I. What's Past is Prologue

“Evening, Alice.” Jon Quill smiled at the office secretary and gave her a little tip of his hat. His heart wasn’t really in the smile, though. Jon was distracted with the same worries that had been dogging him since he fled his interview at the Bedlam. At least he had remembered to lock up the office behind him today.

“Mr. Quill, before you go,” Alice waved him over to her desk. Jon raised an inquiring eyebrow at her.

Alice opened a drawer and removed a small blue card. It was an Oyster Travelcard – a transit pass good for all of Lunadun's public transport services, from the Tube to the trollies. This one looked newly purchased. Jon was puzzled as to why she was handing it to him.

“Uh …”

Alice peered at him over her glasses.

“Mr. Quill, a zebra popped in about twenty minutes ago. He said he had seen you drop this on your way into the office this afternoon.” She pronounced ‘zebra’ so it rhymed with zed; Jon had never got the knack of that – his own pronunciation was the zee variety. It was one of many nuances of speech and bearing that marked him out as foreign in the Griffish Isles.

Jon just stared in confusion, first at the card and then at Alice.

“But I didn’t go out for lunch today.”

Alice gave a half shrug.

“That’s what I told him, sir. But he was very insistent. Described you quite accurately. And then he asked me to promise to give this pass to you.”

How odd. Then again, this was the Lunadun office of the Yellow Star. Odder things happened here on a regular basis. Jon doubted Alice would bat an eye if a visitor spontaneously combusted. There were likely procedures in the employee handbook for just such an eventuality.

Jon tucked the card into the brim of his hat, then paused.

“Alice, did the zebra leave a name by any chance? Did you recognize him at all? Could you describe him to me?”

Alice gave Jon a studiously blank look. “He was a zebra, Mr. Quill. He was white with black stripes. Or possibly black with white stripes.” She smirked, “He was rather buff! You do know how to pick them, Mr. Quill.”

Jon adopted an innocent expression to go along with his, “What? Me?”

Alice pursed her lips, Jon’s innocent expressions hadn’t worked on her … well, ever – at least not that Jon could recall. “Yes, you.” Alice’s own expression shaded towards thoughtful, “He was dressed in the Stalliongrad style. With three golden earrings. Left ear. And he walked with a slight limp. I think he may have injured a leg a few days back.”

“Thank you, Alice! You’re a treasure.”

“A buried treasure,” she gestured at the piles of paperwork around the room.

Jon grinned, “Fear not! Someday your prince charming will come dig you out!” And with though, Jon bounced out the door.

Another zebra. And again with that northern style to their clothing. Jon’s eyes darted around the street. It was crowded, and the street-lamps were being lighted against the gloom of the early evening. A gloom which the perpetually overcast Lunadun sky didn’t exactly help. At least it wasn’t raining, or foggy. Jon didn’t much care for the damp.

Were the zebras more of Doctor Fether’s hirelings? Jon fretted as he paused in front of Lunadun Theatre Booking's shop (all West End shows, all prices.) A quick glance at his reflection in the one window not papered over with posters for upcoming musical and theatrical events showed that one of the two Knott twins was trailing him.

Regular as clockwork, those two. They were good, but Jon Quill had years of experience in both tailing and being tailed. One didn’t thrive as a reporter for the Star if one couldn’t keep up with somepony who didn’t want to be followed … and learning how to tell when you, yourself were being followed was another knack that had grown along side Jon’s skill with stealth.

Jon couldn’t lose the Knotts. He’d tried. The closest he had come involved distractions and elaborate switchbacks – and that had bought him perhaps five minutes to get a message to Pennyfarthing. The Knotts just waited, watched, and followed. Always around.

But the zebras were new. There were at least three of them, Jon suspected. Maybe more. And for the past few days every time he’d left work, he’d see at least one of them. Jon would have dismissed them as tourists, were it not for the fact that they had been keeping at least as careful a watch over Jon’s travels as the Knotts were.

