The Substitute Librarian

Chapters

2. All Work And No Play
3.Work Equals Force Times Distance Over Library Time
4. Clever Title
5. Final Push
6. Just Desserts
7. Alicorn and Alibi
8. Alicorn and Alibi
9. Intermission
10. Night Deposit
11. Cold Season
12. Guest Front
14. Hearth's Warning Eve
15. Hearth's Warming Song
16. Hearth's Warning Presence
17. Hearth's Warming Grifts
18. Hearth's Warming Passed
19. The Mountain
20. The Stair of the Mountain
21. The Young Mare of the Mountain
22. The Memoria of the Mountain Mare
23. Never Volunteer
24. Never Volunteer to Move a Piano
26. First Ponyville Bank and Distrust
1. Moving Targets
13. Snakes in a Library
25. Never Volunteer to Move a Piano Downstairs in a Hurry

2. All Work And No Play

The Substitute Librarian
All Work and No Play

The rumbling in his empty tummy tempted Emerald to stop in at the bakery for an actual piece of cake on his way to the library and his temporary job. However, Sun was up high enough in the sky to discourage such a slothful idea as to be late to his first day of work. That still did not mean he was unable to enjoy the journey.

He hastened his steps into a pleasant stroll in the direction of the huge oak tree in the center of town, which could only be the Golden Oak Library. The town certainly could afford to tear the old tree down and replace it with a modern structure if not for the pragmatic approach of earth ponies to such financial expenditures. Most probably the budget for pest control and arboriculture visits was less than the equivalent amount of upkeep on a brick and glass structure, and the savings could be held in the town’s reserve fund in case the old tree caught a stray lightning bolt or tipped over in a storm. Plus over the years, it put on its own free building expansion projects, although probably slower than the residents wanted.

Emerald felt just a bit sorry for his father’s groundskeeper, stuck out in the orchard in the heat of the day and sweating his hide off while the lazy pony he was sent to keep an eye on was resting in the shade. The thumping of heavy school books in his saddlebags reminded him of the studying he was going to be doing while sitting around a quiet library, which made bucking apple trees seem slightly better in hindsight.

Maybe I can slip over there during lunch and bring him a cupcake from the bakery. It would give me a chance to stretch my legs and Dawn always had a sweet tooth.

His rapid stride brought Emerald to the front door of the leafy library just about at the same time as a young schoolteacher and her following throng of reluctant students. The earth pony teacher was a cheery pinkish-purple, a shade that Emerald found himself at a loss to identify by name, although he was more drawn to her bright attentive eyes and friendly smile.

“Good morning,” she fairly chirped. “I’m Miss Cheerilee. Are you waiting for the library to open too?”

“Actually, I’m opening the library,” he explained while rooting through his saddlebag and trying to find where the key had settled. “My name is Emerald City, and I’ll be the substitute librarian while Miss Sparkle is absent. Ah, there it is.”

Emerald picked the spellkey out of his saddlebag and held it in one hoof before touching it to the library’s bright red door. “There we go,” he declared before giving the doors a sharp and ineffectual tug.

Oh, pucker. It’s one of the company’s horn-keys.

“Maybe it’s stuck,” suggested Cheerilee before hustling over to a wandering student and herding her back into the group.

“Actually, I was just testing to make sure the locking enchantment was in place,” said Emerald. “Who here is the most powerful unicorn?”

“Twilight Sparkle,” chorused most of the little ponies, with two of the colts adding, “Trixie,” just a moment later.

“Is Trixie here?” asked Emerald. “Because Twilight Sparkle is on a trip, and we’re going to need a really powerful unicorn to use this key and open up the library this morning. Trixie?” Seeing none of the students volunteering, Emerald lowered himself to one knee and held the spellkey out on the flat of his hoof.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea, Mister City,” said Cheerilee, looking more than a little nervous at the flickering glows of illuminated stubby horns.

“Call me Emerald, please. Now, let’s have a little contest this morning. If I can get the unicorns in your class to come up here to the front, we’ll have them try to lift the key one at a time. The rest of you will be responsible for cheering them on, and for judging just who gets to open the door. Won’t this be fun?”

The students cheered.

The teacher looked very much like she wanted to find a suit of armor and a welding mask.

Five little unicorns lined up with some small amount of tussling for dominance that Emerald quashed by assigning them positions.

He was not too worried. About half of the class did not even have their cutie marks yet, so the worst the little unicorns could probably do was light their corona and make sparks.

Admittedly, the first one made hot sparks, but with a name like Firelock, he should have expected it and been a little more careful about holding the spellkey. One of the others could not even get her horn to light up, and a tubby colt almost appeared to be having a constipation fit during his attempt. The most promising candidate was a tall colt who looked to be all knees and ears. He at least managed to light up his horn with a partial corona, but after a few moments when the key did not glow or move, Emerald had to ask.

“Snails, was it? Are you trying to lift the key?”

The tip of the colt’s tongue emerged from the corner of his mouth and the key trembled slightly, floating up a hoof-widths but only for a moment until the hornlight abruptly cut off and Snails took a deep breath. “Whew. I almost had it there.”

“You weren’t trying as hard as I was,” said Snips, puffing out his chest proudly to make himself look bigger.

“Guys, we have one more contestant,” chided Emerald. “Your name is Dinky?”

The little student nodded, then put on her fiercest face. Somepony out in the diminutive audience whispered, “Go Dinks!”

Several sparks later, the young filly gave out a rush of breath and sat down on the library path.

“Nice try,” said Emerald in his most encouraging voice. “It looks to be close, but I believe Snails is our winner. Come on up here and open the door so you can be first inside.” He held the spellkey up to the door and watched Snails light up his horn again.

It was difficult to conceal his trepidation. After all, if the schoolfoal could not push enough magic into the working, Emerald would have to go find an adult to open up the building. An adult unicorn, of course, because Emerald could not do it himself. And that would probably put an end to his attempt at keeping a low profile.

The workings under the doorframe felt smooth, far more expertly laid than the commercial locking enchantments in House Chrysanthemum’s catalog, even the most expensive custom ones that were sold only by appointment, cash in advance. As a small colt, Emerald had tagged along for several of the security installations, quietly observing the elderly locksmiths ply their trade in interconnected runes and intricate workings that hurt his eyes unless he squinted really hard. For this door, the warning sensation of magical lines of force nearly flowed like water under the spellkey’s codes and Snails’ magic, a fluid entwining that grew right up to the point where the door lock gave out a low clunk. Emerald pushed the door open and waved the schoolfoals inside, giving a deep bow of the head to their teacher who was following them all in like an alert sheep dog.

“Thank you, Mister… I mean Emerald,” said Cheerilee with a smile. “They’re all supposed to turn in a book report next week, and that would be a little difficult without a book, wouldn’t it?”

Emerald had never been in a library tree before. The students seemed to know where everything was, and their teacher had them under control. It would be a shame if he did not poke around his new workplace at least for a few minutes, so he knew where everything was.

With that in mind, he took a quick look around the entrance, a respectable divot in the cavernous central chamber where incoming patrons could stomp the mud out of their hooves, which he did. The thick bristles of the welcome mat scratched right on the frogs of his hooves where he needed it most, making him feel welcome indeed when he took a step forward into the main room and responded back to the smiling teacher.

“Not a problem. This is a library, after all. Although it’s not quite like my father’s. I’ll just look around while your students find what they need.”

He tried to get a sense of the job ahead of him while walking past the book-crammed walls, starting with a quick stop inside the library’s bathroom. From the looks of the claw-footed cast iron bathtub and tidy sink, the small space did double-duty for both patrons and librarian, with a short stool in front of the sink for shorter foals to reach the spigots, and…

…with only one partial roll of toilet paper, and one rough cotton towel.

“Welcome to the Monastery of Saint Twilight of Ponyville,” he murmured once he had taken care of his business.

Thankfully, the packet said Thistle Burr had been the previous librarian, commander of the leafed legion, and squirrely nut in the library tree. Since she had been an earth pony, and most likely an earth pony had preceded her for several generations, most library processes were uncomplicated by his lack of a horn. This meant the main room’s librarian desk contained the locked bathroom linen closet’s key, a simple twisted piece of metal from a style dating back decades.

He used it to open the wall cabinet, which thankfully had not been magicked-up by the current librarian for security, and considered the contents. These were not towels for the patrons, being plush and fuzzy with a script ‘TS’ embroidered on each end, just what one would need to wrap around a soggy body after a good, long soak.

Also and oddly enough at the back of the cabinet, there was a collection of scented soaps and body lotions that would have put most beauty salons to shame, a short row of perfumes bottles that still had the sealing wax on the lids, five different kinds of mane shampoo and twelve conditioning products, as well as several sealed boxes of exfoliating pads, blush, eyeshadow, mane ‘frosting’ treatments, and other such feminine products.

He refilled the toilet paper dispenser, put an ordinary bar of soap next to the sink, got out an extra roll of toilet paper to sit on the back of the toilet, put the lush towels back on the shelves, and locked the cabinet with a sigh of relief.

Duty (and the quiet knocking of a student at the door) evicted him from the peace of the small chamber, and he strolled up the short-stepped ramp to the second floor. Which, of course, was just about as densely packed with books as below, including some on shelves which only pegasi or unicorns could possibly reach. There was also a closed door, most probably containing Twilight Sparkle’s personal space in the library, which he left closed. And a few steps up the ramp took him to an open balcony, the perfect place for the aspiring young librarian to enjoy a fall breeze, look out across the peaceful town, and still keep an eye on the library’s main room.

After taking a deep breath of the fresh morning air and relaxing, he had a few comforting moments to look out across the library floor from altitude with all the students scurrying around between the bookshelves. The space inside the tree was larger than he expected, since everything packed neatly into curved corners and nooks instead of nice, straight, labelled shelves. It did have accommodations for earth ponies with ladders and inclined steps, which only made sense since Ponyville was a mostly earth pony community, and the world had not started when Twilight Sparkle set hoof here. In fact, it was a much warmer space than his family library, where each child had been trained to remain silent and respectful.

“Hey!” he barked to a pair of students right below him. “No running, please.”

Not a sign that Emerald was turning into his father. Really. He tried to tell himself that while walking down the short-stepped ramp to the main floor of the library where he had dropped his saddlebags next to the desk. It was, of course, an oak librarian’s desk, built much the same as librarian’s desks had been built since the first pony had put together the first book and placed an implacable guardian to prevent it from being touched by lesser beings. The chair behind the desk’s impressive bulk was as stately as a throne in its own way, much like his father’s sturdy chair in the library at home.

Rather than sit down, Emerald decided to check out the rest of his new job’s work space first.

Just behind the librarian desk, there was a kitchen tucked away in a woody nook, a tiny space that just cried out ‘spinster’ in large, capital letters. All it needed was a half-dozen cats lounging around the tiny window and outside the back door, a few scattered around the window planters, and the picture would be complete. It certainly was just large enough for one, or two if the second was a very small dragon. The sink had barely enough space to put the drain rack to one side, and it had the obligatory two of everything from plates to spoons to cups, a teakettle on the stove…

Make that a full set of tea-making things, and every meaning of the word ‘full’ was obvious. Princess Celestia with her legendary love of the leaf could have walked through the low doorway to the kitchen and made herself perfectly at home. The copper kettle on the stove was burnished to a fine glow, the three infusers in the drain rack would fit perfectly into the mouth of the simple ceramic tea kettle placed on the small amount of counter space, and… Tea. There had to be tea.

Opening the door to the pantry revealed the elusive tea supply, which was nothing near what he expected. It appeared Twilight Sparkle had purchased several large tins of generic wake-up juice powder simply labelled ‘Wake Wake’ and stacked them across the bottom of the limited pantry space, with only the last one showing signs of use. Then there were the usual pantry items such as canned goods, flour, sugar, and baking supplies, all at a height where Emerald would have to duck his head to use them, and which fit with the estimated size of Twilight Sparkle’s dragon servant.

There was a considerable shift once the contents of the shelves reached his nose height. Many boxes of tea, boxes of strange brews which Emerald had never heard of before, and which he suspected were gifts on the order of ‘What can we possibly buy a unicorn who has no life?’

Still, there was nothing that fit within Emerald’s limited ability for cooking, i.e. haychips or… well, that was about it. The icebox seemed to be a better candidate for an early-morning snack before work, or at least until he opened it.

“Cheese,” he murmured, giving the orange block of supposed lactose produce a solid thump, “or some sort of brick. A bag of fossilized prunes probably older than the town. A jar of olives with all the pimentos sucked out of them. Brown stuff that’s supposed to be green. Green stuff that’s supposed to be brown. And wake-up juice,” he added, looking down into the pitcher, then pouring the thin granular residue remaining into the sink to make more later. “At least the icebox has cold water.”

That was an understatement. The filtering pitcher was the top of the line, with a familiar thaumic osmotic separation system guaranteed to give only the cleanest possible drinking water. Or as he got a better look, the cleanest possible tea water for the kettle sitting on the stove.

“You’d think they didn’t have hot tap water,” muttered Emerald, only to give the statement second thoughts. “I wonder if they have hot water.”

The rational place for a water heater in a building made out of a tree… would be somewhere he had not looked yet. Emerald poked his head out the kitchen’s back door and checked the porch, a little underwhelmed at the plebian nature of the utility room. A set of closed bins with some carrots and potatoes, an open bin of dusty alfalfa that had most likely been purchased a year or two ago, and the expected water heater where it would not leak all over the books when it inevitably failed. Oh, and a worn rake, the most needed yard tool for anypony who lived in a tree.

He did not step outside to look at the recycling bins in the back yard, because the door tingled just as much with security workings as the front, and the idea of having to knock on the library front door to have one of the children let him in would be more than a little embarrassing. An additional small door in the kitchen proved there was even a basement in the tree, although it mostly had boxes, a few stacks of old encyclopedias, and some stored medical equipment for whatever reason.

Enough time to scrounge through the basement later and see if there’s anything interesting in the junk pile. Better deal with the students now. I’ll check back when things slow down.

