“Twilight! Wake up!” The voice came through the door like a spear through undergrowth – inaccurately and without much force, but enough to disturb the peace of mind of whatever it hit. In the upper reaches of the Books and Branches Ponyville Public Library, Twilight Sparkle mumbled something and turned slightly, instinctively pulling a pillow over her eyes.
THUMP THUMP THUMP
The knocks were surprisingly loud, the kind of blows Applejack would deliver on a pretty bad day. Not loud enough, though, to make the purple unicorn feel like it was worth the trouble of getting up. She'd been up until two, taking the most detailed possible notes from Goldhoof's Magic and Neurology, only stopping when it felt like a sledgehammer was pounding on her horn from holding the quill.
Who even gets up this early on a Sunday?
How early, for that matter? She snuck a peek at the alarm clock, squinting her eyes against the unexpected brightness of the late autumn sun through the window – yeah, maybe I could complain in my next letter to the Princess – and tried to make out the time her rude awakening had come at today. As it happened, the time was a little before seven AM.
“Twilight! For goodness' sake wake up!”
“Want me to go see?” Spike mumbled sleepily from the foot of the bed.
“You're the world's number one assistant,” Twilight mumbled. She listened to the sound of small footsteps plodding down the internal staircase, and tried to muster the resolve to at least hear the visitor out before using her horn to throw them clear to Canterlot … Nah, too early. Someone's gonna get it.
Though sleep weighed heavily on her eyelids, it didn't take her long to realise that with the Princess' sun at that angle, and the remnants of a headache still scraping away under her forehead, she'd never get back to sleep. Planting the seeds of a small-but-likely-to-flourish crop of menace in her heart, Twilight rolled off the bed, landing heavily and with an obligatory aggrieved groan. She glanced across at her mirror, patting down a severe case of bed mane absently with one hoof, and closed her eyes again, wishing for just a few more minutes.
Something did seem off, though, and it took her a moment to realise what it was: voices. Through the slightly open window, voices were rising – excited chatter from the street below. Trotting over to the window, an intrigued Twilight bent an ear, picking out the familiar tenor of Lyra Heartstrings. Today, the musician seemed just as aggrieved as she did. More so, even. “It can't be true! It simply can't!”
Another voice – it might have been Bon Bon, but Twilight wasn't sure. “It says it right there. There's no getting past it, darling.”
Another voice, a couple of seconds later – Derpy the mailmare, putting her two cents in. “Hey … don't look at me like that, I'm just the messenger! Maybe there's a mistake …”
Twilight raised an eyebrow. A mistake – a mistake with what? What did it say right there that Lyra was finding so hard to repair? And why the hay was Spike taking so long to answer the door?
THUMP THUMP–
“Spikey-wikey~! Darling, could I see Twilight, please?”
Twilight's eyes flew wide open. The voice was a familiar cultured soprano, with an implausible Canterlot accent, coloured on this particular morning with uncharacteristic urgency. It could only be one pony. Lyra and Bon Bon being up this early was all very well, but what could have roused Rarity from her all-important beauty sleep?
Fully awake now, Twilight trotted around her bed and descended the stairs two at a time, giving a final, abashed smoothing-down to her mane as she went. Rarity already sounds on edge, I wouldn't want to make it worse.
As she came out into the main atrium, she began to hear the noise filtering in through the door – more voices than just Lyra and Bon Bon. If it wasn't for the fact that it couldn't possibly be true, Twilight would have said the whole of Ponyville was out on the street. Her sense of alarm heightened; down on the main floor, Rarity seemed to share her view, her expression of stress and worry contrasting with Spike's gaze of unmitigated bliss. A rolled-up newspaper sealed with a golden omega pin floated a few inches from the fashion designer's horn.
“Rarity,” Twilight said, reaching the bottom of the stairs, “what's going on? I think everyone is out, it's not even seven AM–”
“For good reason,” Rarity replied. The newspaper bobbed. “This is today's Canterlot Gazette.”
Twilight got an uncomfortable prickling sensation. “The Gazette? We don't even get that out here.”
“Not normally,” Rarity replied grimly. “But today is not a normal day.”
With a dramatic flourish, she cast off the pin, and the newspaper slowly unrolled with all the magisterial grace of a royal proclamation. Appropriately enough, since Twilight's eyes were instantly drawn to the headline spattered in huge letters just below the Gazette header:
CELESTIA ABDICATES
The magical field around the newspaper instantly flashed into a surprisingly ominous shade of lavender, and Rarity wisely offered no resistance as the paper shot straight toward Twilight's face. Pulling the Gazette dangerously close, the magician soaked up every word of the oddly brief article.
At sunrise today, the Palace issued a press release stating that, effective immediately, the Princess would be ceding day-to-day executive functions to an elected Chancellor. Elections are to be held on the eve of the Summer Sun Celebration, three months from now; candidates have not yet been announced.
More details to follow in our midday edition.
