Noblesse Oblige

Thinking to demonstrate my superior manners, I turned to my counterpart and gestured for him to precede me. But he already had, traipsing after His Highness with the eyes-half-closed expression of a sleepwalker. I didn't rush to catch up, but I used every micrometer of my larger stride to enter the prince's office close upon my competitor's hooves. The guard this time remained without, the glow from His Highness's horn skittering along the door and pulling it closed just as I scooted inside.

Other than the absence of guards, the room looked much the same as it had the previous day. A large crystal bowl sat on His Highness's desk, however, and even knowing little about antiquities, I could tell that it was old. The designs etched along the sides had an abstract, flowing quality to them—for reasons I couldn't begin to fathom, they made me think of moonlight—and the material itself glistened as delicate as a soap bubble, rainbows shimmering from it over the desk's surface in the room's muted light.

"Very nice," my inexact duplicate breathed, his voice a bit too nasally for my tastes. "It's not Hereford crystal, but something nearly as fine, I should say."

"Nearly?" Prince Blueblood's glare could've cut the crystal if he'd not had his beetled brow focused on the fellow beside me instead. "This piece is over a thousand years old, I'll have you know!" He snapped around to face the bowl, the light from his horn wavering out to snatch the thing and raise it into the air. "There are only two others like it in the entire city, and by my estimation, only six still extant in the world!" His frown curled upward into a greasy smile. "I use it to hold the candy I give out to the children on Nightmare Night since the bowl dates to the time when Nightmare Moon herself strode across the face of Equestria." He cocked his head. "Are you gentlecolts familiar with the story of Nightmare Moon?"

I knew the legend, of course, but I found that I didn't much want to contemplate mythical pony-eating monsters right at the moment. "I don't know," I said in a tone designed to convey how little I cared. "Have they made an opera from it?"

The stocky stallion next to me, however, absolutely quivered. "Oh, Nightmare Night! It's my favorite holiday! The children look so scrumptious in their little costumes, why, I could just gobble them up myself!"

His Highness arched an eyebrow. "Personally, I prefer the costumes my companions don for the interior activites that commence once the children have been sent on their way."

My competitor didn't seem to be paying attention. "Ah, foals." He gave his upper lip a long, slow licking from one end to the other. "I find them to be endlessly fascinating. So innocent and needy."

The way he leaned into that last word made me want to take a large step away from him, but instead, I gave a gentle snort and said, "I had a doctor friend once prescribe me a regimen of pills, and upon the label of the bottle I found a good deal of instructive advice including the phrase 'Keep away from children.' It's a dictate I've attempted to follow rigorously from that day till this."

The other contestant's nose wrinkled, and I'm fairly certain he inched away from me. His Highness, on the other hoof, let loose with that booming laugh I knew so well from his visits to the Music Center, and—

Well, all I can do is report the facts. He wheeled away from us, his magic flaring, and the crystal bowl went dashing across the room to slam into the bookshelves behind his desk. It more exploded than merely shattered, the report so alarming, I swear I felt it as a physical force.

I jumped back, of course, as did my next door neighbor, but Blueblood simply stood staring at the shards embedded in the spines of the books and scattered along both the wall and floor. "Oh, dear," he said into a silence as thick as clotted cream. "What an unfortunate turn of events."

Now, it was about at this point that the various stories I'd heard growing up concerning Prince Blueblood began hammering somewhat insistently at the back of my brain, stories that used words like "wanton" and "capricious" and "cruel" with unpleasant frequency.

That the guard didn't come rushing in, however, suggested several other things to me, but by that time, the prince had spun around again, his eyes wide and his lips pulled back. "I hope I didn't startle you gentlecolts!"

This time, it was my competitor who snorted. "I've caused louder noises to be made while eating my breakfast cereal."

At which I couldn't contain a sigh, but I tried to cover it by bringing a front hoof up to fan my face. "Are we to be taking notes, sir, on the proper method for alarming and confusing one's guests? For if so, I fear I've left my quill pen in my Sunday pajamas."