Returning to the main room, he took his place in the big oak chair with all the grace one would expect from the King of the Library. The chair creaked regally when he put his rump down on the flattened cushion, thus leaving His Majesty to reign over his papery kingdom…

...which was presently being pillaged by a marauding band of barbarians.

“Hey, no more than one pony on the ladder at once,” he cautioned. “And no fighting over the books… um… whoever you are.”

The king quickly turned into a jogger, moving around the library in a mix of exploration and discouragement of same, particularly when two of the colts had the expanding platform lift shoved over to the section on pony anatomy in search of a lesson that their parents would probably have kittens over. The teacher was a great help in identifying the names of the little spawn so they could be chastised more correctly, with the most troublesome being three of them who did not have their cutie marks yet.

There was also a red tag on each of their library cards with a long listing of book topics they were forbidden from borrowing, some of which made him look twice. And one which required checking to see if the library even had books on that. And it did.

Thankfully, the process of checking out books was so easy even the school foals could not mess it up. They each signed the notecard in the back of their desired book and turned it in before trotting off with their teacher, leaving Emerald to stamp the card with…

He added another note to the ‘Equipment For Purchase’ list, because the existing datestamp dated back to the Paeleopony Era, and had been stuck in a bottom drawer long enough for the ink to have turned into an insoluble glue. That meant having to mouthwrite the date on each card and file it, then retrieve the cards for the books the students had returned and match them up. At least the ‘Youth’ section of the library was all in one location, although just why the previous librarian had put the shelves there in backwards order baffled him. Maybe it was so that the students would not have to use the ladder?

The returned books having been dealt with, Emerald returned to the task he had originally intended and had been procrastinating about. Since there were no more library patrons wandering around, he spread all of his college books out on a table near the front door, got out his notes and his mechanical hoof-scriber, and had just settled down when an itching reminder in the back of his head made him get up. He walked back over to the librarian’s desk to open the thick packet of instructions he had been given when he got on the train and gave them a quick scan, which confused him even more at first until he realized that the librarian had written on the backs of the pages too.

She wrote out a numbered schedule. Broken into five-minute chunks for the entire day. With bathroom breaks. Oh, we can’t forget going to the bathroom, Little Miss Obsessive-Compulsive. And process statements for every task. Like I need…

Emerald got up from the desk and checked the library card drawer. There was one of the students with an overdue book, but she had brought it back, and it really was not worth nagging the youngster for two bits, so he marked out the fine and struck through the line in the ledger. That brought up a second moment of disbelief, which made him review the ‘Process - Overdue Fines’ guidelines, and then another reading of it to make sure it was right.

“Nopony charges compound interest on overdue library books,” he muttered. Flipping to the front of the ledger as an experiment, he took the first un-struck overdue book on the list, applied Twilight Sparkle’s formula to it, and began flipping beads on the desk abacus. When he ran out of beads, he resorted to using the graphite hoof-scriber on a piece of notepaper for calculations and considered just how many zeros the answer represented.

I don’t even.

Flipping the notepaper over, he sketched out a quick sign in graphite lines, then took a quill in his teeth and inked it. As a substitute librarian, he most certainly had the authority, and the thought of some unsuspecting long-term citizen of the small town having a debt larger than the Equestrian yearly budget hanging over them would have kept him from studying anyway.

Once the ink had dried, he took it outside and tacked it to the wooden Golden Oak Library sign, then returned to his books to get his studying underway. If the quiet library had a few customers who dropped off a forgotten book or two today, it would not bother him at all. There were still three classes worth of notes he had to get through just to keep even in his schoolwork, and that was not counting whatever his fraternity brothers took in review notes for the midterms he was facing later.

The useless schedule Twilight Sparkle had prepared for his imprisonment remained unread on the librarian’s table, while outside a simple paper sign attracted its first pony. She read it with growing interest and promptly set off to her home, spreading the news as she galloped.

Four Bit Friday Amnesty
Overdue library books may be returned today for a maximum fine of four bits each. Cash only.

3.Work Equals Force Times Distance Over Library Time

The Substitute Librarian
Work Equals Force Times Distance Over Library Time

“Shh!!”

There really needed to be some sort of unicorn device to automatically make that noise when somepony stepped inside the library. Emerald made up his mind to bring the product suggestion up to his father the next time they talked, most likely in a few weeks when his parents’ cyclical attempts at matrimony induction for their most helpless child would crest again.

“Sorry,” whispered back the library patron, a young earth pony mare with flattened ears, a look of perpetual terror, and a blooming red rose on her shapely flanks. “Is the amnesty still in effect? I just have a few books overdue. And two magazines. They’ve got an article clipped out of them. The magazines, not the books. Are there additional damage charges?”

“One bit each for older periodicals,” said Emerald while striding over to the library desk, which was already heaped with returned books. “Let me get these marked off the ledger. Once you give the library the bits, that is,” he added since bitter recent experience had led him to the discovery that marking out a book fine without the bits in hoof led to a whole list of excuses and the departure of the patron ‘just for a moment to get my coin pouch’ and their complete absence afterward. Experience also made him count the bits, together with the tenth-bit pieces, buttons, pebbles, and other loose change until the required fines had been met, before he inked a thick line through each of the ledger entries. “Would you like to keep the overdue tags as a souvenir? I can mark how much you saved on them.”

Rose declined, of course, like every pony before her, and checked out several more books before asking in a timorous voice, “Do you know when my book requests will be in?”

He should have just said “No” and seen her out the door because Emerald had so much schoolwork still to do. The question triggered his own curiosity, and a few minutes leafing through the files showed there was a collection of book requests pending, some of which had been in the files for well over a year. Next to the yellowing pages was a ledger of recent library acquisitions, a long list made up of mostly expensive spell books and esoteric unicorn theory, which he stuffed back into the files before Rose could get a look at them and complain about the unfairness of it all.

“They’re on order,” he said instead. “I’ll contact a book dealer I know in Canterlot and put your request at the top of the list.”

The young mare squealed with delight, babbling something about the series being terribly underrepresented on the library shelves as she was gently nudged out the door. It left Emerald just enough time to sit down at his books before the next pony walked into the library and inquired, “Is the overdue fine amnesty still in effect?”

By the time he gave up and just moved his study materials to the librarian’s hefty oak desk, there was a line of ponies with books in various states of undress — the books, of course, not the ponies — from prim and proper hardbacks with untouched pages due to their careers as borrowed end table decorations, to tattered paperbacks so ragged that he could barely read the library label on the spine. One patron even brought in the front cover of an ancient magazine, only the cover, that is.

The stack of battered books grew as the morning drew on. The initial burst of overdue material slowed once the word got around that four bits was a maxim for late fees, but not when dealing with damaged material. Several of the returned books were beyond repair, although the patrons cheered up when Emerald would consult the card in the files to see if it had been a popular title, and therefore would have been damaged incrementally by each patron in turn instead of having to soak the last poor sucker for the full replacement cost. And not the new price as the Twilight-written procedures stipulated. One of the advantages of his busy life before college was that Emerald had been responsible for his father’s library, and thus for the ordering of replacement volumes from more practical sources than the overpriced Canterlot bookstores.

It had been a constant pleasure to see just how little of his father’s money he could weasel down the purchase of his desired tomes between estate sales, book donations to thrift stores, and less than retail discounts from some of the family’s griffon business contacts. Canterlot unicorns took a lot of pride in how much they spent on a book or collection, while griffons most certainly did not. Oh, prominent Protocrestians had books, of course. The saying was that they had at least two of them just so they could use the plural. It was a misplaced saying at best, because one of the sharpest book traders Emerald knew was a griffon, after all.

With that in mind, he separated the returned books into several piles: Reshelve, Reblock, Resell, Reject. The last category was the saddest. A paperback trailing loose pages would find new life after being pulped, perhaps returning to the library as something new and expensive. Or a newspaper, filled with Murdoch’s wild musings, more likely. Things had tapered off just enough in the afternoon for him to get some serious studying done when he heard the clopping of very small hooves approaching the desk right in the middle of a complicated bit of his lesson.

“Fines maximum of four bits each, cash only, thank you,” he muttered, running the hoof scriber under a line in his book and leaving a graphite trace behind. The phrasing of the statement he noted in the textbook was just enough different from the fraternity's previous test archives that he was going to need to research if there had been a change in the book’s text, or if the professor had been expecting the wrong answer for the last few decades. While working his way down the next convoluted paragraph, his nose involuntarily twitched, then Emerald had to wipe a bit of saliva off the corner of his lips as the familiar scent of baked goods struck home in his cerebellum.

“Cupcakes? Dawn!” Emerald gave a friendly smile to the small-ish burro, who had a box with Sugarcube Corner’s logo all over it sitting on his back, with a large paper bag holding it down. “You brought me lunch! How thoughtful.”

“Lunch was a few hours ago, M’lord,” said the burro in short, clipped words. “I came into town to buy our librarian a treat for his hard work. Are you going by Emerald today, sir?” he added.

“Using an alias for privacy is permitted under the terms of the volunteer agreement. So, are you spying on me for my father?” asked the substitute librarian with a huff of exasperation. “How about if I write up the report for dad? I’ll do it for free. ‘Your son spent the entire duration of the trip inside the library without a single mare in sight and nearly starved to death while studying.’ Short, simple, and accurate, I’m afraid,” he said over the sound of his stomach growling.

“Excuse me,” called out a pony from the library door, scurrying across the floor with several books perched on her head. “Are you in line?”

“So sorry,” said Dawn in his usual southern accent, taking a step to one side. “I was just getting some directions from Meester Emerald here. Go ahead.”

The burro remained quiet while the pony dumped five books on the table, tried to argue that twenty bits was far too much for a fine, and grudgingly paid it when Emerald threatened to raise it due to the tattered scuffs and numerous toothmarks on the book covers. Once the cheapskate was back outside, Dawn turned back to Emerald and shook his head slowly.

“What?” Emerald sorted the books into piles with their similar brethren and frowned. “You don’t criticize my extortion technique for getting late fees and I don’t tell your apple-picking buddies that you have a degree from Hayvard. Deal?”

“Tch-tch.” The burro shook his head and spoke with a clear, upper-class accent again. “Blackmail. What would you father say, M’lord?”

“He’d critique my technique. Now, come on. Thanks for the food and get out. You’ve got apples to pick and I’m going to be up until midnight working on my lecture notes. Midterms are coming.”

Giving a brief shudder as if Dawn was recalling his own time in the institutional shackles of higher education, the burro put his packages down on the desk. “As your mother specified in my last-minute instructions this morning, we have one dozen mixed donuts with sprinkles, a half-dozen cupcakes ranging from carrot to pumpkin spice, and a fresh pie. Apple, of course, from the farm. And in the bag, I’ve added a large collection of healthy carrots, apples, pears, peaches, and a bag of granola. They were on sale, but I left out the turnips, sir,” Dawn added. “I got indigestion just looking at them.”

“This assignment better not last a week or I’ll turn into a fatty immobile lump in the bottom of this tree.” Emerald picked up the paper sack of fruits and vegetables, carried it off to the kitchenette, and stuffed it into the mostly empty icebox. Then after a moment’s thought, mostly driven by his nose catching scent of the tempting pie, he got a clean plate and a fork out of the drain rack in the sink. “Gotta get at least one piece of this,” he muttered, easing a slice of apple pie out before pushing the rest back at Dawn. “Go ahead and take the donuts and the rest for your crew. I gotta get back to work or I’ll flunk Educational Thaumaturgy 207 along with the rest of my study group. Oh!”

After a quick dive behind the desk, Emerald resurfaced with the antique datestamp and pushed it over to Dawn. “Do you know any place in town where I can drop this broken hunk of junk off real quick to get it fixed?”

Naturally, the first mechanical shop Emerald was directed to, only fixed and built wagons. Since the smallest wrench they had was larger than the bent datestamp he wanted to get fixed, and he was on a tight schedule, he kept going to the next store.

And what a store it was.

The Enchantment Grotto was a sparkling wonderland of unicorn magic applied to frivolous needs and entertainment purposes which would have driven Emerald’s father into a rave of at least an hour, detailing every single way in which each thaum of magic could have been put to far better practical use.

Naturally, Emerald loved the place.

Glittering displays designed to sit on a shelf and be admired, beautiful starfields which could be applied to ceilings and synchronize themselves to the night outside, tiny little groves of gemstone plants that tinkled and sparkled in imaginary breezes. Even illusionary fish that would swim through the air, flicking their colorful fins and gliding up to unwary watchers. It was all so wonderful that Emerald could ignore for the moment how the whole expensive collection was designed to keep the purchaser from just going outside and enjoying what the real world had, and at a much lower price.

The one thing Mrs. Wonderment did not have was any way to fix any of her items.

To be honest, Emerald was not surprised. Most places that repaired unicorn workings were half-full of broken items, covered in char marks, and frequently in a state of reconstruction, something that made sales rather difficult.

He still wanted to just stay and admire the way the elderly matriarch of the establishment had decorated her small store, but he moved along on his task instead of playing hooky from his job because of a certain look in the eyes of Mrs. Wonderment. It was as if she was trying to remember having seen a little earth pony colt with the same cutie mark tagging along behind his unicorn father on a sales call a decade ago, and rather than explain his present adult penchant for fedoras and anonymity, he scrammed in the direction she indicated.

Which finally left him at Ratchette’s Fix-It Shop. The name had a nice ring to it, far more promising than the other two, along with a list of services on the sign, and a blessed ‘Open’ sign in the front window. The cardboard box of library date stamps shifted on his back as Emerald nudged the door open to the tune of a musical bell above the door, which happily chimed out a childish tune about a grandfather clock and several foolish mice.

“Hello?” he called out into the crowded shop area, or perhaps a used parts sorting room. When he had been younger, Emerald would have gladly spent days pawing through this kind of half-disassembled junk in search of some odd gadget or sparkling souvenir to show around class. His propensity for unrestrained curiosity around the company (and their junk pile) had constantly driven his father to distraction, and Emerald could almost recite the resulting familiar lecture about responsibility and caution by heart.

