Author's Note
The tales of the Rom are a bit of an MLP based tribute to a truly amazing People.
THERE ARE SOME MAJOR DIFFERENCES. I am telling stories set in a world of talking Horses, pastel ponies and other intelligent beings.
I have done my best to fit them into MLP and my own canon while keeping to the spirit of some wonderful folks.
That said, I hope that you simply enjoy the tales because they are fun to read.
Fair and UnFair
Fair and UnFair,
The third part of the Origin of the Rom
Part One is NORE’S CHOICE
Part Two is WELCOME TO EQUESTRIA!
by
De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)
///////////////////////
When the horses of Rom’s band and I left the Haulmarket Summer Fair, we made a show out of it. We all wore our finest and most colorful sashes and best woven rope harnesses. The caravans that we pulled were made from best of woods, worked to a high finish, gleaming in the sun.
My beautiful mate, Nore, held perfect pace and step with me, even though, since I appear to be a donkey, I am a lot smaller than she is. The others, Rom and Sarel, Sando and Phapa, and Malit and Maina took their pace from us. We made a fine small parade, leaving the Fairground at noon on the first day of the two day fair.
The many ponies following us were not so orderly, but added hugely to the parade atmosphere. Their following us really ticked off the other merchants of the Haulmarket Fair, too.
Foulip, a town council pony whose booth WAS CLOSED for unfair practice, was following along angrily. “Drat you, Marchhare! Look at all these ponies following you! Try to tell me that you ain’t stealing our customers!”
I laid my ears back in irritation and pointed out, “Maybe it will teach you WHOSE customers they are! You and the other merchants were having the best Summer Fair you ever had. You just had to file a complaint of unfair practice, claiming that WE were taking YOUR customers! We were at the far end of the Midway. Those customers had to pass you all to get to us! And they did. They wanted our exotic music and dancing. Our snacks and goodies. Anything to get their minds off the Red Branch Flood disaster.
“When they saw enough of us, they went back up the Midway in a better mood, buying everything from your snacks to new plows! We were the attraction that got them to come, in spite of the Red Branch dam failure and flood.
“You ran us off with the phony complaint. Don’t even try to say it wasn’t bogus. We all know better.”
He snarled, “You coulda’ settled the complaint instead of just taking off like this! We would have let you off light and you know it!”
“Light? You mean that, besides the fair’s fee which we already paid, we could have stayed for ONLY ANOTHER TEN PERCENT of our earnings, hijacked by extortion to line YOUR GREEDY POCKETS? No chance in the whole Underworld, Foulip!
“The only reason that you are upset now, is that your plot to lay hooves on OUR coin failed and it is going to cost YOU!”
Nore, Pulling alongside me, put her hoof into the argument. Her Equestrian was not perfect, but her point was. “It is a shame upon you that you do not live up to your well made laws. You seem to have no respect for your rulers, the Princesses, at all.
“Seeing how you behave, I am so glad that I am a HORSE and not a pony of YOUR sort.”
Foulip snorted, “Horse! Where did monstrosities like you come from?”
Nore gave him an up and down stare before replying, “We came across the desert of Celestia’s Anvil from Gyptia, a land where there was honesty and law but also a famine. Which garbage bin did a puny little piece of trash like you crawl out of?”
Several nearby ponies laughed out loud. Foulip furiously ground his teeth before replying, “You questioned my loyalty! How could you?”
Nore paused only a second to put her thought into Equestrian before replying, “How can you claim to have any respect for your rulers, if you will not obey their laws? That Edict of Equality, for instance. It is a good law, ignored by you for prejudice and profit. Making false complaints about our honest business at the fair, while breaking those same rules yourself. You need not deny that! You were caught in the act by the constable.”
Before he could answer, I called out, “Wayside! Turn here! Pull left, off the road and we will set up our camp!”
Foulip stepped in front of us and snarled, “No you won’t! You are going to have to leave the Red Branch Section! I won’t move!”
Nore did not say a thing. She just held her steady pace. When Foulip did not move, she shouldered him aside. He was pushed off his hooves and lay in a heap by the road as our caravans Pulled past him into the wayside.
When we finished pulling into the wayside, we found a goodly crowd already there waiting for us along with all the parade that was following us. I noticed that quite a few of them were ones who had already seen our acts and bought our snacks.
Several youngsters, a bit older than foals, wanted to help us set up. Nore, appearing utterly bemused, asked in her broken but clear Equestrian, “We are happy of the help, but why do you want to do it?”
They chorused, “Snacks and fun! All that they have at the fair is water to drink, some breads to spread honey on and,” they made faces, “SECRET RECIPE hay twists! No dips for them, either!”
