn’t the disaster I had expected. A large number of ponies had been out searching in Twilight’s search parties it seemed, but when the sun went down there was little else that could reasonably be done and so they all naturally gravitated to a place where they could gather, rest, and more importantly, talk.

The pub was about half full of weary ponies by the time it was full dark. There were stories told and complaints made, but nothing more than the normal groans and grumbles to accompany a day’s worth of fruitless effort. Where I could I tried to play the part of the upbeat, encouraging host but it was increasingly apparent that even after only an afternoon of searching, most ponies believed no progress had been made at all, and took it in disheartening fashion. And none seemed more disheartened than Fluttershy, who came in on her own late in the evening.

She wandered into the pub looking a little unsure and a little lost, as she often does when she comes here. She’s normally with one of her friends when she shows her muzzle at the Roses, and she’s an infrequent visitor even then. Ponies come to the pub to socialise after all, and that isn’t really her game.

She ambled to the bar looking tired and sour, clambering onto one of the high stools on the opposite side of the counter to myself. She met my gaze briefly. “Um... hi. Ginger ale, please?”

I nodded with a smile and set to fixing the drink for her. Fluttershy doesn’t seem to drink alcohol, at least not in anything other than the most innocent of doses. I slid a full glass of cloudy ginger-ale towards her and she took it with a ‘thank you,’ and then turned quiet again.

It took me a few visits to work it out – or at least I think I’ve worked it out – but when Fluttershy comes here it’s because she wants to talk. The only problem with that is that she doesn’t talk, so instead, you have to talk to her. That role’s normally filled by one of her friends, but in their absence it seems to fall to me. I’m not so presumptuous as to imagine Fluttershy considers me a friend, and I’m certainly no substitute for the ponies she spends so much time with, but I like to think I have at least a basic rapport with her. Enough that she’ll at least tell me what’s bothering her. My normal rule is that I wait for the customer to decide if they want a conversation from me, but she’s the exception.

“So, what brings you here?” I asked cordially.

She shuffled her glass around but didn’t take a drink at first. “My friends are fighting,” she said. Then, with both hooves she brought the glass to her lips and took a sip before replacing it carefully on its coaster.

Right. Not here for a spate of witty repartee then. “Fighting?” I asked her quietly, trying to straddle the line between ‘making conversation’ and ‘prying where I’m not wanted’.

Fluttershy took a breath and sighed with a little shake of her head. “Rainbow Dash and Applejack fell out. Then Applejack went away somewhere without telling anypony. Now Rainbow Dash is blaming herself. She’s sure Applejack’s angry with her and that’s why she’s gone. She’s desperate to find her – I think she wants to apologise – and it’s getting to her that she can’t. She won’t slow down. She won’t talk to us. She looks tired and I don’t think she slept well last night. Twilight tried to talk to her today and she just shouted back and flew off.”

I nodded quietly, still reluctant to tread this area. But if this was what Fluttershy had come to talk about it was difficult to avoid, and strong though my desire was not to intrude into so personal a topic, I’m not made of stone and curiosity had been gradually getting to me all week. Besides, if I went too far I was sure Fluttershy would either tell me, or stop telling me anything. “Applejack and Rainbow Dash fell out?”

“On Sunday,” she nodded. “I mean they have little arguments all the time, but this was... bigger. I don’t even really know what started it. I just remember that Rainbow Dash got a bit too angry and said something she shouldn’t have. I know she didn’t mean it, but Applejack looked so awful for a moment and then her face just... sort of went blank. Then she turned and slowly started walking and didn’t stop.” Fluttershy shook her head again. “We thought she just needed a minute to herself. We never thought she’d leave.” She took a gulp of her drink.

“You think... maybe she left town to get away from Rainbow Dash for a while?”

“Oh, no. In fact I’m sure that’s not it!” She looked at me with pleading eyes, begging to be believed. “They may argue sometimes, but Rainbow Dash and Applejack are friends. They’re great friends. And they’d never let one argument come between them, no matter how bad. I know that wherever Applejack’s gone, it’s not because she hates Rainbow Dash. Not at all. But... Rainbow Dash won’t listen to me. And every day Applejack’s still missing is another layer of guilt she’s piling on herself.”

Hearing that, I suddenly felt very guilty – about snapping at Rainbow Dash yesterday when she’d blustered in at lunchtime; challenging her to tell me where Applejack was must have been the last thing she needed to hear. I gritted my teeth and shook my head at myself while Fluttershy fidgeted with her glass. “I take it the search hasn’t gone too well today?” I asked. The grumbles I’d heard from the other ponies in the bar made that a safe assumption.

Fluttershy shook her head and took another drink. “I’ve sent birds to Canterlot, the Crystal Empire and everywhere in between. I’m still waiting to hear from most, but the ones that have come back have all said no-one’s seen her. I just... I can’t stand to think about it. That Applejack might be somewhere out there, alone and upset, and so far away from the ponies who want to make her happy...” She trailed off, her teal eyes glistening and threatening tears, and I felt a chill run down my spine as the conversation raced into territory that greatly exceeded my expertise. There’s a rule in Ponyville, unwritten but very real: no-one makes Fluttershy cry. There’s such a strong protective instinct towards her that triggering the waterworks even accidentally can earn you the ire and scorn of the entire town for months.

“Whoa there, it’s alright,” I tried, floundering with great ineptitude for a tone approaching ‘comforting’ and words to match. “Applejack can take care of herself. Wherever she is, I’m sure she’s okay.”

“But she looked so sad... I wish I hadn’t let her go off on her own like that,” she whispered into her glass. “I should have helped her. She probably thinks I’m the worst friend in the world for not even trying. What if... what if that’s why she’s not coming back?!” Tears began to pool in the corners of her eyes.

“Fluttershy? You’re a wonderful friend,” I said softly. I stared at her until she looked up and locked my gaze. “You didn’t do anything wrong. If Applejack thought she needed to be alone, trying to talk to her might have made her feel worse. Believe me, sometimes that’s just how it is.” It certainly helped explain how she’d been when I’d seen her: the look of relief when she had seen the bar almost empty; taking her drink over to the farthest table away and sitting quietly. I smiled at Fluttershy and carried on. “Wherever Applejack is, and however she’s feeling, I know there’s one thing that would make her happy. And that’s knowing she has amazing, caring friends like you to come back home to. We’ll find her. Alright?”

She still looked upset, but she wiped her eyes with a hoof and the tears were not replaced. “I really hope so. And I’m sorry. I know you’ve got much better things to be doing than talking to me. You don’t mind if I just sit here, do you? I’ll be quiet.”

“Fluttershy, you can stay here for as long as you want. I think it’ll rain frogs before I have to throw you out the door for misbehaviour. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m okay. It’s just this week’s been hard and I just needed... I mean, when the search ended today and everypony went home... well, I didn’t want to be all by myself just yet.”

I gave her a slow nod. “If you want, I can get Wally to walk you home later. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh no, that’s very kind but I’ll be okay,” she said. She met my gaze again but with a small smile now.

“Okay. But let me know if you need anything, and if you want to talk just catch my eye.”

I was about to turn away, sensing an end to the conversation, when she caught me once more. “What you said before... you... really think she’s okay?” she asked.

I didn’t know, of course, and I think she was aware of that. But it didn’t change the fact that she needed to hear the answer. I locked her gaze with a warm smile. “Yes I do.”

I hope.

Thursday

On Thursday the search really kicked into high gear, and though I’d offered to be another pair of eyes for Twilight it quickly became obvious that I was actually more use being at the Roses than out in the field.

Similar to the previous evening, the Roses had become a kind of unofficial hub where ponies involved in the search would gather – either before being told where they were needed or after they were done with their tasks. From there, within just a couple of hours, it had become the de facto assembly point for any teams about to be sent out, and for any search parties coming back to report. And it was clear by that stage that the best way for me to aid the searchers was to help keep them searching.

I’d moved most of the tables to the left side of the bar leaving a space in the middle of the room, and along the opposite wall put two of the longer, rectangular tables end-to-end. I filled the tables with as much bottled water, lemonade, ginger-ale and buckets of ice as I had to hoof, and Waldorf made plates of daffodil-and-cucumber sandwiches and cupcakes for those that were hungry, all in aid of the effort.

Twilight and Spike set themselves up at a borrowed table just out front of the pub, Twilight acting as the General with a large map spread out across the tabletop – complete with little model ponies to represent current search areas in fact! – marking off sectors with a red crayon as teams reported in, and giving them new instructions at the same time. Then the searching ponies would come inside, grab a drink, a sandwich, sit and talk with any other recently arrived groups for five to ten minutes before heading back out to begin the cycle again.

I’d lost Silver Lining for the day – she’d begged me to let her be a part of the search effort and I couldn’t tell her no. An extra pair of eyes in the sky was a valuable asset and besides, it was obvious that lunch and dinner weren’t exactly going to be run in the usual fashion today, and probably not for a few days to come either, unless somepony actually found her.

It was as I was musing on this and re-stocking the tables with water, the pub otherwise empty, that I heard a new group of voices just outside. They seemed to be sharing a greeting with Twilight, and I noted that they sounded upbeat and optimistic in a way that few others had been after a day and a half of searching. Then the voices’ owners burst into the bar and it was fairly obvious why that might be.

“Hi, Single Measure!”

“Hi Single Measure!”

“Hi, Single Measure!”

I couldn’t stop a broad smile. Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo always seem to have that effect on me whenever I see them. Well, except for that time they wrote an article about me in the paper, but that was a long time ago, and besides, they apologised for it. No such thing as a grudge in this town. “Hi girls,” I replied. “Help yourselves to lemonade and cupcakes. Here to help with the search?”

“Pfffffffft, no!” said Scootaloo. “We’re not searching. We’re finding!”

I blinked a couple of times. “You’re... what?”

“Yeah,” said Sweetie Belle. “We’re all supposed to be trying to find Applejack, right? Well everypony’s out there searching, but no-one’s doing any finding.”

“So we’re here to cut out the middle-pony an’ go straight to the findin’ part,” concluded Apple Bloom. “I’ll have my sister back lickety-split, you’ll see!”

“CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS SISTER FINDERS! (Yay!)”

I scratched my head with my hoof, somewhat bewildered. “So... let me get this straight. You’re going to find Applejack...?”

“Yep!” said Apple Bloom.

“...without looking for her?”

“Yep!” echoed Sweetie Belle, beaming with a wide grin. “It’s called goal-oriented thinking. It’s all about changing your perspective and stuff. My sister has a book on it.”

“But...how...?” I asked, utterly flummoxed.

Scootaloo fixed me with a devilish smirk. “We’ve got a secret weapon!” Then she blinked. And looked around. Then stared at Sweetie Belle. “Sweetie Belle! Where’s the secret weapon?!”

“Oh, oops. I must have left her outside!”

Just at that point there was a high-pitched ‘Arf!’ from out front, followed by scampering sounds and then into the pub ran Winona, the Apple family’s brown-and-white collie. Her eyes were alive and alert, her tongue panted, and her tail wagged eagerly. She raced to Apple Bloom, her claws clickety-clicking on the hardwood floor, and then noticed me and tried to jump up and lick my face with nothing but enthusiasm.

“See?” said Scootaloo. “Nopony knows Applejack like Winona. She’s gonna lead us right to her. No need for all that boring looking.”

“And since this is the last place we know she was...” began Apple Bloom.

“...this is the best place to start from!” finished Sweetie Belle.

“Twilight said that Applejack stayed in one o’ the rooms upstairs? Can we take Winona up to it?” asked Apple Bloom.

For a moment I was caught in indecision. I don’t know much about dogs and their sense of smell, but I know enough to know that tracking a pony by a scent they’ve left four days previously can’t be done, especially not with all of the other folks that have come and gone in that time to wreck the trail. To let the girls pin their hopes on this seemed unfair. Cruel even.

But... if this was the hope they had... if this was what would keep them going until Applejack could be found... then to take that hope away seemed crueler still. And besides, what if there was a chance, no matter how slim, that something might come of it? These thoughts cascaded through my head, and so caught up was I with them that I didn’t even notice that I’d used my magic to remove the key to Room One from its hook and bring it over. Seemed I’d already decided without actually having to make up my mind.

I offered the key to Apple Bloom who took it in her teeth. “Tfankf, Fingle Meffure!” she said, and then the three of them plus their canine companion were racing through the bar into the corridor and upstairs.

It was only a couple of minutes later that they reappeared, each of their faces awash with concentration as they followed behind Winona. The dog was moving slowly, nose to the ground, but surprisingly with purpose. She stalked along the corridor, sniffing this way and that, always moving forward, but when she reached the door and stepped into the bar itself she became noticeably confused. Her head came up and her eyes scanned the room. Her nose returned to the floorboards and she tried again to pick up whatever trail she’d held. She wandered the room back and forth; searching now, not following, until she reached the front door and walked through it. When she hit the fresh air outside she didn’t just look confused anymore, she looked lost. She brought her nose back to the ground with more determination and seemed to decide on some unspecific heading, wandering away but her course meandering uncertainly. The Crusaders behind her though seemed to take any hint of progress as a good sign and so they dutifully followed her away from the inn, optimistically proclaiming that they’d be bringing Applejack home before anypony knew it.