A noise came out of the back of the shop, sounding enough ‘just-a-minute-y’ to give Emerald a secret smile inside, and most of all, a few unsupervised minutes in the cluttered shop. After putting down the box of broken library card stamps and looking carefully at some of the parts scattered around, he began to peek and prod at the fascinating things, and one larger thing in particular.

Most of the regular junk in the room had been shoved together to make space for the rear axle of a wagon, which had some heavy assemblies bolted near the wheels. His father had never pushed his company into heavier devices like industrial shock absorbers due to problems with energy dissipation (and explosions), but the company who made these used a compressed double-serpentine of silvery metal that seemed to serve the same function. He poked at the edges of it, feeling the faint bite of passive spells under his silver shoes.

“So cool,” he breathed, then looked up to make sure he was still unobserved. Running one hoof down the edge of the thick metal case, Emerald cocked his head sideways and squinted at the interior workings of the hefty shock absorber, which had a few blackened spots and still retained the bitter smell of failed spellcraft. “Wish Dad could see this. Looks like they folded the enchantments back in S-curves instead of stretching them out flat like most shocks. It makes for a more compact design, but all that flexing must have broken something in there. I wonder how they kept the parts from touch—”

There was a spark as his inquisitive hoof reached just a bit too far into the device.

Magic flowed across his silver shoe, a Magus Deluxe that only the finest farriers in Canterlot stocked. The shoe was quite conductive to magical energies in order to ground more powerful unicorn spells.

Very conductive.

And when Emerald blinked away the sparks, he found himself embedded most of the way into the opposite wall, with an attractive young pegasus mare fidgeting over his twitching body.

“M-m-ma’am,” he managed before taking a deep breath and shaking his smoking foreleg. “S-sorry about that. Must have been a r-r-residual charge. G-give me a minute.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” A little prying got Emerald out of the wall, with some extra effort for his poor mistreated tail which had gotten stuck between two boards. It gave him some additional time to study the young mare while waiting for the unicorn who ran the repair shop, who was probably some ancient crust… No, device repairponies tended to the younger generation, who were spry enough to dive behind cover, or could bounce back from the normal aftereffects of failing devices exploding and throwing them through walls. Maybe her brother ran the shop?

“Pardon me,” he managed once three hooves could be trusted to remain under him. The other hoof, still tingling a little from his ill-considered widget exploration, cautiously touched the brim of his hat. The simple fedora had thankfully managed to stay stuck to his head during his unscheduled flight across the room, which he hoped would prevent unwelcome questions while dealing with the young mare.

Not that he would mind staying around the cluttered shop for a few hours with the delightful things to examine and a friendly mare who needed more attention, but he had a job to do. A paying job at that.

Managing a polite smile for the young mare, Emerald added a short bob of his head instead of the deep bow that he wanted. “We have not been properly introduced, Ma’am. My name is Emerald City, and I’m Ponyville’s substitute librarian for the next few days.”

The steel-grey pegasus showed a moment of concern in those dangerous pale eyes, which she quickly covered up by extending one hoof and putting on a false smile. “Pleased to meet you. I hope Twilight will be back safe and sound shortly. Oh, and I’m Ratchette. The proprietor,” she added with slightly more emphasis.

“Pleased to meet you, Ma’am,” said Emerald, touching the brim of his hat with one hoof again, just in case his tingling hoof had missed it the first time. He may have been still a little stunned, but manners had been pressed into his thick head since the days of his first tutor, and besides that, the young pegasus was one attractive filly, even if she was a little on the smaller side and with a peculiar cutie mark. Trying not to stare at the equiportent diagram on her shapely flanks, he continued, “I’ve got some cash work for you. A few library stamps need to be un-stuck from their pads, and I think the datestamp got bent a few years ago because I can’t get it to work at all. Oh, and the index card sorter back at the library thinks it should shuffle randomly, if you want to tackle that later.”

“That’s… fine.” Ratchette divided her attention between him and the defective shock absorber, which still had a thin trail of smoke coming out of the open panel.

“I didn’t break anything, did I?” Emerald edged toward the door, trying not to limp as he got feeling back into his hoof. “I mean the inspection panel was wide open and I thought it was discharged.”

“No, no. It’s fine.” The young pegasus was still wearing the most peculiar expression, much like somepony who had bitten into what they thought was a daisy sandwich, only to find an avocado pit. She glanced down at the shock absorber one last time before poking her nose into the box that Emerald had thrown the broken library stamps into. “I can get you an estimate on these, if you like, Mister City.”

“Just call me Emerald, please,” he responded with a smile at the doorway. “And they’re just stamps. They’re mechanical, so they can’t be too expensive to repair, and if they’re broken too badly to fix, just tell me and I’ll pay you for your time out of the library funds. We had quite a few overdue books get turned back in, so we’re running a surplus in the ledger, but I didn’t want to just order all new stamps when we might be able to get them fixed for less. Anyway, if you have any questions, I’ll be over at the library, Miss Ratchette. Good day.”

There was a line of ponies at the library door by the time he got back, which he expected, and a number of books sticking out of the drop-off box, which was more than he expected. Emerald bumped the door open and picked up the little wooden wedge he had used to keep it from locking behind him, then turned to do his job, which took over an hour to get the backlog caught up. He was still fairly certain that the loose change he had scraped out from the bottom of the drop-off box did not match anywhere close against the associated overdue books. He dumped the bits into the cashbox anyway because it did not matter how many books a library theoretically possessed somewhere within a few hundred trots of the shelves, as long as there were books on the shelves, and getting them back allowed them to go out again.

He had just gotten settled down at the massive librarian desk with his school lecture notes when there was a thump…

...above him.

Followed by a whump, then a thud, and rather peculiar rain. It took a moment to realize the rain was just letters drifting down from above, and another period of observation to notice a dazed pegasus sitting in the middle of the library main room. Also thankfully, the mailmare did not appear seriously injured, except for the way her eyes pointed in different directions.

Derpy, however, was in the section of the orientation packet Emerald had read several times. She was classified as an environmental hazard, and pegasi were advised to give her plenty of airspace, while ground-bound ponies should not take insult at an impact as if it were aimed at them. Quite the opposite, in theory, because ponies who yelled at her and lost their temper were more likely to get hit, as if her crashes only hit the things she was trying the hardest to avoid.

Abandoning his homework for the moment, Emerald scurried over to the downed flier and helped pull her up, apologizing all the while. “I’m sorry, Miss Derpy. I didn’t realize the mail was ready just yet or I would have opened the… skylight?” He paused for a moment to look up at one of the big windows that had just swung closed on spring-loaded hinges behind the unexpected aerial visitor, then returned his attention to the young mare, who did not look like she could even attend college yet, let alone be given a uniform and a job delivering mail. “Didn’t know we had one of those. Anyway, I was wanting to talk with somepony in town to see if they could run an errand for me in Canterlot. Do you handle Ponyville’s delivery there?”

“Wha?” Blinking furiously, the young mare managed to get both eyes to focus on him for a moment. “No, that would get me home late.”

“Very well.” Emerald bent down to help gather up the loose letters and unconsciously sorted them, much the same as he had been hoof-sorting library cards for the last hour. “If you can pass word to the mailpony in charge, I’ve got a few letters that need special delivery and a package that needs to be taken to m— Taken to Baron Chrysanthemum’s estate in Canterlot, and another package brought back. It would be a daily run, or every afternoon as long as I’m here. With tip,” he added.

Once all of the mail had been sorted into Ours and Somepony Else’s, Emerald saw the mailpony off by the front door and checked the envelopes left behind. There were bills, of course, which reminded him to look for the library cheque book, and some postcards to be placed on the public bulletin board. He didn’t have time to read them all, of course, so he filed the bills, stuck pins in all the postcards, and settled back down with his delayed homework.

Which seemed to make the front door of the library creak open again. Of course.

“How much of a tip, sir?” The mailmare was looking… well, technically she was looking at two different things, but one of them was Emerald, so he surmised the question was directed at him.

“Twenty bits? I admit that’s not much, and the package isn’t ready yet—”

“I’ll be back right after my rounds are over and I’ve got the mail for Canterlot loaded.”

Then the mailmare was gone, presumably to resume her path of destruction and window-crashing until she ran out of envelopes.

Focus was the most critical tool of a student, but only one. Tools make more tools. Add lecture notes, archived old tests, outlines from previous students, and tidbits gleaned from books. Stir well, summarize, and organize, leaving a set of notes that his fellow fraternity stallions would be able to work their way down over the next week until midterms started. Tools make tools make tools. His work would pass through years of fraternity brothers, legions of wealthy upper-crust unicorns who would start their post-college years just the slightest bit smarter and ready to face the world, while owing some small part of their success to him.

It was an investment, of sorts.

One advantage Emerald had over his fellow frat brothers was that putting together their cram sheets left him with all of the relevant information hammered into his mind with sledgehammer-like efficiency. A second advantage he held over them was simple experience, since flunking out of the classes that his parents had forced him to take and re-take left him older, more experienced in the arcane ways of the university, and able to focus in even the most chaotic environment. And a third advantage was a tool that he could not think of as such, a pony quite close that he dared not flaunt around his hormone-filled frat buddies.

Dear sis,
Here’s the shorthoof study sheets for two of the major courses with early exams. Try to make the transcription as readable as possible and run off fourteen copies for the study group at the frat house. I’ve got four more I have to get done this evening, but I need the class review notes that Bunkie and Fips were supposed to take today while I was gone so I can put together the rest tomorrow. Bunkie should be over to the house this evening, so make sure to get the notes from him, staple the study sheet transcripts to his ear if you have to make sure he takes them back with him, and slap him ~~if~~ when he gets fresh.

The new job in Ponyville is a hoot. I mean literally, because there’s an owl living upstairs. If you can, drop by after midterms and ask for Emerald. I’ll be here unless I’m out running errands. Or got sent back to Canterlot. Lots to do, little time. Say hi to Snowball for me and make sure she’s not freaking out over her exams.

Your little brother,
GG

Emerald sat the letter to one side, dunked his quill, and started on a second letter to the griffon book dealer. He had intended on writing it earlier, but the traffic into the library was endless, made only worse by his own stupid idea about encouraging the return of late books. At least this letter was shorter, allowing him enough time to get them both into envelopes and stamped with the last two stamps in the desk drawer.

☑ - Finish off any critical library tasks that need done today.
☑ - Get first two cram sheets done for KFP
☐ - Shopping for wake-up juice, note paper, quills, stamps, toilet paper(!), chewing gum
☐ - Work through review class notes from Bunkie
☐ - Mark out his mare drawings and pornographic comments in margins
☐ - All nighter
☐ - Run away to Mexicolt and become a pool colt

It was just about closing time, or close enough that Emerald really did not care to keep the library open any more. After all, there was a mountain of books on the librarian desk for reshelving. He had resorted to putting all the recent returns (that were not leaking pages) into the reshelving cart and sticking a ‘Popular Releases’ sign on top of it. Since work was taken care of (or could be ignored for a day or two) and all of his notes so far had been packaged for the delivery to Canterlot, Emerald had just enough time to—

The skylight slammed open and Derpy plummeted through again, landing on top of the couch cushions that Emerald had dragged to her last impact area. A few flecks of stuffing indicated at least one of them would need repaired, but that would late until waiter. Err… Obviously, not enough wake-up juice after a long day.

“Here’s my package for Canterlot,” said Emerald, helping the young mare to her hooves and passing over the bound portfolio. “Cash in advance, I presume? Oh, and if you go in the house by way of the back entrance, Cook will send along a couple of muffins.”

After sketching out a quick map of the estate for reference, Emerald saw the mailmare off by way of the library’s front door. Then he flipped over the ‘closed’ sign, slipped the wedge back under the same door so it would not close all the way, and set off into the town at a gallop to see to his extensive shopping list.

At least this evening, it would be quiet enough to catch up on the rest of his homework.

Small towns not only rolled the streets up at night, but tucked them into locked storage so they would not be stolen. Only running as fast as he could allowed Emerald to make it to his self-assigned tasks before the stores closed, although it meant coming back through the library front door, pulling one of the wire carts from the Bargain Barn stuffed so full that it dragged along both sides of the doorway. After all, the parsimonious cheapskate who ran the library seemed to believe in only buying paper when the last sheet was used, and probably plucked passing pigeons for the poor-quality quills in the library public writing jar, so stocking up was a reasonable precaution.

He did not have any dramatic plans after his return, just putting all of his purchases away, shoving the borrowed cart behind some shelves, and returning to studying. That would have worked except for the small unicorn sitting at the library desk already, with her nose down in his lecture notes.

“Hey! Library’s closed. Sun will be setting in about an hour.” Emerald pushed the cart with his purchases over to the appropriate section of the heavy oak desk and began to refill the drawers while grumbling, “I’m not running a library, not a day care. I mean I am running a library.”

“Miss Twilight always lets me stay late if I don’t disturb her,” said Dinky. “I was just looking at your scribbles. Don’t you know how to write?”

“Excuse me.” Emerald put a ream of lined notepaper into the top drawer of the desk and stuffed the public quill jar full again with good quills. “I know perfectly well how to write. That’s shorthoof. It’s what they use in court when there’s no unicorn spells to transcribe the proceedings, because it’s faster than writing. A lot faster, once you get good at it. Now scoot, so I can get back to work.”

It took too long in the kitchenette to get all the brand name wake-up juice concentrate put away, the replacement paper trash bags stuck in the holder, and the dish soap refilled, so Emerald was simmering slightly when he pushed the empty cart back into the library main room. It helped that Dinky had run the toilet paper over to the bathroom, which gave him a chance to go back into the kitchen, mix up a pitcher of fresh wake-up juice, and pour himself a hefty glass of it.

Still behind schedule for the evening, Emerald had just gotten seated and started working his way down the remaining lecture notes when Dinky spoke up again.

“So why don’t you use a spell to write?”

