I. What's Past is Prologue

“I need a favor, Valentina.” This was the start of the conversation Cantor had spent the last few days pretending to himself that he wouldn’t need to have.

“Sir?” Valentina raised an eyebrow. Usually Cantor wasn’t that direct, nor that forward. He also looked unusually serious, and perhaps a little ill.

“I’m hoping it’s nothing, just nerves …” Cantor trailed off worriedly.

Valentina was intrigued. In part because Cantor hadn’t seemed the nervy type. A little scattered and self-effacing perhaps – which became annoying on occasion. But his jumpiness wasn’t something she would have chalked up to nerves.

“The favor, sir? We’re here to serve.”

“Well?” Oddly, it was his voice who was pointing out possibilities for a double entendre.

“Oy! It’s no fun when the straight line is that easy!” Or perhaps Magpie didn't like him horning in on her action.

Cantor took a deep breath to steady himself. He then deliberately turned away to gaze out the window. While the view of the countryside during their final approach to Hedgerow Airfield on the outskirts of Lunadun was nice and all, Valentina fancied herself a pleasanter sight. Cantor generally agreed, but he couldn't afford to be distracted for this.

“I have reason to suspect that some of my family may have arranged a little surprise for me immediately upon my debarkation. Such a surprise would not be at all welcome.”

“I wasn’t aware you had family in Albion, sir?” Valentina was adept at turning a statement into a question, all by varying tone and cadence. It was a skill she had noted Cantor possessed as well.

Cantor chuckled wryly, “I don’t. I do have some very good friends here.”

“I’m sure you do!” Valentina felt comfortable dropping such hints precisely because Cantor was exactly the sort of stallion who wouldn’t pick up on them.

“Well?!” He clearly thought Magpie would jump on such a straight line.

“Still too easy, scribbler. Anyroad, weren’t you the codger what said we shouldn’t be distracting ‘is nibs?” Magpie was probably just being contrary for contrariness sake.

“… touché.” He yielded the point.

“I never!” It was hard to tell if Magpie was genuinely indignant.

“The favor, sir? We will be docking soon.”

“Yes, yes. Precisely. And I would rather not walk out the front door, as it were.”

Valentina gave a little start. Oh, this was going to be interesting after all! And here she had already decided that Cantor’s oddness wasn’t going to be a source of intrigue and entertainment.

“I’m not sure I follow you, sir.” Valentina used her most convincingly innocent tone.

“Why that little minx is lyin’ through ‘er perfect teeth!” Magpie sounded both impressed and annoyed.

“What? How can you tell?” He, in turn, sounded mostly confused.

“I’m a mare, ain’t I?” Magpie's tone was that of someone stating the obvious.

“In retrospect, I now realize that I have never really understood mares. Why should I be surprised to find that I do not understand you?” He sounded reflective.

Cantor, ignoring the comments from his own personal peanut gallery, spoke with a quiet urgency “Is there another way off the Zeppelin?”

Valentina let out a little gasp, “You wish me to help smuggle you past customs?” This was delicious! Just how illegal did Cantor intend to be? Valentina was busy tallying her accumulated rule-bending … and rule-breaking … with a finesse that even Mr. Grady would have begrudgingly praised. Depending on Cantor’s answer, she might have to decline. There was only so far even she was willing to push the envelope.

Valentina was a little surprised at herself to discover she didn’t want to decline.

“What? No! Just … er … just off the Westphalia. Is there a … back door or something? I’m not exactly up to some feat of derring do – climbing out a window, swinging from a mooring line to the pier. Even if my leg hadn’t … well … and it’s a long way down. If I were a pegasus I’d just open a window or something but …”

Cantor took another steadying breath. “Look, will you help me or won’t you? You don’t have to. It might even get you in trouble. I wouldn’t want that.”

Valentina eyed Cantor closely. He was sincere. He didn’t want to get her in trouble. Having spent nearly a week in his company, she probably shouldn’t be surprised. That sincerity, more than anything, sold her.

“Can you not just teleport across?” There was a good ten minutes left before they got to the tower, no point in missing out on some perfectly good teasing!

“Oy! Cantor, tip: I think she’s bitten. Haul ‘er in easy and we’ll slide away smooth as silk.” Magpie was pleased, which meant she sounded smug.