One of the fillies added wistfully, “Your music is not like anything I ever heard. It was beautiful.” Looking up with adoration, she added, “I saw you dance something lovely called Shehan Ja Rom. I wish that I understood the words that you all chanted to it.”
Nore got a bemused expression and thought deeply. She answered, “It is beyond my skill with your words to translate it properly. I will ask my husband, our Ghost Who Guides, to help me. If we can do it, you shall hear it in your tongue.”
She counted off the colts and fillies who wanted to help and assigned them to assist the others in setting up. She kept the filly who adored her dancing to assist us.
The help of the youngsters actually did get us ready more quickly than our usual camping set up. It was not without its amusing scenes. Phapa lugging out her big anvil had two colts, one on each side, “helping” her to move it. Two fillies were helping to set out the musical instrument racks. As they set the instruments in them, they were trying to figure out how to play the Gyptian flutes and lyres.
Still, the work of the youngsters was well done. Our snack sales area was ready, needing only the baking to begin. The fires were lit and the tea was on.
Nore gathered all of our helpers together. While we were letting buns bake, she hoofed out thin flat Ka'chek batter sheet cakes, quickly cooked them on the iron griddle, and showed the youngsters how to fill them with stiff berry preserves and roll them up. They had a grand time!
Before the first buns were out, we already had coins tinkling into our cash boxes. The youngsters were not the only ones who appreciated the filled flat cakes.
We set up our four caravans in an arc to allow easy access by the crowd and a central area for the current dancers and musicians. Nore had out paper and brush, struggling to write an Equestrian version of their chant to go with the Shehan Ja Rom. A glance showed that she was doing pretty well, too.
The little mare was watching in fascination. She had never seen brush writing, other than painters making signs. She couldn’t read Gyptian, of course, but she was listening intently. She suggested, “Do you mean, ‘We were dying in the desert heat // Near the hungry vulture’s meat’?”
Nore, listening in return, tested the rhythm of the words and lighted up like candle in a lantern. She neatly lined out her own laborious words and replaced them with the youngster’s. Impulsively, she hugged the little mare. She got her a cone of tea.
The day being hot, Nore stroked down the side of the cup. Steam rose up. She cracked ice clinging to the cup side by flexing the cup. She did it about three times, adding a bit more tea to the cup at the end.
She gave it to the filly. As she slurped it, a small horde of ponies of all ages demanded, “Can we get one with ice like that?”
I looked up from baking and added, “Yes, dear, can I get one like that? More to the point, how did you do that?”
Nore looked up in surprise. Seeing all of the interested ears aimed our way, she answered, “I don’t have pony words for it.” She went on in Gyptian, “<>”
I nodded and replied the same way, “<>”
Nore sensibly retorted, “<>” She trotted over and spoke softly to Phapa. The big, expert smith came close to filling our booth space under the rainfly’s shade.
She could make the ice in the cups about twice as fast as Nore could. In fact, she quit doing tea and just started filling a bin with small ice chunks.
As fast as a pony plunked down his or her two coppers, Nore would scoop the ice from the bin, into a cup and ask, “Tea or would you prefer one of our other flavors?”
The dancers and musicians were being showered with coins too. It was a lovely sight.
The young mare was even helping some. She told Nore, “I still want to hear that Shehan Ja Rom in Equestrian. We are only about half done with it.”
“I know, dear. We will get back to it as swiftly as we can. We are very busy, just now.”
The little mare replied, “I can see that. That is why I am helping.”
Nore took a look at all that the filly was doing. While I was kneeding up dough for the next batch of Ka'chek buns, the filly was grinding up more of the travel biscuits for flour. When she wasn’t doing that, she was running us fresh water casks and filling empties at the Wayside’s boxed in spring, using a keg cart that had Maina’s unique stamp of wheel workmanship and Sando’s clever design.
She was pulling a cart of water back to us when a big bruiser of a pony blocked her way. “That thing look handy, 'Saken. You gonna give it me or I gonna pound you and take it anyway!”
Apparently he was not expecting her response. She grabbed the cart tighter while screaming at the top of her lungs, “Thief! Haken is a robber! Stop him!”
He slapped her hard alongside the head and grabbed the cart with its full cask of water. It is hard to run with that much weight. Phapa, Maina and Malit were on him in an instant! As they held him down, Nore strode up with such assurance that the others gave back, giving her room.
They were as puzzled by her “Gyptian Death Touch” as I was. They pretended total assurance. She looked down on the thief with utter contempt. “So. ANOTHER WORTHLESS PONY making us all GLAD that WE are HONEST HORSES! Stealing from a good hard-working little filly. You are so totally useless that you have to hit foals! See what it is like to be hurt yourself!”