His Highness's eyelids lowered to about half-staff. "I'll tell you what you're to do, you hapless twits. You're to leave here and not return until you have in your possession one of the remaining two bowls of this type that are located within Canterlot city limits. You'll have until my aunt Celestia raises the moon this evening, and I'd honestly think twice about returning at all if you haven't procured one by then." He waved a hoof at the door, and the guard opened it from the other side. "Off you go, now. And have fun!"

Blinking first at him, I then turned to blink at my opposite number. That individual, however, was already trotting out the door. Not wanting to remain alone in a room with His Highness, I followed.

A bit of effort caught me up to the fellow just as he was lighting his horn to push open the reception room door. "Well!" I said in my heartiest tones. "What say you to a nice bit of lunch at Semolina's, then we can pool our resources and track down both these bowls for His Heinous?"

That the look he squirted sideways at me through narrowed lids didn't drip with disdain, I could only attribute to the dry weather we'd been having. "I know where one of them is," he said. "And since the information can't possibly do you any good, I shall gladly share it: the Canterlot History Museum off Trellis Square."

I only had to exaggerate my gape slightly. "You mean all that blather was true? He just shattered some truly ancient objet d'art?"

"His Highness plays for keeps." We'd reached the lobby of the building by then, and he rounded on me with a most unpleasant look on his already unpleasant face. "And I do the same." He jabbed a hoof at my chest. "If you get in my way, I'll gladly run you down like a stray dog in the street. And in case you haven't noticed, you're already in my way." He tapped the hoof against my blazer in what I'm sure he meant to be a threatening fashion, but in all honesty, I was more worried about the silk.

"Careful!" I shoved his hoof away and brushed at the imaginary mark he'd left. "You'll soil the material!"

When I looked back up after a close and phony examination of the spot in question, he was gone, and I mentally bid him good riddance. For another brief moment, I wondered just what sort of trouble I'd gotten myself into this time, but I pushed those thoughts quickly aside. Whatever His Highness was up to, I couldn't let that short-legged vulgarian who'd just left have any part of it. I would need to deploy all my charm and cunning and find this blasted bowl before he did.

Determination so overcame me that I forgot all about lunch and marched myself several blocks west from the Tower District to Canterlot's Nasturtium Park neighborhood. There, I wended my way to Ebony & Alabaster, my favorite of the several jewelry stories I patronized in town when seeking commemorative baubles for those mares whom I had the good fortune to call my special friends.

Alabaster herself had been one of those special friends on occasion over the four years that I'd been, oh, let's call it "socially active," shall we? But as much as we both enjoyed spending time in each other's embraces, our trysts had an uncomfortable "mixing business and pleasure" aspect to them that neither of us felt was quite proper somehow. So for all the warmth that spread over, under, around, and through me upon stepping into their establishment and seeing her at the front counter, I kept my thoughts as pure as I was able. "Alabaster!" I called, trying to glide into the shop in the style that Prince Blueblood had displayed yesterday and earlier today. "Bosom companion and helpmate! You continue to be in every possible respect exactly the pony I'd hoped to see!"

"Polaris!" Her eyes lit up in a most complimentary fashion—for all that Alabaster was at least two decades older than I, her deep purple eyes surrounded by her namesake skin tone gave her a beauty that would never wither. "Have you brought me another thousand bits?"

I drew back in feigned horror. "By the bright blue above, madame! You wound me!" Collapsing to sit upon my haunches, I touched one hoof to my heart and draped the frog of my other foreleg across my eyes. "To think that after all we've meant to one another, you view me merely as a customer; as a gawker who, slack-jawed and drooling, serves nothing but your bottom line; as a common moneybag, feed trough, and source of revenue!"

She made a little clicking sound with the side of her mouth. "Larry, darling, there's nothing common about a pony who speaks using semi-colons."

With great effort, I ignored both the nickname and the dig. "But," I went on, activating my horn and plucking Prince Blueblood's latest bank draft from my blazer's inner pocket, "because I find you so exceedingly scintillating, I've come to you in search of a very specific object."

Those lovely eyes widened as they beheld the numbers enscribed upon the slip. "Five thousand? And with the royal seal again? Larry, what've you gotten yourself into this time? Or maybe I should ask instead who you've gotten yourself into..."

