II. In the Dark Backward

Nurse Redheart took a sip of her after-dinner nightcap and frowned at Cantor. She was tired from a long day’s work and a reunion with her wayward brother (accompanied by two of his new friends) was not something she had been expecting. Even so, it was very good to see Cantor again. Especially since he had cooked up a feast for them all.

The remains of that feast still occupied Redheart’s dining room table. Roughly a third of the garlic-mushroom lasagna, packed with herbed ricotta cheese, a thick tomato sauce, and cooked to perfection still filled its pan. There had been a salad of greens, dried cranberries, walnuts, and crumbled goat cheese lightly tossed in a balsamic vinaigrette of which only a few bites were left. Likewise there were only three slices left of the hearty bread, slathered with garlic butter and topped with a mixture of mozzarella, parmesan, pecorino romano, and asiago cheeses which had been toasted until the cheese had turned bubbly and just a touch brown. Cantor had paired the main course with a rather fruity Shiraz. Dessert had been sorbet and drinks.

The kitchen, Redheart thought, was unsurprisingly neat and tidy. Cantor had always been the sort of cook to clean up after himself as he went along. Hardly was he done using a utensil, pot, or pan but he had it washed with soapy water and set out to dry.

There had been relatively brief introductions. Then the dinner conversation had largely revolved around mutual friends, family, goings on in Ponyville, and Nurse Redheart’s duties.

Now Redheart’s belly was full of some really good food, and between the wine and the crème-de-menthe there was a pleasant touch of softness around the edges of her thoughts.

Given the circumstances, a touch of softness was probably a good thing. Her thoughts were hard and heavy.

“Now, Cantor, let me return to the question you dodged so nimbly when I found you cleaning up in my kitchen.” Redheart smiled, but her expression was one of deep suspicion. “How did you treatments go?”

Cantor grinned, a little sheepishly, as he replied, “They haven’t yet.”

Nurse Redheart began to rub her forehead with one hoof. This was exactly what she had suspected … feared really … upon finding her brother had let himself into her house, cooked, cleaned, and brought along some new friends. She sighed.

Valentina and Jon Quill looked a trifle uncomfortable. Jon, in part, because both of Redheart’s tabby cats were curled up on him and they were quite insistent that he would be their new, and preferred, bed. No matter where he went in the house, as soon as he settled, they found a way to perch upon him. Ordinarily he wouldn’t mind (he was fond of most pets) but from his faint sniffles, it was also clear that he was mildly allergic to these two particular felines.

“Cantor …” Redheart’s tone combined disappointment, concern, and weary affection, “… you need help.”

“I know, sis.” Cantor replied. “I’m getting help. I’ve gotten help. But what I don’t need, right now, is to be detained. Nor to be kept from my researches.”

Redheart shook her head in disagreement, a stern expression in her face.

When she did so (in a manner so like that of Cantor) both Valentina and Jon Quill found themselves thinking once again that it was remarkable (and oddly heartwarming) how closely brother and sister resembled one another.

Nurse Redheart was a younger, smaller, and much slimmer version of their scholarly friend. Both had white bodies and the same blue eyes. Admittedly Redheart’s mane and tail were a trifle longer, and they were a light pink rather than Cantor’s own dark gray. Likewise, her face wasn’t subtly lined with worry or care the way Cantor’s often was. Even though Redheart, as an earth pony, had no horn – if you were to stick her beside her unicorn brother then no pony could miss the exceptionally strong family resemblance. Older brother and younger sister – they looked their parts.

And, like her brother, it was clear that Nurse Redheart had a stubborn streak, coupled with the will and drive to get things done, beneath her usually pleasant and soft spoken demeanor.

Cantor continued, “I’ve gotten friends, new and old, involved in my latest project. It’s going much better than when we spoke last.”

Redheart frowned at Valentina and Jon Quill as she said, “What? These? …”

Nurse Redheart sighed again. Both Valentina and Jon had the distinct impression that Redheart didn’t think very highly of the sort of ponies who would follow after Cantor … who would collaborate with his possibly delusional state. Redheart hadn’t exactly been warmly welcoming. Though she had invited them all to stay for dinner.