He was struggling to his hooves when Nore reached out and gently touched his neck, high up. All four of his legs spasmed at once and he fell hard. Now it was his turn to scream in agony.
The good Haulmarket constable arrived at a run. He glared down at the fallen pony. He snarled, “Shut it Haken! I saw you hit the foal and grab these, uh, Rom’s water cart. Only reason I didn’t club you down was this one with her Death Touch got here first!”
That drew attention to the filly. She was still down, kicking feebly. The constable turned to Nore. “Can you, um, horses, take care of her? 'Saken got no family. We don’t rightly even know her name. She lives by doing odd jobs around town and sleeping in barns or sheds.”
Maina, remembering our treatment of the wounded Ground Nest, ran to get me.
“Watch the buns, Maina! I am on my way!”
I stopped only long enough to grab a field medical kit from my caravan and ran to fallen filly’s side. It took but a second to find a dislocation up fairly high in her neck.
The constable was clicking parts together in his head as he watched me work. “You are the Marchhare I heard about from the battle of Stone Ridge during the South Peak Gryphon War, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I am. Ambulance and field surgery qualified by the Equestrian Armored Pegassi.”
Mildly he pointed out, “You left out the Celestian Medal of Courage and the Lunar Crescent of Mercy with three Phases. Lot of ponies talk about you. Few admit you are a donkey.
“Can you save her, sir?”
“I think so, Constable. I need my wife to assist. It will depend on how serious the dislocation is. If we are in time and can control the swelling that always happens with this sort of injury, she will recover in about two weeks or so.
“If there is spinal damage, along with the bone, tendon and ligament, she may be wholly or partially paralyzed for life.
“If her spine has been broken, she will die within the day.” I looked up gravely and added, “I need the spectators back, please. I am going to have to cut into her neck to find out if we can fix this. My wife will put her into a deep sleep while we work. Once we have closed the wound, we will know more about whether she will recover or not.”
I pointed to a spot near the base of the filly’s skull. Nore nodded, “Just as we did for Ground Nest?”
“Exactly so, Love.”
She touched gently. The filly stilled. Somepony in the crowd called out, “She just died!”
The constable retorted, “Just like you do when you have had too much to drink! Use your eyes, idiot. She is breathing. They put her to sleep like they said that they were going to.”
As I began to slice into the filly’s neck some in the audience vomited. Nore was keeping the incision pulled wide while I secured retractors for the job. We needed a bit more cutting and checking to be sure. Then came the delicate work of pressing the bones back to position. A torn ligament needed a few stitches. We carefully closed the incision, stitching together the cut muscles in the wound and finally closing the skin.
“Constable. This is an Official injury report. The C3-C4 joint was dislocated. The spine appears to be fully intact. We have restored the bones to proper orientation. We have also repaired a torn ligament. If the spinal swelling can be contained, the filly 'Saken should make a full recovery.
”She will need intensive care for all of her needs for a minimum of two weeks and must have as much high quality greens like spinach as possible. She is from the town of Haulmarket. Who, from there, will provide her care?”
The silence was, as they say, deafening.
I curled a lip at the crowd. “Constable, this is a formal request for Lawful assistance in a criminal action. Summon the Royal Road Police. The criminal event occurred on the Royal Property of the Red Branch Road Section, Wayside twelve.
A slightly horrified pony in the audience asked, “Why you wanna go make a Royal Case out of this? I mean, 'Saken ain’t even on the town rolls. She just sleep in barns or sheds and begs or do chores.”
Nore looked up with a lip curled in disgust. “You are all as bad as the wheels that you make! You won’t take her in and care for her? How long has 'Saken been in your town? A couple of years, I heard. In one day, here, she proved her worth to be more than the whole lot of you. You are willing to let attempted theft and attempted MURDER go unpunished just because the victim is a foundling?”
I looked up from where I was examining the fit of the neck splints. I secured 'Saken’s legs with soft bandages too. I did not want her flailing when she woke up.
“I am not sure why you failed to enter this filly on the town rolls. She should have been entered as an orphan by abandonment at least. If you had done that, Local Jurisdiction would apply. You did not. That, and being here at the wayside, makes it a Royal Case in any book.”
I stirred the fallen Haken with a foot. “You are going to get at least five years at hard labor on the Roads for this stupid stunt. Why in the name of Celestia’s Mother did you do such a stupid thing?
“You cannot post a bond on murderous assault. Unless the RRP case load is way up, your trial will be real fast anyway. The amount of damage that you did to her neck puts the matter solidly into the attempted murder ledger.”
It was about then that the uniformed Royal Road Police showed up. Whole different thing started to happen. The crowd was careful not to make any reference to me as a mere donkey or the others as Horses or Whorses. They did try to lie Haken out of trouble.
