I Have a Hat
by BillyColt
Letterhead was just about ready to go and give that uppity little author a piece of his mind. He'd gone too far this time, and he had to answer for it. The damage was too great to ignore: Upstart had seen a fairy.
Upstart, the young, impressionable colt, had just the last night come running back to the mansion, babbling that he had seen a fairy pony. This was, of course, preposterous, as everyone was sure to point out, but young Upstart was adamant that he had seen a unicorn in the woods.
Letterhead, a tall bespectacled pony, always in good posture, carrying with him an air that could be charitably described as ‘dignified’ and uncharitably described as ‘self-important,’ snorted. Unicorns. Nothing but useless stories told to babbling little foals for the purpose of keeping their undeveloped little brains occupied with something.
The lawyer made his way to the bedroom door of the author, and angrily rapped his hoof against it.
“Penner!” he called. “I know you're up!”
A bleary-eyed pony opened the door. “What do you want?” he asked. “Shouldn't you be trying to get money from someone? Or am I your target now?”
“You know damn well what this is about.”
“I seriously don't.”
“This is about the garbage you've been putting into that young stallion's head.”
“Oh, this again," said Penner. “Look, can't we make an agreement? I don't talk about how you're basically a vulture without the wings, and you don't talk about how I snort fairy dust and think it's magic, alright?”
Penner shut the door in his face, leaving Letterhead to smolder as he walked down to breakfast. Letterhead just knew that young Upstart would maintain that he'd seen a unicorn or fairy pony in the woods, and it would be up to him, the only pony in the house with a grasp on reality, to explain to him that fairy ponies did not exist. Neither did unicorns. Neither did pegasi. Neither did princesses or any kind of magic at all.
After reaching the bottom of the stairs, he made his way down the hallway. It was as scatterbrained as its owner, each following step of it decorated with cheesy trappings representing some new fashion that had quickly cropped up and quickly fallen by the wayside. Still, they remained, as though they were waiting to come back into style at any moment. They never would, of course, and so the hallway served a sort of museum dedicated to tacky fads.
He looked over at Upstart, eating his toast, young and well-groomed as could be expected of a rich foal. His mother Duchess was off in the adjacent room, chattering about something of no interest to anyone but herself, as she usually did.
Letterhead rolled his eyes and poured himself some coffee and read over the morning paper. Nothing particularly new—politicians embarrassing themselves, city works trying to figure out how to do their work with meager funds, the usual.
“So,” said Letterhead, looking over at Upstart with a forced smile. “Your mother says you met a pretty mare in the woods.”
Upstart looked over at him. “Very pretty, sir.”
“What was her name?”
“She didn’t have one.”
Letterhead raised a suspicious eyebrow.
“Fairy ponies don’t have names. Not ones we can speak, anyway.”
“Upstart,” sighed Letterhead, “there aren’t any fairy ponies. Either the girl doesn’t exist or she was making things up.”
“She wasn’t making things up,” said Upstart. “She could do magic. Real magic.”
“What did she do?” asked Letterhead. “Make a coin disappear and then come out of your ear?”
“Well... yes.”
“Hmpf,” snorted Letterhead, returning to his paper.
“Well!” announced a loud, oblivious voice. The ponies at the table turned their heads to see Duchess, the colt’s mother, standing in the doorway. “Aren’t we up to a lively morning, all this talk of unicorns and fairies?”
“I wouldn’t call it ‘lively,’” Letterhead grumbled.
“Did I miss anything?” called Penner.
Penner and Duchess sat themselves at the table, the writer bringing his own bottle to the table.
“Well, I thought that with all this talk of magic and fairy-ponies,” announced Duchess, “that it would be a wonderful time to engage in a little frivolity.”
“Meaning?” asked Letterhead. He sighed, sure he was about to face an impending headache.
“Meaning,” continued Duchess, “that I have hired the services of a magician!”
“A real one?” asked Upstart, leaning over, cautiously interested.
“She wouldn’t say,” said Duchess plaintively.
“No, Upstart,” sighed Letterhead. “They’re all illusionists, nothing more. If she’s slightly more honest than the others she won’t steal your watch.” He turned to Penner. “I blame you, because of—” He noticed the bottle he had brought to the table. “Do you really need to do that at breakfast?”
“First you berate me for my writing, then you berate me for my drinking,” scoffed Penner. “There is no pleasing you.”
“It is a simple matter of dietary fact that liquor is not a substitute for water.”
“Well, of course it isn’t,” said Penner. “That would imply that I could drink water instead.”
“And that,” said Letterhead, turning to the others, “implies that Penner has a problem.”
“When will the magician be here?” asked Upstart.
“She will arrive by noon,” said Duchess proudly. “She and her troupe will be guests.”
Letterhead blinked. “‘Troupe’?”
“Yes. She has something of a traveling group with her.”
“Lovely,” said Letterhead. “Now it’s a circus.”
Penner raised a hoof as he chugged down his wine. When he finally lowered the bottle he asked, “What’s wrong with a circus?”
Letterhead glowered. After a pause, he took his plate and rose from the table. “I think I will have my breakfast in private,” he said. “I have other work that needs to be done.”
The carriage pulled in, drawn by two large stallions, music blaring from an unseen source. Marvel and the Mystical Mysteries of the Mesmerizing Enchantra! was painted on both sides in gold and purple.
The household waited in front of the mansion, watching as it came barreling up the road. They all had their own ideas about the proceedings. Duchess was the only one of the group that was what anypony could call “excited,” and she was more proud of her own initiative than she was looking forward to seeing the hired conjurer. Letterhead never had interest in illusionists or conjurors, regarding them as little more than fancy frauds. Upstart, surprisingly, was of the same mindset, for the fair pony he met in the woods had told him so. And Penner, the writer, had more interest writing about real magic that never existed than fake magic in the real world.