Valentina’s own expression had hardened in an all-too-polite mask. She looked like she was taking Redheart’s unspoken suspicions personally.

But, remembering back to some of Cantor’s less-than-reputable friends in Albion (and other ponies like them) Jon Quill found himself thinking Nurse Redheart might well have good reasons to be worried about unscrupulous sorts using (and abusing) her brother’s kindly nature.

Nurse Redheart continued, “Cantor, you don’t need to be wandering Equestria chasing … rumors … mysteries …”

“Ghosts?” Cantor added, with just the barest hint of humor.

Redheart’s face scrunched up in disapproval. “Whatever. It’s not good for you. Not just your body,” and here she leaned over the table to poke the plumpness that padded his ribs. “Your mind too. You run yourself ragged over this. And it’s not like you can support yourself, nor get anything like decent care or treatment for any illness or injuries that come as either direct or indirect results of your … hobbies.”

Cantor listened politely.

Redheart’s tone softened, just a touch. “I’ll admit you look much better now than when you were here last. So much better that I was hoping they had found some treatment that actually worked and that you had gotten out early.”

Cantor’s own expression shifted to one of concern, “Rosa, you …”

She interrupted, speaking with considerable passion, “You scared me Cantor! You were so … desperate. So driven. I thought …” Redheart swallowed. She wouldn’t let herself cry. Right now she was too angry for that.

“I …” Cantor began again as he reached over the dining room table toward his sister.

“And for what?” She continued, taking his hoof in both of her own. “For phantoms only you can hear? Cantor, even if there are ghosts … what about you? Just let them be and, for once in your life, focus on taking care of yourself. On learning how to settle down. On being happy and healthy and at peace. Make a life for yourself … and deal with the dead on your off time.”

Still holding her hoof, Cantor answered softly, “I can’t do that sis. You know it. When you see somepony hurting or injured or in need of help, you’ve always been one of the first to trot right up and do whatever needs doing to help heal the hurts you see. For me …” Cantor paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, “… I see somepony hurting, somepony in need and I just … I have to help.”

Redheart squeezed his hoof harder, “I understand, Cantor, really I do! I … I feel the same way whenever I look at you.”

If it wasn’t for the cats, Jon Quill would have quietly ducked out to the living room. This was all feeling far too uncomfortably personal. Under other circumstances, Jon would be the first pony to gladly eavesdrop on familial gossip … but this was Cantor. This was a friend. And, for a change, Jon felt terribly out of place.

Valentina, on the other hoof, had shifted her position closer to Cantor – a subtle show of reinforcement and support for her friend.

Cantor’s gaze had dropped. He took a deep breath and raised his eyes to meet Redheart’s own. It was rare for him to really look at a pony, even rarer to stare eye to eye with them. But he did so now.

“Rosa … there is an important difference between us, though. When you see a pony in pain, a pony in desperate need of help, you can always choose to walk away … to pass the buck … to alert somepony else. You don’t have to step in and handle everything personally. When you don’t intervene, the hurt pony can still get help.”

Cantor continued, and there was a terrible sense of finality in his voice, “The hurt ponies I see? If I don’t help them nopony else will. Nopony else can. Nopony else will ever even know they were there.”

“But I’ll know.” As Cantor spoke, Jon Quill and Valentina both shivered. There was a perfect term for how Cantor sounded as he spoke those words. That term was haunted. Cantor continued, “I’ll always know. Even if you stop me from helping. Even if you have me locked away. I’ll know I failed them.”

Redheart let go of Cantor's hoof and leaned back in her chair. Her expression was one of love, and deep concern, but … Cantor noted with dismay … there still wasn’t true belief there. Or, perhaps, if some part of her did believe him then that only served to deepen her fears for his own well-being. It was all quite flattering and deeply touching Cantor thought.

It was also ruinously inconvenient given the present crisis. Time to change tack.

“Rosa,” Cantor adopted a very serious tone, “It’s not just my desire to be unencumbered by a straight-jacket and to continue my travels and explorations that brings me here today. You have to rescind your request for my incarceration.”

“I’m not sure I have to do any such thing!” Redheart replied.