* * *

At sundown the Crusaders returned to Twilight with crestfallen expressions to report the failure of their plan. Winona had taken them halfway to the Everfree before becoming completely lost it seemed, and thereafter taken them on a tour of Ponyville without result. But Twilight at least managed to cheer them up a little by crossing off the areas they’d been to in red crayon on her map, telling them they’d been more help than they realised. I fixed them all a milkshake each, and a bowl of water for Winona, but afterwards they nevertheless left thoroughly deflated.

That evening, as before, the searching ended once day finally gave way to night. There were some complaints from the more determined among the townsfolk that they could have carried on longer by torchlight, but the simple fact was that the amount that could have been accomplished in such a fashion was disproportionately small when weighed against the benefits of a good night’s rest followed by another full day under the sun. Still, Twilight had agreed to at least write to Princess Luna, to see if she wouldn’t mind making the moon full for the coming few nights, to give them at least some light if they needed to work round the clock. Then she’d dismissed the search parties and I’d put the pub back to rights.

I had more customers initially than the previous evening but they fell away quickly, leaving to go and get that good night’s sleep. I gave Silver Lining the night off – she looked far too tired after flying all day to wait tables, and with few customers in the mood to eat anyway, Waldorf and I spent most of the evening chatting over inconsequential matters in the bar.

He left about ten o’clock, and with no other ponies in I thought I might as well close early and get some rest myself. I made my way to the front door, and was about to lock it when it opened and in walked Rainbow Dash. I caught her by surprise, stood so close, and after her initial double-take she quickly scanned the bar and noted no-one else in it. Her head hung a little. “Guess she’s not here then.”

“Who? You mean Applejack?” I said.

“I... thought I should check she hadn’t come back is all. I guess no-one else has found her yet?”

“No. Haven’t you been searching with the others?” It was only as I said it that I realised that of all the search parties I’d seen that day, Rainbow Dash hadn’t been part of any of them.

Her head snapped up. “Hey! I’ve been searching, all right!” she barked, taking offense where none was meant. “It’s just the way Twilight’s doing it is way too slow! I mean, ‘let’s look in all the places she definitely won’t be until she turns up’? What kind of plan is that?! I know Applejack. I know the places where she’d go if she was mad or sad or whatever. She just... hasn’t got to any of ‘em yet...” she finished sourly. Then her frown turned inward and she carried on, a determined note to her voice. “But when she does... I’m gonna be there for her.”

I gave her an understanding nod. There wasn’t really anything I could say to that.

Dash took a breath. “Look, I figured there’d be more ponies here to tell, but... it’s gonna get pretty noisy tonight. Just so you know.”

“Noisy?”

“Lots of lightning,” she explained. When I raised an eyebrow she turned that defensive frown on me again. “Just because Twilight’s not gonna look for her overnight doesn’t mean I’m not! I just need some light is all, so... lightning.”

I hadn’t noticed it at first, in the half-light, but I saw it now. What Fluttershy had talked about the previous night. It was in the way Rainbow Dash’s mane was knotted and frazzled; in the bags beneath her eyes; in the sickly pallor of her coat and her voice’s hollow timbre. She was exhausted. Probably emotionally as well as physically. She was a cushion and a glass of warm milk away from probably the best night’s sleep she’d ever have, but she was having none of it. Not while her friend was still out there somewhere. With no-one else around I felt like I had to say something; to try and stop her from pushing herself until she fell apart.

“Rainbow, don’t,” I said.

She looked up, surprised. Then she frowned, raising one eyebrow. “What did you say?”

“I said don’t. Rainbow Dash you aren’t thinking straight. You’re not helping Applejack by throwing Ponyville into a thunderstorm tonight. You’re half-asleep and you’re planning on playing with lightning? That doesn’t sound clever. And you’ll be waking up a town full of dog-tired ponies who need their energy to search tomorrow. Think about it. Go home and get some sleep instead. You look like you need it.”

For a second her frown vanished and her mouth opened in surprise. I fancied it was almost possible to see the thoughts going on inside her mind. I was offering her sleep. She wanted sleep. Sleep was good. It was rest and recuperation and a way to free herself of some of her guilt for a while...

And then her scowl returned and she glared at me once more. “What I need, is to find my friend. I can sleep all I want after I’ve brought her home!” She spun and marched out the door, head high, into the night. I watched her go and, after a minute, closed the door and locked it.

I didn’t sleep well at all, Thursday night. The lightning and constant thunderclaps saw to that.

The

Friday

By late-afternoon on Friday, Twilight’s map of Ponyville was almost completely covered in red crayon. Fluttershy’s birds had reported back from most cities and settlements they could reach with no good news. And even the most resolute and determined ponies were beginning to show signs of dejection.

And then... Pinkie Pie.

I was out the front of the inn talking to Twilight when she zoomed up, carrying a stack of paper that appeared to be flyers of some sort. She dropped two-thirds of them on Twilight’s planning table with a whump and gave us each a look that was both frantic and breathless. Still, she had a smile – more of a manic grin really – but any sign of cheer was better than none in the current climate.

“Good, you’re here!” she blurted. “I need you to give these out to as many ponies as you can before tonight!”

“Pinkie, what’s going on?” asked Twilight, while I studied one of the flyers.

It was a colourful affair, printed on pink paper with a crude picture of a smiling Applejack – or at least an orange-coated pony wearing a brown hat – dominating the centre. At the top of the page, in bold, multi-coloured lettering, the header read: Pinkie Pie Presents: Applejack’s Un-surprise Welcome Back to Ponyville Party!

I nearly choked on my own breath and I looked up, shocked, at Pinkie Pie. “She’s come back?”

“Oh no. Not yet!” Her slightly off-kilter smile remained.

“Pinkie, what... is this?” said Twilight, though it was only a rephrasing of her earlier question. It put me a little more at ease – if Twilight, probably the closest thing there is to an expert in Pinkie-Pie Theory, needed help understanding then there was hope for me yet.

Pinkie launched into rapid, breathless explanation. “Well I was thinking, if you’re planning a party for somepony, what’s the one way you can absolutely totally guarantee that they’ll know about it?”

“Invite them?” I asked.

“Make it a surprise party!” Was that an eye-twitch?

I shared a worried glance with Twilight. “Pinkie...?” said her friend.

“But of course my surprise parties are so surprising that if Applejack’s going to have any hope of ‘accidentally’ hearing about it, it has to be an un-surprise party!”

“Pinkie...?”

“And when Applejack hears about her amazing party and hears how many ponies are going to be here waiting for her to arrive she’ll have to show up, because Applejack wouldn’t let anypony down! Nuh-uh, and she’d never be late either because she’s super-reliable! Yep, that’s right, totally dependable Applejack who’s probably already heard about all this by now and who’s definitely going to be right on time for her party this evening! So, if you could just help me tell everypony in town that’d be super because the more ponies that come, the more ponies Applejack won’t be disappointing when she totally shows up tonight! Gotta go!”

And with that, clutching her remaining stack of papers, she was gone in a blur and a cloud of dust, a few stray flyers wafting softly to the ground.

I stood there with my mouth open – an expression that Twilight mirrored, and then horror dawned. Because there had been one word in that explanation that hadn’t sounded right (only one?) and as I replayed it in my head I caught it.

Here?

Frantically I scanned the flyer again. Oh... no.

At the bottom of the sheet of paper were more words: Come celebrate Applejack’s return to Ponyville! Tonight, 7 p.m. Venue: The Run for the Ro–

“PINKIE PIE!” I yelled, but she was already out of sight.

I snorted and felt my teeth clench. Then noticed Twilight next to me, using her magic to examine one of the flyers more closely, a strange look of calm consideration to her which I didn’t like one bit. “Twilight... you’re not actually considering–?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“You can’t think this is a good idea!” I objected.

She looked at me with eyes that were in some way lost, and no trace of happiness to her lips. When she spoke, her voice was but a whisper. “I ran out of good ideas yesterday.” She looked back to the flyer. “Right now? I’ll take a bad idea over no idea.”

* * *

So we gave out the flyers. Everypony who returned from searching or who just happened by was given one of the pink sheets of paper and an accompanying explanation. As I dished out posters left and right I began to notice that no two were the same. Some had Applejack smiling a cheesy smile, some had her in a pose or twirling her lasso. One even had a speech-bubble with the cheerful caption Yee-Haw! in it. The point was, Pinkie hadn’t used a printing press for these flyers... she’d drawn them. Individually. Hundreds.

She returned at six-thirty with supposedly half-an-hour to set up the bar for her party. She told me she was going to decorate the whole place with streamers and balloons and bunting that read Welcome Home Applejack! By the time she’d finished explaining what she was going to do ten minutes had passed. There was no way she was going to have time to put all that up before seven.

Of course, I had reckoned without her secret weapon, literally. And when she wheeled it in – a blue gun-carriage with pink wheels – I dove for cover behind the bar an instant before an enormous BOOM reverberated within the inn.

I admit, I’d never seen a party-cannon deployed before, but it was quite simply amazing in the most frightening of ways. In the space of a second, half the room had been... decorated! Streamers, bunting, brightly-coloured table-cloths, even food on tables! How? I have no idea, and I decided it was best not thought too hard about. Another boom and the other half of the room was similarly dealt with, and then there were only a few adjustments needed before everything was perfect. Pinkie zipped around setting up various Applejack-themed party... things. There was Pin the Tail on the Applejack, an Applejack Piñata, Applejack-balloons... the room was pretty much orange by the time she was done.

“Pinkie... why here?” I half-asked, half-complained as she put the finishing touches to the Applejack bunting hanging from the ceiling, the time now ten-to-seven. “Don’t you normally hold these things at Sugarcube Corner? Or Sweet Apple Acres, where there’s more space?”

“Oh, silly!” she chirped. “This is where everypony’s been coming back to all day. What if Applejack only found out about her party from following one of the search-ponies? She’d get all the way here and then have to go somewhere else for her party. That’s not very hospitable!” Another eye-twitch, I think, and her ear flicked too.

“I... don’t think that makes sense?” I tried, but I’d come to accept that logic was not my friend, and hadn’t been all day.

“Ooh, we’ve got a big turn-out!” she squealed from one of the windows overlooking the front of the pub. Then she was at the front door and pulling it open with her customary grin. “Come in everypony! There’s punch and cake and confetti and of course, plenty of apples!”

Ponies by the dozen marched inside, filling every seat and cramming into every corner they could find all with vaguely apprehensive expressions. I was glad to be stood behind the bar. Even with Silver Lining and Waldorf sharing the space with me at least we had some room to move. And at seven o’clock, Pinkie Pie took centre stage near the closed front door, scores of ponies’ attention glued to her, no-one with any idea what to expect.

“Fillies and Gentlecolts!” she began with confidence. “Thank you all for coming to celebrate Applejack’s return to Ponyville!” Her pupils were definitely smaller now, and her mane looked a little wilder and more wiry than usual. “I know she’s gonna be super-happy to see how many folks are here for her. So, without further ado, everypony give a warm, Ponyville-style ‘welcome home’ cheer to one of my bestest friends in the whole wide world... APPLEJACK!” she yelled, pulling the front door wide open.

To reveal nothing except the street outside, darkening with the slowly encroaching evening. The few ponies who had started to cheer cut their celebration short.

Pinkie stood at the door facing out, head searching left and right for a few seconds. Then her head seemed to spin a hundred and eighty degrees. “Uh... don’t worry everypony. Maybe she’s just... running a little late! That’s it. We’ll just try this again.” She closed the door. “Fillies and Gentlecolts... Applejack!” she cried as she flung the door open again, to the same result. “Applejack!” she repeated, staring out into the evening. And then, finally, “Applejack?” I saw her ear flick again. There was a long silence followed by a voice that was almost a squeak. “But she... she’s supposed to be here...”

It hadn’t hit me until right then. Until I’d heard that sad, pitiful tone of voice coming from, of all ponies, Pinkie Pie. Until I saw her mane deflate a little and her eyes lose their sparkle. This whole event hadn’t been a plan. What I’d construed up to this point as unfathomable Pinkie-logic had been nothing of the sort. It was just simple desperation. It was Pinkie Pie going off the deep-end and throwing everything she had into one final hurrah, because she needed to believe Applejack was coming back and she had nothing else to try. Pinkie stood at the door for long minutes, just looking out into the dusk and I could have sworn I could hear the joy and hope escaping from her like air from a balloon.