To his credit, the constable was having none of it. “I saw it happen, sirs. I was too far off to interfere in time to prevent a potentially fatal assault on the filly called 'Saken. That is short for Forsaken.
“She was doing errands for these horses camped here and doing a lawful business in snacks, drinks, sales of handicrafts, and dancing with music. The horses seem to be called Rom.
“'Saken was getting them water when Haken there tried to steal the water cart from her. She called him out as thief and named him. He struck her head, causing a near fatal dislocation of her neck, detailed in this report by the Equestrian Armored Pegassi certified emergency surgeon, Marchhare.
“She is presently in a surgical sleep and, I am told will remain so for a while yet. She is not on the Haulmarket town rolls and they have refused responsibility for her for two years, about. These Rom have asked for permission to adopt her as an abandoned waif, despite her present injury.”
The RRP Sargent in charge pulled out a flat document case and opened it. He was leafing through forms. He withdrew one. As he was closing the case, he inquired mildly, “Stillest I have ever seen Haken. What happened to him?”
The constable looked down at the fallen Haken and pulled a face. He pointed to Nore and said, “She did. Prettiest fall I ever saw. She just sort of touched him and he went down like five pounds of potatoes in a ten pound sack. I hear it is some sort of Gyptian martial art called the Death Touch. She says that he should be able to move on his own in about a half hour now.”
The RRP Sargent said, “Good. We didn’t bring a tumbrel. Besides, I hate having to haul somepony that can walk on his own.”
He turned to me and asked, “Are you the adopting parent?”
“Me? No, Sargent, Malit, the band’s carpenter has asked if she can be the primary parent. Under Equestrian rules, she is single. When we tried to register our matings in Haulmarket, we were denied entry to the town hall to register them.
“By the customs of Gyptia she is mated.” I aimed a long, donkey ear at some in the crowd. “THOSE specific ponies are calling our mares Whorses because our matings are not registered. At the same time, the SAME ponies physically blocked us from going in to do the registry and refused to allow the clerk to come out to do the registry.”
The batch that I pointed out tried to slink away. I called after them, “Going to the Registry to register yourselves as COWARDS, Bullies, and inhospitable Fair Rule Breaking Idiots? I will back THAT registry!” Somepony in the crowd laughed.
Nore was sitting by the injured filly 'Saken. As she started to stir, Nore laid a calming hoof on her and said, “Don’t try to move, 'Saken. You were badly hurt. You are a heroine.”
'Skaken rolled her upper eye to Nore and asked, “How bad hurt am I? Nopony in town will take care of me. Know that already.”
The RRP Sargent came over and sat carefully beside her. “I am Sargent Convoy, of the Royal Road Police. You asked how bad you are hurt? According to the surgeon who did emergency surgery, your neck was partly broken. They expect you to recover in a few weeks, if all goes well.”
Softly, 'Saken replied, “It won’t go well. None in town will take me in. They even stole my winter blankets I had stored away.”
The Sargent got that dark look that you see when somepony is really angry but not at you. He drew a deep breath to calm himself. “It may go better for you than you know. These horses have offered to take you, regardless of how you recover. Would you be willing to be adopted by them?”
“I’d love it, Sargent Convoy. Can’t happen though. The town would have to register it. They won’t let these horses even register their marriages. Won’t register me, either.”
The Sargent said clearly, “I have heard enough. You were helping lawful activity on a Royal Road facility. You were injured by a criminal on the Royal Road. Due to the blatant violations of the Edict of Equality that I have heard, the criminal will be transported to Canterlot for a trial under the Royal Wing.
“The town disavows you, in violation of the Orphans Act. These Horses of Rom have asked for you. If you consent, I have the authority to register your adoption to the Horse Malit.
“The Surgeon who cared for you is also a part of this group and has guaranteed your continued care at no charge. Do you consent? I have the needful papers right here.”
Nore asked, “Can you sign the papers for her? Presently, she cannot move a hoof enough to sign without risking death or permanent paralysis, according to my husband, Marchhare.”
“I am authorized to do that Ma'am. I will need his signoff on the medical report that she cannot do it because of severe injury.”
“No problem, Sargent. Here.” I gave him the needed addition to the injury report that he already had. The document was signed along with my South Peak War medal endorsements. His eyebrows rose at the Celesta’s Medal of Courage and the Luna’s Crescent of Mercy.
“Now, young mare, I need you to clearly consent to becoming Malit’s daughter, under the laws of the Royal Road Commission.”
Malit and the others anxiously stood close to hear 'Saken’s response. It was clear. “Sir, I most dearly want to be her daughter. To be with these horses. They have been really good to me.”