Jon picked up the pace a bit. He was adept at weaving through the crowd. Behind him a Knott simply strolled ahead. The crowd got out of his way.

There. Seated at one of the Max's outdoor tables up the block, just past the chocolate shop on the right: it was a zebra. Heavy furred coat, three gold earrings in his left ear. It must be the fellow who had left the transit pass!

As Jon trotted up, the zebra put down the newspaper he had been idly scanning and rose, leaving a few bits on the table. The fellow walked right up to Jon and deliberately jostled him.

Jon’s “I say!” was cut short by the zebra who, with a grin, said, “It’s time to shake your tail, Jon Quill.”

Jon Quill blinked. The zebra looked up at a passing pegasus. She nodded at the two ponies beneath her, raised her camera, and took a picture. Jon blinked at the flash. She had been pointing her camera at the circle just at the end of the street. Seven Dials. Jon looked that way.

A tall pillar, rising from a square base in the middle of a small round dais in the middle of the circle. Ponies and carriages trotting around it. No benches, but the pillar's base made an admirable seat.

Cantor Mortalis was sitting there.

Jon felt his heart leap. But, rather like a leap off a cliff, it immediately plummeted.

The Knotts were going to get Cantor.

Jon couldn’t allow that to happen. So, while his first thought was to run to Cantor and warn him to get away, Jon turned and bolted down Neal's Yard – a tiny side street. At least one of the Knotts would follow, Jon knew, and that would be one less for Cantor to have to flee from.

Overhead, through the din of the crowd, Jon heard the faint click-click of a camera. Two flashes.

Behind him he heard the raised voice of the zebra, “Watch where you’re going you oaf! No, don’t you try to run off, you stepped on my hoof! What do you think you’re doing?”

Stars above bless the fellow, Jon thought to himself, he had just tangled with one of the twins. It might only buy Jon seconds, but in this part of Lunadun, seconds could be enough to loose oneself in a crowd.

Jon began to grin.

Why, he wouldn’t even need to stop to buy a metro transit card to board one of the trains at the Underground station which lay only a couple of blocks away!

But where to go? He must assume the Knotts would keep pace, so he bolted away from the Seven Dials (there was another flash overhead.) Jon crossed Neal Street and knocked down a young stallion with a bag of new horse-shoes as he did so. There was another smaller alley just ahead on the right. He could duck down that and ...

Jon’s train of thought and forward progress both abruptly derailed as another zebra – a regal mare with several golden necklaces and an impressive collection of battle-scars, stepped out of a Psychic Readings and New Age Bookstore, grabbed him by the fore-leg, and swung him through the doors. Jon, wildly off balance, collapsed into the waiting forelegs of Pennyfarthing. Pennyfarthing looked like he had been rushing to get into position. The clerk, or perhaps the store's proprietor (a pale blue earth-pony with a crystal ball for a cutie mark) just stared at the three of them in shock and confusion.

Jon couldn't help but think that anypony employed at a psychic's miscellaniary really ought to have seen this coming.

The zebra matriarch tossed the stallion behind the counter a small purse. The fellow caught it, dropping the pack of tarot cards he had been holding. Wands fluttered to the floor, as did The Chariot. The stallion seemed just as confused by this gesture as by odd behavior of his new visitors. There was only one other pony, a unicorn with an eye-patch, present in the shop. Unlike the blue earth pony, this unicorn seemed entirely unfazed by the nature of Jon’s sudden entrance.

Jon blinked in surprise at Pennyfarthing and said, “My hero!” in a rather breathless tone. It wasn’t something Jon had planned to say, sometimes his mouth seemed to operate without the oversight of his brain. Pennyfarthing blushed.

“Go. East. Make for Drury Lane.” It was the zebra. She was addressing the unicorn with the eyepatch. He nodded, and then a wash of green fire played over his body.

Jon Quill found himself looking at Jon Quill. Only this new Jon Quill, after removing his eye-patch, was apparently blind in one eye.

The blue earth pony fainted. The zebra matriarch caught him.