A pony coughed politely, and moments later the assembled throng began filing politely past Pinkie Pie, out the door and into the evening while Pinkie just stared sadly. A minute later the bar was empty again, and with Pinkie still making no movement Silver Lining walked over to her and she put a gentle hoof on her shoulder. “Pinkie Pie? Are you okay?”

“She was supposed to come,” said Pinkie, her voice hollow as though her mind were elsewhere. “She was supposed to come and see how happy everypony was to see her. There was going to be dancing and games and ice-cream and cake and she was going to have fun with all her bestest friends, right here. It... it was supposed to be a happy ending...”

“Oh, Pinkie. There there. Come here, lemme get you a drink,” said Silver, tugging her gently back into the bar. “Sarsaparilla, like usual?”

Pinkie sniffed. “I don’t feel very sassy,” she mewled.

“That’s okay, just have a sit down. I’ll bring you something,” said Silver Lining, guiding her to a comfy stool at one of the larger, round tables in the bar. She sat Pinkie down and then disappeared through the door towards the kitchen. Pinkie stretched her forelegs straight out on the table in front of her and then let her head drop between them, resting her muzzle on the tabletop. In a room covered with Applejack-themed decorations it was the only thing she could look at that wouldn’t remind her of her friend. I lit my horn and used my magic to start taking the party-stuff down, putting everything neatly on another table near the left wall. Silver returned and carefully placed a glass of warm milk next to Pinkie who didn’t stir, and then started to clear the tables of all the the abandoned cakes and other party food, carrying it all through into the kitchen bit by bit.

Three other mares and a dragon entered the bar from the front door. Twilight, Fluttershy, Rarity and Spike had been front-row centre during Pinkie’s failed presentation, and they’d had to exit to allow the ponies behind them to get past. They came back in now and all slowly took seats around Pinkie’s table, their voices mute; their ears folded flat. It struck me how like a wake the scene unfolding before me was.

Twilight, sat to Pinkie’s left, put a consoling hoof on her withers. “Pinkie? You okay?” she asked tenderly.

“It was a good effort, darling,” Rarity chimed in.

“I just... don’t know what went wrong,” said Pinkie. “It was an un-surprise party, so Applejack must have heard about it. Lots of friends expecting her, and Applejack doesn’t ever let ponies down. Add those together and it equals her being here. How... how can she not be?”

None of them seemed to have an answer, and so silence fell over the room for several long minutes.

The front door opened admitting Rainbow Dash who walked a few steps inside. She looked even worse than when I’d seen her last night. Somehow even more tired, and there were brambles and twigs stuck in her mane, as though she’d lost a fight with a thicket of bracken. She saw her friends sat at the table consoling Pinkie, but didn’t move to join them. “I guess she didn’t show then?” she asked the room at large.

I shook my head, as though she’d needed an answer. Rainbow Dash gave a little exhalation of breath – not quite a snort, but not just a sigh either, and then turned for the door.

“Rainbow?” called Twilight from the table. “Won’t you come and sit with us?”

Rainbow Dash spun back around. “Why? How is sitting there doing nothing gonna get Applejack back? I mean look at you! You all look like you’re giving up!”

“Rainbow Dash, that’s not fair,” objected Rarity.

“We’ve tried everything, Rainbow Dash,” said Twilight. “Searches, sleuths, sniffer-dogs, solicitations... uh... whatever it is Pinkie Pie does...”

“Soirees,” Pinkie put in, her muzzle still in contact with the table.

“It’s just I think we might have to start thinking that if we can’t find Applejack... it might be because she doesn’t want to be found,” Twilight finished.

“That’s easy for you to say!” yelled Rainbow Dash. “You’re not the one who made her leave!”

“Rainbow Dash, you didn’t—” began Fluttershy, but Rainbow cut right through her.

“Well I’m not giving up! There’s a few more Quarray nests I haven’t searched yet, so when you all get tired of doing nothing I’ll be out there, trying to find my friend!” She whirled indignantly towards the door, the effect sullied somewhat by the fact that in her sleep-deprived state she nearly tripped over her own hooves. Then she marched out and I was expecting a slam but in actual fact none came and the door remained open.

Scraping her stool back, Fluttershy got to her hooves.

“Dear, let her go,” said Rarity.

“But it’s not her fault!” objected Fluttershy.

“She won’t listen, darling. She hasn’t all week.”

“I’ve got to try again. I can’t just let her keep going like this. She’s going to hurt herself.”

“But what if you can’t get through to her?” asked Twilight.

“Then I’ll hit her over the head with something soft,” said Fluttershy. “Well, I mean... I know it sounds drastic but she’s so tired, it shouldn’t take much, and it’ll be for her own good. She needs to rest. I just hope I can convince her.” And with that Fluttershy flitted out through the open front door leaving her remaining four friends silent at the table.

From the door to my right, entering from the corridor, emerged one of my more regular customers. A mare with a plum coat and a raspberry coloured mane, unsteady on her hooves, who had likely just made use of the water-closet. “Ooh, everypony’s gone already?” she asked, wobbling over to me at the bar. “Did the party go well? Is it morning now?”

I brought a hoof to my forehead and sighed a long sigh. “Berry? You’re drunk. Go home.”

Saturday

Early on Saturday morning the search ended. The final piece of Ponyville and its surroundings was filled in in red on Twilight’s map and with nowhere else to look there was little else that could be done. Every city, town, village and community had reported in via one of Fluttershy’s birds, and there was no news. The staff who worked every train from Ponyville had been tracked down and asked, and none had seen her. And so life, sadly, began to return to normal. Saturday was a day like most other Saturdays, if a little slower. A heavy mood weighed over Ponyville and I hadn’t see a single smile all morning. Even Silver Lining couldn’t seem to find any cheer anywhere.

At lunch I had maybe a dozen customers when the Mayor wandered in, looking weary and resigned. She approached the bar and though we tried to give each other friendly smiles, neither of our hearts were in it. Silver had just finished clearing down a table and on her way back to the kitchen she stopped and offered a greeting.

“Good afternoon to you both,” said the Mayor. She was trying to be formal but her tone was flat and there was no sparkle to her eyes. She quickly scanned a notepad she had with her. “I’m here to take your complaint against Princess Twilight, regarding a search she ordered carried out here last Wednesday? If you’ll tell me your grievances I’ll see to it they’re investigated fully and establish if any charges are to be brought against her.”

“What?” cried Silver in shock. “Boss... you’re not going to get Twilight in trouble, are you?” she pleaded.

I let out an exasperated sigh. Of all the petty things... “WALDORF! YOU’RE WANTED!” I hollered in the general direction of the wall behind me. I know from experience he can hear me in the kitchen if I shout loud enough. I looked from Silver to the Mayor. “It’s not my complaint,” I explained. “Forgive the question, ma’am, but... would you mind telling me how you’ve come to hear of it?”

“Twilight came to me herself this morning and informed me. She is understandably upset by the fact that Applejack is still missing but she’s prepared to be held accountable for her actions, and she feels strongly that any objections to her behaviour as princess should be investigated in a transparent, impartial way. As the town’s elected official, that duty falls to me.” The Mayor gave a sigh which unfortunately developed into a yawn she had to stifle. “Forgive me. I wasn’t expecting to be in the office today, but this past week has caused no end of issues... and now this. I admit, I’m not going to relish it. This is the last thing she needs right now, but she was insistent that I come and hear your complaint.”

I nodded an understanding nod, and at that moment Waldorf scuttled through the door. “Blazes, Single! What’s all the hubbub about? Afternoon Ms. Mayor. What brings you here?”

“The Mayor’s here about our complaint against Twilight,” I said. “The one you said you were going to make on Wednesday?”

“Don’t do it, Wally! Please!” begged Silver.

Waldorf raised his bushy eyebrows in faux surprise. “Complaint?” he said in a shocked tone. “Oh no, dear me Ms. Mayor I’m afraid there’s been a terrible misunderstanding. I believe the word I used in relation to Ms. Twilight was compliment, not complaint! Isn’t that right, Single? Easy mistake to make though. It was a bit noisy with all the shouting.”

“The shouting that you were doing,” I said snidely. “You were pretty indignant about it at the time...”

“Because I thought you were going to be indignant about it! I thought we were being indignant together. Misjudged that one.”

“And your salads that you were so concerned would go to waste?” I asked.

“Oh, Single, I thought you knew by now. Fine, I’ll let you in on a secret: there are always salads ready to go to waste whenever I get messed around. Whether or not they actually exist in any form other than conceptual is a matter for the philosophers, and if they do, well, I put them in the fridge! Criminy, it’s salad! It keeps!”

“As long as these conceptual salads aren’t being made with conceptual ingredients that I’m actually paying for,” I said, though I found a smirk on my lips.

“All part of the mystical, unknowable art of food preparation I’m afraid,” he quipped. “But if you want, I’ll reimburse you with conceptual bits.”

“So... I’m confused. Is there a complaint against Twilight or not?” asked the Mayor, now thoroughly befuddled by our banter.

“Absolutely not!” replied Waldorf. “Not even a conceptual one. In fact... if you see her again, Ms. Mayor, do express my apologies for raising my voice to her. I... hadn’t understood how serious the situation was.”

The Mayor flipped her notepad closed. “Very well,” she said with a small but tired smile.

“Good! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I may or may not have eight salads that are absolutely going to go to waste unless I put them in the fridge.” He winked at me and with that he waddled off through the door back to the kitchen. I couldn’t stop a grin. Waldorf might have a hot temper at times, but his heart’s always been in the right place.

I looked back to the Mayor. “Can I get you anything, ma’am, since you’re here?”

She seemed to wrestle with her thoughts before coming to a decision. “A gin and tonic, if you please? It is supposed to be my day off after all.”

* * *

Saturday evening is my busiest time of the week. Sunday and Wednesday lunchtimes might beat it marginally in terms of volume of customers, but they’re normally here for food which Waldorf and Silver take care of whereas on Saturdays they’re usually here for drink which means I do most of the running around. The bar was fairly full with orders coming thick and fast, even if the ponies making them weren’t exactly full of cheer. The mood continued to be somber as it had been all day and I noticed more than a couple of ponies were drinking to forget their worries. Rainbow Dash had been right. It was as if the entire town had just given up.

Ah. Speak of the devil.

Rainbow Dash wandered into the bar, head low, hooves almost dragging and threatening to scuff grooves into my floorboards. She reached a bar-stool and hauled herself onto it, and when she’d finally settled herself she practically went limp, almost falling half-over the bar. “Hey... bar-guy? Can I have a drink, please?”

“You gonna pay for it?” I asked.

“You know... know I’m good for it,” she muttered.

“Rainbow Dash, you’re really not.”

“I’ve got bits,” she said wearily, patting herself down, checking beneath her wings. “I just... uh, didn’t bring ‘em, apparently...” she trailed off, her eyelids almost falling closed.

I called out to Silver, who was dutifully walking to the bar with two trays full of used glasses and mugs, one balanced on each wing. It still looks impressive no matter how many times I see it. “Silver? Can you mind the bar for a minute?”

“Sure!” she said, putting the trays down and ducking through the hatch to take my place. I headed for the kitchen and returned a minute later with a cup and saucer, and a full cafetiere which I placed in front of Rainbow Dash.

“What’s... that?” she asked.

“Coffee.”

“That’s not what I wanted.”

“Too bad you didn’t say,” I countered with a tiny smirk.

“It’s all fancy and everything...”

“Just drink it,” I said, levitating the cafetiere over the cup and pouring the steaming, strong-smelling coffee in. The sweet scent seemed to have some effect as it hit her. Her ears pricked, her eyes focused and she managed to perk up, if only a little. She carefully took the cup and sipped from it, looking a little less pale already. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“No.” She looked from her coffee to me. “I guess she still hasn’t been back here yet?”

I shook my head. “If she came back I don’t think she’d come straight here, Dash. You’d probably know about it before me.”

“Maybe. I’ve been pretty far from town the whole day, looking. Just had to check. That’s what the tavern is for, right? The place you come to to get information or pick up side-quests.”

“Side-what?”

“Nevermind.” She took another, longer sip of coffee, and it seemed to meet with her approval.

“When was the last time you slept?” I asked.

My question provoked a yawn from the pegasus, and she looked annoyed with herself for giving in to her fatigue even slightly. Then her face relaxed. “I got a couple of hours last night,” she said. “Before that? A while.”

“Fluttershy talk some sense into you?”

“No. She tried. Then she clobbered me over the head with a pillow. When that didn’t work she attacked me with a warm blanket and some comfy pyjamas. It was... pretty surreal. I figured the only way to make it stop was to take the hint. I got maybe two, three hours, then I slipped away while she was sleeping.” She sighed a long, drawn out sigh. “I’m still tired, I know I am. But I can’t just stop looking for her. I can’t.”

“Surely you’re not going back out looking tonight?” I asked, astonished.

She nodded. “Got a full moon, gotta make the most of it.”

Beside me, Silver let out a little worried gasp.