The carriage came to a stop, and the back doors swung open. A zebra in a fancy suit emerged, and he loudly, proudly announced:
“Good fillies and sirs
In this forest of firs
I bring you a wonderous sight!
“For in this home so grand
You will soon understand
A power of awe and delight!
“She is radiant and fair
(And she has such a flair)
That she beams like a torch through the night
“She will dazzle and daze you,
Stun and amaze you
Enchantra, the unicorn right!”
And the top of the carriage opened and from it emerged a stunningly beautiful mare, dressed in a cloak and a top hat. If she was a unicorn, the hat must have been covering her horn. Duchess gasped with awe at the performance that hadn’t even begun. Penner had to admit that he liked the zebra’s announcement, and even Letterhead gave some begrudging amount of respect for their presentation. Upstart, however, was floored. He looked up at Enchantra.
She was the fairy pony he had seen in the woods.
Enchantra greeted each member of the household, bowing graciously and giving each of them a compliment. She certainly stood out, with a magenta coat and violet mane, dressed in a midnight blue cloak. And, Upstart thought, she was the prettiest pony he’d ever seen.
“It is an honor to be in the employ of such ponies as yourselves,” she said.
“Oh no,” muttered Letterhead. “The pleasure is all ours, I’m sure.”
“You have already met one of my friends, Zed,” she said, gesturing to the zebra, who gave a deep, exaggerated bow.
“We come, we serve, and maybe unnerve,” he said, with a mischievous glint in his eye.
“You rhyme all the time?” asked Penner.
“We’ve only so much,” the zebra conceded. “Traditions and such.”
“And my wonderful carriage drivers…” She gestured to the two stallions. “Biff and Boff.”
“Yo,” they said simultaneously.
She looked back at the carriage. “Tricky?” A thin hoof stuck out of the carriage, waving at them. “That’s Tricky,” she explained. “He’s the finest escape artist you’ll ever meet.” She smiled and put a hoof to her forehead. “He doesn’t speak. Y’see, he kept his mouth shut, and by never speaking he learned to listen. To observe.”
“Well,” said Duchess, “we’re all very pleased to meet you. This,” she indicated each pony as she introduced him, “is Letterhead, this is Penner, and this is my son, Upstart.”
“Ahh,” she said. Her eyes fell on Upstart. “You,” she said. “We’ve met.”
“Yes we have,” said Upstart.
“This troupe will be spending the night,” explained Duchess.
“In our house?” asked Letterhead.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” said Enchantra. “We can accommodate ourselves.”
“No, I insist,” said Duchess. “We have a bunch of vacant rooms that I just don’t know what to do with.”
“Our employer does insist. Perhaps it’s unwise to resist.”
“Well, if you do insist…”
“Oh, delightful!” exclaimed Duchess, turning back to the house. “You can get yourselves situated and tomorrow we’ll have the big magic show!”
Duchess was perfectly happy to let the merry troupe into her home, to Letterhead’s great consternation.
“You are a very gracious host,” said Enchantra, after Duchess had finished an overly-inflated and under-researched lecture on the third painting in the hallway (out of twelve), “but if it’s all the same to you, I would like to retire for the moment. I would like to be alone with my thoughts.”
“Of course, of course!” Duchess said, turning to look at the second painting. “A pony’s privacy is precious! If there’s anything you or your friends need, don’t be afraid to ask?”
“I was wondering,” Biff, one of the twins, a large brown pony, spoke up, “if you had a post office nearby.”
“We wanted to send a letter,” explained Boff.
“Oh, we can mail it for you,” said Duchess. “Who’s it for?”
“Our brother,” said Biff.
“His name’s Buff,” said Boff.
Enchantra lingered in the hallway for a moment, looking at the painting. It was a cheap portrait of some stuffy mare in a chair; a monument more to the subject’s ego than the painter’s skill. The hallway’s dim lighting certainly did no favors.
Upstart watched her as she paced down the hallways, studying the paintings and humming an obscure tune to herself. Then she stopped in front of one painting—a landscape of a lake under a cloudless, starlit night, with a pony looking up at the moon—and muttered something to herself:
“These windows into fancied pasts, inhabited by storied casts…”
“Enchantra?” he asked.
She stopped and turned around, her cape giving a little twirl. “Yes?” she asked.
“Are you real?”
She chuckled with a small smile. “If I weren’t real you’d probably need to see your doctor friend. Talking to nopony isn’t a very good sign of mental health.”
“You know what I meant!” he insisted. “Are you a real unicorn?”
She looked at him with a pained smile. “Well,” she said at length. “If I told you ‘yes,’ would you believe me?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course not,” said Letterhead. Upstart and Enchantra turned to look down the hall and saw him standing at the end, off to the side. “Ponies like her don’t like to give straight answers. It’s not fun for them.” He walked forward. “This magician isn’t a real unicorn, Upstart. Just a liar and a fraud, like the rest of her kind.”
“A liar and a fraud?” Enchantra asked, with a knowing smile. “Oh, no doubt ponies in my profession base our lives on trickery. But unlike the common con artist, I should think that a magician is honest about their fabrications.”
Letterhead straightened his glasses, unimpressed by her words. “Upstart might be impressionable to believe you when you talk about being a fair pony, and Duchess might be ‘open-minded’ enough to entertain your presence, and Penner’s mind is addled by wine enough for all I know. But know that I see you for what you are, and nothing else.”
“That’s always fun,” said Enchantra, turning down the hallway. “You should enjoy the show tomorrow.” Before she turned the corner, she paused and turned around. “See if you can figure the tricks out.”
Letterhead watched and called out. “You know what I hate more than anything else, magician?”