He wrote on the form in the signature space. He repeated it on a second copy and gave it to Malit. “Ma'am, I have heard a few of your other friends saying bad things about ponies. Hearing your experience of us, I wish to personally apologize for the bad experiences that you have had.
“Remember that there are good ones among us too. Me and my troopers, I hope. This filly. The constable. Any others?”
She nodded, “Sunbreak and her Armored Pegassi. They saved Maina, me and our caravan. There are good ponies among you, Sir. We do thank you for this. Letting us adopt such a fine filly.
“Maina and I have decided to name her Shehan Ja Saken. It is a name very special to us. It means …” her brow wrinkled in concentration, “Saved from Abandonment”.
“Saken is your word for abandoned, is it not?”
I replied in Gyptian, “<>”
Malit nodded at the explanation. Still practicing her Equestrian, she told the Sargent, “Marchhare has just explained the roots of her name to me. Now, I am sure that it is the best choice possible. It relates not only to this filly, but also to our plight as a whole band.”
Malit turned to the fallen filly. “Dear, the papers are done. You are my daughter. I have heard what they have been calling you and have given you a name. It uses your old name but changed a bit. You are Shehan Ja Saken. In our tongue of Gyptian, it means Saved From Abandonment. We will call you Shehan or Salvation as a short name.”
There were tears in Shehan’s eyes. She sobbed a little as she said, “It’s real? You want me, even broke like this? I even get a real name?”
Maina came over to join them and sat beside her, “That is right. You are Shehan. Shehan Ja Saken. Our daughter, come good or ill, you are wanted. We admired your heart and your way with words already. When you defended what was ours, nearly with your life, our admiration of you passed all bounds.
“Even if you stay paralyzed, your quickness of mind will be a huge help to us. Your work so far, has made the Shehan Ja Rom a far better piece of poetry. We will ask Marchhare if you can keep on doing that while you recover. It will be wonderful if you can.
“It will help us all and give you something to do.”
Sando came over and took measures of Shehan. He also commented, “You have the best name that there could be. You have been saved from abandonment. We were too. You were saved from death itself by the Ghost Who Guides. So were we.
“My name is Sando. I design things for others to make. In this case, I have already spoken to the Ghost Who Guides. He has told me of the necessities for your cart. For the next few weeks, you will need to be helped about. The cart will make that easier for you and us. Malit and Maina will build most of it. Pahpa will make parts for it too. Sarel is already making you proper sashes to wear and a sunshade for the cart.”
It was a puzzled Shehan who asked Malit, “You are doing all this work for ME?”
“Yes. For you. We all think that you are worth it. We will do a better job of the whole cart if we each do the things that we do best.”
Nore added her part to it all. “I will make you a Freedom to wear so that none may ever make a slave of you or make you do anything against your will again.” Nore touched her Freedom to show Shehan what she meant. Proudly she explained, “In our homeland of Gyptia all slaves have to wear a thing like this from birth. It has a chin strap, a bit and a lead ring as well. It is the mark of the slave.
“Ours, we wear because, having worn a slave’s bridle all of our lives, we need something on our heads to feel right. We have taken away from it all that can be used to make us serve another.”
Music began out in front, on the other side of our caravans. Nore continued to sit beside Shehan. “Shouldn’t you be out there dancing for coins?”
“No, Shehan dear. You are more important than a few coins. We will wait together for your cart to be made. Then I will take you over to the booths where you can still do much good for us and we can be sure that you are safe from blundering ponies.”
A pony did come up to them but he was not blundering. He spoke almost conspiratorially to Nore, “Ma'am, I hear that you, um, horses are from across the Anvil. Forgive me for asking but do you need any …” he looked around to be sure that no pony could overhear and went on, “Well, leather? Straps, hides, tools for decorating it? Dyes, things like that?”
Nore clapped her hooves in delight! “We looked for it at the fair! Nopony had any at all! They acted like they were disgusted that we wanted it. Some had harness hardware but no leather! We wanted to buy it to replace these harnesses of woven ropes. They simply will not last. Only leather is durable!”
She practically danced as she asked, “Do you have it here? We must see my husband, the Ghost Who Guides. Marchhare, his name is!”
“I know old Marchhare. Sold him harness before. My cart is over some from yours. Got my leather hid so nopony tries to ruin it.”
Rom actually came around back while the pony was talking. He nodded. “That makes sense out of the reactions of the ponies at the fair when we asked about leather. As Nore said, they seemed upset that we wanted it.
“Sir, bring your caravan around behind our caravans, out of sight, while we look over your goods. We need many things that we had no chance to get at the fair.”
The black and white pinto looked perplexed at first. “My caravan?”