But Cantor continued, “You and Mom had the request put through Manehatten’s courts. Since I was en route to Lunadun at the time, the judges also had the courts in the Griffish Isles process that request. They sent it on to Bedlam, and one of Bedlam’s doctors is trying to use this as a means to detain and treat me.”

“I don’t see how …” Redheart began, but Cantor just spoke over her.

“The Doctor in question is Tarrant Fether.”

There was a moment of stunned silence while Nurse Redheart, already white as white could be, blanched. But then she sat up very straight in her seat and said, with carefully controlled wrath, “Tarrant Fether?”

Cats or no cats, Jon Quill scooted his chair back away from the table. The cats stopped purring. Valentina herself flinched and shifted her own position, sliding a fraction of an inch away from Cantor.

The last creature they had heard use that tone of voice was the Changeling assassin turned actress, Thretan. It was a tone that promised terrible, horrible, unspeakable things.

Cantor nodded. “If he gets his hooves on me it won’t be pleasant for anypony involved. And you know how Fether is, as long as the law is on his side, he’ll be unstoppable.”

“Oh, I know how Fether is.” Redheart practically growled. Her angry frown now looked a trifle less obstinately set against Cantor’s wishes.

Redheart considered the matter for a few minutes. Then she pursed her lips. “Cantor, I still think you need professional help. So I’ve a solution – why not voluntarily come with me back to Ponyville General? Get started on something that’ll help you get to a better place in life?”

Cantor shook his head, “Sis, if it was just the usual mumbo-jumbo with me and my spooks, sure. I’d seriously consider it. But things have been unusually high-weirdness lately.” He gave a faint smile, “From some of what I hear about happenings in Ponyville, you know a thing or two about ‘high weirdness,’ yes?”

Nurse Redheart rolled her eyes and nodded.

Cantor continued, “So I can’t just let this go right now. And even if I could, with the order for my detention having been processed through Bedlam already, and Tarrant on my trail …”

Cantor shook his head, “No. I’m sure he’d find some way to … uh … call ‘dibs’ on my treatment. To establish a ‘prior claim’ to the folks here in Ponyville. If I’m detained, he’ll get me eventually. You know he will. We have to take away his legal authority to hold me at all. And that means you have to get the judges to drop their detention order. We can deal with everything else later.”

Jon Quill and Valentina glanced at each other. Cantor could be exceptionally persuasive when he turned the whole of his considerable presence and attention to the task. His voice, musical and sweet, naturally seemed to inspire trust and confidence – one wanted to believe him. And all of this without his deploying the magical enchantments he had at his disposal.

But it wasn’t enough. They could see it, as could Cantor. Nurse Redheart’s resolve wavered, but it held firm.

“No, Cantor. We can keep Fether from you. But only if you’re under treatment elsewhere.” Redheart couldn’t bring herself to look at her brother. It was clear that her decision was extraordinarily difficult and painful.

What was worse was the look on Cantor’s face. Jon drew breath to say something … anything … but he couldn’t seem to choke words out around the sudden lump in his throat. Valentina moved slightly, reaching out to lay a comforting hoof on Cantor’s shoulder. She stopped herself.

Cantor winced. His eyes shut tightly and he drew a deep breath.

Nurse Redheart looked down at the remaining crème-de-menthe in her glass.

“So, it sounds like we’re at an impasse. May I … may I make a suggestion, sis?” even with the catch, Cantor’s voice showed little sign of the anguish written on his face.

Jon Quill’s own eyes grew wide. He had always been good at putting odd pieces of information together and making intuitive leaps to perfectly outrageous conclusions. Jon could tell what was coming.

Nurse Redheart said “Sure, go ahead.” Then she tossed back the rest of her drink.

Cantor’s horn began to glow sliver, as did his eyes. Such a pale light of magic. It was hard to see; hard to notice in the flickering candle light … but the light, like a shimmering aurora, drifted out of Cantor and into his sister.

As Cantor spoke, the mystic compulsion that filled his voice made his earlier, impassioned attempts to convince Redheart to withdraw her support for his institutionalization sound utterly flat and emotionless by comparison.