Enchantra looked back at him. “Slights to your ego?”
The lawyer lowered his face, glaring at her over the tops of his spectacles. “I don’t like being lied to.”
Duchess laughed as Zed plied her with many sweet-smelling bottles. The magician’s wagon had unfolded into a sort of kiosk, from behind which the zebra sat, surrounded by bottles. A sign propped up on the side read Zed’s Mystery Elixirs: Brewed in far-off foreign lands, the secret formulas of the zebras contain all manner of magics. Try one today!
As it turned out, Zed also sold a variety of perfumes, which purported no magical properties but promised lovely fragrances.
“This one is lillies, this one is rosies,” Zed counted out. “These ones are daisies, and these here are posies.”
Duchess laughed. “Why, with these perfumes I don’t think I’d even need a garden.”
“Oh, I daren’t say that,” said Enchantra, appearing suddenly behind her. “These perfumes are merely the illusions of those fragrances.”
Duchess turned, a perplexed look on her face.
“In order to have an illusion, one needs the real thing,” said Enchantra. “On some level, at least.”
“I...” said Duchess. “I don’t grasp your meaning.”
“Well, take this,” said Enchantra, taking one of the bottles in her hoof and holding it up to Duchess’s face. “What does this smell like?”
Duchess sniffed. “Roses.”
“Would you know it smelled like roses,” said Enchantra, “if you had not known a real rose?”
“Well, I...” Duchess thought—or rather, tried to think on it. “I suppose I would not.”
Enchantra smiled knowingly, and then continued on her way, though Zed looked at her as though he were cross.
“Though I wish to make a sale,” he lamented, “she claims as though my wares were stale.”
“Oh, pish-posh,” said Duchess, laying some coins on the counter. “I’ll take a rose perfume.” The zebra smiled.
Off to the side, Penner watched the scene with an inquisitive amusement.
“There’s a problem with that line of thought,” he said to Enchantra before she could leave. The magician turned to face him, wearing an arched eyebrow. “Something doesn’t need to be real for there to be an illusion. You could show me a picture of a dragon and I’d recognize it just fine, even though dragons aren’t real.”
“Oh?” asked Enchantra. “Would you? I don’t doubt you could recognize a picture of a dragon. Or rather what an artist today would imagine a dragon to look like. But I’ve seen a great many pictures of dragons, and many of them are different. If I were to find you several pictures of dragons, could you point out to me which was the picture of the real dragon?”
Penner tilted his head at her. “Princesses of old, I’m not nearly drunk enough to follow what you’re saying.”
Zed, spotting an opportunity, turned his attention to him. “Perhaps a bottle of wine would do you in fine?” he suggested, holding up a bottle.
“Sweet.”
“I must say, Enchantra, that is quite a philosophy,” said Duchess. Enchantra smiled and nodded her head. “I’ll have to think on that for a little. I’m sure I can impress someone with that at my next party,” she laughed, before turning and walking back into the house with her fragrant bottle.
She went to the lounge, nagged by a feeling that she had to see if there was anything out of place. She did have guests, after all. Nothing was untowards, unless one were to judge the entire decor a mistake. And, with its unseemingly old cushions and couches, one may very well have made such a judgement. What was there, of course, was Letterhead, seated in a faded recliner and reading a newspaper.
“So what’s our troupe of party favors up to?” he asked. His eyes fell on the red bottle in Duchess’s mouth, which she pocketed so she could speak clearly. “Sold you something?” he added.
“Oh?” asked Duchess. “Oh, yes, I just bought a little something from Mister Zed.”
“Let me guess, one of his cure-alls or his things that’s guaranteed to make you look twenty years younger?” he asked contemptuously.
“Oh no, I didn’t buy any of those,” she said. “It’s just some perfume.”
Letterhead sat in his seat, stewing over it some more. “Does he have a permit?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Does he have a permit to sell on these premises?” he asked. “If he doesn’t I can sue him for illegal sale of...”
“Letterhead,” interjected Duchess. “These are our guests and we should be polite.”
“‘Polite,’” he muttered.
“Now I mean it,” she said. “I don’t want you raising a fuss over dinner.”
“Right, right...” The realization came onto him rapidly, as though he had, distracted by his newspaper, walked into a brick wall. “You invited them to dinner?”
“Of course I did,” she said, laughing at such an obvious question. “They are our guests after all.”
And she left Letterhead to sit in the lounge. He remained expressionless, but if there had been anypony (or any zebra) else in the room, they might have sworn that they saw the edges of the newspaper start to smolder.
The dinner table was more crowded than usual. Duchess sat at the head as she always did, and looked over the other ponies. Their guests outnumbered them by a slim margin, which was a little concerning to less adventurous of the house, but Duchess was absolutely delighted to have a zebra at her table. He was exotic, and so polite.
Enchantra purported to amuse the others by performing small tricks, such as making the silverware disappear, producing glasses of wine out of nowhere, or pulling napkins out of her mouth. Duchess applauded enthusiastically, though nopony else did, and said, “Oh, I wonder how you did it?”
“Misdirection and long sleeves,” muttered Letterhead.
“Yes,” conceded Enchantra. “You could do it that way.”
Letterhead ignored her and turned to the zebra. “Zed, is it? You sell your cure-alls and elixirs?”
“If you should be ailed, my brews have not failed.”
Letterhead gave a sarcastic chuckle. “Tell me, do you have a license to sell them?”
Zed looked at him, perplexed.
“Letterhead,” said Duchess. “Do you really—”
“I am a lawyer, Zed. If you don’t have a license then you could face serious legal consequences for—”
“Letterhead, nopony cares,” moaned Penner.
“No, Penner, it’s alright,” said Enchantra, speaking up. “I assure you, Letterhead, there is nothing shady or untoward with our business. Nothing that endangers us legally.” She smiled. “Thank you for your concern.”