“Rainbow... is there anything I can say to talk you out of it?” I asked. “You can take a room upstairs right now if you want. There’s no-one else staying here this week.”

“No. But... thanks. For the other day, too,” she said, glancing at Silver with a tired smile. She drained the last of her coffee and hopped down from her stool, heading for the door but at least not looking like she was going to collapse any minute. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“I should have got her hot cocoa instead of coffee,” I lamented to Silver as the door shut behind Rainbow Dash. “Might just have sent her to sleep.”

“Is she... gonna be okay?” asked Silver.

“I think she’ll keep looking for Applejack until she passes out,” I said honestly. “I just hope she isn’t two hundred feet in the air when it happens.” I caught the look of horror on Silver’s face and she almost started for the door. “It’s okay,” I said. “I think she’s a good enough flier not to let that happen.”

“But if there’s a chance it could, she needs a wing-pony!”

“Silver, I don’t think there’s anything we can do for her that her best friends haven’t already tried,” I said with a sad head-shake. “Right now she’s running on grief and guilt, and they’re not emotions that easily give up their hold over you.”

“But... you’re not saying she’s gonna be like this forever are you?”

“Not forever, but right now her guilt won’t let her stop until either Applejack’s found, or we find out what happened to her. She needs to know and she can’t rest until she does.”

“But that could take—!” she started and cut herself off as her eyes widened. Weeks? Months? Years?

I nodded sadly. “Yes. It could.”

As it happened though, it didn't.

Roses

Sunday

I found out about ten-thirty in the morning on Sunday.

I hadn’t long opened up the front door when into the pub strolled two lanky unicorns with slick manes, straw hats and blue-and-white striped shirts, and who looked like they could charm the fleece off a sheep. “Ah, why hello there my good fellow!” one called out to me, and then both of them were sidling up to the bar.

“Flim?” I acknowledged with a nod. “What brings you back to Ponyville? Again.”

I’m careful around them, but I don’t really have a problem with Flim and Flam the way some do. Largely because I haven’t yet decided whether they’re optimistic but terribly misguided entrepreneurs, or whether there’s a genuine streak of malice to their wheeling and dealing. I know most of the town has made up its mind, but from my point of view some of the stuff they’ve actually made is quite good, let down by what I would term as, ‘a series of errors in marketing strategy’. So until I’ve seen something that convinces me one-way or the other, I’ll remain civil and reserve judgment.

Ah, actually, speaking of things they’ve made in the past...

I turned away from them just as they reached the bar. Flim even had his mouth open ready to... ‘speak’ is the wrong word I think. ‘Pitch’ would be more apt. I used my magic to open a dusty glass jar I’ve had stored on the top shelf for a while now. It contained a single piece of paper – a small rectangle folded in half. I took it out and levitated it to Flim. Whatever he was about to say, his curiosity overpowered him.

“What’s this?”

“A cheque,” I said, and saw both his and his brother’s eyes gleam greedily. Sure enough when they unfolded it it was a cheque from the First Bank of Canterlot for a sum of not-inconsequential amount.

“You left a whole mess behind when you skedaddled the first time you rolled into town,” I explained. “Including about thirty barrels of actual, drinkable cider. It had to go somewhere so the mayor let me sell it. Not as good as the hoof-pressed stuff I usually get from the farm, you understand, but not bad actually, aside from a noticeable metallic aftertaste. So, that there is your share.”

Flim continued to look greedily at the cheque in his aura, while his brother turned his gaze towards me. “Our share, you say?”

“Don’t start with me,” I warned. “You abandoned it. The town could have claimed it as salvage. I sold it, so I took fifteen percent. Town tax is ten. And the Mayor awarded the Apple family forty since it was their apples you used, and to cover the damage you caused to their fields and the fact that technically you were renting their land when you made it and when they agreed to store it. The rest is yours. Unless you don’t want it?”

“No no, that’s uh... quite acceptable,” said Flim. “Right, brother o’ mine?”

“Right. You know, maybe we should get back into the cider game, Flim. The machine still works, and as I recall, we won that contest. Rights to exclusive cider production in Ponyville with our new partner here?”

“Uh... not quite,” I said, and started rooting around under the counter. “Because everything else you left behind... where is it– Ah! Here we go, I knew I had a copy. The Mayor asked me to make this.” I unfolded the new piece of paper I’d found. “Ahem. ‘I, Single Measure, senior member of the Equestrian Society of Publicans and Brewers, say as follows. Today, the... yadda yadda yadda... have tasted three random samples from the barrels labelled FF-59, FF-62, and FF-86. In all three cases my professional opinion is that the liquid in question does not possess any of the characteristics of any known beverage and should not be considered fit for equine consumption.’” I looked up from the paper. “Basically, whatever was in those remaining barrels wasn’t cider, which means technically, after a re-count, you lost. It’s a shame you didn’t come to see me the last time you were here either, or you’d have had that cheque sooner and we could have talked about that juice you were peddling.”

“Ah, the Flim Flam Miracle Curative Tonic!” exclaimed Flim.

“Out of stock, I’m afraid,” admitted Flam.

“I tried some,” I said. “It was pretty good. Apples and beets, if I’m not mistaken? I’d have stocked it. I could have been giving you two cheques right now if you’d just changed the label to what it actually was and got rid of the song-and-dance routine.” A series of errors in marketing strategy. “Anyway, back to my first question: what are you here selling this time?”

“Selling?” said Flim, apparently shocked and already I could sense the subtle shift into sales-pitch territory. “Why, we’re here because we’ve heard the whole town is looking for its dear, missing Applejack, of course!”

“If only there were some way we could help, brother!”

“If only, Flam. But it’s been so long since she went missing, I’m beginning to forget what she even looks like! How would I even know if I’d found her?!”

“Worry not, brother of mine, I’ve got just the thing!” Flam cried and opened one of his saddlebags – the same blue-and-white design as their shirts, and I hadn’t noticed he’d been wearing it at first – and from it levitated a wide, rolled piece of paper that he unfurled into a fairly professional-looking glossy poster of a smiling Applejack. “Now you’re absolutely guaranteed not to mistake her for any other pony on the street!”

“Egads, Flam, that’s absolutely indispensable!”

“Indistinguishable!”

“Inexpensive!”

“For you see...”

From somewhere carnival music began to play, and I could see and hear the tell-tale signs that a musical number was being cued up. I held up a hoof to cut it short. I suppose it’s easier for me to deal with these two than it is for most other ponies because their bamboozling tactics don’t work on me. I’ve seen it all before, in other places from other slick business ponies. I know the game very well even if I don’t play it. “Folks, leaving aside that this is less altruism and more ‘cynical attempt to cash in’, you’re a little late. The search has kind of wound down.”

“Oh, no! Horror of horrors, brother of mine! We’re too late,” cried Flim. “How ever will we remind ourselves of this town’s poor, long-lost friend who ill-deserves to be forgotten?”

“Alas, dear brother, it’s a sad day indeed, but take this I pray, and use it to rekindle your memories and gladden your heart,” said Flam, undoing the opposite flap on his saddlebags now, and levitating another piece of rolled paper. When unfurled it was a similar Applejack poster, identical to the first save for the addition of the words, In Loving Memory scrawled in calligraphy across the top. He placed it on the bar directly in front of me.

I stared at it and felt my jaw drop.

“With our handy stencils we can personalise each and every poster! And with this quaint tavern having served as the base for all of the search efforts so far, where better to—?”

“Gents,” I said, cutting them off. I took a deep breath. I wasn’t angry, just... disappointed as I looked to them again, sadly now. “I’m sorry. There’s a part of me that wants to believe you’ve done this out of some kind of latent respect, and that you’ve twisted it into this by accident. Far be it from me to go interfering in other ponies’ businesses but... this is pretty low. I... I even think you might have crossed a line,” I said, still half-amazed. “I’m sorry but I think I’m going to ask you to leave. And if you take my advice, you’ll keep those hidden until you reach the edge of town and then you’ll burn them. If anyone sees you with them... I just don’t think it’ll end well. This town’s not ready to believe she’s not coming back.”

At that moment Silver Lining trotted in through the front door, an hour earlier than usual to start the lunchtime shift. She initially had a strange smile on her face, more overjoyed than even her regular happy grin but when she spied the two smooth-talking unicorns conversing with me at the bar it fell away and she eyed them suspiciously. “Hi boss,” she said to me without taking her eyes off the brothers. “What are they doing here?”

Silver already has her mind made up about Flim and Flam and doesn’t understand my sympathy. Neither does Waldorf, and I can only suppose that it’s actually being in business for myself that gives me a slightly more accommodating outlook towards them. It can be tough to make a living on your own sometimes. But nopony should set out to make a living like this.

“Flim and Flam have approached me with a business proposal that I’ve chosen to decline. They were just leaving,” I explained, though it sounded like I was trying to justify myself to her more than anything.

“Good. Wait, what kind of business proposal?” she asked with more suspicion, before catching sight of the unfurled In Loving Memory poster on the bar.

What happened next, I didn’t expect.

I thought Silver would gawp like I had, or gasp in shock. Then I felt sure she’d launch into an unprofessional but eminently justified tirade against the two brothers before chasing them out of the inn – maybe even out of town! – before she returned to tell me how disappointed she was in me for even entertaining them here.

Instead she took a long glance at the mawkish memorial poster and burst out laughing! “Oh yeah!” she guffawed. “Go ahead! See how many of those you can sell!”

“Silver? Are you alright?” I asked, a little freaked out.

Silver stopped laughing long enough to wipe a tear away and look at me with a genuinely happy smile. “She’s back boss! The whole town is talking about it! She came wandering out of the Everfree this morning with Zecora. She’s at home right now with her family.”

“You’ve seen her?” I asked, shocked.

“No, but Rose has and so has Cheerilee, and I know they wouldn’t be making it up! They just told me and I came straight here to tell you. She’s back, boss, and she’s safe!” She turned a triumphant grin on the two oily brothers. “So go ahead, you goofs, go out there and see how many of those posters you can sell! Get!”

“Alas, market forces conspire against us once again, dear brother,” said Flam.

“There’s no demand for our supply. On to the next venture?”

“Indeed! Somewhere else, perhaps?”

“Indubitably.”

And with that they were trotting quickly for the door and in a moment they were gone.

* * *

Lunchtime came and was hugely busy, as it always is on a Sunday. The inn bustled with lively ponies who all had smiles on their faces the like of which I hadn’t seen in days. A great deal of noisy chatter filled the room, but there was only one topic of conversation.

I caught a few snippets from half-overheard dialogue but not enough to piece together everything that had happened, mainly because most folks didn’t know themselves. All anypony seemed to know at this early stage was that apparently Applejack had been in the Everfree since she vanished and had come out unscathed. And as far as most folks were concerned that was that. It was like a lightswitch had been flipped: Applejack was missing, but now she was back and she was okay. There was a sense of relief, but once that had passed the consensus was that everything was going to carry on as normal. And that was a good thing!

But darn if I wasn’t still curious. Unfortunately, I had to accept that I’d probably never know much more than most others about the whole affair so I forced myself to forget about it. All that mattered was that Applejack was back, her family would be relieved and her friends would be happy. The best result we could have hoped for. Why not?

* * *

Sunday is always a quiet evening in the Roses. By the time the sun had gone down and twilight had begun to stalk the streets I had two customers left in, and it was past the point of the evening where I’d normally expect any more. Two stallions were chattering over pints of ale in the far right corner, and aside from that the only other pony in the room was me, wrestling with five-across on the crossword – A pony shouts in anger, to stoke the fire perhaps? (7) – until someone deigned to call out another drink order.

When Applejack walked in it was a surprise.

She slipped in quietly but it wouldn’t have mattered how busy the bar was, I wouldn’t have failed to spot her. For a moment I felt a scowl upon my brow and the temptation to holler, ‘Where the hell have you been!?’ was so strong as to be palpable.

I managed to restrain myself but she must have picked up on my mood for she approached the bar cautiously. “Uh... howdy, Single. You still servin’?”

I bit my tongue, hard. “What’re you after?” I asked.

“Mug o’ cider, if’n you’d be so kind,” she said, pulling herself onto a bar stool. Her voice was tired and she had a weary expression, similar to ones I’d been seeing all week.

I dutifully began to pour her her drink but I realised that I wasn’t going to be able to hold back. I’m just the bartender – I’m not supposed to pry or gossip, especially where I’ve no business being – but as I pulled on the cider-pump I couldn’t stop myself. I had to know.

“Applejack... where’ve you been?” I heard myself ask.

My question was met with a heavy sigh and a look of simple lethargy. “You mind if I don’t? It’s a story I’ve been tellin’ all day, an’ it’s startin’ to get tirin’ repeating it all the time. I dunno what folks were expectin’ but it really ain’t as interestin’ as all that.”