”I suggest you tell me exactly what I must say and do to get you to not only immediately remove the orders for my arrest and treatment but also to lend your own willing aid to the purpose of my free travels throughout Equestria as I work to solve the arcane mysteries I am currently struggling with.”

The spell was not directed at Jon. Nor was it focused on Valentina. But, just from being on the fringes of the magic, each found their own thoughts leaping to follow that line of inquiry.

Nurse Redheart looked at Cantor. Her face had settled into a thoughtful daze. And her eyes glowed with the same silvery light as Cantor’s horn.

The spell had struck her full force, burrowing into her mind, twisting her thoughts to align with this mystic compulsion.

Valentina had pursed her lips in a soundless whistle. She caught Jon Quill’s eye, raised one of her brows, and gave a slight tilt of her head toward Cantor. Jon just nodded, his face was also sporting a stunned expression. In some ways, Cantor’s facility with such mind-controlling magics were, well, spookier than his arcane connection with the realms of the dead.

Jon Quill suddenly felt profoundly grateful that Cantor was so … nice. The sort of things somepony not-so-nice could do with that kind of magic were rather distressing to consider.

“You’d …” Redheart spoke softly. But then paused. She tilted her head slightly.

A moment passed.

She continued, speaking slowly and clearly, “You’d need to promise me that once your researches were done … once this arcane crisis is over … that you’ll come back and get yourself properly treated. That you’d work with your psychiatrists and therapists to deal with your issues … whether or not seeing dead ponies is one of them. You’d need to promise to seek out stable, long term employment – work that could support you – so you don’t have to rely on the charity of friends and strangers just to keep a roof over your head, clothes on your back, and food in your belly. If you are to chase ghosts, it can’t come at the cost of your own personal well-being … you must find a way to either have a life outside of your calling, one which can support you in your arcane researches, or a way to turn your calling from a ruinously expensive and personally damaging hobby to a profitable career. And I need proof … something … anything … more than just your word that all of this nonsense with the dead is really happening … that it’s worth you throwing your life away on these arcane pursuits. Even if your life isn’t that important to you, Cantor, it means a hell of a lot to me.”

Redheart blinked and shook her head. She looked a little dazed.

Cantor looked heartbroken. He swallowed heavily. Before he could speak though, Nurse Redheart gave him a sudden glare and leaned across the table to punch him in the shoulder. It wasn’t that hard of a punch, thankfully.

“You bastard!” She said, “I thought you promised Dad you wouldn’t do that again after the chocolate ice-cream incident!”

Cantor let out a surprised laugh and rubbed his shoulder.

“Yeah, I did promise, sis. But this was important.” He grinned with a measure of relief. “More important than securing an extra waffle-cone of double-fudge at least! And I did technically ask for your permission.”

“What?” Redheart looked startled.

Cantor, all innocence, explained, “I asked you if I could make a ‘suggestion.’” He used air-quotes. “You said yes.”

She crossed her forelegs and glared, raising one eyebrow. “Hmph.” Redheart stated.

She then added, “Well?”

“Yes.” Cantor said. “Yes to all of it. I’ll come back here and get treated as soon as I have put a stop to the current highly unnatural rise of the Trotting Dead and have laid those risen back to rest. I’ll settle down. Get a real job.”

Cantor’s eyes darted briefly to an apparently empty portion of the room. From his expression, Valentina and Jon Quill suspected that Magpie had just made one of her teasingly inappropriate comments.

Cantor continued, with a slightly embarrassed grin, “But you’re the one who’ll have to give mom some grandkids!”

Nurse Redheart rolled her eyes. “Don’t even start with me on that, Cantor.” Her expression began to shift towards stern again. “Also while your promises are good, they’re not enough.”

“I think we can help with that part, miss,” Valentina chimed in.

“Really?” Redheart sounded mostly skeptical.

Valentina and Jon Quill both nodded. Valentina spoke first.

“Back in Albion, while we were doing some research into the Trotting Dead, we encountered a particularly unpleasant and dangerous arcane phenomena. One of the ghosts that’s helping Cantor with his research was able to tap into its power – briefly – and manifested to help us out of the resulting pinch. I saw him, clear as I see you. Well ... almost as clearly! He was hazy and see-through.” Valentina shrugged, “Seeing is believing, as they say, and I’ve seen a ghost. Not that I had much in the way of doubts before.”