Letterhead narrowed his eyes at her before returning to his food. Enchantra continued.
“I trust you’ll all be in attendance for tomorrow’s performance,” she said, looking over each of them. Duchess and Upstart seemed eager, though Penner’s reaction was one of more measured enthusiasm. Letterhead, as could be expected, merely resumed eating his salad.
“Well, I do believe it’s time for the main course,” said Duchess. The door to the dining room opened and in walked Doorbell, a tall, stately valet of a pony, carrying several covered serving trays on his back. Duchess chuckled a little loudly at nothing in particular. “Well, I thought I’d prepare something fancy...”
Doorbell laid the first dish on the table, and as he put his hoof to the lid to reveal it, Enchantra spoke up. “Hold on, sir, for a moment.” All the faces turned to look at her. “Just lay them all out. Nopony look at what it is.”
Zed, who was seated next to Penner, leaned over with a grin. “We’re in for a treat before we all eat.”
Enchantra closed her eyes and raised a hoof to the hat on her head, removing it and revealing a horn. “I’d like to make a guess as to what we’ll be dining on tonight,” she said.
“Oh-ho!” said Duchess. “This should be grand. Just grand.”
Enchantra watched as a dubious Doorbell circled around the table, serving the dishes. “Hmm...” she looked at Doorbell, then at Duchess. Everypony was silent, their eyes fixed on her, save for Letterhead, who glared impatiently at the silver lid. “I’d guess that... tonight we’re having rose roast?”
“Oh...” Duchess chuckled. “Are you quite sure?”
“Quite,” Enchantra confirmed. “We’re having a rose roast tonight.”
Duchess laughed and shook her head. “I’m afraid your powers forsake you, Miss Enchantra.” She raised a hoof to the lid and raised it. “No, tonight we’re having lemon-basted...” But, in spite of Duchess’s assurances about the night’s dinner, sitting before her was, indeed, a rose roast. The others lifted their lids to find that they had, indeed, been served a rose roast. Doorbell’s dull expression contorted in confusion, as he stared at the serving dishes, as though he had heard them state a frighteningly funny retort. “...lilies...”
Upstart looked at Enchantra with awe. “How did you do that?” he asked.
“Paid off the staff, most likely,” snorted Letterhead.
“Yes...” Enchantra smiled. “That’s very good thinking, Letterhead. I admire that. A real sense of thinking outside the box.” Upstart appeared to deflate a little, but Enchantra continued, “I could have done it that way.”
“Could have?” asked Penner. “Is that one of those things that’s both a tacit confirmation and a tacit denial at the same time?”
“Magician never reveals her secrets,” said Biff.
“Bad business,” agreed Boff.
“Thank you,” said Enchantra, nodding.
“Well, I’m not going to complain,” said Duchess, “this looks delicious.”
As they ate, all parties involved agreed that the rose roast was, in fact, as delicious as it looked. Even Letterhead could not contest it, insistent on honesty as he was.
“Where do unicorns come from?” asked Upstart as he finished his roast.
“The stork drops them, what else?” muttered Letterhead. “Right under the cabbage leaf.
“Sorry, Letterhead,” said Enchantra, “I think you’ve been reading the wrong stories.” She looked around the room. “Do any of you know the old stories?”
This was Penner’s chance to speak. “I do,” he said.
“What do you know about the unicorns?” asked Enchantra.
Penner cleared his throat. “A long time ago there was a land called Equestria. That’s where the unicorns came from. Not just unicorns, but pegasus ponies, too.”
The others leaned in to listen. Upstart in particular was very eager to hear, his eyes wide as saucers in anticipation.
“And, well... that’s all I know, really,” said Penner. “There was Princess Celestia and Princess Luna and others...”
“Equestria was a magical kingdom,” Enchantra picked up. “The weather was fixed, by royal decree. Princess Celestia herself passed an edict in Canterlot that said it could never rain unless every pony had an umbrella. And the snow had to fall very precisely, just deep enough to go sledding...”
“And I suppose,” interjected Letterhead, “that the leaves all fell in neat little piles to be bagged up?”
“No, that’s utter nonsense!” Enchantra said, smiling and laughing softly. “The leaves were completely blown away. No need to make it more work. Anyway, where was I?”
“The unicorns,” prompted Duchess.
“Yes, thank you, the unicorns,” Enchantra continued, nodding. “The unicorns were not particularly special. Magical, yes, but then all the races were magical. The pegasus ponies could move and mold the clouds, and they painted rainbows in the sky. And the earth ponies, steadfast and strong on the ground, tended the earth. All under the watchful eyes of the fair princesses who governed the sun and the moon.”
“Well, what happened?” asked Upstart.
Enchantra fell silent and looked down at her plate. Penner looked up again, and found room to speak.
“They say the princesses left,” he explained. “They were called away on some sort of important task, it was never very clear. Just that they left with a promise to return, and set the celestial spheres in motion for their absence. And then...”
Enchantra looked up from the table. “They just didn’t return. Life in Equestria went on as it had before, but...” She sighed. “Eventually the magic just... faded. Unicorns and pegasus ponies gradually became fewer and fewer, until they stopped being born altogether, and the remaining ponies forgot the magic of the earth as they turned instead to metal and iron.” She smiled suddenly. “And that brings us to today!”
“Thank goodness,” muttered Letterhead.
“Thank you all for entertaining me and my troupe,” said Enchantra. She stood up. “It’s really a lot more than we expected. We only hope we can repay you all in kind tomorrow. I hope you all come and you all enjoy the show. But for now, I think it’s time we retired.”
“So soon?” asked Duchess. “But we haven’t even gotten to dessert.”