“Can’t.” Emerald nudged the graphite feed on his hoof scriber and stopped scribbling. “Have you ever heard of Rhynorn’s Flu?”

The little unicorn shook her head.

“Nasty disease for unicorns, and yet it is one of the least bothersome at the same time. It makes unicorn magic… well, there’s a whole page of technical terms for it, but think of it as putting a sparkly crystal in a bright sunbeam. The magic of even the simplest spell gets scattered and goes everywhere except where it needs to be. Thankfully, that’s about the extent of the problem, except for a runny nose and sneezes for about a week. All three pony tribes can catch it, just like the regular flu, so the treatment is just bedrest and not using unicorn magic for a week or so until it goes away. Earth ponies and pegasi have no problem with that, but unicorns can get… crabby. My mother caught it once and broke nearly half a tea set before it ran its course, and that was just a mild case that made her spark for a day or two. Some unicorns get a lot sicker. They recover, of course, it just takes longer and they can’t use their magic during that time or it gets worse.”

“So you got your cutie mark in Rain-horn’s flu?” Dinky pointed to the stubby unicorn horn cutie mark on his rear, which was surrounded by several erratic sparks.

“I got my cutie mark in education,” corrected Emerald. “To be specific, teaching young unicorns their very first magic, and how to keep them from just making sparks. After that, I’m really at a loss for spells, to be honest.”

He had hoped the confession would allow him to return to his studies. Most unicorns lost interest rapidly when he admitted his magical talents were limited to the equivalent of knowing all forty-seven verses of the Camelopard Song. Of course, nearly every single unicorn that Emerald had spoken to in the last several years already had their cutie mark.

Dinkie, to his sudden realization, did not.

“Teach me!” she blurted out. “Mama doesn’t know how and none of the adult unicorns in town will pay attention except Twilight and she just uses all these big words until my head spins and I still can’t light up my horn and do any magic so will you teach me please please please?”

Emerald looked at those plaintive eyes. Then his stack of undone homework. Then with a sinking sensation, he looked around the inside of the library, which was devoid of any other ponies.

Teaching was a fragile occupation. Teaching foals was so fragile it could break forever with one sideways glance. All it would take was one female student like this one saying one word and all of his years in college to follow his talent would go to…

“Let’s go outside,” said Emerald. “Out in the town square.”

Sun was nearing the horizon, which meant there were still ponies scurrying around the town, trying to get delayed tasks completed before Moonrise. There were not as many ponies as the crowded Canterlot streets, of course. Sometimes Emerald though the entire mountain was one day behind and racing to catch up, although he could not imagine how far behind Princess Luna must feel.

“Magic is like this fountain,” said Emerald, poking at the still water with a stick.

“Magic has goldfish in it?” Dinky poked at the water with a stick also, frightening one of the pool’s denizens of the not-so-deep into making a brief splash.

“Well, all of the Unicorn Magic Youth Education Specialist literature today says we’re supposed to introduce young students to the wonderful world of magical exploration with an orchestra analogy, with all of the thaumic emanations and interactions like musical notes fitting into a symphony.” Emerald hit the water with his stick again and watched the ripples. “I like the books I found in my father’s old collection from his school years that talk about magic as ripples. Then about twenty years before that, magic was supposed to be taught as colors, and before that, I have no idea. Flavors, maybe. Teaching magic over at an ice cream store has some advantages, I suppose.”

“That sounds really good.” The voice was enthusiastic, but most certainly not Dinky.

Emerald looked up from splashing his stick in the fountain water. “Snips? What are you doing here?”

“Saw you with Dinky.” Snips shrugged his rounded shoulders and peered over the fountain’s edge. “Are you playing with the goldfish?”

“Mister Emerald is teaching me magic,” said Dinky, splashing the water with her stick some more. “But you need a stick.”

One thunder of small hooves later, Snips returned with a stick of his own. And another unicorn student, who had a marshmallow on the end of her stick as if there was a fire around somewhere. Or there would be soon.

Emerald looked over the bright, eager students and counted points on heads. “So Snips, Dinky, and Firelock. Who are we missing? Sweetie Belle and Snails?”

“The susptitute stork-keepers over at the dress shop make her go to bed early,” said Snips with his nose wrinkled up at the thought of the horrible indignity. “And his father won’t let Snails out of the house on nights where I’m out.”

“So why doesn’t he tell his father that you’re out on the nights when you’re home, and you’re home on the nights you’re out?” asked Emerald. “But I didn’t tell you that,” he added quickly. “Firelock, you probably shouldn’t stick that marshmallow in the water if you’re going to… Oh, never mind. Maybe the goldfish will like it. Anyway. Does everypony have their stick?”

Four sticks were proudly held up, one of which was a little sticky from the missing marshmallow.

Emerald had never really taught a structured class before. His experience was mostly limited to working with his little sister back when she was trying to get accepted into Celestia’s school. Although that was always with some of her friends, because fillies tended to learn in clumps much the same way that grown-up fillies tended to visit the bathroom together, because female, duh. And of course whenever his parents took him to some elaborate party or occasions, Emerald found it to be much more interesting to wander down to the foalsitting room and ‘help out’ with the children. That was where he had learned some of his most critical lessons on how to talk to older ponies, because many of the wrinkled old prunes running the room had their own ideas about what would be a ‘fun’ activities for their temporary charges.

This evening made for a far more interesting evening spent under the setting Sun with the four of them waving sticks in the fountain and watching the way the ripples interacted, sometimes to the point of making splashes when the resonant frequencies matched. Those splashes were analogous to the sparks that a young unicorn would make when all of their magic fought against itself instead of blending into a harmonious whole, and incidentally similar to the issues that an adult unicorn would have when suffering from Rhynorn's flu, which of course he mentioned again.

Sunset let him transition the wet fountain analogy into what it would be like to raise and lower Sun and Moon much the same way unicorns did centuries ago, before the modern labor-saving device of a Princess was invented. While typical levitation was a single-track spell where a unicorn would just reach out with their magic and lift, manipulating a stellar object supposedly involved two energy flows. According to accepted theory, it was a far more complicated routine than any ordinary unicorn could master without the risk of burnout, or somewhat more grisley and permanent consequences that history books tended to leave out (but which his students seemed fascinated by).

Once Sun had been placed firmly behind the horizon and Moon was lifted, Emerald shifted the lesson to the wind. He continued while all three students lined up facing the evening breeze with eyes closed and ears up, listening⁽*⁾ to their teacher.
(*) Emerald did not realize how rare this kind of attention was, since he always focused intently on his own teachers, and he had not gotten out into the real world of secondary education on the other side of the desk yet.

“Don’t try to feel anything having to do with magic,” said Emerald. “Just keep your eyes closed and feel the way the wind is flowing over your coats, brushing up against every hair. Lower your head so your horn points directly into the wind and imagine that same sensation flowing down it, across your face, along your body, and out your tail. Snips, stop waving your tail around.”

“It’s flapping,” said the chubby unicorn. “Since it’s a really strong breeze.”

The breeze picked up with the passage of a pegasus overhead, who followed her high-speed pass with a high-speed crash into the top of the library.

“And that’s the end of the lesson for this evening,” said Emerald, who had followed the trajectory of the laden postal pegasus with a sense of foreboding and a vague fear of having to fill out some sort of paperwork for the resulting injuries. “For homework, practice doing this into every breeze you can find while trying to imagine the same feeling running in the other direction.”

“You mean like farting?” asked Snips, which set the other two unicorns giggling.

“No, it’s—” Emerald paused in his turn toward the library and the college notes that were going to take up most of his evening. “Actually, if framing your magic that way lets you light up your corona, toot away. It’s taking something from inside you and moving it to the outsides, after all. Let me know how it works tomorrow. Now head home before you get into trouble, or miss dinner.”

The last word got the results he wanted. Little unicorns dashed in all directions, although Dinky headed at full speed toward the library, calling out, “Mommy, I’m glad you’re back!”

It did explain a lot, particularly Dinky’s lack of parental assistance in learning how to use her unicorn magic, as well as the reckless abandon which she was taking to the educational process. By the time he made it to the library, Dinky and Derpy had put most of the furniture back and made a neat stack of the sheaves of paper that his fellow frat brothers had sent him.

“Thank you, Missus Doo,” he said after checking his folders. “And I see Cook sent… crumbs,” he added, looking into the paper bag. “That’s fine, no problem. I’ve got fruit in the icebox. I’ve got quite a bit of work to do tonight, so if you’ll step this way, thank you, and goodnight.” Emerald splurged on his schedule for a brief wave and a smile to mother and daughter as they trotted off into the lamplit darkness.

He waited for a time, just looking out into the darkening night, until he was certain that Dinky and her mother were out of sight, then cleared his throat and asked, “Can I help you, officer?”

There was a rustle in the bushes, and a dappled grey unicorn mare emerged out into the library’s porch lighting. “How did you know I was there?” she asked.

“Because a complete stranger was playing with three of the town’s unicorn foals at the fountain while Sun is setting. If there isn’t a police officer watching the suspect, something is wrong. I’m Emerald City,” he added. “Education student at Canterlot.”

“Miranda Rights,” said the unicorn, looking a little like she had just bitten into an unripe lemon. “Chief of Police.”

Emerald stood there silently and observed.

“Interesting teaching technique,” said Miranda.

Emerald nodded.

“So, are you going to invite me in?”

Emerald shook his head. “I have a lot of homework to do this evening.”

“I know what you mean,” said Miranda with a slow shake of her head. “Every time the Crown sends a group of substitutes for our local heroes, I get a report.” She paused. “M’lord.”

Letting out his breath in one long huff, Emerald put a hoof against his forehead. “What do you want?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Miranda Rights paused again. “Sir.”

“I’m not offering a bribe,” said Emerald rather quickly. “I’m just here to do a job and get paid for it, but everypony wants something. I want to be left alone. You want the ponies of the town to be safe. Twilight Sparkle wants—” Emerald looked over his shoulder at the neat shelves full of books, the neat stacks of instructions on her neat desk…

“Another book,” prompted Miranda.

“To find the library in slightly worse condition than she left it in,” said Emerald, “with just enough things out of place or needing to be corrected when she returns so she feels good about herself, so she can think she’s a little better than her temporary replacement, and most of all, worthwhile.”

Officer Rights looked as if she were going to make a snarky retort, but after a few moments of thought, she closed her mouth and nodded.

“And since you’ve read my file,” continued Emerald a lot slower, “which includes my arrest record, my family history, and my academic career to date, and you’re still here, that means you’ve got more questions for me. Questions of the sort that if I don’t answer them, you’ll ask other ponies, like my mother, who I really expected to be here since she knows her son has temporarily escaped from the safe and secure environment of Canterlot.” He tugged at the collar of his vest. “You can barely see the leash, but it’s there, nonetheless.”

That earned him another slow nod, and the hint of a smile in the corner of Miranda Rights’ lips. “The previous librarian used to make a pot of coffee at night, and we’d sit out here on the library steps for an hour or two and just talk.”

“Thistle Burr drank coffee?” Emerald shuddered, but was momentarily taken aback at Miranda Rights’ momentary smirk. “You’re just pulling my tail, aren’t you Chief Rights?”

“Oh, no,” said the officer. “The librarian before Twilight is the nicest old mare you’ll ever meet. Thistle Burr, however, is the most—” her lips pursed in search of a word “ —difficult pony, who lives outside of town with the most disagreeable dog. They’re made for each other, really.”

“But the packet I got said—” Emerald paused, then continued slower. “The packet that every reporter would use when they come to town in order to write a nasty story about your present librarian.”

Chief Rights shrugged. “Typos do happen.”

“Typos. Right.” Emerald turned to walk into the library. “I think I saw her old percolator in the back of the pantry, and there may have been half of a can of grounds with it. If it will make you happy, Officer Rights, I’ll brew us up a couple of cups and we can chat out on the steps.”

“I won’t take too much of your valuable study time,” said the policemare as she followed him past the stacks of paper waiting at the library desk.

* * *

Over an hour of valuable study time later, Miranda Rights had still not gotten to the bottom of her coffee cup. To be honest, Emerald had only himself to blame. Between the Ursa, the hydras, the zebra outside of town, and of course Nightmare Moon, the tales the officer told made him think of only one thing.

“Why haven’t you moved out of Ponyville yet?”

“Honestly?” She made a wide gesture with her half-full cup at the quiet town, lurking under the moonlight as if it was just waiting to spawn some other world-destroying monster. “When I started the job here as a patrol officer, I was bored. You have to realize that excitement is bad for a police officer. We get called when some mare has gotten off her medication, or a little filly is walking through the town by herself at night, or worse, when something violent is happening. We can be bored for hours on end, and get all of our excitement in one concentrated burst when we least expect it. It wasn’t until I became police chief before I recognized what a special place this is. Sometimes it gets crazy, and it’s always different than normal, but despite all the backstabbing, complaining, squabbling, cheating, lying, and just downright nastiness that ponies do to each other…” She paused and took another sip, but did not say anything else for a time.

Emerald leaned back up against the library’s bark exterior and finished off the last of his coffee. It was his third cup, since he had thought drinking all of the first one would send the police officer on her way, or maybe the second cup would work. The third time did not appear to be the charm either.

Wake-up juice was a much more controllable way of keeping alert at night, and from the looks of the library pantry, Twilight Sparkle was buying the generic mix by the barrel, and tea leaves by the bale. Coffee was noxious, toxic, bitter, vile, and worst of all, smelled absolutely wonderful, thus giving the illusion of an exquisite experience while betraying the drinker with the first sip. Sugar did not blunt the taste much, even when the drinker put enough sugar to leave sludge along the bottom of the cup. Still, he had gotten slightly used to the taste over the years since it was a last resort of a studious student. Well, nearly the last resort. Emerald had never understood students who used Blitz or Pop to pass an exam when the week after, they would go through anywhere up to a page of consequences.