The paper smacked into the wall with a fairly solid thump as a cavalcade of thoughts merrily danced through Twilight's head.
The one that she vocalised in the end, however, was, “They're lying.”
“Twilight,” Rarity said, picking up the newspaper and carefully putting it back in her saddlebag. “I'd believe that of the Equestrian, or the Examiner … but the Gazette doesn't lie.” She considered. “Well. Except for that one editorial accusing me of consorting with Fleur de Lis.” She sniffed, raising her nose high. “Such nonsense.”
Twilight wasn't listening. “But they're lying! Of course they're lying! The Princess would tell me first if she was going to do something like this!” She knew the panic must be showing on her face, but she couldn't control it. A knot was busily forming in her stomach. “I'm her best student!”
“Twilight.” Rarity put out a placating hoof. “Perhaps there's been a mistake. The Gazette never lies, but I never said it can't make mistakes.”
The most accomplished stage magician in Equestria would not have been able to effect the switch that came across Twilight's face, moving from borderline desperation to a slightly tentative grin in an instant. “Of course! That would be it. There's been some sort of mistake. I'll just write a letter to the Princess and all of this will sort itself out.”
“On the other hand, darling,” Rarity interjected quickly, “you might not need to bother the Princess at all. I'm sure people are already battering down the palace doors over this.”
She took a deep breath. “Maybe we should go and see the Mayor.”
* * *
Dear Princess Celestia,
Is it true?
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
One went in, three came out.
A dark purple blur was the first thing to exit the Library, as Twilight, surrendering the scroll to Spike, left the building at a full gallop. She was soon forced to skid to a halt, however: the street was packed with ponies, more and more each minute despite the early hour. On an intellectual level, she'd known that the population of Ponyville was around a thousand, but until now she hadn't truly appreciated it.
A familiar grey form stood out in the crowd ahead, a grey pegasus with a blonde mane and a slightly jaunty blue cap. Twilight made her way up to the mailmare, and put a hoof lightly on her shoulder. “Derpy! How's life?”
The wall-eyed pegasus turned slightly. “Twilight! Hi. Heck of a morning.”
“I know,” Twilight said with feeling. “Listen, if it's not too much to ask, have you got anything that's not the Gazette?” She opened her saddlebag, pulling out a small purse full of bits. “I want to check up on this story, see what I can find out.”
“Sure!” Derpy said, rummaging in a half-empty-looking saddlebag with one dexterous wing. “I've got the Canterlot Sun, the Trottingham Times, Equestria Daily … What would you like?”
“All of them,” Twilight said, a zealous gleam in her eye.
Two minutes later, a six-foot-high matrix of newspaper was unintentionally drilling its way through the crowd as Twilight speed-read Equestria's collected media machine. Much to her dismay, the story did not seem to evaporate outside of the Gazette. All the headlines were the same:
OF THE PONIES, FOR THE PONIES
AN EQUESTRIAN REPUBLIC
EQUESTRIA TO FOLLOW ZEBRAS' LEAD
It must be their source, she resolved. That press release from the Palace … someone released an emergency document by mistake. That would be it. Yet doubt still tugged at her. Why wouldn't the Princess tell her immediately if that were the case? Princess Celestia was the most wonderful teacher Twilight had ever had; it didn't make sense that she would keep Twilight out of the loop on something as important as this, no matter what the cause.
Suddenly, the Times deformed strangely in front of her, and it took Twilight a second to realise it was deforming over somepony's face. Somepony who, by their muffled protests, did not much like the taste of newspaper. Hurriedly, Twilight removed it, revealing a familiar tan-coloured face.
“What the – oh! Twilight Sparkle. Top of the morning.”
“Mrs Mayor!” Twilight exclaimed. She turned the wall of newspapers around, showing all the headlines to a very bemused-looking leader. “Did you know anything about this?”
The Mayor looked furtively around.
“Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere.”
* * *
Ponyville's town hall was a polished installation. The first-floor rotunda was impressive enough in its own right, strange modernist art painted with exacting care on the walls. Here, Twilight could make out an image of Star Swirl the Bearded (some slight joy rose in her heart to counter the dread); there, the ensign of the Elements of Harmony, all woven together in a strange, two-tone symbolic artwork. The overall effect was not unlike the Brayeux Tapestry done in silhouettes by an artist who only had access to blue thread.
Inside the ring of organic silhouettes sat a few artifacts in transparent display cases – statuettes of important Ponyvillians, trophies won by citizens, the city charter – surrounding a few very comfortable-looking sofas under a spotlight. Yet it was not toward the centre that the Mayor led Twilight, but off to the side, up a set of spartan-looking stairs leading to a door. She cast a doubtful look at the lavender mare's companions as she went, and Spike suddenly found a white hoof gently touching his shoulder, as Rarity said, “We'll stay right here.”
“I didn't know,” the Mayor almost wailed, the second the door was closed. “I had no idea.”