It was little Shehan who filled in from where she lay on the ground, “He means your cart. They seem to have a funny confusion about carts, wagons and caravans.”
Nore suggested, “<>”
The pinto looked confused.
Shehan told him, “I don’t know what she said either. That is Gyptian. Their language from the place on the other side of the desert.”
Rom brought me around. “Spotty! Glad to see you! Heard that you might have some leather for us. That would be great if you do.”
“Marchhare! I been hearing some crazy tale that you died on the desert!”
“Total nonsense, Spotty! I took a nap under a sheltered ledge. That’s all!”
Nore said not a word. She simply stared at the ground where my shadow should be but wasn’t. Got excited and forgot it again.
Embarrassed, I sort of sneaked it back slowly so that it would not be noticed. Wasted effort. Shehan stared wide eyed. Spotty saw it too. He got it at once. Sort of embarrassed in his turn, he said, over jovially, “Of course! Just a nap! I will go and get my cart!”
Spotty brought his cart around behind ours. Nearly whispering to keep the ponies on the other side of our caravans from overhearing, he offered, “Prime leather! I can cut you straps any size. We can do odd shapes if you need them. Got a full line of rings, D rings, buckles and snaps of five different kinds. Got chains too!”
It was Sarel looking at Spotty’s camouflage load of fabrics who asked, “Do you have sewing things? We need more than I have and Phapa is busy with our caravan fittings.”
Spotty said, “I sure do. Good iron pins, too, in papers of a hundred.”
Sarel offered, “Do you, perhaps, need fabrics? I have a small stock of new woven Gyptian broadweave and some satins that I can spare.”
She showed him my broadweave sashes and pointed to her own satin dancing sashes. “Marchhare is wearing broadweave and this is the satin.”
Spotty’s jaw dropped when he saw the satin with its shifting sheen and brilliantly dyed colors. “I could certainly use that!” he said, pointing to the satin.
Sarel brought him a bolt of it. “This is loom fresh, not cut down at all. It is a full twelve ells of fabric.”
I put in, “An ell is just over a meter and about equal to our cloth-yard, Spotty.”
He nodded and checked his cash box. Staring longingly at the cloth he said, “Best I can do is three gold five an … ell you call it? Tain’t really enough. Wish that I could do more. Just haven’t go it.”
Sarel gave me a questioning glance. Money and anything to do with it was totally new to her. Working slaves didn’t handle the money. That was the work of accounting slaves or masters.
I told her, “Go ahead and accept the offer. I know Spotty, and he’s honest.”
Spotty’s eyes opened in shock. “She don’t know money? How did that happen? Can she count?”
Sarel stared down at him and replied sarcastically, “Of course I can count. Figure too. I never even saw any money until we came to Haulmarket. Money was something that our Masters used. It was of no concern to us. We were slaves.”
Changing her attitude, she smiled and added, “Marchhare says that you are honest. Would you please show me how this money works? We do need to know it better.”
Spotty’s brows drew down in concern and he gave me a pitying look. “You got your hooves full, Marchhare. If they don’t even know about money.
“Now, Sarel, here is how it works. This is a gold bit. This one is a silver bit. Here is a copper bit.
“Each gold bit is worth ten of the silver ones. Each silver one is worth ten of the copper ones. Way that we say how much something is, goes like this, we list the gold and say gold, then we just use a number for the silver and a second number for the copper. If there is no silver but there is copper, we do say the gold, none and copper.
“Like this, your fabric is three gold, five, an ell. There are no coppers, so we just don’t say them. If that price was different, we might say it four gold, six and three, for instance. Four gold. Six silver and three copper. No silver but some copper would be two gold, none and four. If it is only silver and copper, we just say, for example, three and six. It it has only silver, we would say, five and none. If it is only copper, like your snacks and drinks, we just say two or two coppers or even two bits.”
Sarel nodded. “I understand the money rankings now. I will learn to set proper prices using that knowledge. Thank you.”
Spotty started laying out golden bits in stacks of three “Twelve stacks of three. Five silver to each of these stacks can be replaced by six gold. Here you are, forty two golden bits.”
Sarel was about to pick them up when a green mare scattered the coins with her hoof, shouting, “See, Sargent? I caught the shoplifter selling her loot to Spotty!”
Following behind her was Sargent Convoy of the Royal Road Police. He observed, “What you have caught is the owner of the booth, Sarel, I believe her name is, making a transaction for an entire bolt of the fabric that she weaves. Gather up her money, Grassy, and give it back.”
Grassy, with ill grace gathered up the fallen coins in a heap. “There! That’s all of them! It was an honest mistake. I saw you take the fabric and sneak back here. Naturally, I thought that was a shoplifting.”