To drink this stuff, the former librarian must have burned out her sense of taste years before she retired. Or maybe she had a belly made of rusty iron. Still, there was something restful about sitting in the front doorway of the library with the warm light pouring out into the town’s soft darkness and the feel of the bark on his back. It was… librarian-like, despite the bitter drink that was setting his nerves on edge. And provided a way to scratch that itch between his shoulder blades whenever he thought too much.

The muffled tone of the clock tower finally made Miranda Rights stand up with her cup floating to her side. She gave the leftover contents a quick flick to toss them into a nearby bush, then passed the empty cup to Emerald.

“That’s the end of my shift. Time to go back to the office and check out for the evening. It was a pleasure meeting you, sir.”

“The pleasure was all mine, m’lady,” echoed Emerald out of habit before he checked himself. “I mean Officer Rights. Um… If you don’t mind a question.” Continuing before the policemare could voice an objection, he asked, “Do you think I’m doing a good job as a substitute? Honestly?”

“You want me to be honest?” Miranda looked back over her shoulder as she walked, seeming to blend into the shadows and vanish by stages with every step. “If you were a permanent librarian, I’d be overjoyed. As a temporary?” She clicked her tongue somewhere out in the darkness. “Miss Sparkle is going to blow her stack when she returns. And I intend on being as far away from the explosion as possible.”

4. Clever Title

The Substitute Librarian
Clever Title

Something was hammering Emerald’s head into the floorboards. It was probably related to whatever had crawled into his mouth and died, and the elephant who was sitting on his back.

The raw oak of the library floor felt cool and welcome against his face, if perhaps a little powdery. The resident librarian used a nice flavor of wax, although it was getting a little thin, and probably needed a second coat over the battered grain of the bare oak flooring. Or maybe he needed to quit licking that particular section of the floor to get the taste of old coffee out of his mouth. Yes, that would help. Some.

Prying an eyelid open only made things worse. Sun was happily shining through the library windows, at an angle that could only mean what Emerald laughingly called a schedule was already blown. And somepony was still hammering on the front door, which explained the rhythmic echo rebounding between his ears.

Defying the best efforts of gravity, inertia, and the rest of the world to keep him face-down on the floor, Emerald staggered to his hooves and set his best course for the library door, only to see a bedraggled brown griffon already standing there, who seemed to take great joy in knocking on the inside of the door while watching his reaction.

“Uncle Picker,” groaned Emerald. “I must have left the wedge in the door last night for some fresh air while I was studying. I didn’t think you’d be here until later today.”

“What, and miss my favorite client?” Rag Picker gave a short bound forward with his claws scratching along the library’s wooden floor and caught Emerald under one agile foreleg. With the other, he ruffled the pony’s uncovered tangled mane, then swept a lock of the same mane down over his forehead. “Where’s your hat, son? I thought you had that thing glued to your head.”

“Oh, my hat!” Emerald squirmed free of the griffon’s loose grip and vanished behind the couch, only emerging when he had his fedora back in place. “It’s a sticktation spell, Uncle Picker. You know that.”

“We old birds get forgetful when we’re older,” scoffed Rag Picker. He gestured outside with one wing, ignoring the maltreated brown feather that fluttered to the ground with his motion. “Like I almost forgot to pick up my driver before flying down here this morning.”

“Aye,” called the snow-white pegasus lounging outside the front door. Lark Spur was his usual laconic self, displaying his indifference to the early hour of the morning with a yawn that exposed every one of his perfect teeth. There was a rumor around the Buckball team that they wanted to forcibly change his name to Academic Probation last semester after he blew off one of his critical classes, and to see him out enjoying the beautiful morning instead of chained to a desk making one last try at cramming that information into his thick skull before midterms….

“Uncle Picker,” said Emerald firmly as he turned to the smirking griffon. “I wrote you to pick up some scrap and see if you can locate some books on the secondary market, not to try tutoring Ironhead here one last time before he flunks out of school.”

“Relax, dude.” Lark Spur made a little twisting motion with one hoof, but did not come into the library. “There’s no way I’ll pass this midterm, so I’ve decided to go with the flow.”

“And work for Picker for the rest of your life, pulling carts full of scrap books to the recycler instead of teaching young pegasi to fly,” said Emerald. “I’ve seen the way they look up to you.”

“Griffons too,” said Picker. “I told him, but you can see the words just bounce off his skull. ‘E’s stubborn, like some other young idiot I know. He would have made a good griffon.”

With a plaintive groan, Emerald trudged off to the tiny kitchenette, returning in a few minutes with a large glass of wake-up juice and an improved attitude. “Lark,” he managed after a long drink, “I tutored you all semester. This is the last class you need before graduating, but you’ve fought me every step of the way. Don’t you want to—”

The expression on the bulky pegasus spoke volumes. “Hey, I want to graduate,” he protested.

“Bull.” Emerald went over to the hefty oak desk and shuffled through several stacks of notes, talking as fast as he could put words together. “You’re afraid of going into teaching and failing. Well, I know a little something about failure. You’ve never given up in buckball, right? The coach would throw you off the team on your ear. You’ve lost games and you’ve won games; which one feels better? Are you a loser, Lark? Do you want ponies pointing to you in Canterlot, saying ‘There goes somepony who could have been something, if he had a drop of courage.’ Do you give up when the other team scores a goal? Or do you bite down, kick that ball, and score!”

“Yeah! Wait, what?” Although Lark was a fairly large pegasus, Emerald City was not exactly petite either. He put one shoulder under Lark’s side and shoved him in the direction of the desk, and the set of notes resting on it.

“Final exam notes for Adaptive Physical Education covering all three pony races. If you put your rear down in this chair and study today, you’ll pass. Fail—”

“And I’ll fire you,” said Picker. “No more trips around town with Uncle Picker, getting first dibs on book collections getting tossed. Enjoy shopping retail for a change.”

One of Emerald’s ears twitched with the unexpected support from Picker. “Does that mean you’ll be needing another wagon puller? I mean I can’t fly, but I can still… never mind. He turned back to the pegasus student, who was in turn casting a skeptical look at the stack of papers and organizing his excuses.

“I don’t see why I need to know about pony disabilities for all three races when I’m just going to be teaching little pegasi,” he started.

“Loser or winner,” said Emerald. “That’s a binary choice. Pony disabilities don’t cut that fine of a line. Have you seen a pegasus with Bucker’s Hip? I have. Not all pegasi are limited to pegasus illnesses or disabilities. If you want to teach pegasi foals how to fly, if you’re willing to put in that one final push to score that one last point, you need to know it all. Some little foal out there is just fluttering around on the ground, waiting for you to go teach him how to use his wings. And better yet?” Emerald lowered his voice and moved closer. “You pass that test and I’ll buy a round for every one of your frat brothers. Fail, and I’ll tell them what they missed.”

Lark Spur sucked in a panicked breath. “You wouldn’t. Would you?”

Emerald turned his back and moved over to the cardboard boxes of books he had organized, trying not to smile at the sound of rustling pages behind him. “So, Uncle Picker. I’ve got three boxes of recycling to load, and then we can discuss the list of used books I’d like to get ordered. Outside, so we don’t disturb Lark while he’s studying.”

It took a few minutes to get all the boxes of hopeless books, ancient newspapers, and magazine scraps taken out to the griffon’s wagon, which although small, was large enough to hold them and have some space left. One last trip into the library to get a drink, a minute to pee, and a headache pill stolen from Twilight Sparkle’s huge pill bottle in the bathroom, allowed Emerald to re-emerge refreshed into the bright morning to exchange opening pleasantries with Uncle Picker before the serious negotiations started.

“Interesting list of books,” said the elderly griffon. He waved the sheet of paper in one claw, with neat lines of book titles and maximum prices. “Lots of first editions in your dream list, I notice. Toss another box of scrap in here for me to pick through and I may consider a discount.”

“I probably shouldn’t. I’d have to yank out all the cards and do the paperwork to pull them from library inventory.”

Thankful for the library’s icebox, Emerald took a deep drink out of his chilled glass of wake-up juice, which he had made last night while in the sleepless throes of post-coffee cooldown. That blessed beverage covered up the lingering taste of his coffee from last night, which was why all his homework had been completed, the book request list filled out, the returned books carded, sorted, and stacked by library section, and he vaguely remembered climbing around on the top of the shelves with a dustrag in his teeth before sleep had claimed him. Thankfully, his collapse had been after crawling onto the library couch. Regrettably, there had been enough couch-lumps that the bare library floor had turned out to be more comfortable.

“You’re keeping the boxes of ratty old books at the end of the desk?” Picker gestured with a small metal flask, which he had just taken a good slug out of.

Ah, the real negotiations begin.

“Well…” Emerald considered his words and held his glass of wake-up juice out, which Picker reluctantly added a few drips from his flask. “Better,” admitted Emerald after another drink. There was more peppermint than alcohol in the Protoceran drink, although both ingredients helped open his eyes and nasal passages far more than the weak juice. Even his ears managed to perk up.

“Better be better, young ‘un,” cautioned Rag Picker while screwing the lid back onto his flask. “Your father sent it as a gift, an’ he don’t believe in shorting bits to a good friend of his.”

“Bits are actually the problem,” admitted Emerald. He leaned up against the rough wood of the cart and gestured with one hoof. “You see, those paperbacks are too expensive to throw away. Still, they’re worn enough that they need to be taped up at least, and I can’t do that very well.”

“I cud tape ‘em up,” admitted Picker.

“And sell them back to us,” continued Emerald without a pause. “Miss Bradel lives in town, and I’d really love to have her rebind them, but oh the cost! We could probably put in another branch of the library for what she’d charge. My father had his copy of Principia Thaumatica rebound by her a few years ago. Expensive as anything, but well worth it.”

“Aye, she does quality work,” admitted Picker. “I’ve sent many a prime but worn-out find to her talented hooves and gotten them back so sharp I could’a sold ‘em as new. Not that I’d do that to an old and trusted customer like you,” he added.

“I’m not old, you’ve never trusted anypony, and I’m barely a customer,” said Emerald. “Not like my father. So how much would you charge to tape them up?”

Picker said a number. Emerald winced.

“For that price I might as well have them pulped,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll toss them into the back of the wagon.”

“You most certainly will not!”

Having never seen Mrs. Bradel before was no barrier to recognizing her at first sight. Emerald City probably could have drawn an adequate sketch of the middle-aged mare yesterday after meeting her son and not had to change a single inked line now. She was smaller than most unicorns, in height but certainly not weight, with an oddly short and blunt horn for her age, which really went well with the narrowed eyes and the lips scrunched together into a disapproving scowl. Although her horn was pointed directly at Emerald, he knew without even looking that she had a book for a cutie mark, most likely done in extremely precise lines and quite neat, much like her short-cropped mane drawn back in an exact scroll-like curl. She was a unicorn who could have been effortlessly dropped into any gathering his mother presided over in Canterlot, where similar short-tempered unicorn mares got together and sniped endlessly about the failures of their unicorn sons.

Only in this case, he was the direct focus of her smoldering ire.

At first, Emerald thought she was going to snap at him for disposing of so many of the library books and periodicals, but an errant breeze took that moment to blow a loose page out of the wagon, or at least most of the page that had not been eaten by mice. Her thin lips became only thinner at the sight until they were nearly dotted lines, and her voice regained a little focus when she asked, “Where are they?”

“The books I was going to have—” Emerald stopped before saying the ‘p’ word and pointed at the library door. Mrs. Bradel stomped inside and returned shortly with two boxes of books floating behind her instead of the one box that Emerald expected to retape. “We can’t afford to have you rebind them,” he said instead. “I was hoping to find some volunteers around town to tape up the corners and spines so they would be good for a few more years, but—”

“Volunteers?” Mrs. Bradel let out a short snort, much like an angered minotaur. “Bending down corners and ripping up the covers? I think not!”

Emerald felt an unreasoned impulse to stick up for the volunteers who worked at the library, but to his regret there had been no new names on the signup list he had found, only dust and a few marked-out names with dates a decade ago.

“Now before I take these to be properly cared for,” snapped Mrs. Bradel with just the smallest hint of strain in her voice, which was probably due to picking up more weight than she was used to. “I came here to tell you to stop bothering my son!”

“Ah, Snips,” said Emerald with a great deal of his stress sloughing away. Working with young unicorns and their first magic made everything else he did worthwhile. Even putting up with mares like this one. “Your son was out at the fountain with the rest of us at the tutoring session last night. Officer Rights said they were all quite interesting children.”

“Interesting is not the word I would use,” said Mrs. Bradel. “You taught him how to make that horrible noise, didn’t you?” Before Emerald could respond, she plowed onward, “Honking like some sort of… digestive illness all around the house! It’s disgusting! It’s—”

“Wonderful!” Emerald beamed and took a step forward, his radiant face fixed in the absolute example of a teacher with a prize student worthy of a scholarship to the highest school in Canterlot. “I had no idea he would learn that lesson so fast. The other students are going to be so far behind him. You have a very talented colt, Mrs. Bradel. Brilliant, if I may say so.”

“Well,” started Mrs. Bradel. The distraction caused her concentration to waver, and the boxes of books began to slowly sag to the ground behind her. “I’ve always… Brilliant?”

“Learning how to focus his magic into a sustainable corona with a simple working in that short a time is quite a feat. Why just yesterday morning when I first arrived at the library, he was unable to even make a spark. I had to get young Snails to use the key to open the wards, but with this kind of progress and the correct encouragement, I’ll bet Snips will progress to multiple periphery workings inside of a year. How long can he make the sound?”

“A few seconds,” said Mrs. Bradel. “But—”

“Several seconds? Fantastic! Since he’s making so much progress, I suppose I can let him skip the next few days of tutoring if you promise to have him practice every day at home. That will let me work with the more difficult students and see if I can bring them all up to the same level of skill.”

“Skip… Oh, no! No you don’t.” Mrs. Bradel huffed herself back up, only this time in more of a Righteous Indignation instead of Divine Vengeance fashion. “If you’re having magic tutoring sessions with the other unicorn students, I insist my Snips be included.”