“If you say so. I can not believe I am trusting your judgement on this.” He just sounded done with it all.

Cantor turned back towards Valentina with a wry grin, “It’s not that easy! Teleportation isn’t something common, like moving objects or producing light. And goodness knows there are unicorns that can’t even manage those petty magics well – much less something as difficult as casting oneself adrift on the currents of the aether to reform spontaneously elsewhere. Even unicorns who can teleport (which are fewer and further between than most ponies seem to think) find it can be a finicky talent – sometimes it just won’t work at all even when it was working fine yesterday.

“But … that didn’t sound like a ‘no’?” Cantor raised an eyebrow in an inquiring manner. Tone and cadence.

Valentina smiled brightly, “Very well, Mr. Luggage, sir. If you would care to follow me to the cargo bay, I’m sure we can get you off-loaded out the back. It's only proper, given your ticket.”

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

“Indeed, all is well that ends well, yes?” His tone was one of relief.

“This plan is shite. Bugger me! I really don’t like this plan.” Magpie's own words were laced with a real, rather than manufactured, fear.

“What? Why not, Magpie?” He had clearly been startled by Magpie's words. Though they bickered more often than not, when she was that worried about something, he paid attention. And she was clearly worried.

“You two scholars haven’t been snooping about back in cargo. I have. There’s sumthin’ wrong back there. Gave my hooves the prickles sumthin’ fierce. Whatever it is might not do for you or me, but Cantor don't have our 'advantages' ... an' if 'e meets a terrible fate, we're well and truly done, scribbler. Ugh. Fine, we’ll bugger off out the back but, smoke and moonlight, don’t linger there boys.”

“Mr. Grady? Captain, sir? There’s a port official who wants to speak with you before we begin deboarding the passengers.”

“Thank you, Valentina. I’ll see to it, sir.” Ordinarily Grady wouldn’t be too concerned, but something in Valentina’s manner struck him as odd.

The crew were still tying off the gangways, the narrower one with hand rails near the nose of the gondola, just past the sitting room, where the passengers would shortly be exiting … the wider one for the cargo further back, at a separate pier, almost half-way down the airship’s balloon. Already the Westphalia's pegasi were beginning to offload some of the boxes to the cargo area over there.

Five ponies waited on the passenger pier. Two of the four earth ponies there were local constables working for Hedgrow Airfield, the aforementioned port officials. However, they were accompanying a unicorn wearing a doctor’s jacket who was flanked by a different pair of particularly burly earth ponies, identical twins, in matching coats. It was abundantly clear who was in charge, so Grady wasted no time in approaching the unicorn.

“Mr. Grady, purser of the Westphalia. Is there a problem, doctor?”

“Yes there is. I have papers authorizing me to secure the personage of one Cantor Mortalis for involuntary commitment. We have judge’s rulings here from both Manehattan and Lunadun along with signed statements from his next of kin. If you would kindly allow us to retrieve him, the potential danger he represents to yourself and to your passengers will be removed forthwith.”

Grady was stunned. He automatically took the clipboard the unicorn offered and reflexively glanced at the papers there.

Everything seemed to be in order. Quite in order. Not that Grady had experience with psychiatric paperwork or court orders pertaining thereto. This was new. Unwelcome, but new.

“I’m sorry, Doctor …?”

“Fether. Doctor Tarrant Fether. Professor of Abnormal Psychology.”

“And Mr. Mortalis is wanted … ?” Grady trailed off, unable to bring himself to complete the sentence.

“Mr. Mortalis, as you say, is required to be housed in Bedlam.” Dr. Fether’s smile was brusque at best. “It’s for his own good, although, at present, he might not agree. May we come aboard and retrieve him, Mr. Grady? We wouldn’t want to delay your passengers any longer than we must.”

“No you bloody well may not come aboard the Westphalia! Not without a ticket. Do you have a ticket, herr doctor?” Grav Gunther had arrived in the doorway.

“I … had not thought it necessary to procure one …” Dr. Fether was clearly taken aback by the sudden appearance of an angry griffon.

Grady knew that as the Westphalia’s purser it was his duty to the Grav Zeppelin airlines to strive to smooth over this situation. Reputation, scandal, all of that. But Grady also knew that Gunther had been spoiling for a fight. The only saving grace was that Gunther wasn’t drunk this time.