I, to put it rudely, shoved a hoof up her rear. “Nice try, Grassy. Now just lift up your right hoof and show the frog to Sargent Convoy. I saw you lift two gold when you made the stack.”
Standing firmly, she retorted, “You, a DONKEY, are accusing me of dishonesty?”
“In a word, YES, Grassy. Used to do a traveling show with slight of hoof tricks. You are not that smooth with your Prance Drop. Besides, the coins made an audible clink. Now show the nice Sargent your hoof. You haven’t had a chance to ditch the coins yet.”
Sargent Convoy demanded, “Simply show me the hoof, ma'am. That will settle the matter.”
With a sour expression, Grassy lifted her hoof and gave the coins back to Spotty, as if Sarel was not there. She grumbled, “You can’t blame me for trying. All of this money that you are making is stolen from our Summer Fair. Besides, these over-sized monstrosities all look alike.”
I saw the Sargent’s brow clouding up. I decided that we should follow a path of some mercy. But not much.
“They really do look alike, don’t they!” I exclaimed, staring back and forth from Sarel’s dapple gray to Nore’s lovely chestnut brown with black mane and tail.
“Reminds me of the farmer with the two chickens that he could not tell apart at all. Every way he tried they were utterly identical. Finally, one day, he saw them standing side by side next to a shed. The boards made a sight line that showed him the ONE difference. The Black Rooster was a good three inches taller than the White Hen!”
The Sargent grinned. Grassy ground her teeth.
Sweet little (relatively little anyway, she was taller than the Sargent) Nore smiled sweetly and offered Grassy the stolen two golden bits. “Here, dear. You are going to need them for tooth work if you keep doing that!”
Grassy turned on her heel and stomped away. But she did take the coins. Nore, Spotty and the Sargent were all howling with glee.
One of the Sargent’s troopers came and whispered in his ear. He flicked his ear in annoyance and replied, “If we are out of violation forms, send back to Section HQ and get more!
“Don’t forget to remind the violators that their ONLY legal use of the Royal Road is to come to Section HQ for the hearing of their cases or settlement of their fines. Once their violations are cleared up, they can use the Road again.”
I winced at the thought of ponies denied the use of the Royal Roads. “What is happening, Sargent Convoy?”
Setting his mouth like biting into something sour, he replied, “Haulmarket posted criers to try to steer ponies away from your attraction. That is against the law. We ran out of Road Violation forms!”
Sympathetically, little Shehan, from her literal bed of pain, said, “I never had no good of Haulmarket either, Sargent. I do so thank you for freeing me of them.”
After the Sargent left on his duties, Nore, Rom, and Sando descended on Spotty to try nailing down his whole leather supply! Sarel practically jumped on his sewing and notions things. Especially his stock of pins and thread needles in different sizes.
As the happy mares absconded back to their caravans with his stock, Spotty stared at his near empty cart in amazed delight. He was really careful to stow his money box out of sight. Setting his face to look discouraged, he took his cart out to the road and went away from Haulmarket.
By evening, Sando and Malit came back and gently loaded Shehan into her new mobility cart.
Smiling, Shehan’s new mother, Malit, pointed to me. “You mustn’t try to use the hoof wheels yet, dear. You have to wait until that mean old donkey over there says that you may.”
Shehan replied, “I’ll be good. I want to get better and learn to dance like you. Got a question, though …”
I overheard something about shadow. Malit nodded and looked my way to be sure that I wasn’t listening before whispering back. I heard part of it about Lake and a bit more.
Shehan replied softly, “Really? He came back?”
Malit nodded, whispering, “He kept his promise and came back to guide us.”
There was a pause. “The Shehan Ja Rom isn’t a made up story or legend, is it?”
“No, dear. I was there. I saw it happen. It was only a few weeks ago.”
Our Shehan was wheeled over to where she could watch the dancing. Between dances, she and Nore sat to one side and worked on the translation of the Shehan Ja Rom. Her body might have been stilled for now, but her mind was swift.
The words that we needed and wanted flowed from her lips. She knew the value of money far better than most. Living with little but want can do that for some. She was assisting the dancers with their count ups and letting them know what the money was worth in things that they could buy.
The more that I heard, the happier I was that Shehan had come to us.
Nore came over to me after her next dance set and asked in Gyptian, “<>”
“<>”
“<>”
The greenish blue pony sauntered up behind her. He demanded arrogantly, “What kind of instrument maker can she be if she don’t know how to make a violin?”
I gave him a withering stare that started at his hooves and lifted up to his face. “Farlin. I might have known it was you. She is a very good instrument maker but not from Equestria. She makes the full range of lyres, knows how to make harps, tuned drums, and does fine flutes.”
“Then why don’t she know how to make a violin?”