The new Jon Quill reached out, took the hat from the old Jon Quill – who was lying, mouth agape, in Pennyfarthing’s forelegs. New Jon plucked the transit card from the hat-brim and tossed it to old Jon.

“We wouldn’t want to forget that, now would we?” New Jon grinned as he ducked out the door and began to hustle down the street.

“What … ?” Jon’s barrage of questions were cut off when Pennyfarthing placed his hoof over Jon’s mouth and whispered, “Quiet!”

A moment passed. Two.

Jon, Pennyfarthing, and the zebra matriarch all tensed as just on the other side of the glass windows (piled high with crystals, totems, fetishes, books, and a large poster showing a pegasi's chakras) they saw the massive form of one of the Knott twins hurry down the street. He paused at the intersection. He looked ahead. Then right. Then off he went down Trottingham Court, chasing after the imposter.

“This is a rescue,” Pennyfarthing said.

“If there is trouble, you go with your friend, yes?” Jon was surprised to discover that the zebra matriarch had a melodiously pleasant voice. She was addressing Jon Quill directly. Her accent was a little thick, he thought. She continued, “You go, I stay. Delay Fether’s … how you say … ‘goons.’”

Jon reached tentatively up to his bare head.

“That … uh … that …”

Pennyfarthing answered. “That was Bob, he’s a friend of Cantor’s. Cantor’s got the oddest group of friends. You'll fit right in, Jon. They’ll get your hat back to you, don't worry. Right now we’re getting you and him out of the country. Next stop, the Underground. Covent Garden Station. We’re changing trains a couple of times and then you’re heading to Hedgerow. They’ve got you a room at a hotel near the Airfield, and tickets have already been arranged.”

“Tickets?” Jon blinked in confusion.

“To the mainland. Your Airship leaves tomorrow morning. The Westphalia.”

Burl Knott looked up from his cider. There had been a flash of light directly over the sidewalk table where Jon Quill had just bumped into a zebra.

The two exchanged words, then the zebra went on his way. Jon Quill looked befuddled. He stared up the street at the circle. Jon’s eyes widened (for a second Burl thought Jon has seen him), and then Jon fled down the tiny side street.

Burl sighed softly to himself. He turned to the young colt who was leaning against a nearby wall, amusing himself by reading the papers. The young fellow perked right up as Burl tossed him a bit.

“Run to Bedlam. Fast. Tell Fether something’s up. Mr. Quill’s bolted …”

Burl’s gaze was on the alley the reporter had just vanished into. There were two more flashes of light from right above the spot. Some pegasus with a camera. She flew off in the same direction as Mr. Quill. Burl hoped it wasn’t important. But what had Jon seen at Seven Dials to spook him so? Burl turned and peered out one of the Crown's other windows towards the pillar just out front.

Cantor Mortalis. The stallion was trotting away up Earlham Street.

Burl’s tone hardened. “And tell him we’ve spotted Cantor. Fether needs to get here now.”

The colt sped off. Burl ducked out a side exit, surprisingly quietly. A glance back at Horst showed that his brother had been delayed. There was a rather burly zebra making a fuss about having been run into by Horst. “Run into” their sweet aunt Myrtle! The fellow had bodychecked Burl’s twin and was trying to delay him by force as much as by words.

Burl shook his head. That zebra was asking for a broken ankle and an entirely insincere “Sorry about that” from the younger Knott. As per their instructions, Horst ducked down the side street. Stick with Mr. Quill like glue.

Burl paused for a few moments. He knew he wasn’t the quickest thinker, but he’d had plenty of time to think over this eventuality. He had spoken with Doctor Fether about just what to do in this situation.

Notify the Doctor. Done and done. Burl and Horst had spent a fair number of bits recruiting some of the shiftless youth who frequented the areas of the city where Jon Quill had been haunting. Some were runners, some were extra eyes and ears.

Burl frowned again at the side-street where Jon and Horst had both vanished.