"Tut, tut, now." I certainly didn't want to bring the prince's name into things and spoil the conversation, so I instead unveiled my most disarming smile and tapped the bank draft. "I'm on a bit of a scavenger hunt, it so happens, and am in most pressing need of information about the whereabouts of a certain sort of crystal bowl."

As best as I could, I described the item I'd seen smashed to spangles back in His Highness's office. Alabaster's eyes continued their expansion, and at the conclusion of my miniature monologue, I feared they might burst like the balloons they now resembled. "An Ecuelle Lunaire?" she whispered as wispily as an evening breeze through palm branches. "You...you've seen one? Up close?"

Her reaction only fanned the flickering uneasiness in my stomach, but I swallowed against it lest any worry lines mar my smooth-as-a-snowbank forehead. "In point of fact, I should like to see one up close, specifically the one not housed in the Royal Palace or the History Museum downtown." I pushed the bank draft toward her. "Would you perhaps know where within our great and glorious metropolis this third bowl currently resides?"

"Pastel has it," she again more muttered than said, then she started back as if coming awake from a dream of lemon pie and ice cream. "Pastel Palette, the art collector," she went on in stronger tones. "I'm surprised you've not had occasion to spend time with her before, actually. She and I enjoy so many of the same sorts of things that I'm entirely certain she would appreciate your sterling qualities." Her eyes flickered, and I could almost feel her gaze touching here and there upon those aforementioned qualities.

Now, since the Music Center is a public facility, we maintain a top-of-the-line magical fire alarm system. To the best of my knowledge, it's never been used in its actual capacity, but we employees conduct drills every two months or so wherein we execute the management-approved evacuation plan while that infernal alarm clangs away in the background.

I only bring the matter up because a similar alarm had begun at that very moment to bleat in the back of my brain. Its wailing only increased in volume and urgency when Alabaster lit up the bank draft with her own magic, plucked it from beneath my hoof, folded it, and tucked it back into the inner pocket of my blazer. "Give me a moment," she said. "I'll fetch Ebony to take over the desk here, then you and I will saunter across town to Hevosenvalta Heights so I can introduce you to Pastel."

Only years of careful training kept my smile light and my voice breezy. "Any other time, sweet one, I would be overjoyed to spend the afternoon with you and your lovely friend. But alas, my time is not my own today. So I hope you'll forgive me if I must scarper." I bent forward to kiss her hoof and with my jauntiest step took myself away before I might be tempted to do something I'd likely regret unto the final breath of my being.

Where I wandered the rest of that day, I'm not entirely certain. About midafternoon, I visited a branch of the First Equestrian Bank to convert my cheque into bits, then I pulled in at a nearby watering hole for a late lunch and a lick of salt or three. It was not the merriest of meals, the word 'tawdry' echoing with alarming intensity over, under, around, and through me, a sensation for which I didn't care in the slightest.

How simple it would've been, after all, to go skipping along with Alabaster, to spend a few succulent hours entertaining her and her friend, to perhaps even exert myself in the effort and so captivate Ms. Pastel Palette that she would willingly part with this Ecuelle Lunaire.

Except that there are words for ponies who do such things, words that I'd had rustle through my head on those dark nights when I would lie awake contemplating the decades ahead of me. I had used my gifts so far for the loveliest and most benign of purposes—the mutual exchange of pleasure—with nary a glance toward personal gain or solo enrichment. The very thought of profiting in any way from these arrangements left a sour taste at the back of my tongue and quite literally put me off my salt.

Fortunately, the establishment served an excellent cider, and several mugs fortified me enough to rise from the booth I'd occupied for the past few hours. With the majority of my five thousand bits left there for the dutiful and attentive staff, I hied myself out into the onrushing dusk and arrived back at Prince Blueblood's office just as our actual beloved sovereign was magically bringing the day to its end.

The reception parlor stood empty, the only light coming from the barely crackling fireplace along the wall, my old friend the clock ticking turgidly above it. Shadows flickered across the sofas, the tables, the bookcases—and a figure standing by the inner office door, a figure of tarnished gold and yellowed ivory. "You're late," Prince Blueblood said.