Time for damage control. Let the doctor and the captain have it out with words. Worst case? Gunther would pitch Fether from the top of the tower, but there were safety nets set to catch anypony who might have the ill fortune to be born wingless and to suffer a fall.

“Oh! ‘Not thought it necessary …’” Gunter was in fine voice as Grady ducked back inside.

“Wipe that smile off your face, Valentina, and find Mr. Mortalis. We need to get him off the ship before the passengers hear about this.”

Valentina looked at Mr. Grady in surprise.

“That means now, filly! Move those hooves!”

“Yes sir, Mr. Grady, sir! Only …”

“Only what, Valentina?” Mr. Grady felt his left eye twitch ever so slightly.

“Only I was coming to tell you, sir, that Mr. Mortalis doesn’t appear to be in the crew quarters. Would you like me to conduct a search of the passengers' cabins?”

Valentina left the “… while the passengers are still in them,” portion of that proposed course of action unsaid.

“Sweet Celestia, no! Let me think …”

Tearing his mind from the possible scandal, Mr. Grady thought furiously.

“Valentina, tell the passengers that they will be disembarking momentarily. Stand watch in the sitting room and detain Mr. Mortalis … quietly … should he attempt to exit. After the passengers are off, we can turn him over to Dr. Fether. If Cantor doesn't turn up, then we can search the cabins after everypony's left.”

“Yes, sir!” Valentina hesitated, looking momentarily concerned, “And, Mr. Grady, sir – did I hear right? They’re wanting to take Cantor to Bedlam? The Bedlam? The insane asylum?” There was a faint quaver in her voice.

“Yes, you heard right. Now, do you want to go explain this to the captain or shall I?”

That got her moving!

Maybe he should also have Valentina detain that Jon Quill fellow. “Work of fiction?” This trip’s official report back to the home office would be fit to be published in the Star!

“What do you mean, that’s all of them?” Dr. Fether was angry. You could see it in his eyes. But his was an anger that was immediately bottled and stored somewhere deep inside. There it would ferment, like a too-dry wine, into something bitter and poisonous. His anger was all tight, crushing control. Unlike the flamboyant outbursts of Captain Gunther’s rage which flamed brightly and were gone, Dr. Fether’s anger endured.

Mr. Grady suspected that Dr. Fether might be the more dangerous of the two. Much more dangerous.

Valentina looked to Gunther for support. The griffon just narrowed his one eye.

“I mean, sir, that all twenty four quartered passengers have now departed the Westphalia under your watchful eye.”

“I only counted twenty three.”

“Doctor Caballeron purchased two tickets in his own name, you saw them yourself, sir.”

“‘Doctor Caballeron’ is a popular fiction. No such pony really exists.”

“Quite right, sir. He might not have been travelling under his own name. Was he perhaps this 'Mr. Mortalis' you are looking for?”

“No, miss. Mr. Mortalis is a unicorn, pale – dark mane going gray, blue eyes. Not some ... some ... cos-playing earth-pony on their way to a literary convention. Cantor must still be on the ship.”

“But, I double checked the entire gondola myself, sir. There are no other ponies of any sort. Your Mr. Mortalis isn't here.”

“Isn’t he?” You could have struck sparks from the flint in Dr. Fether’s clipped speech. Grav Gunther's steely gaze seemed quite up to the task.

One of the constables, a sergeant from the cut of his coat, cleared his throat. “Mr. Grady, was it, sir?” He was looking for a less explosive way around the situation, “I’m sure the Grav Zeppelin airship line wouldn’t mind if we let ourselves in. A quick look around, just to be sure. Unofficially of course. There’s no need for any unpleasantness with the courts regarding search and seizure. And if there is a lunatic …”

“A dangerous lunatic,” Dr. Fether interjected.

“… a lunatic aboard,” the sergeant continued, neither batting an eye nor adding Fether’s desired adjective, “then best for all concerned that we have him removed. Don’t you agree?”

“And if there’s not?” Gunther wasn’t screeching any more, but there was still a low growl underlying his words.

“If there’s not, what?” the second constable seemed a bit put off by the question. Or perhaps by the air of danger that Gunther projected.

“If there’s not a lunatic, dangerous or otherwise, hiding on my airship?”

“Well then, Dr. Fether will owe both you and the constabulary an apology for wasting their time.” Bland. That was the word for the sergeant's reply. Mr. Grady was impressed. That was exactly the right tack to take with the captain.