Her office was a luxurious affair, with walls painted a deep maroon shade leading down to a thickly carpeted floor. One of the only major features was a portrait of – Twilight realised, with a thrill of shock, that it was herself and her five friends, depicted in the process of defeating Discord. Even after three years, she'd still not gotten used to fame.
The portrait hung above a well-polished mahogany desk, sumptuously appointed with several quills and parchment, sitting in front of one of the town hall's biggest windows, allowing a view over the crowded street below, ponies still milling in confusion. Despite the circumstances, Twilight allowed herself a moment to appreciate and slightly envy the Mayor's office before the occupant's agitation spilled over.
“Didn't she tell you anything at all?” Twilight asked urgently, at the same time carefully moving out of the Mayor's path; the older pony looked like she might hurt herself, so great was her aggravation.
“Nothing,” the Mayor said, moving quickly across to her desk. She snatched up a sheet of parchment, and turned it to Twilight. “This is a purchase order from the Palace kitchens, for the next six months' worth of produce from Sweet Apple Acres. It has to be personally signed by the Princess herself. What happens now?” She fixed Twilight with imploring eyes. “Didn't she tell you anything?”
Twilight shook her head. “I found out when Rarity came to my door with the Gazette.”
“Well, I don't need to tell you that this changes everything,” the Mayor said, with a sigh.
“If it's true,” Twilight pointed out. “It's hard to believe that the Princess would just up and abandon the throne without telling us.”
“This is true,” the Mayor replied, turning to her. “There's something decidedly odd about this. Someone needs to go to Canterlot and find out exactly what is going on.” Another imploring look. “You could.”
“I'd love to,” Twilight replied, glancing at the purchase order as the Mayor laid it down. “We need to get to the bottom of this.” She thought it over, however, and blinked a few times. “But the Friendship Express doesn't run on Sundays, not this far out, and I can't teleport that far–”
There was a tentative knock at the door: Spike. “Letter for Twilight,” he said, poking his head around the door and looking a little abashed. Twilight gratefully accepted the sealed scroll, and broke it the instant the door was closed, as the Mayor looked on.
It was a reply. The writing was obviously hurried, but, as always, elegant.
Twilight,
It's true, but it's more complex than it looks.
Against all odds, there will be a nine o'clock train to Canterlot. Please be on it.
-C
Twilight passed the scroll to the Mayor, who read it and passed it back. “I've a good mind to take that train myself,” the distinguished mare said, the shock beginning to wear off, “and give her a piece of my mind.” Noticing an odd look from Twilight, she added quickly, “In a completely non-treasonable way, of course.”
In her heart of hearts, though, the purple unicorn couldn't say she completely disagreed.
* * *
Their meeting was over quickly. As Twilight descended the stairs, the Mayor called, “Good luck!”
“Thanks,” Twilight called back. I may need it.
Standing at the bottom of the stairs was Rarity, an uncharacteristically quiet Spike standing next to her. “Did it go well?” the fashionista asked quietly, pushing open the doors and letting the trio out onto a street on which the chaos still hadn't died down.
“Fairly well,” Twilight said. “I'm going to Canterlot.”
“Normally, I'd envy you,” Rarity murmured. “Normally, I'd wish terribly that I was going with you. But–”
“Rarity!” It was Derpy, skidding up to the trio. Her words were slightly muffled by an envelope in her mouth. “Wild Fire just got in, gave me this. He looked tired. Must be important.” She tossed the envelope to Rarity, who skilfully caught it with her horn field and nodded thanks; the mailmare grinned at her before dashing off on another errand.
RARITY OF THE CAROUSEL BOUTIQUE was all that decorated the front of the envelope, written in big elegant letters with a fountain pen. On the back, however, there was a design embossed into the paper – an intricate network of curves and arabesque leading down to a series of three crowns. It was a mark Twilight immediately recognised.
“Fancypants?” she said, glancing at Rarity. “That was a while back.”
Colour rose in the white unicorn's cheeks. “After the Gazette published that disgraceful editorial, he wrote me a letter to apologise. We stayed in touch.” By this point, Rarity was positively pink. “Strictly a professional partnership.”
“Uh huh,” Twilight said, glancing at the letter. “Open it?”
“Twilight,” Rarity said with narrowed eyes, “a lady does not read another lady's mail.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Twilight turned away. Only when she heard a strange noise did she turn back – a noise like a cut-off gasp. Sure enough, Rarity had a hoof to her mouth as she gazed at the letter, and Twilight felt that was permission enough to snoop. Their friendship could take it.
The letter was almost as brief as Celestia's.
My dear Rarity,
I trust you have seen this morning's distressing news. I and a few friends are holding a small gathering to decide what to do.
In light of your considerable accomplishments, your input would be most appreciated.
As always, your obedient servant,
Fancy
“'Your obedient servant'?” Twilight teased.
But Rarity was not paying attention. It was not, of course, possible for her to blanch, but if it had been, she would have. “You know,” she said once she regained her voice, “I think in future I'll just stick with 'be careful what you wish for'.”