Perhaps they should also have recruited a tough or too. Attempting to seize Cantor alone was deemed very dangerous. The unicorn was an enchanter, and there was a good chance he could mess with the minds of one of the Knotts.

Two Knotts? They’d put a knot on his head and have him unconscious in a sack before he could bewitch both of them.

Horst would have suggested waiting on Fether. Or leaving off chasing Cantor, even if this was the first time they had gotten so much as a glimpse of the fellow, to regroup and grab Mr. Quill before tracking Cantor down together. Horst tended to be more cautious, more sensible.

Burl, though, he wanted this business done. And a chance to catch Cantor was too good to pass up. If he had to improvise, then so be it. Cantor shouldn’t be able to use his golden voice against Burl if his mouth were tied shut and he was shoved into a bag.

And Burl was clever enough to have arranged a couple of precautions. He popped in his ear-plugs. That should make it a bit harder to ensnare his mind! Even if Cantor succeeded, then Burl would only hear mumbled mutters instead of arcane suggestions.

At least, Burl hoped so!

Out the door and across the circle. Burl moved with speed and surprising grace. He didn’t bother avoiding ponies in the crowd – his rush across the Dials was the sort of thing other ponies avoided, or were knocked sprawling.

Cantor glanced back at the commotion, saw Burl, and then fled as fast as his gimpy leg could manage. He ducked down an alley-way just past an ice-cream shop. Cantor could move pretty quickly when he was panicking, Burl noted.

Burl was covering the distance between them. It would only be a matter of time before the elder Knott had his quarry well in hoof.

Cantor swung right down Tower Court and stumbled. He stayed upright only by virtue of grabbing at one of the streetlights. Cantor kept on, fleeing across Tower Street through a lull in the traffic there, then he tried the stage door entry for the Ambassadors Theatre. It was locked. Time lost, Burl was closing.

But the main door to the theatre was open, and Cantor ducked in – much to the surprise of the staff at the window, who gave a shout at the unicorn's hasty (and unpaid) entry.

Burl got to the Theatre moments later, having barely dodged an oncoming carriage on the cross street. His own passage rattled the Ambassadors' door and left the door-pony sprawling. Following the sound of banging doors deeper into the building, Burl was heartbeats behind his quarry as Cantor fled through an exit, into a narrow (and rather cluttered) yard in the midst of this block of buildings. Burl burst through the door a moment later.

But ... there was no Cantor here. Just an elderly earth-pony. She was wrapped in a shawl and leaning on a cane. She looked up at Burl in confusion.

“Can I help you, young colt?” Her voice quavered. Burl barely registered her words, what little he could make out through the ear-plugs. This was shocking! Bewildering. Confusing. And Burl didn’t like this sort of confusion. It really got his blood boiling.

Burl’s eyes darted around the close. Doors were shut on the rear of a number of businesses and at least one other theatre. No sign of any open windows in reach, nor any places to hide. The walls were well beyond Cantor’s capabilities to climb.

Burl’s gaze snapped back to the mare. His eyes narrowed. She was breathing a little too heavily for somepony who just happened to be lingering right here, right now. His growing anger had a target now.

When Burl wanted to move, he could move fast – striking with the sort of speed and ferocity ordinarily associated with venomous snakes, he seized the old mare by the throat and hoisted her into the air.

“Where. Is. Cantor?” Burl’s growl would have been intimidating at the calmest of times. The threatening, angry tone could have cowed a strong stallion. He popped one of his ear-plugs out to better here her response.

This old mare just struggled, helpless in his left hoof. She gasped out, “Not … here …”

Burl slammed her into a wall. He was careful, using only a fraction of his strength. She shouldn’t have broken anything.

“Where?”

Some part of Burl noted that the mare in question was considerably less feeble than she should be. And she hardly seemed dazed by being tossed about. Good. If she was tough, then he could squeeze harder.

“Where!?”

“Gone!” she coughed out.