A moment passed.

“Valentina.” Captain Gunther spoke with authority. “Accompany these ponies aboard the Westphalia. Assist them in searching the entirety of the gondola. If Mr. Mortalis is aboard, find him.”

Dr. Fether was on the airship in a moment, expertly combing the cabins, opening every door, checking in every cupboard. Valentina trailed after him, as did the Doctor's two companions and both of the constables.

Outside Mr. Grady turned to Gunther. “Sir? What should we do?”

“Let them search. I’m going to the galley for a drink. Let me know if they find anypony.”

“If they do?”

“Turn him over. It’s not our concern.”

From within the navigation room Doctor Fether's raised voice could be heard asking, “I said where does this ladder go?”

Gunther rolled his one good eye and shrieked through the open door, “It goes up to the crew quarters and the superstructure Doctor. You have my permission to search the whole of the ship if you like. Valentina – accompany them and make sure they don't break anything.”

Gunther's voice dropped to a soft growl again, “Except maybe his neck if he falls. Storms willing off the port side where there's no net to catch the arrogant bastard.”

Grady winced, “Sir … what if they don’t find Cantor?”

“Then we tell them the truth.” Oh, there was a devilish gleam in Gunther’s one good eye. Mr. Grady’s heart sank.

“The … truth, sir?”

“Yes. The records will show there never was a 'passenger' by the name of Cantor Mortalis aboard the Westphalia. Only a piece of luggage that Mr. Mortalis paid to have shipped overseas. I noticed that Valentina was clever enough to keep her pretty blather-trap shut when it came to the subject of Cantor's having ever been aboard. You'll tell the crew that anypony who wishes to be secure in their future employment would be advised to forget our extra passenger existed.”

While not an expert on the law, Grady was reasonably sure that most of that fell under the category of “aiding and abetting.” With other parts of it falling under the category of “worker protections against unjust retaliation.”

“I … forgive me, sir, but I wasn’t aware you held Mr. Mortalis in such … high esteem.” Grady didn’t hold Mr. Mortalis in particularly high esteem himself, certainly not enough to help him in his miraculous escape from the authorities. Still, mad-pony or not, Grady wouldn’t have wanted to see Cantor locked away in Bedlam.

“I don’t care a sour fart in a windstorm for Mr. Mortalis,” Gunther glared at the open door to the Westphalia. “I’m not doing this for his benefit. But after due consideration I’ve decided that I mightily dislike that harpy of a sawbones. He can go rot. When he’s off my ship, Mr. Grady, I want the whole thing scrubbed down. I don’t want even the smell of Fether lingering here.”

With that Gunther strutted back inside the Westphalia.

Grady remained on the deck, pondering this turn of events. Most of all, he was trying to decide if he should go along with the captain’s orders.

Dr. Fether might be … a difficult unicorn to deal with, but that didn’t make him wrong. Mr. Grady had spent most of his career dealing with difficult unicorns, smoothing things over for them. What if Cantor was a danger? Either to himself, or others. Perhaps Grady should go over the captain’s head, so to speak, in the interest of keeping the reputation of the Grav Zepplin line shined and spotless.

After all, it’s not like the crew had conspired to whisk Cantor away!

“Sir? Mr. Grady, sir?”

Grady looked up from his reverie. It was Tom, one of the crew. A steady sort, Tom.

“Yes, Tom?”

“We’ve finished unloading the cargo. All of the cargo. Everypony’s glad to be shot of it. Permission to go ashore?”

“Good work. Thank you, Tom. I'm sure the captain won't mind.” Grady suddenly started up, eyes wide, gesturing at Tom to keep him from flying off.

“Tom … wait a moment! Did you say you had unloaded all of the cargo?”

“Yes sir, all that didn’t unload itself, if’n you catch my meaning.”

“Unload … itself?” Grady's heart sank further still.

Tom grinned, “Why yes, sir. I’m not sure if you noticed, but we had the most peculiar piece of luggage on this flight.”

“Luggage?”

“Why yes, sir. One of the first pieces off the ship. Would have been, oh, half an hour ago. Don’t worry, sir. I got him pointed towards customs. He should be through by now, sir. And, begging your pardon, I for one will be just as pleased to have him out of our manes.”