“What part of NOT FROM EQUESTRIA is hard to grasp, Farlin? She has never even seen any bowed instrument in her life. What kind of customer are YOU that won’t let a craftshorse examine a model of what you want made? Would you go to a wheelwright and just ask for a wheel or would you take in the cart so that the new wheel can be matched to the old one?
“Come to think, bad example. You did that once, didn’t you?”
Farlin grumped, “Don’t want them huge clod hopper hooves of hers ruining my good violin!”
“Then WHY in the name of Luna'a mother, did you even ask her about it?”
Farlin looked down glumly. “Got a dance to fiddle and call comin’ up next week. My violin got a big weather crack in the back. Sounding board is ruint. The only shop around that can fix it want more than I got.”
Nore was listening intently. In her charmingly accented Equestrian she offered, “Oh, a crack? Is that all? I can fix that in a few minutes. I will need to go over to Maina’s booth to do it. May I at least see the damage?”
Farlin nodded and went to get his violin case. When he returned, he showed her the big treelike set of cracks in the beautifully figured maple of the sounding board.
Nore paused. “That will be very tricky work. If I am interrupted at all, it could fail.” She turned to gently nuzzle Shehan. “What would be a fair charge for this, Shehan? You know their money better than I.”
Shehan smiled and replied, “Charge him a whole silver bit for it. Remember, he wants that pretty pattern of swirls in the wood.”
Reluctantly Farlin let Nore take away his violin. She vanished into the rush of the crowd. In about twenty minutes she returned with the case in her hooves.
Farlin’s face fell. “Couldn’t do it? I was afraid of that.”
Nore looked utterly surprised. “I did do it. It is repaired and ready to play. The tuning pegs did not fit properly so I fixed their holes and replaced them. There was a crack in this long part too. It is all sound now.” She held onto the case. “You can test it at the end of this dance set, OK?”
Farlin took the violin out of its case and examined the back meticulously. “I can’t believe it! There ain’t any sign of them cracks. How did you do it?”
Nore shrugged. “I do not know your words well enough to tell you. I am sorry. The dance is ending. Will you try it out to be sure that I have preserved the sound properly?”
Farlin rosined up his bow and tucked the violin into place. He began to play. His choice was a good one, generally. An old barn dance favorite, “Round and Round the Hay Bale Go!”
He almost stopped in surprise as coins began to fly his way! At the end of the tune, Nore helped him to gather up the many coppers. Farlin looked at Nore in something like awe.
“Repaired ain’t the word for it! My violin never sounded so sweet before! Here, Ma'am, you keep these coppers. There’s more than a siver’s worth here. You earned it!”
Nore turned her head to Shehan. “Is it fair that I take more than agreed on? I am new to being paid for my work.”
Shehan, from her cart, told her, “If he offers it, yes. Then it is good. It is his way of saying that your work was superb.”
Nore returned her attention to Farlin. “I thank you. In return, I offer you this. Play another piece of your music for the crowd before our next set. Keep all that you earn from it. Our music is exotic to your ponies and YOURS is exotic to us!”
Nodding at the sense of it, Farlin took a place beside our musician area. He looked up in surprise as Sarel put out a box for his coins. She craned her neck down to his level and said, “We have found that if we use a box, few coins get lost in the grass!”
Maina giggled, “We were trying to dance to your other tune! It was hilariously hopeless! The scales and beats are so different from ours! If it helps any, we did enjoy your tune.”
Farlin was just getting his next hoof stomping tune going when Foulip stomped up to me and demanded loudly, across Farlin’s music, “That is IT! You have to let the rest of us come here and set up the Fair here!”
I waggled my eyebrows at him as I replied, “ONLY IF YOU ALL PAY US A SITE FEE! We were here first, and Royal Road Law is clear. This is OUR camp and we are entitled to any such privacy as we wish.
“Of course, we could return to the fair for tomorrow. We will only do that IF you post on the Public Bulletin Board a FULL CONFESSION that the complaint against us was TOTALLY FALSE. The note needs to be about ten by twenty centimeters in size and signed by EVERY exhibitor there! It will have to stay up until the Fair has been over for at least a day.
“Oh, and one other thing. You will all jointly chip in to pay our new fair set up fee.”
Foulip snarled, “That ain’t fair!”
Nore stepped over and glared down at him. “Neither was the false complaint! Neither was striking that filly’s tea drink from her hooves! In fact, NOTHING that you have been involved in so far has been fair! You have a Fair! It is over there! Go back to it!” She pointed back toward Haulmarket and then rudely turned her rear to him and switched her tail like swatting a fly.
I shrugged and grinned, “Fair is fair, Foulip, and we came here because your Fair was most Unfair!”
~THE END~