I bit my tongue again and finished pouring her drink, putting it on the bar in front of her. As I did so, Applejack dug out a full coin purse with her teeth and plonked it on the counter.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

“I came to settle up with ya. For the room you gave me,” she said. “How much you need?”

“I said at the time it was free for you.”

“I know, I remember. But... don’t feel right me takin’ your hospitality from ya like that. ‘Specially after the state I only got myself into. I meant to come back an’ make things right with ya the next day. I wasn’t really expectin’...” She trailed off, and when she glanced up she caught me giving her my best ‘go on,’ expression as I nudged the coin purse back towards her. “That’s the deal, huh?” she said.

“That’s the deal,” I confirmed.

Applejack undid the purse and tossed two bits into the charity jar for her cider. “Alright, but I reckon you’ll be disappointed. Like I said, it ain’t an interestin’ story.”

She took a sip of her cider and replaced the mug carefully on the bar. “I woke up at sunrise on Monday mornin’ with the most rotten headache I reckon I’ve ever had. I dunno what kinda whiskey that was, Single, but it sure didn’t agree with me...”

“Sure, blame the whiskey, not the half-gallon of cider you’d put into yourself...” I said with a smirk.

“You gonna listen or are you gonna smart-alec everythin’?”

“Sorry.”

She sighed. “Twilight’s always goin’ on about this amazin’ tea that Zecora makes. Clears her head, perks her up, makes her focus. I figured that was just the kind of thing I needed, so I decided I’d go ask for some. Like a dummy, I wandered into the Everfree with a head full o’ cobwebs.” She took another sip of cider. “You ever hear of a plant called Poison Joke?”

I shook my head. My knowledge of botany is pretty much limited to barley, hops, grapes and other plants that you can distill. I can’t ever envisage wanting to make a drink out of a plant called ‘poison’ anything.

“It’s a weird blue flower that grows in the forest there,” continued Applejack. “Has all kinds of different effects on ponies. With me... well it makes me short.”

“Short?”

“This big,” she said, holding one hoof about two inches above the counter-top.

I raised my eyebrows. Had anypony else been telling me this I’d have called it out as a lie. “What, you shrink? Bones, hair, eyes, the food in your belly, everything? How’s that possible?”

“Magic.”

“Oh.”

“It’s supposed to be funny.”

“Doesn’t sound funny.”

“Nope. Anyway, between my head feeling like cotton and me not lookin’ where I was goin’ I got myself a little lost and wandered right into a big ol’ patch of the stuff. And then about ten minutes later, things around me started gettin’ awfully big.” She shook her head a little. “I guess I should’a started back to Ponyville soon as I realised, but I was near enough halfway I reckoned, and I got it into my stubborn head that I was goin’ to Zecora’s so that’s where I was headed, and no magic flower was gonna say otherwise. Thing is... it’s a heck of a lot further when you’re tiny. And when every big puddle is a lake you gotta go round and every patch of grass is a forest you gotta get through it takes a lot longer too. Days.” She sighed again and sipped. “Timberwolves picked up my scent on the Wednesday, but they were lookin’ for a full-sized pony and there’s lotsa places for a two-inch tall mare to hide. Huge lightning storm happened on Thursday night which I could’ve done without. Crossin’ the river on Friday... that was a challenge. I finally got to Zecora’s on Saturday evening and she told me Fluttershy had sent her a bird with a note askin’ if she’d seen me. She fixed me up one o’ her magic cure-all baths, I rested at her place and we came back together this mornin’. That’s all there is to it.”

I nodded slowly, though I had to disagree with her assertion that it wasn’t an interesting tale. If our respective experiences over this past week were to be written down in prose form, and I were asked to choose one to read, I know which story I’d pick.

“The whole town’s been worried about you. Your friends especially,” I said. “Do they know you’re all right? Have you seen them since you’ve been back?”

She nodded. “I’ve seen ‘em and we’ve done the group-hug thing. All except for Rainbow Dash,” she said. “I’ve been tryin’ to find her all day, but I reckon she’s avoidin’ me.”

“Avoiding you?” I said, ready to correct her.

There was a momentary uncertain pause, as though she were unsure whether she wanted to continue. In the end though she spoke up again. “See... the two of us got into a disagreement last week,” she said. “We started arguin’ with each other, like we do from time to time, but it kinda turned into a shoutin’ match. And then... then she said somethin’ that really hurt.” She took a slow sip of her drink. “She didn’t mean it to, I know she didn’t. It just... came out wrong, I think, like an accident more than anything. I wasn’t angry at her, not even for a second, but even though she didn’t mean it... it hit me hard, y’know? It upset me somethin’ powerful and I couldn’t pretend otherwise. I had to walk away, just... be by myself for a bit, but... I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about it. It got stuck up in my brain like a barnacle and wouldn’t let go. So I came here to see if I could prise it loose with some cider. I guess you know the rest.”

“Rainbow Dash... she’s been trying to find you all week,” I said. “Desperately.”

“I know. Fluttershy told me, but I just can’t seem to set eyes on her. I dunno if she’s ashamed or she thinks I’m mad at her or what. I just want my friend back, but if she don’t feel like she can talk to me yet, I don’t wanna push it.”

“If I see her, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her?”

“Thanks.” She drained the last drops from her mug and replaced it on the bar. “Reckon I need to use the lil’ fillies room. You mind?”

“That’s what it’s there for.”

She dropped down off her bar stool and headed through the door into the hallway.

Her timing couldn’t have been worse... or better depending on one’s perspective... because a few seconds after the door had closed behind her, Rainbow Dash walked in.

She still looked as tired as when I’d seen her yesterday, but she wasn’t quite as wobbly on her hooves. She hauled herself onto the same bar stool that she’d used the previous few times she’d been in. “Hey bar-guy. Can I get a drink?”

I stood there, not moving, not sure where to start. When I failed to respond she put on a little scowl for me. “Hey, I brought bits today, alright?”

“Rainbow... you do know, don’t you?” I said.

She sighed. “About Applejack? Yeah, I heard.”

“Then... why haven’t you talked to her?!” I asked, officially crossing the line into ‘interfering with other ponies’ lives’ and not caring.

“Hey! It’s not that simple, okay!” she shot. Her gaze fell to the bar. “It’s just... I had it in my head that I was gonna find her and bring her back and if I did that we’d be cool, right? Cuz I’d have showed her I was trying to make up for what I did. But now she’s come back on her own, and suddenly I can’t be the pony who helped her when she needed it, all I am is the pony that hurt her real bad in the first place. I just... can’t figure out how to start that conversation. Maybe, ‘Hey Applejack, sorry I totally upset you and made you leave town, let’s go back to being friends, ‘kay?’”

“It wasn’t like that, and she doesn’t care that you said whatever it was you said to her. She needs to talk to you.”

“You spoke to her?”

“Rainbow, she’s here.” I said.

Rainbow’s eyes widened in shock and fear and she snapped her head around to look at the rest of the bar. But she saw only my other two customers in the corner and looked back at me with a confused, raised eyebrow. “Uh... you do know who Applejack is, right?”

I brought a hoof to my face before finding the resolve to meet Rainbow’s gaze again. “She’s in the bathroom.”

Rainbow’s eyes found that look of subtle horror again, and her mouth hung open a little as she fixed her gaze on the door to my right. “Oh boy,” she whispered as the colour seemed to drain from her face. Her wingtips twitched, her breathing became shallower, and I could see her fight-or-flight instincts kicking in as the confrontation she’d clearly been avoiding all day threatened to pounce on her any second. For a moment she actually looked like she was about to bolt for the front door, but she turned back to me still looking worried. “Look... I’m really gonna need that drink.”

I turned and fetched a slim highball glass, plonked a couple of ice-cubes in, and filled it from a jug of clear liquid I keep behind the bar.

“What’s that?” she asked, giving the drink a suspicious sniff.

“That’s water.”

She frowned at me. “I’m gonna need something stronger than that.”

“No.”

“What?! Hey, I said I’ve got bits!”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said, and I leaned in closer to her and lowered my voice. “Rainbow, I know you. If I give you a drink right now it’ll hit you in ten seconds flat. You might think that’s a good thing, but any minute now you’re going to have to talk to Applejack. And when you do... when you say what you’ve gotta say to her... she deserves to know where it’s coming from. She needs to know you’re saying it because of what’s in your heart, not because of what’s gone to your head.”

Dash blinked a couple of times. “Wow...” she breathed.

“Yeah, I know,” I said.

“I mean... you’re like the worst bartender ever.”

“Too bad. I’m the only one you’ve got,” I said with a smirk.

“Rainbow?” came a surprised voice from the door. Applejack stepped through with a look of surprise.

And that was it. Time up. I took a couple of steps away from Rainbow Dash and tried to be interested in cleaning some shelves under the counter. Rainbow gazed at her friend, a look of controlled panic to her. “AJ?”

“I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for ya. Where’ve ya been?”

“Oh... just, here and there. Everywhere, really. You?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Oh. Okay. Fine.”

“Dash... ya look terrible. That ain’t... that ain’t because of me, is it?”

“Hey, I don’t see you winning any Miss Equestria contests either, you know.”

“I didn’t mean it like...” Applejack started. There was a hitch in her voice, as though she’d been about to say something then thought better of it. “Look... we don’t have to do this right now. Maybe I should just leave you be,” she said with obvious reluctance. She looked towards me and tugged the brim of her hat as a parting gesture, and turned for the door.

Rainbow Dash’s face blanched. She watched her friend turn away, preparing to go, and the thought of simply losing sight of her seemed to fill her with enough horror to spur her to action. Rainbow jumped down from the stool she was on and galloped towards Applejack, leapt at her and landed atop her back, wrapping her forelegs around Applejack’s neck in a tight, desperate hug. “Don’t go,” she said quietly.

“Huh?” said Applejack.

“Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go, don’t go!” whispered Dash frantically.

Applejack gave a smile and a little chuckle. “Okay, sugarcube,” she said, shifting her weight enough to encourage Rainbow to climb off her such that they ended up face-to-face, with Rainbow facing towards the door and Applejack facing the bar. “Take it easy. I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” she said softly. She looked over towards me behind the bar. “Single? Could ya maybe get us a couple o’ ciders?”

“No!” cried Rainbow Dash, to Applejack’s clear surprise. “I mean, wait. It’s just... there’s something I gotta say before that, okay?”

“Okay...?” said Applejack, confused.

Rainbow shuffled her hooves nervously for a second and then, finding some courage, reached forward and hugged Applejack again. Her forelegs circled Applejack’s neck tenderly but firmly, crossing over at her withers and she pressed her chest close. She closed her eyes and nuzzled into her friend’s neck and mane, and when she spoke it was with a whisper. What she said wasn’t meant for me to hear, but the room was deathly quiet and the sound did carry. It was only one word.

“Sorry.”

I saw a smile, and a tear came to Applejack’s eye. “Aw hay, sugarcube...” she said, and nuzzled back. “It’s okay. It’s all forgiven, alright?”

“I’m so sorry. I never meant—”

“I know, Dash. I know you didn’t.” Applejack returned her friend’s hug and they remained in a comfortable, happy embrace for a long, quiet moment. Eventually they released each other, both of them wiping moisture from their eyes. Applejack looked to me once again. “Uh... Single? Cider?”

I nodded, and set to work. Applejack took Rainbow Dash over to the same corner table she’d sat at last Sunday and I dutifully brought their order over to them. My other pair of customers were gone now, having left just as Applejack had come back in, and the two mares had the pub to themselves. I grabbed the discarded mugs the other two had abandoned on my way back to the bar and Rainbow and Applejack started talking, though quietly enough that I couldn’t hear most of what they were saying. I picked up snippets here and there and it seemed like Applejack was relating the full story of her adventures over the past week but I didn’t try to eavesdrop further.

“Hey! They did it!” came an enthusiastic voice from the corridor as I reached the counter. “Aw, they look so happy!”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Silver?!”

“Hi, boss!” She tip-hoofed around the door and under the bar-hatch to stand next to me and gaze at the two reunited friends.

“Silver, what are you doing here?”

“Cleaning the kitchen. There was a whole lot of gunk under one of the fridges that isn’t there anymore. You can thank me later.”

“I meant why are you here at all?” She’s only part-time and Sunday nights aren’t usually on her roster. Neither are they on Waldorf’s but I know he’s not here – it’s far too quiet back there. Usually, this time of the week, it’s only me in and we don’t tend to offer food, unless ponies are after the most basic of sandwiches even I can cobble together.

“I owed you a shift from last week,” answered Silver. “When you let me off to be part of the search, remember? Besides, I need the hours. I’ve got tuition to pay.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “You know you’re getting a bonus this month, right?” I deadpanned.

“I am? What for?”

“Just... generally being amazing,” I said.

