I. What's Past is Prologue

Cantor looked up to find Valentina smiling at him. She had on a pair of reading glasses. Less, Cantor suspected, because she needed them and more because she thought they looked cute. Cantor agreed, though he wasn’t about to mention that to her.

She looked amused. She looked the particular sort of amused that let Cantor know he was so thoroughly distracted by reading that he had, once again, entirely missed whatever it was that she had just said. And that apparently, “Um-Hmm” wasn’t an appropriate response at all.

He blinked. “Uh, sorry Valentina. I missed that.”

“I’m quite sure you did, Mr. Luggage.” Her tone was far too prim.

Cantor glanced at his other companions. Morari had Magpie in a headlock, holding her mouth shut. She was wriggling about, not so much trying to escape as trying not to fall down laughing. Admiral Fairweather was mid double face-hoof.

No, “Um-Hmm” clearly had been exactly the wrong thing to say. Cantor desperately tried not to imagine exactly what sort of conversational miss step could evoke such a response from the haunts.

“I do apologize,” Cantor began.

“A bit too often,” Valentina added.

“… er … yes, probably.” Cantor strove to re-rail his train of thought, “Would you be so kind as to repeat yourself? Er … again?” His grin managed to be both apologetic and particularly awkward. “I promise to pay attention.” With a flick of his magic, he closed the four books he had open on the table before him.

“Jolly good luck for you that I find you likable. Repeating oneself becomes tiresome.”

Morari relaxed his grip on Magpie, who slumped to the floor gasping and holding her sides. Ghostly tears were sliding down her spectral cheeks. He looked at Cantor and just shook his head. Fairweather muttered something about “bad influences.”

“For the past few minutes, Mr. Luggage, I have been attempting to direct your attention to the hour, and to the suggestion that you should take a break for a nibble of something.”

Magpie, who had almost recovered, started laughing again. She had to lean on Morari to remain upright. The ancient scholar rolled his eyes.

Valentina was continuing, “It is lunch time. And Thretan would kill me if I didn’t make sure you stay properly fed.”

Cantor snorted. “Thretan is unlikely to kill you for any reason, Valentina. And certainly not on account of my own personal failings. She seems quite fond of you.” Cantor’s stomach, on the other hand, had started growling at the mention of food. He glanced at the clock. Where had the morning gone?

Cantor tried not to blush, especially since this would be the fifth day in a row somepony had to drag him out of the restricted section to get a meal. “And you’re right of course. Thank you for your persistence. It’s just all so … so …”

Cantor gestured around the room with one gloved hoof. Old shelves full of older books. Rare folios and scrolls covering rare arcane topics in detail.

“Magical?” Valentina’s grin was impish. She took Cantor’s left fore-hoof and said, “Well, while nourishing your mind is one thing, you should really remember to nourish your belly as well. You’re not a ghost yet, Mr. Luggage. You do have a body you need to take care of!”

“The young lady makes an excellent point,” Morari noted.

They had to show their passes to two guards on the way out. The chief reference librarian, a black and tan earth-pony stallion, went out of his way to catch Cantor’s gaze. It wasn’t a friendly look, and the gesture that accompanied it said, all too clearly, “I’m watching you.” Cantor rolled his eyes and sighed.

In retrospect, asking if he could spend the night in the restricted section conducting obscure arcane rituals with their spell books had been … enthusiastically optimistic. It had taken a bit of talking to keep from getting thrown out of the Bodleian entirely. That had been two days ago, and the librarian clearly hadn’t forgotten. The security officers had found it amusing, at least.

“I take it you have made more progress, Mr. Luggage?” Valentina's tone was hopeful.

Cantor grinned. “Yes! I found another reference in Trotters Tome of Reliquary that I’m sure I saw in the Index. Which reminds me …” Cantor limped over to the librarian. The stallion’s eyes narrowed, his expression said he wasn’t going to like this.

It could have been worse, though. It wasn't until Cantor was first entering the Bodleian with his false I.D. identifying him as “Mr. Luggage“ (which had been Valentina's idea) that it occurred to him that it only been about two decades since he had was admitted here as a young transfer student from Nighthaven. Librarianship was a career to which many ponies devoted their whole lives. Cantor had been sweating bullets until he learned, from a few careful inquiries, that those staff and faculty who he once knew here as a younger, and less crippled, pony had subsequently retired or moved on to other positions. The general wear and tear of time could serve as a disguise, but it was a very poor mask to hide from ponies who would have looked at Mr. Luggage and seen an older, though no wiser, Mr. Mortalis.

It had been a stupid mistake. Luck alone had saved them from a great many very inconvenient questions. Unfortunately, luck did little to help when a pony was as determined to put their hoof in their mouth as Cantor had seemed to be those first three days. He was still paying the price. From the librarian's lowered brow, it was clear his account (so to speak) would not be back in the black for a long, long time to come.

“Pardon me, sir,” Cantor continued to be the soul of courtesy and respect, “but could I trouble you to retrieve the Iron Book of Shadows? Ms. Yearling would like me to reference a few details from it. I should only need it for the afternoon. And possibly tomorrow as well. Would it perhaps be available after we return from lunch?”