"Am I?" I made a show of patting up and down the front of my blazer. "I seem to have mislaid my almanac, but I'm almost certain moonrise isn't scheduled for another fifteen seconds."

He glowered at me, then turned and stomped into his office. Perhaps I was still under the influence of the salt and cider, but rather than making my prudent way back out into the corridor and away from that place, I did some stomping of my own and entered the office myself.

And there, nestled amongst the paperwork covering his desk, sat an Ecuelle Lunaire identical as far as I could tell to the one I'd seen there earlier in the day. "Once again," Prince Blueblood said from his spot on the other side of the desk, "I inform you that you're late. Your competitor brought this to me forty-five minutes ago and has an appointment to see me again tomorrow morning at eleven." He pressed his front hooves together and leaned forward to rest his chin on them. "And what have you brought me other than disappointment?"

"My sheer and unbridled contempt," I replied, waving my hoof at the bowl. "That you would knowingly accept an item either stolen or fake fills me with a loathing so deep, I can scarcely summon forth the stamina to express the sentiment!"

His eyes gave one slow blink. "Well, it's not a fake, I can tell you that much." He cocked his head. "And what proof have you that it might be stolen?"

I drew myself up to my full height. "I have a dear friend who is a dear friend of Ms. Pastel Palette, and the thought that a collector of Ms. Palette's caliber would simply give an object as exquisite as that bowl to the low-lived, filthy-minded scoundrel into whose company I was forced earlier today, well, sir! I shan't give such a thought even a moment's consideration!"

The prince's oily smile returned in earnest. "Would you consider the thought that Pastel allowed the object to be taken as a personal favor to me?"

During my days in the orphanage, I'd had many an opportunity to observe a fellow who for some unknown reason, had loved to spend hours standing dominoes by the hundreds into intricate patterns upon the common room floor before tapping one and sending the whole swirling line-up of them toppling over from one end of the design to the other. Again, I only bring the matter up now because something very similar was occurring inside my head. "A trick," I heard myself saying aloud. "Everything today. From the very beginning."

"Indeed?" His Highness's voice seemed exceedingly loud, and I started back to see him standing beside me, his smile so oily now, I swear it smelled like a cheap bistro's house salad. "Oh, I do so love a good trick! Why don't you tell me all about it?"

"This!" I was still struggling to understand the insight I'd suddenly received. "And you! And—" I stopped, took a breath, started again. "The test today was to see how far we'd go to follow your orders, to see if we'd be willing to break into another pony's home just to fetch you—" Another few dominoes fell, and I became very convinced of another point without a great deal of proof. "To fetch you an item you already had." I pointed to the part of the bookcase against which His Highness had smashed the Ecuelle this morning. "If Ms. Palette agreed to cooperate with you in this little bowl game, then you never broke the first one. That was all fireworks and illusion. You pulled our strings, then sat back to watch us dance."

Nodding, Prince Blueblood leaned toward me. "And how does this make you feel?"

I considered for half a heartbeat. "Weary," I decided to say, and I turned toward the exit door I'd used the previous day. "Are we done here? I've an appointment with my pillow to weep for the future of ponykind, and I'd hate to miss it."

"We could be done," he said behind me. Movement to my right caught my attention, and I watched a section of shelving swing open to reveal an undamaged crystal bowl. Floating out in the golden glow of his magic, it joined its twin upon his desk. "What a shame that would be, however. For did you not bring me the requested bowl as per the rules of the contest? And did you not do it in a much more stylish fashion than that other grotesque slab of horseflesh?"

I swung around to lambaste him thoroughly; to upbraid him in the strongest possible terms; to inform him in a brief and concise manner that I wanted nothing more to do with him, with his contests, with his peculiarities and his vulgarities and whatever simple-minded game he thought he was playing—

But while he was still standing there displaying the same greasy grin, his eyes half-closed, insouciance wavering up from him like steam from an overfilled bathtub, he was no longer alone.

Now, Princess Celestia stood beside him.