“A unicorn needs her beauty sleep,” said Zed, “They must rest early and must rest deep.”
“Thank you all again, for your kindness,” said Enchantra, placing the top hat on her head.
She departed, leaving the table with a swish of her tail and a flourish of her cape.
The others awoke early as usual, and the guests were sure to thank their hosts and make promises about the upcoming show. Upstart went outside and watched them. Zed was sitting at shop again, while Biff and Boff sat around outside.
“Where’s Enchantra?” he asked.
“Oh, she’s inside,” said Biff.
“Getting set up,” said Boff.
“Oh, okay,” said Upstart, nodding. He looked back to the house, and then back to the cart. Then he looked back to Biff and Boff. “Who is she?” he asked. “Is she really a unicorn?”
Biff and Boff shared a glance. “We don’t know everything about Enchantra,” said Boff. “A magician has her secrets, after all.”
“What kind of secrets?” asked Upstart.
“If we knew, they wouldn’t be secrets,” said Biff.
“Well…” muttered Upstart. “What do you know?”
The two paused and looked at each other uneasily. “We met up with her about a year ago,” said Boff. She… hasn’t said a whole lot about herself. We pull the cart, help put on the shows…”
“So…” said Upstart, “you know how she does it? The magic?”
“Not completely,” said Biff. “I think she just does that herself. Magicians and secrets and all that.”
“Can’t say she isn’t dedicated to her craft,” said Boff.
Upstart nodded.
“She likes to be by herself a lot,” continued Boff. “Taking walks and the like. She said something about a nice glade she found.”
“That’s where I met her,” said Upstart.
“Well, there you go,” said Biff.
Upstart turned to head back inside the house, but then turned around. “Is she a real unicorn?”
The two shared a pained expression. “I can’t really say,” said Biff. “She looks like one and she says she’s one.”
“Do you think she is one?” asked Upstart.
The two were silent for a moment. “If there is one unicorn left in the world,” said Boff, “then yes.”
They had to move the piano out of the way to make room for what was to be the performance space. The troupe of performers started off with some simple acts. Enchantra bedazzled them with card tricks, displays of prestidigitation, hypnosis, and levitation. The others were seated before them in neatly-arranged chairs. Letterhead sat next to Penner, and was sure to chime in with his theories for how each of the tricks were done. Penner found himself quite impressed by the explanations, it seems... or at least, that’s what Letterhead assumed Penner meant by all the blank nodding.
Once again, Enchantra addressed the audience.
“And now for our next performance,” she announced, “we’d like you to meet Tricky!”
The gangly pony walked in and calmly sat in a seat up before the audience, next to a pile of ropes.
“Tricky here is a very special pony,” she said. “Nothing can hold him. Believe me, we’ve tried. Can’t get rid of him, either. Now, for this trick I’d like a volunteer from the audience...”
The ponies in the audience all looked at each other, wondering who would go up.
“How about you, Letterhead?” she asked.
All eyes turned to Letterhead. He looked around, distasteful of the event. “Fine,” he said, rising from his seat and making his way to what passed for center stage in the room. “What do you want me to do?”
“See if you keep Tricky tied to his seat,” said Enchantra, nudging the pile of ropes.
Letterhead took a good look between the rope and the supposed escape artist before setting to work. Enchantra stood the side and watched with a knowing smile as he displayed an almost showman-like expertise with the rope. Oh, how clever he was, tying each individual limb to the chair, tying them so tight that Tricky had literally no wiggle-room to speak of. That is, if Tricky could, in fact speak. He simply remained on the seat, silent and expressionless as he was bound again and again.
Satisfied he was finished, Letterhead took a step back, panting softly at his exertion. Enchantra approached and thumped her hooves on the floor.
“Thank you, Letterhead, that was very good, very good indeed,” she said. “You may be seated.” He wasted no time in taking to his seat, and Enchantra carried on with the show. “Biff! Boff! The curtain!” Her two assistants entered, carrying a large red curtain. Biff stood to one side, while Boff went to the other, leaving Tricky hidden from view. Enchantra stood in front of the curtain, still smiling. “Our friend Letterhead has put Tricky in quite a... tricky situation. Biff, Boff, why don’t we see how he’s doing?” Biff and Boff ducked down, lowering the curtain. Tricky still sat there, still bound, still motionless. He almost appeared bored.
“Now now, Tricky,” Enchantra chided. “We have a show to do.” One could have almost sworn that they saw Tricky nod, as though he had just then realized what he was supposed to do. Biff and Boff raised the curtain again, as Enchantra continued talking. “Tricky likes to do this to us a lot. Sometimes he’ll go to the bathroom, and we’ll watch the door, waiting for hours sometimes, waiting for him to come out. But when we knock on the door...”
Biff and Boff lowered the curtain, and some of the more credulous members of the audience let out a gasp. The chair was there, that was absolutely certain without a shred of possible doubt. But it was only the chair that was there—the ropes and, indeed, the pony, were gone.
“Wherever did he go?” asked Duchess. Then a tap came at her shoulder and she looked behind her. Sure enough, there was Tricky, looking almost amused. The others stared at him—Duchess had been seated in the front. How could they have possibly missed him there, right behind her?
“A body double,” muttered Letterhead. “One of them does the escape act, the other slips into the audience.”
“But Biff and Boff are the twins...” whispered Penner.
“A good show, Tricky,” Enchantra smiled. She raised her hoof to her head and removed her hat, revealing her unicorn horn once again. “But I’m wondering, as I’m sure we all are...” Her eyes narrowed and her mouth curled into a slightly more shady smile. “Can you escape from my... invisible chains?” There was a loud snicker from the audience. Enchantra looked out, as if in alarm. “Who made that noise?”