“Careful boss,” she said with a smile. “If you’re going to start paying me based on how amazing I am you won’t be able to afford me for long.” She looked back over to the two content mares at their quiet corner table. Then she broke into a smile and gave a little intake of breath as she seemed to come to a snap decision. “I’m getting them ice-cream,” she announced, turning for the kitchen.

“You’re what?”

“I’m gonna bring them some ice-cream. If I’d been through what they’ve been through this past week, I'd need ice-cream, and Wally made five fresh tubs yesterday.”

“It’ll come out of your wages,” I said.

“Whatever you say, boss. But I think they deserve something nice, so I’m getting it for them anyway.” She gave me a sly look. “Besides, I’m not sure it will.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because you think they deserve it too.”

I sighed. Sometimes I forget how well she knows me. “Ice-cream,” I said, and she headed for the kitchen.

* * *

They talked for well over an hour, Applejack and Rainbow Dash, sharing a small mountain of Waldorf’s artisan vanilla and coffee-bean ice-cream – which he would likely horse-whip me for if he learned I’d given it away. Silver had cunningly taken it to them in a single large bowl with two spoons, which I thought was a nice touch. Aside from that though, I left them to it, my attention returning to the crossword until I was needed for another drink order. Five-across became Bellows, and the rest gradually filled out.

After a while it seemed Applejack finished her side of the story and Rainbow ended up talking, probably relating what had gone on in Ponyville over the past several days. I even caught Rainbow make mention of ‘bar-guy’ and heard Applejack use my name. When I glanced up instinctively I saw Applejack looking horrified at her friend, and then she looked at me. She got to her hooves and wandered over, a humble air about her. She pulled herself up onto the bar-stool opposite me. “Rainbow’s just been tellin’ me how when she was here the other day she drank through most of a bottle of ambrosia that she never paid you for?”

“Applejack... it’s not important,” I said.

“Yes it is. You’ve got a business to run and ambrosia ain’t cheap. How much does she owe ya? Fifty?”

“It’s not like I measured. At a guess, about thirty, rounding down. I’m not planning on hounding her for it.”

Applejack nodded, giving a moment’s pause. “If’n you’ll let me square things for her, I’m gonna give ya next month’s cider-barrel for free,” she said. “That sound okay?”

I blinked. There’s a sense of fair-play and then there’s this. “Applejack... no,” I said. “I can’t let you do that. Even offsetting what Rainbow Dash drank you’re still doing yourself out of over a hundred bits there!”

She waved away my objection. “Ain’t just the drink,” she said. “It’s all of it. It’s the room you gave me for nothin’, it’s gettin’ Dash safely home, it’s puttin’ up with Twilight and her guards rootin’ through your entire inn and even turfin’ yer own customers out to do it. It’s humourin’ my sister, it’s being there for Fluttershy, it’s lettin’ Pinkie Pie commandeer the whole place for a party-venue on one of your busiest nights of the week and it’s lettin’ the Roses become the dang headquarters of Operation Applesearch!” She took a breath. “Single... every pony I’ve talked to since I’ve been back – family, friends, everyone – they’ve all been tellin’ me little bits n’ pieces about what happened while I was gone... but there’s one constant that everypony’s mentioned, and it’s this place. I don’t know the whole story yet, but I know you’ve put up with... and done... a whole lot you shouldn’t’ve had to, and it was all because of me. If you ask me, a barrel of cider don’t nearly cover it, but unless you suddenly need a truckload of apples too, it’s all I’ve got to offer ya. I just hope it’s enough.”

I let out a long sigh – which felt like it was becoming a habit this week – and met Applejack’s stare with a stony one for a long moment. It still felt to me like she was being too generous, but Applejack can out-stubborn a rock and it was fairly obvious I was going to have to relent. “Alright, Applejack. If it’ll square things up for you.”

“Fair deal?”

“Fair deal,” I said. “But as long as you understand that it wouldn’t matter if there was a barrel on the end of it or not... I’d do it all again. And so would Waldorf and so would Silver. Ah... uh, in fact it looks like she might have to,” I noted, looking past Applejack to her corner table as the quiet was broken by a loud, drawn out snort.

At the table, Rainbow Dash had fallen asleep, her head resting on the tabletop and the tip of her cowlick falling into the empty ice-cream bowl, becoming soggy as it absorbed the small puddle of melted goop at the bottom. Applejack looked around and couldn’t stop a small and honest smile as Dash’s snoring continued. “I know it don’t look like it right now... but she’s an amazin’ friend.”

I nodded. “Want me to ask Silver if she’ll take her home?”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll take her home.”

“That’s going to be... interesting,” I said, quirking an eyebrow.

Applejack smiled. “I mean I’ll take her back to Sweet Apple Acres. It might sound silly, but she’s so tired I don’t want her wakin’ up in the night not knowing if this was all a dream or somethin’ and thinkin’ she’s still gotta look for me. I wanna be there, to make sure she knows everything’s okay.”

“Doesn’t sound silly,” I said. “Sounds like she’s got a pretty amazing friend.”

“Maybe she does,” Applejack acknowledged. “Look, there’s one last thing. Pinkie Pie’s throwin’ me a welcome home party at Town Hall tomorrow evening. It’s... some kind of surprise party except I’m supposed to know about it? She even found a whole bunch o’ posters with my face on in the trash somewhere, which is kinda weird. Anyway, the way she was talkin’ sounds like the whole town is gonna be there. That being the case... might not be many folks here for you to cater for and if not... well, I guess I’m sayin’ I’d appreciate it if you and Silver and Wally could come along too.”

I smiled. “I’ll bring a bottle of ambrosia.”

She chuckled. “And I’ll keep Dash away from it.”

As though provoked by her name, Rainbow Dash snorted in the corner and mumbled in her sleep. “Nnnh... no potatoes...”

“Huh?” asked Applejack with a raised eyebrow, looking back to her friend.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” I said, still smiling.

We exchanged nods and then Applejack wandered back over to her table and the unconscious friend sprawled across it. With some gentle cajoling she shuffled Rainbow Dash off the table and onto her own back in a similar manner to her position from earlier, with Dash’s hindlegs dangling either side of her hindquarters, forelegs draped loosely about her shoulders and her head resting limply against Applejack’s neck, the pegasus never looking likely to rouse. And with her friend settled safely and comfortably, Applejack gave me a smile and a final tug of her hat and headed for the door, closing it politely behind her.

A minute later Silver came back into the bar and noted their absence. “Aw, they’re gone? Rainbow Dash didn’t need the Pegasus Chaperone Service this evening?”

“No, it’s okay. Applejack has her taken care of.”

“Shame they couldn’t stay longer. It was just nice seeing them so happy.”

“It’s alright,” I said. “You’ll see them tomorrow at the party.”

Her eyes lit up. “We’re going? All of us? To the Unsurprise Welcome Home Party Mark Two?” When I nodded she wrapped her hooves around me in a hug. “You are the best boss ever!”

It took me a few seconds to peel her off me. “Look, you’ve been cleaning that kitchen for hours now, and if I know you it’ll be pretty spick and span. Clock off. Go home. We’re still opening for lunch tomorrow – I’ll see you then.”

She smiled back. “Best boss ever!” she repeated and trotted through the bar-hatch and into the corridor. I heard faint rummaging noises coming from the kitchen as she collected her coat and finally trotted back through the bar, heading out the front door with a last goodbye smile, shutting it behind her with a firm clunk.

Which only left me.

The clock on the wall showed ten-twenty, but on a Sunday? I’ve never known anyone to come in after about half-nine. No harm in turning in a little early. Tomorrow was bound to be hectic.

With my magic I slid the deadbolt on the front door across and doused the candles on all the tables as I prepared to put the pub to sleep for another night. I turned to the brass bell hung from its bracket on the wall to my left and gave it two solid, satisfying rings that lingered in the vacant air.

I looked around at the calm, empty room, with its comfy chestnut furnishings and solid-oak floorboards, and everything was quiet, still and peaceful. No customers. No guests. No staff. Just me and the Roses. A tavern like nowhere else I’ve known. An inn you wouldn’t find in any other town. I love this place. But more than that, I love the ponies it’s here for. They’re what make it truly special. I like to think they know if ever they’re ever down, or worried, or there’s some other reason they’re wearing that long face, that they can stop by here and always feel welcome. If they want, I’ll keep my yap shut and pour the drink.

But if they want to talk, I’ll listen.

Time at the bar, Ladies and Gentlemen.

Run for the Roses

Run

There’s an old joke. I’m sure you’ve heard it. A horse walks into a bar, and the bartender says, “Why the long face?”

I’ve always disliked it.

It’s not the concept or the punchline especially. I can see it’s a pretty funny joke when you think about it – or would be if it weren’t so ubiquitous. The reason I don’t get on with it, is the bartender.

Because if that pony has come to the bar feeling low and looking for a way to leave their worries behind, the bartender making jokes is the last thing they want to hear. The bartender should know that. The bartender should hear the order and pour the drink. The bartender shouldn’t jest or pry or gossip, they should keep their yap shut. And if – and only if – that pony decides they want to talk... the bartender should listen.

I should introduce myself. I’m Single Measure, though I also tend to respond to, ‘Excuse Me’, ‘Yes Please My Good Fellow’, and even ‘Hey, You!’ I’m a fairly stout unicorn with a dark tan coat and a black mane I try to keep well-kempt. My eyes and my aura are blue-grey, my cutie mark is a barley-stalk crossed with a bunch of grapes, and for the past few years I’ve been the proud landlord and proprietor of Ponyville’s public house, the Run for the Roses.

I’ve been around. Working bars, pubs, taverns and inns from one side of Equestria to the other. Before I was pouring pints in Ponyville I was dispensing drinks in Dodge Junction, breaking up bar brawls in Baltimare, and concocting cocktails for classy clients in Canterlot. I’ve held most jobs that you’d care to name in this business, always moving from town to town until I finally scraped enough together to get a place of my own. When I found this old inn in this small, sleepy village I never thought it’d amount to much, but I was so wrong. Because of all the places I’ve ever worked, this one right here is by far the most special.

That’s me mostly taken care of, so let me introduce the Roses because she’s a truly great place. A free-standing three-story building which strikes a humble pose on one of the busier streets in the village. Outside, the walls are white, made of wattle and daub and the roof is one of thick, healthy thatch. The windows come latticed in traditional small diamonds and the interior is all chunky oak beams with matching floorboards, and comfy chestnut furnishings. The whole place exudes charm and character like nowhere else I’ve been. Certainly a far cry from places like Canterlot where stark masonry is largely the order of the day, or Manehatten where every brick-and-glass building starts to look the same. Or even frontier towns like Appleoosa, whose wood-built buildings manage to appear purposeful and utilitarian rather than quaint. No, I’m so lucky to have this place. They just don’t build them like this anymore.

The main bar is one rectangular room taking up most of the downstairs space. The front entrance is a sturdy oak door in the centre of one of the long sides, leading out onto the street. Set into the wall to the left and right of the door, two diamond lattice windows in mahogany frames allow a view outside to the ponies sat at the tables next to them. It’s about eight paces from the front door to the bar which runs the length of the opposite wall, and that’s where you’ll usually find me, serving, cleaning mugs or glasses, chatting or reading the paper if it’s a particularly quiet day. The bar itself is solid chestnut, thickly varnished though that hasn’t stopped it picking up a few scrapes and knocks in its time, and there are four high, well-cushioned bar-stools arrayed in front of it. From where I stand, behind the counter looking out, half-a dozen hoof-pumps offering draught ale and cider are lined up in orderly fashion to the left hand side, while the back wall behind me is dominated by shelving containing all manner of bottles, spirits and liqueurs. The middle third of the bar is bare-topped and where I spend most of my time with the customers, and the rightmost section has a flip-up hatch secured with stout brass hinges and doubles as an impromptu reception for folks here to rent one of the rooms.

If the main room front-to-back is about eight paces, then side-to-side it’s about twelve. I have sixteen tables of various shapes and sizes down here, haphazardly arranged to cater for a variety of groups and numbers. On the right hand wall, next to the end of the bar, a wood door with glass panels leads to a hallway running towards the rear of the building. Off the hallway is a water-closet, the kitchen which sits behind the bar, a doorway to the cellar stairs, and the staircase leading up to the first floor landing. I have six rooms upstairs which for a small, peaceful place like this is usually enough accommodation. And finally the top floor of the building is a small apartment which I call home.

That’s me and the inn. Only thing left to tell you about are the customers, and more than anything it’s them that turn the Roses from being just another gin-joint into something really special. Because even though this is a drinking establishment, the folks here aren’t the kinds of ponies that come just to drink. You know the sort, I’m sure: the folks who live to see how much liquor they can stuff in their bellies like it’s some sort of contest before deciding that they need to cause some trouble to prove a point. I’ve dealt with my share of, shall we say, ‘difficult’ patrons in other places and, yes, more than once kicks have been thrown. But that just doesn’t happen here. In Ponyville the worst I’ve ever had to do is raise my voice to a yell and point sternly at the door. And the next day it’s all smiles, mutual ‘sorry’s and no hard feelings. Like the ponies in this town don’t even know the meaning of the word ‘grudge.’ It’s just... nice.