He stared at Cantor for a full minute. His answer was actually considerably more helpful than Cantor had come to expect. “If I ever find out, Mr. Luggage, which of my assistants provided you with a copy of the unexpurgated Index for our rare book collection, there will be retribution.” His gaze shifted to Valentina. “You may pick it up, from me, upon your return.” His gaze returned to Cantor. “Mind you don’t drop this one.”

Cantor winced. “That was an accident, good sir.”

“Accidents don’t happen thrice. In. A. Row.”

“I say, Cantor, were you always that clumsy? Or is it a problem with your bad leg?” Admiral Fairweather was ambling along beside the two “literary researchers.” Magpie accompanied him. Morari had stayed behind to keep an eye on the books.

“Oy, ‘es graceless all right! Clever mind, silver tongue, ‘n’ four left hooves!”

The librarian continued, “And if you even think about bringing another black candle into the building, Mr. Luggage, I will have security escort you to the sea and throw you in, ‘special permissions’ from the Dean be damned.”

“And me without me bathing suit,” muttered a nearby guard. She looked quietly amused. The stallion beside her was trying not to laugh.

“I wasn’t going to ligh– “ Cantor couldn’t finish the word before the librarian threw up a hoof and said, “Ah! Not a word. Not one word. Your books will be ready in an hour, Mr. Luggage. No sooner. No later.”

“Many thanks sir! Although it would help if I, uh, also knew your name?” Tone and cadence, Cantor was tempted to lean a little. He didn’t.

“In this place I am the Lord and the Master. You needn’t know my name.” The librarian made shoo-ing motions with his hoof.

As Cantor and Valentina exited through the front door, she let out the giggle she had been holding in. She followed it up with, “I think he’s warming up to you!”

Cantor smiled back, “I think you’re right!” Then he glanced to the Admiral’s ghost, lowered his voice, and added, “To answer your question, Fairweather, yes – I’m often clumsy. When I remember to move with focused mindfulness, paying particular attention to what my hooves and body are doing, I do … eh … let’s say ‘well enough.’ But when my mind gets racing, my body just doesn’t keep up. Natural ineptitude. Or perhaps too many years focused on the esoteric realms of thought and spirit rather than on moving about in all of this,” Cantor patted his belly in a friendly and amused fashion.

Valentina smiled, mostly from seeing Cantor in such a good mood. Ever since Bogart’s plan had gone into action and Cantor had been able to start doing some serious research in Oxherd’s archives that sense of fretting, worried helplessness had dropped away. Even when he hadn’t been able to find anything directly related to the Trotting Dead, the ability to do something productive had done Cantor a world of good.

“Oh, la! Then it’s a good thing you’ve got me by your side to help steady you, Mr. Luggage.”

“Quite! So where to today, Valentina?”

She grinned. “Ooo! I could murder a curry!”

Over lunch, Cantor had tried to explain the specifics of what he had been working on for the past two days. Morari would have understood and appreciated the theory, had he been there. Fairweather had some questions about practical applications. Valentina seemed to like hearing Cantor talk, but she started out more interested in the small, four-sided gemstone Cantor had purchased. It looked like a three sided pyramid, no larger than a bit, and it was engraved with mystic runes. Magpie was busy keeping a sharp eye out for trouble and could care less about mystical mumbo jumbo.

“So, are going to try it out soon?” Valentina’s curiosity was now a bit more than just polite interest. Lunch was finished, and had been quite delicious. The check had been paid. She and Cantor were just relaxing for a few minutes at their table.

“Well, I suppose I could. It’ll take about ten minutes … and probably be a bit of a waste of time.”

“But it works?”

“Yes! Well, within certain limits. Divination can be tricky. Pulling answers to questions out of thin air is a particularly obscure application of power. Most answers have to come from somewhere, after all!”

“So where do they come from?”

“That part is unclear. It varies from pony to pony, from spell to spell, perhaps even from casting to casting. Some ponies could probably just do it without all the preparation. Either through natural magic or because of wizardly training. Working a ritual, as I’ve mentioned before, takes a bit longer but isn’t nearly as draining. The particular variety I’ll be using this time is adapted from a form cleromancy developed by the Crystal Ponies of olden times.”

“Sounds posh! Give it a toss?”

Cantor had out his leather-bound book of spells. The ink was barely dry on the last of the pages he consulted. Valentina watched as the flickering of magical auras on his horn, his hooves, and the flaring of particular runes in the pages before him all spoke of a slow gathering of magic power.

It did take about ten minutes. The whole display finished with Cantor tossing the crystal in the air. It landed in a fashion that didn’t seem quite natural, with a little spray of silvery sparks. Cantor looked at the symbol displayed and smiled.

“Well! Looks like the researches I will begin when we return to the library will have particularly good results!”

Admiral Fairweather snorted. “Nothing more specific than that?”

“Sorry, Fairweather, but no. Good or bad, both or neither – that’s about as specific as the answers can get. And this magic really can’t foretell anything much more than about a half-hour out. It is a rather petty divination spell. More potent ones could tell you more. Potentially much more. But those become … problematic.” Cantor’s excitement dimmed slightly. He sounded almost troubled, “When you start asking complex questions of the universe, you might not like what answers you back.”