All eyes slowly turned around and looked at one singular pony, seated near the back. Doorbell, who looked around as if unsure what was going on.
“Doorbell, is it?” asked Enchantra. “Something funny about my... invisible chains?” He snickered again. Enchantra tilted her head again. “Why don’t you come up and try? I’m sure if you find them so funny you’ll have absolutely no trouble escaping.”
Doorbell grinned and jumped out of his seat, moving before everyone much more quickly than he was usually wont to move. He faced the audience, and smiled. Though his smile had changed from one of confidence to a slightly more bashful expression, he still seemed to find a great deal of humor in the situation.
“Just stand right there,” Enchantra said, “while I apply the invisible chains.”
She became silent, and closed her eyes. The lights in the room dimmed, and she began to move strangely. In fluid, silky motions, she began to pantomime herself carrying what the audience could infer to be heavy and, to the best of their knowledge, completely invisible chains. Doorbell stood and watched as she began to motion around him, as though she were clamping manacles on him, grinning fit to burst with laughter. But as she began to draw more of her imaginary chains on him, something about his countenance changed before them. Flicker by flicker, the smile faltered as sure as an ember, turning from amusement to wry observance to a smile that could only be construed as a compensation for nervousness.
Enchantra took a deep breath and backed away. “Now, escape.”
Doorbell stood there. Then his entire body seized up. He seemed to try to lift a hoof, but it got not an inch above the ground before he stamped it back down. Again, he seized up, his body rife with tension as though he were trying to break the chains with pure strength. Sweat collected on his face in little dots and he gasped for breath.
“Enough!” said Enchantra, and Doorbell nearly collapsed. He panted, looking wildly around the room at everyone. The audience had grown silent, as they all stared at him. There was a moment of silence, perhaps not more than a second, yet perhaps not less than an hour.
And then Doorbell tore down the center of the room and fled as fast as his legs could carry him. The others lept to their feet and began shouting after him. All the ponies except for Upstart, who looked back to the unicorn Enchantra, as she took to the chair up front, sulking and strangely sighing, as though she were worn out.
They found Doorbell passed out in the pantry. They carried him into the parlor and called a doctor, who arrived within the hour. After a long examination, everyone listening with baited breath, he happily confirmed that he had simply “had a bit of a fright” and would be alright. Duchess made a big, grand sigh and expressed her heartiest relief. So relieved was she that she did not think for a moment of complaining that she had essentially paid the doctor for nothing at all.
“Well, that’s a relief!” said Duchess, making a loud, grand sigh.
Enchantra, by contrast, had a much dour expression. She left the room without a word, leaving Upstart to puzzle.
Letterhead stood by the door for a minute, watching Doorbell with his ever-scrutinous gaze, and then left.
Penner, meanwhile, had been simply waiting in his chair in case someone said something he should hear. Letterhead returned and approached him.
“I think,” said Letterhead, “that it might be best for us to put our differences aside for the time being.”
“Wait, wait,” said Penner. “I know this—this means you want something.”
“In all honesty I would appreciate your cooperation,” said Letterhead, gesturing to the door. “If you would simply follow me upstairs for a moment.”
“Oh, this aughta be good.” Penner hoisted himself out of his seat, which he had no doubt found immensely comfortable, and followed Letterhead out the door.
Upstart was still puzzling, looking from Doorbell, to the door Enchantra had left through, back to Doorbell again. He was so confused by what had happened he wasn’t even sure what part of the proceedings it was that confused him. He had to see her.
“Enchantra?” he called, marching to the door. He went down the hallway, calling her name. “Enchantra? I want to talk to you!”
His march broke into a trot as he went through the halls, and by the time he got to the front door he had broken into a full gallop.
“Enchantra!”
He burst out of the front doors and saw Zed and the B brothers by the wagon, looking at him with surprised, perplexed glances. Tricky was there, too, but he looked as bored as he always did.
“Where’s Enchantra?” he asked again.
“When a young mare requests that she not be seen,” said Zed, “to defy that wish would be simply obscene.”
“I need to see her,” pleaded Upstart. “Please.”
“I’m here,” said a voice behind him. He turned around and saw Enchantra standing by the door.
Upstart sputtered. “You... the thing you did there. The invisible chains...”
Enchantra pawed the dirt with her hoof and looked at the ground.
“They,” said Upstart. “They... they were real, weren’t they?” Enchantra looked at him. Her mouth was small, pinched, as though she did not know how to answer, or it were too difficult to put to words. Upstart’s face lit up. “They were!” he declared. “So the magic is real!”
“I...” Enchantra started, but another voice cut in.
“Upstart?” called Duchess’s voice from inside the house. “Upstart!” She burst through the doors. “There you are... Oh, hello, Enchantra.”
“Duchess,” said Enchantra. “I wish to give my sincere apologies for what has transpired. If it will help, I will offer you a full refund.”
“Wait,” said Biff.
“What?” said Boff.
“So now my ears you do deceive, for this I simply can’t believe,” said Zed.
Tricky remained apparently bored.
“But you can’t!” said Upstart. “Mother, she did real magic.”
Now, Duchess was a fond of fun and games as any pony who wasn’t Letterhead, but there were places where even she would draw the line. “Now, Upstart...”
“It has to be!” he insisted. “How do you explain the invisible chains? The way Doorbell acted—”
“Now, Upstart, that is quite enough,” said Duchess. “You’ll have to forgive my son, Enchantra, he’s prone to occasional... flights of fancy.”
“I understand.” Enchantra nodded sadly.
Upstart looked at her, his expression hurt and confused. “You... why?”
“I’ll just say that if it were real,” said Enchantra. “I should not have done it. Now if you’ll excuse me, we should be preparing to leave. Not without goodbyes, of course.”