Burl felt a sudden sting in his left fore-leg. Then a slow, spreading numbness. He looked away from the old mare’s face to see that she had stuck a dart into his leg. It looked like the sort of thing one would ordinarily fire from a blow-gun. The sort of thing used to inject venom or drugs.

Oh, that was a mistake. Burl was proper angry now.

“You’re coming with me.” He hurled her back towards the Ambassadors, hard enough to rattle the metal door when she bounced from it to the ground. “Doctor Fether has questions.”

“No …” the old mare spoke with a much younger voice. “Doctor Fether has problems if he wishes to tangle with Cantor ... or with me.”

She looked up at Burl, rubbing her throat. Burl’s left fore-leg still burned and tingled, the parts that weren’t fast going numb.

There was a wash of green light, like a blaze of fire, and Burl found himself facing a changeling. It took less than a breath for the elder Knott to work it out.

“You sodding bitch. That was never Cantor at all.”

“You’re brighter than you look.” Was her reply, there was an insectoid buzz that underlay her words.

Burl hurled himself at her. He was grinning. Changelings didn’t enjoy the sort of legal protections that other ponies did. Beating one to a pulp and dragging their broken body back to Bedlam to answer questions would involve virtually no problems with the authorities. And, Burl, thought, it would make a pleasant end to what was otherwise looking to be a most frustrating and ruinous evening.

She was fast, gliding along the side of his blow to bite him. Her fangs were sharp, and he felt the same sort of creeping pins-and-needles sensation that promised rapid numbing begin to spread from where those fangs went in. This changeling was venomous, then.

Burl was burly, and tough, it would take substantially more venom to put him down than it would your average earth pony. These stings were barely slowing him down.

Burl stumbled, she darted in, and he rose in a powerful uppercut. It had been a feint, and it worked. This blow had all his substantial strength behind it.

She went up, sliding along the side of the building, ripping bricks from it in passing. She ricocheted twice, bouncing around a tower-like protrusion, and up to the far end of the yard. She left cracks in brick and stone where she struck.

Burl chased after her with a roar. His cry echoed through the district.

Amazingly, the changeling was shaking off the damage from being flung. She looked like she almost managed an acrobatic roll with that last bounce. Amid the growing hue and cry from the Ambassador (and the distant sound of police whistles), Burl plowed into the changeling just as she got to her hooves and was spreading her wings. He drove her across to the end of the open space and into another wall. Mortar shattered, bricks crumbled. He reared his right hoof back to smash her head.

She struck at his left foreleg, knocking it aside. Only, Burl suspected, because of how numb it had already gone. His punch missed, though it put a hole through wall of the building. On the other side lay a store-room, where a shocked stallion was unboxing a crate of figurines for Ogres and Oubliettes.

The changeling needed to end this fight soon. Any authorities who arrived would be siding with the oversized earthpony and not the bug, Burl knew. And whoever nabbed her, he could arrange to have her delivered to Doctor Fether.

She didn’t try to run. Instead she threw herself against Burl’s chest, she drove the spurs on her knees into his body, repeatedly. Which he almost didn’t notice because she also seized his throat with her fangs and bit down hard. Hard enough to choke off his ability to breathe.

The numbness was spreading faster now. Burl brought his right hoof around and struck her hard in the side of the head.

That may have been a poor choice, given that her fangs were in his neck. The wound they left as her head whipped to one side was ugly. He didn't think her fangs had severed his jugular though. If they had, this would all be over very soon. As it was, Burl collapsed to the ground with the changeling on top of him.

Burl twisted and kicked. Both his rear legs caught her in the gut. She went straight up, smashing into a fire-escape, the metal warping and tearing free as she careened through it. Burl was having trouble focusing. There was a warm, fuzzy feeling all through is body. And the colors now swimming in his vision made it look like the world had turned into an oil painting … one that was melting away.

Above him, the changeling hung. Her body caught in the twisted metal like a fly in a spider’s web. Burl almost felt good about that.

But no. Unless whatever she had injected him with was an even stronger hallucinogen than Burl suspected, he watched her twitch, trying to shake herself free.