“But, we should hurry back to the library,” Cantor’s expression had brightened again. He was unusually eager. “That was an unexpected result, after all.”

“Oy! How so?” Magpie was a breath ahead of Valentina.

“Unexpected in what way, Mr. Luggage?” Valentina was intrigued.

As they started back towards the Bodleian, moving at a faster pace than usual, Cantor explained. “Well, consider the nature of the magic – what I was able to tell you about it, anyway. We’re going back to the library. I plan to continue my researches there. And by the time we get back there, we’ll only have a few minutes of the whole ‘researching’ thing that I’ll realistically be able to get under my belt before we reach the furthest, uh, temporal distance (I guess you could call it) which that little trick with Crystal Pony cleromancy could prophesy about. I asked it what would come of my researches.”

Cantor’s grin was excited.

“Given that we’re talking about maybe ten minutes of time actually covered by my question, I was fully expecting a result of the ‘neither good nor bad’ variety … the mystic equivalent of the universe answering with a resounding ‘meh.’ Now though, now I’m quite curious to see what’s about to happen in so few minutes that qualifies as ‘good.’”

“That is interesting,” Valentina agreed. “Hmm. Do you think you could ask your pretty crystal again once we’re there? Use that little trick to help hone our researches?”

Cantor said, “Eh,” and gave a very non-committal wave of his hoof. “I could, but the odds of my getting a true answer rather than some random gibberish of a result would be substantially lower. I could wait and ask again tomorrow to be relatively sure that I was getting a solid reply. Admittedly with such a limited glimpse into the future we would have to be very clever about what questions we asked and how we asked them. Asking a second time today is iffy, but if we were desperate for guidance and had the time I would certainly try. Were I to ask even more than that, well, you might as well just be flipping a coin for all the good it would do you!”

Cantor grinned again. Even at his less than swift trotting pace, the library was already back in sight. “It’s good to know the limits of such magics. All too often, if you tell somepony ‘I can foretell the future with my mystical powers!’” Cantor did a rather spooky-voiced impression of a gypsy fortune teller which got Valentina giggling again, “Then next thing you know ponies are expecting you to be able to tell them anything – big or small, terribly vague or utterly specific, about what will happen days, weeks, months, or years from now!”

“And I imagine they become quite cross with you when you can’t!” Valentina helped steady Cantor. He was clearly in a hurry to return to Oxherd. Hurry and Cantor rarely mixed well. Between the knee brace locking into place and her holding him up on one side, he managed not to throw himself flat on a perfectly level stretch of ground just from stepping up over a curb.

“Thanks,” Cantor nodded – both grateful and a little embarrassed. He slowed his pace to something he could actually manage. “And,” he continued rolling his eyes, “You have no idea! When you can’t do the magic ponies want from you, they get cross. The only thing, it seems, that can make them even more cross is when you do do the magic they want from you.”

Once back at the library, Valentina got Cantor settled into a back room. As was usual these days, there was the business with security, passes, and signing in. When she returned with a stack of books it had been twenty seven minutes since Cantor’s invocation.

Cantor and Valentina spent a minute sorting the books, and it was another minute longer of fiddling with the locks on the grimoire Cantor had been most eager to peruse – a massive book with a cover forged of black iron, pitted with age, and no writing upon it at all. The thing was ancient. Centuries old. Possibly older than Equestria itself. The librarian had told Valentina, “Much good it will do him,” when she had taken it.

Cantor, his gloves on once again, undid the latches and carefully opened it. Valentina, whose heart had started to sink at the librarian’s assessment, felt a surge of disappointment.

The pages were nothing more than thin sheets of black glass. Obsidian. They were strung together on rings of iron welded into the spine of that massive cover. But they hadn’t anything written on them at all. They were smooth as mirrors.

“Oh, Cantor. I’m so sorry. It looks like your ritual didn’t work after all.”

“Oy, that’s a spot o’ bad luck,” Magpie commiserated.

“Pity,” Admiral Fairweather chimed in.

“I … I don’t know,” Morari was frowning thoughtfully at the tome, “There’s something about it … I think that this one might be a magical book rather than just a book about magic. We’ll know more once Cantor does that ritual that lets him see auras. Cantor?”

But Cantor was still focused on the book.

“Cantor?” Valentina was suddenly concerned. This sort of focused distraction didn’t usually come on him so quickly.

Cantor looked up from staring, shocked, at the empty pages, flipping slowly from one to another to another, all blank. His eyes had grown wide, his expression was one of amazement.

“Oh no, no Valentina. The augury did work. It worked perfectly. This book … it has … it says … just the fragments I can make out now ... it’s just what I need.” As she watched his pupils seemed to keep growing larger until his eyes were entirely lost in the shiny black. It was a little unnerving to watch.

“Flip the switch off, Valentina, please. And shut the door on your way out. This really is a Book of Shadows. You can’t read it properly in the light. Only in the dark.”