And Upstart could only think to watch as Enchantra joined her friends and climbed back into the wagon, shutting the doors.
Upstart spent most of the rest of the day in his room, thinking on it. There wasn’t much else to do, in all honesty. Duchess and Enchantra had been going back-and-forth with a series of conversations that essentially amounted to repetitions of the phrase “No, I insist.” Letterhead and Penner had not been out much, having convened for some purpose that might have been very interesting, if only because the two had apparently managed to agree on something for once. It was not clear if Doorbell still needed bedrest or was simply surreptitiously enjoying a paid day off.
Images and words flashed through his mind—the horn on Enchantra’s head, the words she had said at dinner about the princesses of Equestria, and Doorbell in the parlor in the invisible chains. There had to be something to it. Why wouldn’t Enchantra talk about it?
He left his room and descended the stairs. He would speak to her and find out about the whole matter.
As before, he went out the front door to see the wagon. Enchantra was there, sitting on the front seat outside, near the harnesses. Biff and Boff were nowhere to be seen, likely in town at the post office to send another letter to their brother, Buff.
“Hi,” he said.
“Yes?” she asked.
“I, um...” and Upstart realized he had no idea what he was actually going to say. In his defense, Enchantra was an exceptionally pretty pony. “I wanted to talk. About you.”
“I find I’m a very boring conversation piece,” said Enchantra with a smile.
“Those old stories,” he said, “about unicorns in the old world… those were real, weren’t they? They’re true.”
“Lots of stories are true, Upstart,” said Enchantra. “There’s a bit of truth in all of them. If they didn’t have some truth, they wouldn’t mean as much.” She raised a hoof to her head and removed the top hat, showing the horn. “I can’t say I know everything about the old world. I wasn’t around back then.”
“But you’re real, right?”
“You can see me and hear me, can’t you?” She smiled. “But don’t touch.”
Upstart laughed. The two of them remained there for a moment, smiling and laughing at nothing at all. Such a charming scene, however, had to come to an end.
“Behold!” bellowed a voice, causing Upstart to jump. Enchantra, while not as alarmed, looked around her. Slowly, mist began to collect on the ground.
“What is this?” asked Upstart.
“It is I!” bellowed the voice. “The Amazing Mezmero!”
And the Amazing Mezmero stepped into view, a tall unicorn stallion with a billowing cloak behind him. The mists swirled around them all.
“I am the greatest, most powerful unicorn in the world!” he proclaimed, proudly stepping forward. His eyes flashed with power, and the wind swept up around them, and the sky darkened.
Upstart’s eyes went wild, wide open. “It’s true!”
Enchantra, however, seemed concerned. “Upstart, wait…”
“All of it is true!” yelled Upstart. “Everything! The unicorns, the pegasi, the princesses! The old kingdom of Equestria! You were right! It was all true, and it’s coming back!” His face fell open into a smile. It was the happiest, most magic-filled smile of his life.
“I’m afraid not,” said Letterhead.
Upstart turned and saw him, standing by the doorway. “You’re wrong! He’s right here! Enchantra and—”
“I think I’ve made my point, Penner,” said Letterhead.
Upstart blinked. “Huh?”
“Yeah, okay.”
Upstart looked behind him. Mezmero removed his cloak and Upstart saw that it was none other than Penner with a fake paper horn attached to his head.
“You…” Upstart started.
“Sorry,” said Penner. “Not actually Mezmero.” He held up small paper cone. “Held this under the cloak.”
“But…” Upstart looked around at the dispersing mist. “What was the—”
“Dry ice,” explained Letterhead. “A large fan.” He gestured to a large, pedal-operated fan that was hidden behind some bushes. “And smoke.” He pointed upwards, as smoke that had been blocking the sun slowly began to disperse. “Nothing more than a bit of theatricality, misdirection, and suggestion.” He smiled, walking up to the two. “Enchantra operates more the same way. Don’t you?” He looked to the magician. “You think I’d do well on the conjurer’s racket?”
“You certainly have a few of the tricks worked out,” Enchantra admitted.
“Enchantra,” said Upstart. “He can’t be right…”
“But I am right,” said Letterhead. “I wouldn’t be saying it if I weren’t. Upstart, Enchantra isn’t anything more than a pretty mare with a penchant for smoke and mirrors and sleight of hoof.”
“But…” said Upstart. “What about Doorbell? The invisible chains?”
“Ah,” said Letterhead. “We actually did a little investigation—we found a sack of money in his room. His payment for involvement in your little show?”
“I considered it compensation for the unpleasantness endured,” said Enchantra.
Letterhead snorted.
Enchantra was silent.
“Well?” asked Letterhead. “Do you admit it?”
“Letterhead, let it go,” said Penner. “You’ve made your point.”
“No,” said Letterhead. “This is important for Upstart.”
“I don’t understand what you want,” said Enchantra.
“You know very well,” said Letterhead. “I want you to admit that you’re just a fraud, like any other magician.”
Enchantra was silent for a moment. Upstart stared at her. Then, at last, she looked down.
“It’s true,” she said. “In a lot of ways I’m just a silly little mare who liked old stories and…” She looked. “Wanted to believe they were real. And I wanted other ponies to remember them. Is that enough for you?”
Letterhead smiled. “Yes.” He looked at Upstart. “That will do.”
“Great,” said Penner, marching past them. “And now off to happy hour…”
Upstart watched pathetically as he and Letterhead disappeared back into the house. Then he looked back to Enchantra and saw her walking into the woods.
Enchantra came to a small clearing in the woods by a pond. She took off her hat and knelt by the edge, looking at her own reflection in the water, before tracing circles in the water with a hoof.
“Beneath a rock, there is the earth, and in the earth, a rock gives birth, and on and down the grains will turn, and still I go to live and learn.”