“Well, I really don’t want them to feel left out,” started Emerald, “but I suppose he would be a good example of how to sustain that ever so important first corona effect, and he could help teach the slower students. If it’s not too much of a bother, Mrs. Bradel.”

“I shall reserve a place on his schedule every evening you are here,” said Mrs. Bradel. “As long as you keep him away from that troublemaker! Now, I must be going. There’s work to be done.” With an additional sniff, the middle-aged mare hefted the two boxes of books and headed away, leaving Emerald to keep a pleasant smile on with his jaw locked shut until he was absolutely certain she was far enough away not to hear.

“What a pleasant young mare,” said Picker in his best monotone.

“She’s a gift horse, since she’s going to tape up the books,” said Emerald as he shrugged into the wagon harness. “For that job alone, she is a distinguished and notable member of the town. And the sooner I get out of town for a few hours, the lower the probability that she’s going to come right back at me like a badly thrown boomerang before the job is done. Let’s get these back to your warehouse in Canterlot. We can discuss the book requests while walking.”

“Sounds good to me.” The elderly griffon hopped on top of the wagon and made himself comfortable with the library book orders clenched firmly in one claw. “Onward, my faithful driver. Let us flee the scene of the crime before yon constabulary comes to enforce the restraining order.”

Emerald let out a chuckle when he started walking, the wagon clunking along behind, although the laughter trailed off with realization. “A restraining order?”

“A minor issue.” Picker straightened up and looked over his shoulder. “You could pick up the pace, though.”

The walk up the long road to Canterlot was far more interesting with Rag Picker to talk with, although it would have been nice if the elderly griffon had gotten down from the wagon. Emerald’s short bursts of speed to dart from class to class in Canterlot was not really an exercise program on par with a long, slow trudge up the side of Mount Canter with a passenger-laden wagon squeaking along behind him. Thankfully, it gave him the opportunity to get the griffon in a good mood by asking about his previous trips to the small town and the odd things that seemed to happen there on a weekly basis. It was good for Emerald too, because keeping one’s nose to the scholastic grindstone for too long left you without a nose to sniff the roses, and no place to rest glasses when you got old and feeble.

Although when Picker told him about the way Twilight Sparkle reacted to his last recycling trip to Ponyville, Emerald felt an irrational urge to return to the library, create a tiny altar out of the scrap books in the cart, and make a bloody sacrifice of himself across them to assuage the vengeance of a wrathful librarian.

The impulse only lasted a moment. He had more important things to deal with than a miffed librarian in a small town. He had goals. Tasks to accomplish those goals. Classes to pass in order to get the degree he needed to escape his father’s overcontrolling reach. Important ponies outside of Canterlot who needed to be given the proper opinion of his own skills and talents. Becoming a respected young unicorn magic instructor would be a long, slow slog up a tall mountain far longer and harder than the mere Canterlot road he was trudging up now, and one misstep would send him tumbling to the bottom in a metaphorical puddle of blood.

Until then, he could happily chat with the elderly griffon and get a good price for the library’s book order. The used novels and paperbacks could be had at a discount from Picker’s stash, a complex web of distributors and fellow trash-pickers across the land. The spellbooks that Twilight Sparkle had meticulously listed, not so much. Or rather, too much. Far too much.

“We’re not purchasing a mansion for you to have a place to rest your old talons,” said Emerald, grateful that the road was leveling out as they got near to the city. “They’re books. Just books. Third editions of the same volumes would fit in the library budget with space left over.”

“The list specifies first editions.” The smiling griffon waved a sheaf of papers. “And only first editions. Underlined twice. No self-respecting unicorn researcher would ever stand for anything less.”

“I don’t have any respect,” said Emerald. “My father would tell you so himself.”

“I beg to differ.” Picker leaned back in his bed of loose pages and shredded magazines like a fat old bird in his nest. “Youth. So impertinent. I think there’s a dictionary in this mess somewhere if you want to look it up.” The old griffon ruffled his feathers while Emerald panted for breath. “You’ve never had children of your own. Greedy little squabs, screeching and screaming about how bad they are being treated until they go flapping out on their own. Then in good time, they come scratching around the nest again, looking to find what they had lost without even knowing they had it. You are losing what you want to keep as badly as my brats did.”

“And what do you think I want?” Emerald slowed his pace to a sedate stroll, the wagon squeaking along behind him.

“Respect. Oh, I’ve seen the way the little ones caper around you.” Rag Picker gave a snort and wiped his beak on a loose page. “They worship at your hooves, and I know you would do anything for them in turn. All of the little ponies, not just unicorns. I’ve even seen the way young griffon chicks act around you. What I’m talking about is your father.”

“What about my father?” Emerald leaned into the harness until the wagon clattered along at a good clip, making the elderly griffon bounce on his makeshift nest, but not impeding his cutting words in the slightest.

“Oh, you talk big about getting out from under your father’s hoof so you can live a life of educating young unicorns.” Picker let out a sharp, rasping cough. “You’re living your life rump-first. Griffons have their priorities straight. Bits don’t lie to you. They stack up in neat little rows and keep to themselves. They don’t run your life, like you ponies and your Marks.”

“I’m not falling into my Mark,” countered Emerald.

“You’re either a gutless coward or an outright liar. If you really wanted to get away from him, you would have changed your name and emigrated to Protocera ages ago.” Picker stood up, stretched, and moved with one casual flap to walk briskly at Emerald’s side. “So why didn’t you? There are quite a few young unicorns in the griffon lands. They need somepony to teach them about their first magic also.”

“I’m frail, and would not survive the journey. Or at least that’s what my parents would say.” Emerald let out a breath in a sharp, bitter hiss as he tripped on a small stone and stumbled. In the process, his dark fedora tumbled from his head and rolled down the road, making him limp over to where it was lying in the dust. He jammed the hat back on his hornless head and snapped, “None of this would have mattered if I had been born a unicorn.”

“And if I had been born with a trunk, I could have been an elephant.”

Emerald kept walking, and Rag Picker did not say anything else for a long time. They continued in relative silence while the cart clattered along through the outskirts of Canterlot, along the streets, and to his shop. Unfortunately, the grouchy griffon resumed talking once Emerald had gotten the wagon parked in the pulping equipment yard behind his shop.

“So, you still want to order those spellbooks on your list before you go? All nice and fresh off the press.”

“Yeah, about that.” Emerald leaned up against the wagon to catch his breath. “Did you know that the last first edition spellbook I purchased for my father’s collection seems to have had a correction inside it that was only in the third printing of books by that author?”

“A fluke,” said Picker.

“And yet the flyleaf page clearly said it was a first edition,” countered Emerald. “Almost like somepony had found a source for printing a large stack of first edition flyleafs, purchased a binding machine from my father with all the most modern workings, and went through all the trouble of unbinding the brand new cheaper third edition just to rebind it with a new flyleaf and sell it for many, many times the price.” Emerald took a few tattered pages out of the bed of the wagon in order to wipe the sweat off his brow. “Purely theoretical, of course. By the way, how have the workings on that rebinding machine you bought last year been functioning? Father would probably like to know, because his company will be coming out with a revision for the spells in the workings early next year.”

Rag Picker walked over to the pulping yard gate and waited for Emerald to leave before closing it behind them. Then he named a smaller number.

Emerald waited. Eventually, Picker named another, slightly smaller number. Then, after a period of quiet beak-grinding, a last number far more suitable to the library’s budget.

After a few moments writing in the library cheque book, Emerald tore out a single bank draft and hoofed it over to the quiet griffon. “Thank you, Uncle Picker. I knew we could come to an agreement.”

“Maybe it’s better that you didn’t run off to Protocera after all,” he mused. “You’d own the place in a few decades no matter how many griffons are there.”

* * *

Sheer serendipity in timing allowed Emerald to catch a train for the trip back down the mountain to Ponyville with only a few minutes spent lounging at the station. It was a good thing, because his hooves were starting to hurt with every step. All he wanted to do was stagger back into the library, stuff the cheque book back into the desk—

Oh, buggerit. I have to get those Amnesty Friday bits deposited before Picker’s check clears or it will bounce like a red rubber ball.

And to make matters rapidly worse, five youthful and bright horn-adorned faces awaited him at the library door.

“All right!” cheered Firelock before the rest of them could speak. “Can we light something on fire this tutoring session, Mister Emerald?”

“Hold that thought.” Emerald darted into the library, pushed Lark Spur back behind the librarian’s desk, took away his comic book, and gave him a quick quiz on the notes he was supposed to be studying. Surprisingly, he did not do as bad as expected. So after pointing his older student’s nose at the rest of the notes, Emerald heaved the metal bucket he had been using as a deposit box out of the desk’s bottom drawer, muscled it onto his aching back, and staggered out the door again.

“This tutoring session will take place while walking,” he managed as the five little unicorns fell into step around him with all the organization and sedate manner of energized electrons around an unstable nucleus. “Snips, your mother tells me that you’ve started this lesson ahead of time.”

“Oh, yeah!!” The rotund little unicorn nearly tumbled when his hooves started dancing under him. “Listen to this!”

He stopped, planted all four hooves, and wrinkled up his nose while the faint glow of magic formed in a corona around his horn. Then there was an awful, terrible, flatulent noise that any colt would be proud of, complete with a slow dying off until it ended in a wet ‘poit’ that made the mind think entirely disgusting thoughts of trying not to step in something.

Despite the lateness of the afternoon, Emerald had stopped by his student to watch (and listen). “Excellent,” he exclaimed as he picked up the pace again with the jingle of coins on his back. “Can you walk and do that?”

“Me too!” declared Snails. “We had some practice time while waiting.” The taller unicorn’s steps hesitated while he was walking, and he did not squint quite so much, but a golden light lit up his horn in a simple corona while they walked, and a few moments later he began giving out a ‘blat-blat-blat-blat’ noise with every step.

“Excellent!” Emerald caught sight of the local bank and adjusted his course accordingly. “Normally, it’s the fillies who learn that spell first instead of the colts. Have you girls practiced?”

“I didn’t really have time,” started Sweetie Belle. “My friends and I were crusading—”

“Our fire chief, Red Splasher doesn’t like me practicing outside,” said Firelock in a rapid burst of words. “Or indoors.”

“I… don’t really have an excuse,” admitted Dinky.

“No need for an excuse when you have an opportunity. You five stay right outside of the bank here and practice together just as loud as you can. Remember, it’s like the feeling you get facing horn-first into the wind, only backwards. Since Snips and Snails already have gotten started on the lesson, they can coach you three. You’re all really close to getting this one, and I bet you’re all making noise by the time I get the deposit done. How does that sound?”

One general group agreement later, Emerald trotted up the front steps of the bank and tried the door, which was locked. He rapped gently on the glass and caught the attention of a sharply dressed bank clerk, who walked over to the doors and announced loudly enough to be heard through them, “I’m sorry, sir. We’re closed.”

Emerald checked his vestpocket watch, and eyed the sign. “You’re open for another few minutes. All I need is to make a deposit in the library fund and I’ll be on my way.”

The town clock tower took that moment to chime the hour, and the clerk’s face acquired a most subtle smile of very little amusement. “We were open. We’re closed now. Come back tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to keep this much money in the library overnight.” The moment he said it, Emerald knew it was the wrong approach. The clerk’s eyes moved to the bucket on his back, obviously calculated just how much work it would be to count the bits, and determined that the bank door would remain resolutely closed until morning.

Of course, that was before a stentorian ‘blat’ of impressive duration filled the air.

“By the stars,” exclaimed the clerk. “What was that?”

“Just my students, practicing their magic,” said Emerald over the sound of a second noise, even louder, as if Snips and Snails were engaged in a competition.

“Well, you can’t have them doing that in front of the bank,” snapped the clerk on the other side of the door. “Move along or I shall notify the police.”

“Your bank is closed,” stated Emerald. “You said so yourself. Certainly there can’t be any issue with noise outside a closed establishment.”

“But—” started the clerk, only to have a third noise echo around the street outside, sounding vaguely like an irate goose.

“And they’re improving so fast,” said Emerald just before a noise like a terminally wounded clarinet shrieked behind him. “Ah, that must be Sweetie Belle,” he added.

The clerk jerked her head up and looked past Emerald with an expression of barely suppressed abject terror. “The Crusade,” she whispered. “And… Oh, no. Is that Firelock?”

Emerald took a casual look over his shoulder at the four small unicorns putting out a cacophony of noise, and the reddish one in the middle who was struggling to catch up with her diminutive peers. “Yes, I believe so. Hopefully, this lesson will help her harness the control she’s going to need with such a powerful talent. I’ve always heard how young ponies are going to set the world on fire. She’s the first one I could see doing it literally.”

There was a jingling of keys in the door and the clerk fairly yanked Emerald into the bank. After that, things only sped up. The tin bucket full of bits was dumped unceremoniously into the counter bin, which growled and snarled as the golden disks were shunted off into individual paper-wrapped cylinders and the mechanical counter’s magic working clattered its way to cover the hot check Emerald had just written.

One of the clerks even pulled the deposit slip out of the library cheque book and began filling it out for him when Silver Standard, the vice-president of the bank, came out of his office to see what all the fuss was about. Emerald was not privy to the brief discussion the clerks had with their boss, but when the bit counter gave a crunching noise and ground to a halt with half of the contents still uncounted, the older stallion was the first one over to him with a smile and an offer to double the estimated amount of bits in the deposit if he were so kind as to accept the generosity of the bank toward the respected civic institution of the public library and if you would sign here please and take these six lollipops for your wonderful students thank you so much for doing business with us and we hope you have a nice day back at the library sir goodbye.

There was barely enough time to grab the deposit receipt before the doors slammed closed behind him, which left Emerald free to trot across the street to his independent study group.

“Ladies? Ladies! And you two also.” Once the farting noises died down, he waved the white piece of paper and passed out the lollipops. “Mister Silver Standard was so impressed by your progress that he gave you all a treat. Everypony wave, please.”