Jon Quill chimed in, “And I saw one of the Trotting Dead in Whitstable – a pegasus skeleton trapped in some terrible vortex of evil power. I watched as Cantor charmed the poor fellow’s spirit out of his bones and got him to quiet down … which set him free from whatever that wicked magic was. So even if somehow Cantor’s not able to do the whole ‘speaking with the dead’ thing in quite the way he seems to, there are still strange and disturbing things actually ahoof that his magic can definitely fix.”

Jon Quill added, “Also: that one vortex in Whitstable? There are others out there. We definitely know where one more is and are hoping to learn something from freeing the spirit trapped in there. It’s kind of our next stop, if we can get Cantor free from this legal business. So we also definitely need his help to get this all sorted.”

Valentina nodded, “Quite right! You can check with Chief Inspector Jack in Shetland Yard on the Whitstable matter. Also, Cantor’s whole ‘speaking with ghosts’ thing was something they actively tested out – and a cadre of their wizards found it a reliable and useful source of information. Not only reliable and useful, but as best as those experts could determine, Cantor is a bona fide spiritualist and a medium. In fact,” Valentina grinned, “speaking of Cantor turning his talents as a ghost-whisperer into a paying profession, it was subsequently suggested that Shetland Yard would be quite willing to take him on as a ‘consultant.’ Regardless of exactly how his natural magic gets him information, it does get him accurate information which he can then use to help out various investigations.”

“Really,” Jon Quill continued with a winning smile, “In light of all that, I think Cantor’s having some natural ability to speak with the dead seems a far likelier explanation that anything else I’ve heard! And I’ve talked to some ponies who’ve had some pretty strong opinions to the contrary.”

Nurse Redheart looked thoughtful, perhaps even hopeful. She was taking it all in.

Cantor, meanwhile was staring off and frowning in surprise. He was clearly listening to one of his three ghostly companions. It also looked like he was pleased with what he heard.

“Uhm,” Cantor began, his attention returning to his sister, “In addition, on the employment front, it’s also theoretically possible that I could make use of my ability to speak with ghosts to become a ‘ghost writer.’ In a surprisingly literal use of that phrase. Morari here tells me that he had a number of unfinished, and unpublished, ideas for works which he would be more than happy to dictate to me, which I could then transcribe and publish on his behalf, and with the royalties from any sales going to me.”

Cantor blinked in surprise and delight, once again addressing what seemed to be empty air. “Thank you Morari! That’s a generous offer. … No, you’re the one who’s being too kind.”

Cantor shook his head and returned his attention to the living ponies here, particularly his sister. He grinned, “So?” That one word held a great many unspoken questions.

Nurse Redheart sighed in resigned defeat. “Fine. You’ve convinced me. I’ll talk to the judge here in the morning, but it will probably take a week or two before we can get anything pushed through to Manehatten. And I have no clue how long they'll take to put a stay on those orders.”

She grimaced. “Mom won’t be happy about this.”

Cantor nodded, “Sorry Sis! And thanks.”

“You will be spending the night here,” Nurse Redheart addressed all three of her visitors, and it wasn’t a question. There were nods all around.

“Good,” Redheart continued. She paused, as if struck by a sudden thought. “Say, Cantor, you wouldn’t happen to be passing through Canterlot soon, would you?”

Cantor looked surprised. “Actually, Canterlot was going to be our next stop. Our plan was to head that way tomorrow or the day after. Why? What’s up?”

Redheart sighed, “Aunt Providence had to let her old housekeeper go. The new one seems fine, her references all check out, but one of us needs to explain our arrangement with her.”

Cantor nodded solemnly. “Will do. I’ll handle Aunt P. You handle mom.” He grinned. “That’s how we’ve always split up familial obligations before, after all!”

“Hmph! Family obligations.” Nurse Redheart muttered. But then she stood up, came around the table, and gave Cantor a very tight hug as she quietly added, “Love you, big brother. You’ve got to start taking better care of yourself.”

Cantor hugged her back, “Love you too, little sister. And I’ll try.”