“Enchantra!” called Upstart.
“Go home, Upstart,” said Enchantra, not looking up from her reflection. “I don’t think talking to me is good for you. Neither does Letterhead.”
“But…”
“Does your mother know where you are?”
Upstart fell silent, like a confused child who doesn’t understand his parent’s serious behavior. He looked at her, hurt.
“What do you want, Upstart?” asked Enchantra.
“I want the truth.”
“Talking to Letterhead wasn’t enough?”
“I don’t want you to tell Letterhead,” said Upstart. “I want you to tell me.”
Enchantra was silent for a moment. Then she turned to the water.
“I don’t know, sometimes,” she said. She closed her eyes. “I’m a dealer in illusions, Upstart. That’s what a magician does. What we’re paid for. A quick trick to make an audience wonder. But sometimes...”
Her horn glowed. Upstart backed away in awe as her cloak and her mane fluttered, cloaked in a dim magical aura. And soon the water began to glow, a spout lifting from the middle, flashing all the colors of the rainbow.
“So it’s true,” said Upstart, struck by the magical display.
“I was born with a horn on my head. They didn’t know what to do or what it meant. My parents decided to let it stay,” she said. “They said it made me special.”
“You… you are a real unicorn!” said Upstart, his face lighting up in a smile as sure as magic had lit up the lake.
“I think so,” said Enchantra. “I can’t speak for old Equestria. I only know the stories. Maybe I’m a real unicorn. I don’t know. Maybe I’m the last part of an old, dead world. Or maybe I’m just a filly who holds on to old stories a little too much. Maybe there’s a reason the unicorns are gone. Maybe the world has just moved on and I’m an old relic.”
“That’s what you believe?” asked Upstart.
The magic dissipated, and the spout fell. The pond became, as it had been before, a pond, and nothing else.
“I don’t know,” said Enchantra.
“Why didn’t you just tell Letterhead?”
“I don’t think it would make much of a difference,” said Enchantra. “No. He’d probably just come up with an explanation for it.”
“But—”
“Would you be as easily convinced?” asked Enchantra. “Were you?”
Upstart looked down, a little embarrassed at her point.
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow,” said Enchantra. “I think I’ve worn out my welcome by now. Besides, we already had the magic show.” She sat down by the edge of the pond.
Upstart walked up next to her. “May I…” he said. She looked up at him. “May I sit next to you?”
She smiled and nodded, and he sat down next to her.
The next day, the troupe was packing up. Biff and Boff were hitched to the wagon, and Tricky sat on the back, his eyes staring, unblinking and seemingly bored. Doorbell had fully recovered in short order, though he seemed less than inclined to speak of what happened the day before.
“I hope you enjoyed our stay,” said Enchantra.
“Oh, it was delightful!” said Duchess. “If you ever come by here again we’d love to have you entertain again!”
Enchantra smiled. “If we’re ever in the neighborhood,” she considered. “Maybe.”
“But now we must bid fare-thee-well,” said Zed, “and leave you with a tale to tell.”
“He means advertising,” muttered Letterhead.
Penner gave a snort, and Letterhead left, off to do things he considered a more worthwhile use of his valuable time.
Slowly, one by one, the ponies of the household said their goodbyes and went back into the big house. Soon, only Upstart was left.
“Well, I guess this is goodbye,” said Enchantra, standing at the wagon’s door.
“Will we ever see you again?” asked Upstart.
“Maybe,” said Enchantra. “I go where ponies are in need of a little magic in their lives.”
“And the unicorns?” asked Upstart. “Will they ever return?”
Enchantra was silent for a minute. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe we aren’t meant to be in the world. Maybe it’s time the world moved on and put the little stories on the shelf.”
“And you’re going to just accept that?” asked Upstart.
Enchantra smiled. “Not happily. Wherever I go, I can try to spark a little magic in the imagination. Fool someone, even if just for a moment and capture that look of wonder. And maybe it will change. Maybe ponies will start to believe. Maybe the magic will come back, and the unicorns will appear, and soon the pegasi and the winds and weather will return to our command. And then maybe, just maybe, one day the princesses will return and we’ll enter a new age of Equestria. I think I’d like that.”
Upstart smiled back in return. “I think I’d like that, too.”
Enchantra straightened her hat and climbed into the wagon. “Goodbye, Upstart.”
“Goodbye, Enchantra.”
The door closed. Biff and Boff began to walk, and then moved to a trot, and Upstart could only watch as the wagon went off down the road, moving farther and farther down the road, smaller and smaller, until it passed out of sight.
That night, he returned to the glade, back to the pond. Here he had met her. Here she had shown him magic and a glimpse into old, wonderful stories. Letterhead hadn’t thought much of that, and Upstart wondered for a moment if Letterhead was right. A little light show didn’t prove anything. Letterhead himself had fooled him.
Upstart looked down at his reflection in the water, wondering, as doubts began to trickle into his mind like raindrops through a cracked roof. The pool, so clean and clear, reflected his face perfectly, and the full moon hung over his head, bright and radiant. But then he saw something in that reflection that made him look up.
Up, up high in the sky, he saw something streaking by, up in front of the moon. He squinted and he could swear that he saw the form of a wagon, careening through the air, bursting and burning bright as a rainbow comet as it sailed across the night sky, painting color and light in its wake. And Upstart smiled.
When he returned home, nopony else knew of anything. They all did the same as they usually did. Letterhead did his work. Penner wrote and drank. Doorbell looked after the house. And his mother, Duchess, had taken a shine to the new trend of trimming hedges into the shapes of animal heads. And Upstart returned to what he did, but he did so knowing and dreaming of something special—something that’s found by many only in imaginations and old stories, but for others something so much deeper. A special spark had burst in his mind. The spark of magic.