All the bank employees were lined up behind the wide expanse of plate-glass windows and waved back, some with obvious relief that the inadvertent concert was being canceled due to sugar intake, others with a furtive ducking behind something solid to use as cover.

“Now I hate to break up the practice, but I need to get this receipt back to the library and into the ledger. On the way, I need everypony and that includes you, young lady—” he added, looking straight at Firelock “—to practice the same technique only as quietly and consistently as you can. Think of it as a long hummingbird hum with the lollipop in your mouth keeping you from saying it, so your horn has to speak for you. Ready? Let’s go.”

Without an oncoming deadline, the trip back to the library was accomplished in a much more sedate fashion. Sucking on the lollipop gave Emerald the excuse to nod at the passing ponies instead of stopping to talk, which would undoubtedly disturb the student’s concentration.

Firelock was starting to worry him. Well, the little firebrand probably worried most of the flammable town in a slightly different fashion than her behavior worried him as a teacher. Her corona flickered and strobed like a candle in the wind while the other four students managed fairly constant although weak glows around their horns while walking. Her start at spellcasting was still far better than she had done when he first arrived in the town, but with her peers progressing ever more rapidly, she could lose confidence and backslide. Or worse, get frustrated and blow something up.

A quick trip inside the library while his students were honking outside did not make any epiphanies descend on his hornless noggin, but it did get the empty bucket and filled cheque book put away, and Lark Spur redirected back to his notes again. By the time Emerald came back outside, the unicorn study group was all honking away by the fountain, less one who could be seen trugging away.

“Hey, Firelock! Wait up.” It took some quick galloping to catch his reluctant student, who nearly turned the corner by the time Emerald got in front of her. “You’re supposed to be over by the fountain so you can practice,” he said. “Do you think they’d mind if I stood in the water while I taught? I walked all the way to Canterlot, and my hooves hurt.”

“I… uh… We’re not supposed to get into the fountain,” said Firelock, obviously confused by the multiple angles of the conversation, and that Emerald had not asked her to go there, but simply assumed the fact, and was leading her there. It was a routine that — in his experience with other ponies — worked wonders. A question could always be met with a simple ‘no’ for an answer, while sweeping somepony along into an activity required the subject to be forceful and active to change direction.

“We’re not going to be practicing for very long,” said Emerald while coming around Firelock’s other side and guiding her toward the fountain despite a certain wavering of her course. “And the water should help with your lesson. You see, in order for you to use your magic properly, you have to want to cast a spell. And I don’t think casting a fart spell is quite your cup of tea.”

“You’re going to teach me a fire spell?” Firelock sped up her pace to the point where Emerald had to trot to stay even. “Is it a fireball or a sheet of flame or a giant—”

Since they had nearly reached the fountain, Emerald asked, “Have you ever bought a spark shower firework?” He kept right on walking down the steps to keep his inertia while Firelock continued to follow like a second tail. “With all the little colorful sparks shooting up into the air and that shrieking noise they make?”

“Yes! Wait a minute.” The little unicorn paused at the edge of the fountain’s stone lip with the rest of the students next to her, obviously unwilling to climb down into the water where Emerald had just waded in, belly-deep. “Is this just a ruse to get me to make farting noises out of my horn?”

“Yes.” Emerald splashed the water with a hoof. “And the rest of you should watch too. From the edge,” he added before the magic tutoring session turned into a wild pool party.

There was a narrow set of stone stairs on the inside wall of the fountain in case a pony or some ducklings fell in, making a ramp which was just wide enough for Firelock to stand on the bottom step and not have to tread water. She made herself comfortable with the other small unicorns peering over the edge, then looked over at Emerald with the eager expression of the young and guileless.

“A spark fountain firework makes a shrieking noise by passing the stream of hot gas through a restriction,” started Emerald. “Ponies use their lungs and their throats the same way. You four—” he nodded at the watching students “—are streaming your magic out of your horns and tightening up the flow to make that noise, which is the exact same process that older unicorns use to fire bolts of magic, or project shields, or to play music, although it’s generally easier just to pick up a tuba.”

“My uncle has a tuba,” said Snails before being shushed by the other students.

“So why are we in the fountain?” asked Firelock. “Is it because I could surge and set fire to—”

“Yes,” said Emerald quickly before he heard the rest of the list. “Young unicorns have been known to lose control of their magic. In that case, I think a quick dunk into cold water would help you recover your concentration.”

“I really don’t want to get dunked,” said Firelock.

“Then try really hard not to lose control,” countered Emerald, rolling right into the lesson before his student could get distracted. “First, to make the fire fountain noise, you have to imagine your entire body to be covered in tiny little fires. Tens of thousands of itty bitty teeny little things, smaller even than a grain of sand. Fire is what life is after all. We breathe air to burn food, so our fire keeps us warm. Your magic is mostly fire, and your horn can be like a wick to your candle. Start by gathering all of those tiny fires together, one tiny bit at a time, letting them stream harmlessly across your body until they reach your horn… yes, like that,” he added when Firelock’s horn began to glow a deep red. “Like a candle, the corona should stay steady and bright, but not too bright.”

Inside, Emerald fought hard to keep his face straight and his hooves from tapdancing with joy, even being up to his belly in water. Firelock had lit up her horn just as smooth as an older unicorn lifting a spoon. Incentive was a wonderful thing. Too many teachers⁽*⁾ would try to keep her from thinking about fire.
(*) And flammable bystanders in the town. And the mayor. And Red Splasher, the fire chief.

“Now imagine some of those tiny bits of fire floating up in the candle flame,” said Emerald, “while you tighten around the fire. There we go,” he added when the first spark floated up. “Focus. Squeeze the flow a little tighter to make it whistle. Yes, like that. Keep it steady. Steady. STEADY!”

The faint whistle rose in pitch and volume as Firelock’s horn erupted in a spray of sparks, quickly cut off when Emerald swept a leg under her and she fell horn-first into the water. A cloud of steam burst around them, making Emerald cough as he nudged the happy, soggy student in the direction of the steps.

“Did you see that! I was making fire! Flames, even! I bet I can—”

“I’ll bet you can catch a cold if you don’t go home and get toweled off,” said Emerald sharply. “That was a good start, as good as any young student I’ve seen—”

Other than my sister, Frost. At least we can put out fire. Her frostbite stings.

“—but you’re going to need to improve your focus before I teach you any more. All of you.” Emerald eyed his suddenly quiet students gathered around the edge of the fountain. “The first step to casting any spells is not power. That comes far later. The real first lesson is control to keep your magic steady. You will need to generate an initial corona and hold it while sitting, talking, and walking. If you have to maintain a constant musical note, or a little — a tiny little, that is — fire on the end of your horn, that’s fine. Have your parents help you, or work with each other. From what I’ve heard, reading a book at night is good practice. If you don’t keep your focus, it gets dark.” He winked. “That’s normally a bad sign.”

The children laughed, which was nice, because adults never did laugh at his corny jokes. It was music to his ears, particularly the way they chattered among themselves as they departed for their homes, leaving Emerald enough time this evening to study for final exams.

And as he walked away from the fountain, leaving puddles of water behind with every step, he would not have exchanged that moment for anything.

5. Final Push

The Substitute Librarian
Final Push

Emerald had been too happy to relax when he got… home.

It was an odd concept. After only one full day of librarianing, the creaky old oak tree felt more ‘home-like’ than the fraternity house in college he had spent the last few years in, or even his own home with his parents. The tree was no modest Canterlot estate, to say the least. It creaked and moaned in even a light breeze, and there was an ugly crack in the front door that any competent librarian would have gotten patched the day it happened. After the stressful day he had just survived, nopony could blame him for just staggering inside and flopping down on the couch, even if he was still a little damp from the fountain.

Instead, he slipped through the propped-open door just long enough to retrieve a paintbrush and proceed with a little housekeeping job he had never really thought about before. There was a flowerbed outside filled with a dense purple mass of autumn-blooming crocus, although it had a wire mesh fence around it to prevent any unwise nibbling by ponies too young to recognize their nature. The one thing the broad blooms lacked were bees, who were lazing around by their hive up on a library branch as if they were too proud to lower themselves to the menial task.

It seemed a terrible shame.

The delightful scent of crocus tickled his nose when he stepped over the wire fence and began to tickle the flowers back with the paintbrush grasped firmly in his teeth. After all, even if they were poisonous flowers, they deserved to be as happy as he was. So Emerald dipped the paintbrush into the blossoms with abandon, flicking and brushing pollen until a few curious bees from above came down to see what he was doing.

And then a few more bees followed, apparently jealous of their private honey source being poached even if they had not been taking advantage of their asset. Before things got out of control, Emerald slipped out of the flowerbed and bent the wire fence protecting the flowers back into shape. It probably wouldn’t hurt the local students more than a tummyache if they took a nip or two of the poisonous petals, but better safe than sorry. He retreated further as more bees gathered, content to listen to the drone of their activity from the relative safety of the library doorway while the sun sank lower in the sky.

There was something magical about the way twilight settled in over the small town of Ponyville, like a dignified old mare slipping into an evening gown to go out among other dignified, respectable relatives for a night of sipping wine and gossiping. He flipped the ‘Closed’ sign over and retreated inside, this time allowing the door to close completely with the faint thrum of the locking enchantments.

Much like the bees, Emerald really did not want to work on such a nice evening. It was beautiful outside. If left to his own devices, he would dither around the building until past midnight, which would be too late to actually start one last pass over his notes before the upcoming midterm examinations. Proactive procrastination prevention was prescribed.

He made a list, putting ‘Study’ at the bottom.

And it was a little bit of a cheat, but he put ‘Pollinate flowers’ at the top, then marked it off.

Then with the realization that Lark Spur was no longer in the library, and that the physiology notes he was studying had been read all the way through to the sample test in the back, he marked one more entry on the list to be immediately marked off.

While he sat there looking out of the library window across the growing shadows of the town, Emerald let his mind wander a little. If the Elements of Harmony remained out on their mission past midterms, there was supposed to be some mechanism for him to retake any missed exams without losing points. He could be here a week or more, keeping the books herded into their respective vertical corrals, chatting with the townsponies, and sleeping on the lumpy couch so he didn’t disturb Twilight Sparkle’s bed. Which was worth an entry on the list.

Curiosity made him look into the closed bedroom, although he still felt a little like a voyeur, and had to check and make sure the library front door was locked first. He had expected her bed to be a mess, with books stuffed under the sheets and bits of leftover snacks laying around, much like his own bed at the fraternity house. Instead, Twilight Sparkle’s book-packed room was as spotlessly clean and ruthlessly organized as a military barracks, with a bed that had been made so tightly that the covers were in danger of splitting.

Just out of curiosity, he even bounced a bit off the taut sheets just to see how far it would go.

There was no way in Tartarus that he ever could sufficiently clean up behind himself after sleeping there, and it would have been a little creepy anyway for both of them. The secondary alternate of the basket was also right out, both because of the lingering scent of predatory dragon and the reduced size. So the couch it was.

He would probably be sleeping downstairs on the library couch for as long as he was a substitute librarian. Or more probably knocking the cushions onto the floor and sleeping there, because a close inspection revealed the ancient couch had more knots in it than the tree.

He marked ‘bed’ off the list. That left food, because it was impossible to study while being distracted by hunger. At home, his mother would have told Cook to…

The gut-clenching stress just came out of nowhere. To fight it, Emerald stretched out on the cool wooden floor of the main library floor, putting his nose against the worn oak and breathing in. The home he had grown up in had been all varnish and tile, tidy rugs and smooth granite, frozen in time. Everything had a place there. Every plate, every portrait, every book in the library. From the precise greenhouse in back where his mother ruled over every flower and shelf, to his father who ran his company like a military operation. Every one of his brothers and sisters had their role to play, their assigned places in the orchestral performance while their goofy earth pony brother banged away on the drums in the background. From high society to diplomatic appointments to social placement to academic excellence, his siblings all accepted their placement in the universe as dictated by parental prerogative. The one space in the family machine lacking an appropriate gear was an heir to the House Chrysanthemum industry, and therefore a place in the corporate structure of the company.

A space that would not, could not, and was not going to be filled by a simple teacher of elementary unicorn magic.

If only there were some way for him to merge with the library tree, to become one with the flow of sap and bookshelf. The second youngest child of Baron Chrysanthemum would vanish, and the students of the small town would flourish in return, learning under his shade, reading his books, absorbing his wisdom through some process that perhaps library trees did. Then again, trees had bees, and ants, and had to stand outside in the rain, snow, and wind. It would be a heavy price to escape his father, even if it was nothing but fantasy.

An idle thought about what Rag Picker had said still scratched at the back of his mind. He probably could run away to Protocera, find a position teaching foals among the local ponies there, and live his entire life out from under his father’s guiding hoof. Then again, the House Chrysanthemum company sold unicorn workings to the griffons, so his father could probably track him down even there. Inevitably, the distant visit would include another mare that Father thought would make a good match for his errant son, somepony with a few drops of noble blood who would bring him back to Canterlot where he belonged, and produce grandfoals, of course.

There was certainly familial love in that persistent endeavor, a thread of love that had brought the baron’s once-frail son to where he was now. As much as Emerald wished he could sever those ties and fly away to become his own stallion, he could not bear to think of the consequences. Because, after all, he loved his family too, and did not want to hurt them. Even though he refused to admit it out loud.

If you fall asleep here with your nose against the floor, you’re going to wake up tomorrow in a world of hurt. Come on, up and at ‘em. Finish your list, do your last studying before the exams, then sleep. And find some way to keep those couch cushions under Derpy’s landing spot all the time. She makes such a loud noise that she might get hurt. Or disturb the patrons.

Food. That was next on the list, after getting up and staggering into the tiny kitchen. There was fruit in the icebox, so it took very little time to make a quick fruit salad, a cooking task that was well within his limited talents and sufficient to keep him fed for a few meals. It left him with more than a few of the delicious trimmings and peels to snack on rather than throw away perfectly good food. He diced and cubed in relative silence, enjoying the familiar sounds in the empty tree-house. It was a comfortable life he could get used to in a hurry, without many of the luxuries of Canterlot but with the simple pleasures he enjoyed far more. Admittedly, there were not enough unicorn students in the small town to keep him busy tutoring through their first magic, but a job as a librarian would fill the gaps quite well indeed.