Then, a wash of green light.

A kitten hopped its way down from the wreckage. It gave Burl a dirty look. Followed by a hiss and a swipe at his nose. But the kitten was also staggering quite drunkenly from the damage she had sustained as she made her way up to one of the opening back doors. A few onlookers began to press in from various businesses. They hadn’t seen that last transformation. There was the usual astonished gabbing in the aftermath of a fight. Calls for doctors and constables.

Horst arrived first. He pushed his way through the crowd and gathered up his fallen brother.

“Burl! What happened Burl? I heard your scream and came running.”

The fool should have stuck with Jon, Burl thought, but he couldn’t seem to get his mouth to work properly. It took all his effort to get out two words. “Cantor. Changeling.”

Horst glared. “Right. We’re getting you out of here.”

Horst hoisted Burls body onto his back and set off for Bedlam.

On board the train, Jon Quill found himself catching his breath in a largely empty car near the rear of the train. Two unicorns and an earth pony in a trench-coat and glasses (who Jon thought looked vaguely familiar) were sitting opposite Jon and Pennyfarthing. The zebra matriarch had stayed behind at the station. There had been some sort of terrible hue and cry that had gone up just as they were starting down the steps.

Pennyfarthing looked over at their fellow passengers. He asked them, “Did everything go as planned?”

The stallion in shades shrugged and said, “We’ll know soon enough.” He removed his glasses and reached across the aisle, “Hello Jon, I’m Dozy. Old friend of Cantor’s. Pleased to meet you.” The fellow looked like some famous actor, but Jon couldn't immediately think of which one, and there were more pressing matters at hoof.

“Any friend of Cantor’s is a friend of mine,” Jon said. “Where is he now? We need to get him away from Lunadun. Away from Albion entirely! That Doctor Fether is crazy. I don’t know why but he’ll stop at nothing to get his hooves on Cantor.”

Dozy gestured to the unicorn to his left.

It wasn’t Cantor. While roughly the same size and build, this unicorn was black and tan and considerably younger. Jon’s expression became quite worried. Comically so. The others present began to laugh.

“Illusions, Jon. Illusions. This other fellow here,” Cantor’s voice came from the very un-Cantor-looking black and tan unicorn, “Is Lucian.”

There was a flicker of light from Lucian’s horn and, like a light turning off, it was Cantor sitting there in the corner-seat.

Jon threw himself across the aisle and gave Cantor a hug. Even Jon was a little surprised at the fervor of the greeting.

“Cantor! I’ve been so worried …!”

Cantor awkwardly patted Jon on the back. “There, there … Jon. It’ll be fine. We’ll get you caught up with what all’s been going on since we parted company. Plenty of time for chatter on our way back to Manehatten.”

“But …” Jon began.

Dozy interrupted, “Taken care of.”

“But …” Jon began again.

“That’s been taken care of too,” Pennyfarthing chimed in. “Easy now, Jon, Cantor’s friends have been planning this out for days. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be enjoying dinner on the Westphalia.”

Lucian grinned, “Tickets have sold out for its return voyage to Manehatten. There’s a local actress of some reknown (Katherine Hoofburn, you may have heard of her) who’s accepted three new roles in Applewood. She and her entourage, which includes you, Jon, will be traveling back to Equestria tomorrow. On an exclusive engagement of the airship in question.”

“But Cantor? The warrants?”

Cantor grinned. “Luggage, Mr. Quill. Just call me luggage.”

It had been ten minutes since Horst had finished his report to Doctor Fether.

Fether hadn’t been in his office when Horst and Burl had arrived. Some of the staff doctors were treating Burl. They had said that his wounds were messy, but they shouldn’t prove life threatening. The venom was problematic, but they had gathered samples from Burl’s wounds and the more common treatments seemed to be keeping him from going into shock. They expected to have an antidote identified within a few hours. Depending on what that antidote was, they could potentially have it ready very soon after that.

Horst wasn’t pleased to have had to wait. It had been nearly an hour before Doctor Fether had returned from whatever errand had kept him from his office at this critical juncture.