I don’t have regulars as such. Just faces I see slightly more often than others. Every pony in town has come through my doors at one time or another, and it’s a testament to everything that makes this place what it is that not only do they all feel welcome here, but that I feel responsible for them in a way I never have anywhere else.

So when somepony walks into my bar with a long face, there are no jokes. I shut up. I pour the drink.

And if they want to talk, I’ll listen.

Run for the Roses

Sunday

Sunday is always a quiet evening in the Roses. By the time the sun had gone down and twilight had begun to stalk the streets I had five customers left in, and it was past the point of the evening where I’d normally expect any more. Three high-spirited stallions with tankards occupied a table near the centre of the room, and in the far right corner near the window a pair of mares sat chatting quietly over a bottle of wine. Aside from that, the only other pony in the room was me, wrestling with three-down on the crossword puzzle – You, with a warm woollen coat (3) – until someone deigned to call out another drink order.

When Applejack walked in at about five-past eight, it was a surprise.

She slipped inside quietly enough that, had the bar been any busier I likely wouldn’t have noticed. As it happened I glanced up in time to see her close the door behind her as innocuously as possible.

There are a few different ways of walking into a bar, but by far the most common is the quick glance around, looking for the ponies you’re supposed to meet, followed by a nod of recognition and then the swift stride towards the counter. But there’s also the exact opposite. The look of apprehension and dread as you cast your gaze round for somepony you’d rather not see, and the wave of relief when you don’t find them. I’ve seen it often enough to recognise it, but I’ve never seen it in Ponyville before now. Applejack waited by the door while she did her survey of the room, then her eyes accidentally locked with mine, looking at her from the bar. She dipped her head and trudged over.

Applejack and I have a good working relationship. She’s been supplying me with a barrel per month of the best apple cider I’ve yet found for a couple of years now, and believe me when I say that you don’t have to be in business long to know that finding a reliable partner who actually knows what they’re doing is rarer than it should be. On its own that’d be enough for me, but to have it come in a package that also includes a friendly disposition and a sense of fair play is almost unheard of. Maybe I’ve been unlucky, but I’ve never found it anywhere else.

She stopped at the counter and didn’t look up save for a quick, acknowledging glance before her eyes lowered once more to the countertop.

“Cider,” she muttered.

I nodded, levitating a tankard under the cider tap and pulled on the pump three-and-a-bit times – enough to fill it. As I placed it onto the counter two bits clinked their way onto the bar. I picked the coins up in my aura and tossed them into the charity jar sat to my left. Applejack and I have always had a silent understanding on this. It’s never felt right to me to charge her to drink her own cider; cider that she made herself, that I figure she’s entitled to. By the same token, she doesn’t feel right about not paying for it when I’ve bought it from her fair and square. So she always digs out the bits, and I always make sure they go to a good cause. Applejack took her mug and ambled away, over to the far-left corner table next to the latticework window at the front of the tavern where she took a seat, alone. She looked at her tankard for a moment, then upended it, draining half the contents before plonking it back down hard and slowly turning her attention to the window, looking out, never losing that distant, morose expression. I went back to my crossword and tried to pretend that the whole scene didn’t bother me. If the customer’s not for talking, it’s not my place to pry.

An hour passed. The boisterous stallions at the table in front of the bar called for another round of ales and I duly obliged. The cosy-looking mares over by the right hand window drained the last of the wine from the bottle equally into their respective glasses. Three-down became Ewe. And Applejack sat by herself in the corner, nursing her pint, her gaze alternating between the depths of her mug and the dark street beyond the window for minutes at a time.

Eventually she drained the last of her drink and after a few lengthy, reflective moments, stood. She ambled back to the bar, bringing her tankard with her – a courtesy rarely shown by customers, for certain – and placed it on the countertop along with two bits.

“Cider,” she mumbled.

I got her a fresh mug and poured the drink. The bits jingled as they were tossed into the charity jar, and Applejack made her way back to her corner table to sit alone and sip.

More time passed. Eventually the mares finished the last of their Merlot and decided more wasn’t on the cards tonight. They stood, slipping on scarves, and headed out the door, closing it behind them. The stallions called for three more ales – promising themselves this would be the last round like they had twice already. Applejack came to the bar twice more. She never called an order across the room, she never left her mug behind on her table. Every time she just came over, scattered two bits on the bar and mumbled, “Cider.” And each time she took her drink to her quiet corner and tried to fathom some meaning from its depths.

By ten-thirty the stallions had finally concluded that they were even in terms of the number of drinks bought, and so as a group they staggered up from their seats and tottered towards the door and out into the night, forgetting to close it as they left. I picked up a tray and flipped the bar-hatch open, heading to their table to collect their discarded mugs, and then over to the right window to retrieve the empty bottle of wine and its two associated glasses. As I reached the front door and pushed it closed, Applejack staggered unsteadily to her hooves, and wove a lazy, meandering course back over to the bar.

She propped herself against it and waited patiently. I finished my collection-run, putting the tray on the bar and assumed my customary position behind it.

Applejack can hold her drink, but by now she was tipsy. Her eyes had lost their focus, and her movements had become unbalanced and sluggish. For an instant she met my gaze with the same sad expression she’d held all night. Then her head lowered and a pair of clinks signified two more bits being dropped onto the bar.

“Whiskey,” she muttered.

I blinked. And that was the first time that evening I got a sense of something being very wrong.

“Applejack?” I asked, trying to find a balance somewhere between ‘are you sure?’ and, ‘are you okay?’

Her head raised once more, brows knitted in slight annoyance, though it lasted only a moment before she hung it again. “Whiskey,” she repeated, the slur in her voice a little more pronounced.

I’ve refused to serve ponies before, when they’ve had too much. But Applejack has always been sensible enough to know her limits and she still wasn’t the drunkest pony I’ve seen in the Roses. I scooped the two bits into the cash register this time, and retrieved two glass tumblers from a shelf behind the bar.

I added ice to both glasses and brought a bottle of dark amber liquid down from the shelf behind me. Unstoppering the lid I poured slightly more than two measures into each glass, pushing one of them her way while I took the other one in my aura and deliberately took a tiny sip.

It didn’t work as I’d intended. The two glasses, the ice, the double measure, my small sip, were all supposed to encourage her to drink the stuff slowly, and try and keep her at the bar rather than have her wobble her way back to the table in the far corner. Stay at the bar she did, but she grabbed her glass, opened her maw wide and tipped the whole contents in. She returned the tumbler to the bar with a thud and a thick grimace, and then worked her jaw to the sound of ice-cubes being crunched without remorse. She swallowed heavily, nudged the tumbler back towards me, and after a pause spoke up.

“Whiskey.”

This time though there was a distinct lack of bits on the counter, and when Applejack seemed to realise that she’d run out of money she glanced up with a sheepish, hopeful expression. “Uh... would ya...?”

“No,” I said firmly. Normally I’d have no problem running a tab for a pony like Applejack, but I’ve never seen her like this, and I wasn’t about to compound the mistake I’d just made by letting her drink until she collapsed.

For an instant that annoyed frown returned and I braced myself for the same angry, alcohol-fueled argument I’ve had in many other bars with many other customers over the years. But instead her scowl ebbed and her gaze found the floor. “Right,” she sighed and turned from the bar as though I’d just asked her to leave.

She began to stagger towards the exit, weaving a drunken line between the tables and chairs, knocking into a few and causing them to scrape the wooden floorboards. The culmination of everything she’d imbibed had finally hit her fully it seemed, turning her into a poor, uncoordinated mess. It’s a fair hike to Sweet Apple Acres, especially alone and in the dark, and with the trouble she was having just reaching my front door I grew genuinely worried that she wouldn’t be able to get herself home safely. What if she stumbled blindly into a ditch, too drunk to get herself out, and ended up there the whole night? Not a pleasant way to spend an evening, and, sadly, I can speak from experience.

Since it was just about closing time anyway I used my magic to slide the deadbolt closed on the front door even as I turned to pick one of six keys off its hook on the wall behind me.

Applejack noticed the door being locked and looked back with an angry – if unfocused – glare. “Hey! What’ssa big idea?”

I held up the key and motioned her over, placing it on the bar. “Room One,” I said gently. “Upstairs, last door on the left. No charge. Just... get your head down, alright?”

I held my breath, because in the moment or so before that glare subsided there was the very real possibility that I was going to have to replace my front door after she splintered it to matchwood. But her frown relented and she hung her head, traipsing back over to the bar. She looked at the key, swayed a little, and then tried her best to focus on me. “Thnkss,” she just about managed. She picked up the key in her teeth and headed through the door to my right, into the corridor. A moment later I heard hoofsteps on the stairs and the landing, and then the clumsy sound of a key turning a lock from somewhere above. Satisfied I’d done my good deed for the day, I set to cleaning down the bar ready for the next morning.

Twenty minutes later I took myself upstairs, stopping on the first floor landing. At the far end, the door to room-one was wide open and I walked over and poked my nose into the darkened interior.

Applejack was there, sprawled out on the bed, not having bothered to take off that hat or those hairbands she always wears. She was breathing regularly and snoring gently which was enough to satisfy me that she was okay. I pulled the door shut and headed up to my apartment on the second floor, and a few minutes later I was asleep myself.

It was difficult not to wonder what had happened, but at the same time I accepted that, if she hadn’t wanted to talk about it, I’d probably never know.

Monday

I woke up at nine o’clock the next morning. I had intended to head downstairs to the kitchen and begin fixing breakfast for myself and my impromptu – and no doubt hungover – overnight guest. But when I went to check on room one, the door was open and Applejack was gone. Heading downstairs into the bar revealed the room key had been left on the counter-top and the deadbolt on the front door had been slid back. She must have woken early and slipped out. With no other guests staying at the inn it was breakfast for one.

Lunchtime came and went, and we had a fair few in looking for something to eat. My chef, Waldorf, is known throughout town for his famous salads and we can usually tempt a few ponies to dessert as well. Myself and Waldorf are the only full-time staff at the Roses but I have a pegasus waitress called Silver Lining who works part-time hours lunchtimes and suppertimes. She’s only here while she’s studying for her weather certification and I’ll be sad to lose her when she goes because she’s really good. Trustworthy, upbeat, and friendly with the customers, and the ability to balance three plates on each wing is a skill that not everypony can boast.

The pub shuts from three until six which gives me enough time to either mess about with stock levels, paperwork, or, as with today, run a few errands in town before opening for the evening. When I returned and opened up again I hadn’t been in more than a couple of minutes when the first pony walked through the door.

Big McIntosh is always a friendly face to see. He comes in about once every fortnight, and though I’ve served him copious amounts of intoxicants before, I’m not certain that I’ve ever seen him drunk. Or, if I have, then it seems drunk Big McIntosh is exactly the same as sober Big McIntosh, except with a slightly happier smile. When I started serving him back when I first got the place I was terrified of the kind of damage a pony of his size might do if alcohol turned him fighty. But liquor only tends to bring out what’s already inside you, and with McIntosh, well, I get the impression that fighting just isn’t part of him.

There’s another reason I like seeing him too, though it’s a slightly sinister one. It’s a game I play with him. I don’t know if he realises but I suspect he does, and when I saw him I couldn’t stop a tiny smile as I waited for the first move.

Big Mac stopped at the bar and looked at me with a more serious expression than I’m used to seeing from him. He took a quick look left and right at the otherwise empty room and then back to me. “AJ?” he asked.

It’s difficult to convey, but it’s amazing. Because with those two syllables, a slight movement of his shoulders, a subtle inclination of his head and the smallest of movements of his eyebrows, Big McIntosh has managed to say an entire sentence, and one that I can hear in my own head as clear as if he had shouted it at me: “Excuse me, good sir. Have you by any chance seen my sister, Applejack?”

That’s the game. Who can say the most, while saying the least. I’ve never won. Big McIntosh is a master at it.

“Eeyup,” I replied, quietly relishing the chance to use one of his own more famous expressions.

“Here?” he asked.

I couldn’t tell if that was meant to be, “Is she here?” or rather, “Was she here?” so I hedged my bets. “Last night,” I replied.

Big McIntosh nodded. He turned as if to make for the exit. “If’n ya see her...”

Whoa.

“Mac...” I called. “You haven’t seen her?”

“Nope.”

It was difficult to pull my jaw off the floor. Suddenly the game was the last thing on my mind. “She was here last night,” I explained. “She drank. Got herself into a state. I was worried about her making it home so I gave her one of the rooms upstairs. By the time I woke up this morning she was gone,” I blurted.

Mac turned fully back to the bar and dipped his head in a deeper nod than before, and once again I heard the sentence inside my own head. “Thanks for taking care of her.” Then he turned and made for the door.

“I’m sure she’s okay,” I called after him.

“Eeyup,” he replied as he crossed the threshold, though with a distinct lack of confidence.

I can sympathise. It’s only natural for a brother to worry, and it’s not like Applejack to just disappear. But maybe her head was worse this morning than she’d hoped and she’s taken the day off to feel better. She’s probably spent it with one of her friends and been lectured from here to next week, I shouldn’t wonder.

But there was a nagging feeling back there, and all throughout that evening it stayed with me.

Tuesday

Tuesday lunchtimes vary wildly from being super-busy to super-quiet depending on the week, the weather, and any number of other factors I’ve never worked out. This Tuesday had all the hallmarks of being a slow day, even before it had reached noon.

Then Rainbow Dash arrived, and quiet was the last thing it was.

I was cleaning shelves when she charged into the pub on spread wings. She made a beeline for the bar, dropping to her hooves and knocking loudly on it to get my attention. All before I’d even turned round.

“Hey you, bar-guy! I want a drink,” she snapped with an accusatory frown.

I finally turned to meet her gaze with my own deliberate stare, but when it became obvious that it was a staring-contest I wasn’t going to win I rolled my eyes instead. “I usually need a little more information than that,” I said. “What drink?”

“I dunno, a drink!” she snapped, scattering three bits randomly on the counter. “That one.” She pointed to a bottle of clear liquid on one of the shelves behind the bar.

I looked around and then back at her with a raised eyebrow. “Vodka?”

“Yeah, sure, that.”

“Rainbow Dash, it’s eleven-thirty in the morning!”

“So? You gonna give me the drink or not?” she challenged, and I was seriously considering, ‘not.’ But... the customer is always right. I scooped two of the three bits into the register and a single measure of neat vodka was duly poured into a tumbler and laid before her.

She didn’t even notice it – her accusing scowl remained fixed only on me. “Okay, enough pony-footing around. Where’s Applejack?” she demanded.

I blinked a couple of times in surprise. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” shot Rainbow Dash. “I know she was here, so spit it out. Where’d she go?”

I shook my head, bewildered. “I have no idea,” I said.

Rainbow Dash snorted. “Likely story.” She turned her face so she could glare sidelong at me with undisguised suspicion. “See, I know Applejack. And she wouldn’t just leave town and go off somewhere on her own. She just wouldn’t. At least, uh... she wouldn’t do it again. Not without telling somepony else where she was going. And you’re the last pony who saw her, so... so just tell me where she is, okay?!”

By now her belligerence was starting to grate somewhat, and I met her suspicious frown with a cold one. “Yes, she was here,” I barked. “She came in two nights ago and stayed in one of the rooms upstairs. Next morning she was gone. She didn’t say two words to me all night and I haven’t seen her since. As for where she is now? You’re her friend. Why don’t you tell me?” I growled.

That had come out a little more forcefully than I’d meant it to, but even so Rainbow Dash shouldn’t have recoiled as though I’d just struck her nose with a fly-swatter. Her annoyed expression vanished, becoming open-mouthed shock and she took a couple of steps back from the bar. Her gaze fell to the floor and for a long moment she was silent. After a second she raised her head again and the scowl came back, though now I got the impression she was directing it at herself rather than me. “Yeah. I... I am still her friend!” she yelled, as though it were a self-motivational speech. “And I am gonna find her. And I’m gonna...” she trailed off, her confident glare giving way to an odd, shamed expression. “I gotta find her,” she whispered to nopony but herself, and then she was on her wings again, taking flight from the bar.

The glass of vodka she’d so vehemently demanded hadn’t even been touched and there was still a single bit on the counter. I tossed the coin into the charity jar and carefully decanted the contents of the glass back into the bottle. I figured it shouldn’t go to waste and I wasn’t about to drink it myself. I should have made a note somewhere, but Dash isn’t exactly a frequent visitor and I had no idea when I’d see her again.

I certainly didn’t expect to see her twice in one day.

By mid-evening the inn had filled out nicely and I had a steady stream of customers coming to the bar; enough to keep me busy and in business for sure. A fair few were here to eat, with Waldorf and Silver Lining admirably seeing to their needs, but the rest were only interested in liquid refreshment.

Rainbow Dash came back in at about eight o’clock and must have joined the back of a queue, because I didn’t notice her until everypony else had been served and she was at the counter in front of me.

She cut a distinctly different figure from the haughty, obstinate pony of earlier. Now she was sullen, subdued, and I struggled to hear her voice over the ambient noise of ponies chattering.

“Uh... drink please. Vod-thingy?” she asked, taking a seat on one of the bar-stools. I turned and repeated the dance I’d done earlier, placing a single shot of vodka in a glass tumbler in front of her, though admittedly with a little more care and patience this time. Rainbow Dash dropped two bits on the counter but I ignored them. She’d already paid for this one.

She looked contemplatively at her beverage for several long seconds and then swiftly knocked it back in a single movement. As the glass found its way back to the bar, Dash’s face crumpled into a distorted visage of agony. “Urrgh, eww! That... is... awful! Ugh, it tastes worse than acid rain. What the hay is it made out of?!”

“Potatoes, mainly,” I said.

“Urck,” she grimaced, trying to lick the taste from her own tongue. “How can you turn potatoes into something that tastes that bad?! Why would you?!”

I shrugged and watched her work her mouth, still trying to get the ick off. “You want some cider to take the taste away?” I asked.

For a moment her face brightened, and she seemed about to reply with an automatic ‘yes.’ Then her gaze fell to the cider pump and to the tag proclaiming it to be Sweet Apple Acres Draught Cider and she stalled. Hanging her head, she shook it.

I have seen Rainbow Dash and cider before. To say she has a love affair doesn’t describe it, it’s more like when she drinks it she has some kind of deep spiritual experience or something. To see her turn it down is beyond rare.

She continued to work her mouth to try and expunge the taste.

On a whim I reached for another bottle from one of the shelves behind me, this one containing a golden-brown liquid the colour of syrup. I poured maybe a little more than a measure’s-worth into a similar glass over ice and nudged it towards her.

“What’s that?” she asked suspiciously, her nose wrinkling.

“Ambrosia.”

She looked up at me with skepticism. “Is it potatoes?”

I couldn’t stop a small chuckle. “It’s honey and nectar. Sweet, and about half as strong as what you just drank.”

Dash sipped it this time and it seemed to meet with her approval. When she looked to her bits I waved her away again. I still owed her change from earlier and she hadn’t exactly been satisfied with her vodka.

I didn’t have time for any follow-up conversation before a trio of ponies stepped up to the bar for three pints of mead and, as is sometimes the case, their request triggered a small flurry of customers. It’s strange when it happens, as though some primal flocking or herding instinct gets tripped, and I got caught up with serving at least a dozen other orders before the tide finally relented.

Twenty minutes later when the throng finally dispersed I found Rainbow Dash still at the bar and, to my horror, discovered that I’d left the bottle of ambrosia next to her. A bottle that had been two thirds full now drained to one third, with Dash absently pouring herself another full glass and taking a large sip.

“Hey!” I scolded. “That stuff doesn’t come cheap, you know!”

“You know I’m good for it,” she replied vacantly, peering into her glass.

“Rainbow Dash, you’re really not,” I sniped. Not that she’s dishonest or anything, but I don’t run tabs for Rainbow Dash anymore. The number of times she’s forgotten to pay them and then not been seen here for weeks on end makes it difficult to justify. Plus it’s safer if I don’t give her what she can’t afford with the bits she’s carrying because, being Rainbow Dash and all, after one or two she gets absolutely convinced that she’s the best drinker ever – totally able to take on all-comers in any drinking contest. It’s caused problems in the past because in actual fact when it comes to liquor, she’s very much a lightweight.

That’s not intended to be disparaging, just an observation. She very rarely drinks so has little in the way of tolerance, plus she literally is very lightweight, even for a pegasus. That coupled with her incredibly fast metabolism means that whatever she drinks tends to go right to her head; and as I looked at her, having gulped her way through probably thirty or forty bits worth of ambrosia that I was already writing off in my mind, I could tell she was well on her way already.

I took the bottle from her and replaced it on the shelf, seeing the look Rainbow gave it: surprise followed by longing, like I was the bad pony who had just taken something wonderful away from her. She looked back to the remaining contents of her glass as though it were her only remaining friend in the world, and wobbled unsteadily on her stool until she braced herself against the bar.

She sat pretty still for a few seconds and when I was finally sure that she wasn’t going to fall off her seat I began to turn away to go stack some glasses. But she caught me.

“Hey, uh... bar guy?” she asked quietly, looking up.

I looked back at her and raised an eyebrow.

She lowered her gaze to her drink and began tracing small circles on the bar with the tip of her hoof. “Applejack... when you saw her... was she mad?”

“Mad?”

Rainbow Dash shot me an impatient glare. “Angry! Was she angry at me?!” she yelled.

I held up a hoof, urging her to calm down or else find herself no longer welcome. “She was upset,” I said after a moment’s pause.

Rainbow Dash blinked, her annoyed expression once more becoming despondent and her gaze dropped to her glass again. “Oh,” she whispered, “that’s way worse.”

An awkward silence lingered, broken only by background chatter from the room.

“I’m sure everything’ll work out,” I said with a smile I tried to make reassuring.

Dash continued to stare drunkenly at the diminishing contents of her glass. “Why’d I just let her walk off?” she muttered. She glanced once more at me. “Do you know how annoying it is when you can’t... can’t find somepony you really need to talk to?”

I gave her my most deadpan expression. It seems like it’s every other day that I overhear ponies in here complaining that they can’t find Rainbow Dash when they’ve wanted her for something. She completely missed the irony though. Instead she turned on her stool to look back towards the front door, as if hoping that somepony would, by sheer coincidence, happen to walk through at that very moment.

But nopony was there.

Dash slumped and turned back to the bar, gulping down the last of her drink. “’M gunnn’ go,” she said, and half-slid, half-fell from the stool to the floor, almost toppling over in the process.

It took the moment she spent getting her balance back for what she’d said to register. “Go where?”

“Home.”

“Oh no you don’t,” I said sternly. “Rainbow Dash, you’re not flying drunk.”

She glared at me and puffed her chest out. “You sayin’ I can’t fly or sumthn’?!” she objected, flaring her wings and knocking the bar stool next to her. It wobbled but didn’t fall.

“I’m saying if you had an accident I’d feel responsible,” I said with a frown. “Don’t do it, Rainbow Dash. It’s dangerous and you know it.”

“Yeah, right. Maybe for like... like... less good flyers or whatever. I’m cool. I got it,” she said, turning away from the bar.

“Rainbow Dash, stay right where you are,” I commanded. To my surprise, she actually did for a moment.

“Silver?” I called, catching Silver Lining as she was heading towards the door to the kitchen, a stack of half-a-dozen used dishes on her back. She raised her head at her name and trotted over to the bar with a smile.

Silver Lining always seems to have that little smile. It’s almost a part of her, and she’d look odd without it, I think. She has a dark coat that’s actually a very dusky blue but easily confused as grey under dim light. Her eyes are crystal blue and her mane is silver, though in sunlight it seems to very faintly reflect the colours of the spectrum when the rays hit it just so. Her cutie-mark is a cloud beneath a cluster of three tiny stars.

“Hey, boss!”

“Silver, put those plates down, I’ll take care of them. I need a favour.”

“Sure thing,” she chirped. “Whaddya need?”

“Rainbow Dash needs a chaperone home,” I said, fixing Dash with my best ‘don’t argue’ stare. Then I looked back to Silver with a smile. “Can you make sure she gets to her front door in one piece for me?”

Of course, Dash did argue. “Hey... I don’t... I don’t need your... help.”

But before I could give her a firm lecture on the well-known perils of flying under the influence, Silver jumped in. “No, but I need yours!” she enthused without missing a beat. “Come on, Rrrrrrainbow Dash! Seeing a real cloud-home up close will really help me with my Cloud Formation and Cloud Architecture modules, and yours is the best one I’ve ever seen!” Silver grabbed Rainbow Dash by the forehoof with a grip that explicitly said I’m not letting go, and slowly tugged her towards the door.

Whether Rainbow Dash fell for Silver’s flattery, or whether she still had enough about her to see some sense, she didn’t protest further. Rainbow allowed herself to be dragged to the front door, and just as they reached it and opened it I caught a self-satisfied smile on her face. “Yeah, it is pretty awesome...”

Silver took Rainbow outside and spread her wings, giving me a sly wink back through the door before helping her unsteady, dizzy charge into the air. I made a mental note to put an extra bonus in her wages at the end of the month. Ferrying intoxicated pegasi home isn’t even remotely in her job description but she never even looked like saying ‘no’. She’s the kind of pony who’s always ready to help.

Heh. And Cloud modules? I’m pretty sure she passed those a while ago.

I’ll be really sad to lose her when she goes.