Time wasted. Time lost. If only Fether had been there, his brains and the Knotts’ brawn would have spoiled the ambush and extraction of that cursed Quill! Horst was sure of it.

Doctor Fether was even less pleased than Horst with the current situation. Given Burl’s condition, that realization had somewhat of a chilling effect on Horst’s anger. The Knotts knew that Doctor Fether was not the sort of pony you wanted to make angry.

“I am afraid that I will no longer require the use of your services, Mr. Knott.” Fether’s tone held the usual, coolly professional, sound that he used every day.

Horst blinked in surprise.

“Sir? I … we … it wasn’t our fault.”

Fether looked up and raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. “I do not mean to disparage your efforts, Mr. Knott. Nor those of your brother. Your work has been exemplary. But Cantor had more assistance than I had planned upon. Through the aid supplied by his friendships, he has outmaneuvered us. We do have a starting point, and I intend to use it. The disturbance you were a part of will have witnesses, your own hired observers among them. The descriptions of Jon Quill and Cantor’s accomplices will be of some help … though, given that some of his accomplices are changelings, that help will be limited. I anticipate that I will be able to follow the trail and reconstruct his movements. But it will take time. Days.”

“Sir?” Horst was puzzled.

Fether sighed. “Time enough to reach a port of call and arrange to, as I believe your brother put it, ‘smuggle himself out of Albion.’”

“Can’t we stop him?”

“Only if we can catch him. And the delays our adversaries have arranged render the chances of that extremely small. If their goal was Hedgerow, they could be on an airship even now. If they were headed for another port of call, there are boats and airships leaving later tonight, and early tomorrow. Realistically, factoring in the aid of his allies with the Hive Naught Theatrical company, Cantor should be able to avoid difficulties at customs. That they’ve grabbed Mr. Quill now indicates that they are preparing to move now.”

“You’re … you’re giving up?” Horst couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Of course I’m not ‘giving up.’” Doctor Fether’s reply was waspish. Horst fell silent. When Fether was angry enough to let that anger seep into his voice, it was best not to draw his notice.

“No, I had prepared for this eventuality. I will be taking a sabbatical. A research trip to the mainland of Equestria. That will give me roughly a year to hunt him down and detain him. To treat him before he comes to harm … or brings more harm to others.”

Fether gave a small, tight smile.

“But I cannot bring along two orderlies on a sabbatical. You and your brother have more than earned your bonuses. Rest assured, I appreciate the long hours you have put into the tasks I gave you. I will leave commendations for you both with my superiors here in Bedlam before I leave.”

Horst frowned.

“That’s not good enough!”

Fether looked honestly surprised by Horst’s angry response.

“It isn’t?”

“No, Doctor Fether. It isn’t.” Horst leaned over and placed his forehooves on Fether’s desk. It creaked under the weight of the earth-pony.

“One of Cantor’s associates hurt Burl. They hurt him bad. That makes this business personal. For him and me both. If you’re going after Cantor, we’re coming with you.” Horst stood back up and carefully straightened his jacket. “We wouldn’t want anything amiss to befall you in your travels.”

Fether’s eyebrows rose. “But your work here? As I said, I cannot bring you with me.”

Horst grinned. “Burl and I, we have considerable personal leave accrued. Haven’t taken any days off in years, not since our niece got married. I think perhaps a little trip away from all of this would do us some good. Help my brother recover. We can arrange for medical leave for part of it.”

Horst blinked. “Do … do you think there’s any chance we’ll visit Las Pegasus? Burl and I have talked about going there someday.”

Fether just shook his head. It was rare when ponies’ behavior surprised him, but Horst's just had. “I have no idea, Mr. Knott. But thank you. Thank you both. It will be a week, at least, before the paperwork is together. In the mean time, we have a trail to follow.”

Horst nodded. As he let himself out of Fether’s office he added, “To the end, Doctor Fether. We’ll follow it to the end.”