Something gave off a short tremor underhoof while he mused and cubed, making the lighting devices in the library flicker. It was just for an instant, but showed just how dark the place would be without an alternative light source. The official residents of the tree were a dragon with exceptional night vision and a unicorn who could make her own light, so he took a break and scrounged in the cabinets to find a dusty candle lantern that probably dated back a few decades. Most modern candle fixtures had a working to quench the wick when it had burned down to the bottom, although this antique actually predated the Chrysanthemum company, and Emerald did not think there was any kind of unicorn magic on it. He stuck one of the ceramic kitchen plates under it instead, added water to the extinguishing reservoir, placed the whole thing on the table, and lit it with one of the long wooden matches from a dusty box next to the oven.

There. If the lights go out, I won’t break my neck trying to find things in the dark.

Dawn, his father’s groundskeeper, would probably make another visit and bring more food than Emerald could eat again if he was not discouraged. Although there had not been any bananas in the collection he had recently delivered, and a proper fruit salad practically required a banana or two. Certainly, somewhere in the farmer’s market there had to be some imported bananas, and a single one would not break his budget, so Emerald left a quick note to himself on the table.

Dawn, get a banana.

Dinner having been taken care of, Emerald put the bowl of diced fruit into the icebox to chill while getting set up for the rest of his evening chores. His stomach rumbled objection to the delay in getting fed, but he ignored it. After all, if he was hungry, he would not dawdle around.

It was an incentive, a literal carrot on a stick in fruit salad form.

Notes were next. He needed a comfortable spot to spread out his papers without getting them mixed up in the library paperwork, so that left… hm… the balcony, of course. There would be a nice breeze from the dark town, a few stars to keep him company, and nothing to distract him like being surrounded by readable books.

The reduction in the massive oak desk’s paperwork load from sending his notes into the frat house was made up for by the increase in their notes he had received in return, so repacking his study materials into the oversized saddlebags was difficult, but still possible. Which left him free for his short trip up the low-stepped ramp where his study location waited.

Hooking the firefly lantern on a nearby hook, Emerald took a look around the balcony. The scent from the pollinated crocus flowers below made a nice counterpoint to the oaky scent of the tree, the lamplight provided just enough illumination to make reading pleasant, and lying chest-down on the bare wood should be just uncomfortable enough for him to stay awake. It left him musing about his placement in the universe as he arranged the stacks of notes. After all, it always felt good to reach the end of his study guides, putting that last period on the last line before the last burst of studying . There were always edits, of course, but this marked a midpoint, a time of scholastic understanding that most of his fellow students only reached a day or two after final exams. It was made only better by knowing his hard work had gone off to his fraternity in Canterlot where his frat brothers were studying, even if they did not really appreciate his work. After all, he did. And most likely Derpy appreciated his putting down cushions for her inevitable crash landing in the middle of the library main room.

He stretched out and put the school notes to one side, just looking through the balcony’s railing at the glimmer of the town lights below. There was a shallow depression where he was resting against the bare wood of the balcony floor, most likely put there by generations of belly-pressure by librarians much like himself who flopped down on their chests to watch the town sink into darkness, or early-rising librarians who liked to watch the rise of Sun. It was a good spot to think and observe as shadows finished engulfing the town and the windows started to light up in small clusters.

A line of lights began to work their way down one of the larger paths, which took Emerald a few minutes to recognize. After all, he had only skimmed the librarian instructions in his packet, and could barely remember a townspony called Blighter the Lamplighter, who must have been making his rounds, leaving small pools of golden light in his wake.

Even that limited light would not last for long, because last evening had surprised Emerald with the relative shortness of Ponyville’s night life. In two or three hours, Blighter would reverse his path. The streetlamps would go out one by one until the only artificial illumination left in town would be a small red lamp at the police station and the library’s porch light. The moon and stars would remain, of course, although nopony would be watching them but Princess Luna and himself.

Emerald had never really considered what magic was behind the huge oak tree he was in until now. Library Oaks were unusual, but not too rare across Equestrian towns and villages. They were probably a result of mixing earth pony Cornucopia Effect and unicorn magic, now that he thought about it. Even if only one or two groups of specialists knew the combined working, the trees probably took forever to grow to this size. He closed his eyes and touched his hooves to the raw oak of the balcony floor, trying to feel down below the magical wards, under the workings that Twilight Sparkle had spread around, way down to the earth pony magic that underlaid everything. It took some time, but the library was empty, and he had the time now. Whenever Emerald had tried to touch the magic that made plants grow before, even with houseplants at home, he had failed. This time, there was something there, something about the much larger plant that he was actually inside of that made him feel as if he could almost hear it say…

No, there was too much of Twilight Sparkle’s unicorn magic scattered around. Besides, he never had gotten his natural earth pony magic to even sprout beans in school, so expecting to somehow reach out to the heart of the tree and feel it speaking to him was just his mind playing tricks to keep from studying.

After stretching out in the shallow wooden depression again, he tilted his hat back and looked out into the dark town, sparkling in the moonlight and seeming as if it were a whole new place. The scents of night-blooming gardenias and jasmine drifted up the tree’s trunk, along with another delicate scent that he could not place. It was admittedly nice, but distracting as he continued to observe the town’s transition into deeper darkness.

Once his studying and midterms week was over, if he were still librarian, this would be the perfect place to relax in the evenings. All he needed was a place to put a glass of wake-up juice, a notepad, and a stack of library books to enjoy the evening. That would be about perfect. A little twisting around and looking let him see the fresher marks in the bark where Twilight Sparkle had fixed a lamp hook for illumination, behind him for some reason. And the dark round rings where she had placed her damp glasses were likewise located underneath the lantern location, which was both a little foolish because flying insects would drop into the wake-up juice, and it would take a considerable stretch to reach way back there in order to pick up the glass. It would have made far better sense to have both the lamp hook and the refreshment over—

She reads books while facing into the library, not facing out. That means what I’m smelling is from her other—

It only took a moment to hop up, regard his previous location, and decide on another activity for the evening rather than leaving his nose stuck down into the female librarian’s regular rump resting spot. Unfortunately, rearranging his notes to allow for lying down in the opposite direction left him facing into the library, at an altitude where he could see every misaligned book and gap. And after all since he was being paid to manage the library, it only made sense to actually do the assigned job this evening before reviewing his notes again. Besides, he would never be able to focus on his studying if he could see distracting tasks that needed to be done.

It only took a few minutes to trot down the shallow steps of the ramp to the main library floor, arrange the couch cushions on Derpy’s regular landing spot, finish the check-in and fine payments for the last few books of the evening, and regard the stack of books that still needed reshelving. Even with the hopeless books he had sent out to be pulped, the returns were probably going to be more than the empty spaces in the shelves, which would mean more rearranging, shuffling, and moving to get them all to fit, if they would. That could take all night.

Tomorrow. Afternoon, maybe.

Finishing up the rest of the tasks let Emerald tidy up the huge librarian desk, make one pass around the library with the Barnyard Bargains cart to pick up any misplaced books (because the Returns cart was already full), and some dusting.

After marking the last line in the daily ledger entries, he finished his tasks by refilling the quill box again with his earlier purchases. Grumbling about library patrons who viewed the jar as a discount shopping center, Emerald checked to make sure none of his notes had slipped into any cracks in the massive oak desk, refilled the ink bottle, adjusted the magical desk light, and gave a short nod.

Librarian duties for the day, done. Student duties for the evening, prepared. Study time, about to start. At least I can do that without sniffing Twilight Sparkle’s…

Emerald lifted one foreleg up and sniffed his pits.

Revised plan: A quick bubble bath, a small bowl of fruit salad and a large glass of wakeup juice from the icebox, and then studying all night.

While strolling into the bathroom and getting the ancient claw-footed tub prepared for a bath, Emerald considered a proper incentive for after studying, other than just collapsing and sleeping until noon. A book would be a nice change of pace, something short and punchy that did not relate to teaching.

The tub filled exceedingly slowly, so while Emerald was waiting for the suds to build up, he perused the shelves of the library as a patron. Several of the books tempted him, particularly one called Banging Around the House which he had thought was a fix-up book for home repairs, until he put it down on the librarian desk and peeked inside.

“We’ll just set this one aside for now,” he murmured, putting it on the far end of the library desk where it would not ignite any of the other paper. A book on Minotauran mining poetry looked like an interesting candidate for this evening’s relaxation, at least for a short time after study guides and before bed. At home, he could read in the bathtub, but here, it probably was a very bad idea, particularly since the book was supposed to be a post facto reward.

Putting the book on the librarian chair for later, Emerald wandered back into the bathroom and turned off the faucets. The air was filled with the delicate scent of lilac, a healthy covering of suds nearly reached the top edge of the tub, and the towels…

“Why does she lock the linen closet?” grumbled Emerald while rattling the wooden door. “It’s not like anypony is going to steal…”

On second consideration, the spare roll of toilet paper he had left out after filling the roll was gone, and the primary roll next to the flush toilet was stripped down to the bare cardboard tube. Getting the mechanical key to the bathroom cabinet out of the librarian desk, he opened the linen closet much like a banker would open the vault to reveal the precious contents.

Getting out two extra rolls this time, Emerald refilled the toilet paper dispenser, put the spare rolls on the shelf behind the toilet, and locked the rest of the vanishing supply securely back into the cabinet. It was worth noting that the door’s lock had quite a number of tiny scratch marks around it, as if library patrons made a habit of ‘nudging’ the lock in the hopes of lifting a few rolls of toilet paper or fluffy towels for their own home. In hindsight, the missing loose towel in the bathroom had probably suffered the same fate, and was in use in some townspony’s bathroom.

Maybe if I chained one towel down, it would stay put for the whole day?

Placing the two largest and fluffiest towels next to the tub, Emerald slipped out of his vest and tossed it gently outside of the bathroom, then paused with one hoof just barely touching the suds.

At home, this would be the moment that one of his brothers would do something terrible. He would be forced to respond, and only be able to return once the bathwater had cooled to something worthy of ice cubes. In that regard, his frat brothers were true brothers also. In fact, Emerald could not ever remember taking a proper hot bath, ever.

“I’m not at home or at school,” he murmured. “I’m librarysitting. The front door is closed, the sign is out, and the town is about as dark as it gets around here. Getting one hoof wet will not somehow trigger a disaster. There’s nothing on fire in the entire library other than the candle in the kitchen, and that’s in the glass jar, on a plate, in the middle of the table, so it won’t spill. There’s nothing keeping me from getting into the tub and staying there until I’m a wrinkled prune.”

He paused, listening. Something out in the darkness had made a noise. It could have been a giggle, or perhaps one of the squeaking noises the tree made in the breeze. Perhaps the universe was laughing at him. Or there was an intruder. Who had somehow bypassed the complicated magical wards around the library—

Or possibly had just flown in through the open balcony doors upstairs.

He scowled at the foamy suds. During his review of the library, Emerald had noticed a set of thaumaturgical research tomes on a high ‘Reference’ shelf, out of reach of the town’s youth. From his own experience purchasing spell tomes for his father’s library, Emerald knew the prices on those kinds of books ranked from ‘expensive’ to ‘you have to be kidding.’ Undoubtedly, due to the fact that Twilight Sparkle was Princess Celestia’s private student, some of these books could literally be priceless.

“And what am I supposed to do if somepony is stealing them,” he muttered while trotting back out into the well-lit library, “other than scream my head off and hope the local police just happen to be outside.

A brief check of the main floor showed the valuable reference books still intact, with no shadowy figures stalking around the library on book-stealing missions. The second floor was likewise empty and quiet, leaving Emerald to look out across the town from the open balcony doors for a moment.

The only activity he could see was the train, which was pulling into the station on some late-night run with the distant shuffle of a few ponies either getting on or off.

“Thank the stars for small favors,” murmured Emerald. “I know Dad’s got some locking bookshelf widgets with magical wards for expensive volumes. Maybe I can get a couple donated here next month… Naa, he’d use it as some sort of social prybar.”

Giving the balcony doors a shove to close them, Emerald felt the tingle of locking wards under his shoes and grimaced. He was being paranoid again. When everything was going his way and normal ponies would be perfectly happy, he just had to start angsting until something, anything would go wrong. This ‘librarian’ job had turned out to be almost trivial, his studying was going better than it would have in the fraternity with all the minute-by-minute interruptions, and…

Well, he had to admit it. The town was full of attractive mares, which was something to consider checking out after his midterms were done.

By the time Emerald got to the bathroom again, he was whistling a merry tune, right up to the point where he touched one hoof to the warm suds and somepony started hammering on the front door of the library.

“If that’s my brother,” muttered Emerald as he headed out into the library main room. “Pow, right in the face. We’re closed!” The locking wards to the door gave him a sharp tingle when Emerald yanked open the front door and gave the stodgy unicorn behind it a fierce scowl. “Oh! Papercut. What are you doing here at this hour of the—”

“Bearer mission is over,” managed the panting bureaucrat, who looked as if he had run to the library from admittedly somewhere close, since he was just out of breath and not sweaty. “They’re getting off the train right now, and the return trip to Canterlot leaves in ten minutes.”

“Ha! I knew it!” declared Emerald to the momentary bafflement of Papercut as he turned and darted up the shallow steps of the ramp to the second floor. “Let me grab my stuff. Go ahead and tell the others.”

“You’re the last one. The weather crew got the farm and the animal shelter; I just finished with the bakery and the clothes store.”

“Thank you, Papercut, You’re like a brother to me. Really,” managed Emerald as he collected his notes, a task that might have taken until after the train had departed if not for a pale grey glow that surrounded each stack and sorted them into his saddlebags neatly. “I mean, thanks. Honestly. Sorry about snapping at you like that.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Papercut, who had followed Emerald up the stairs and was using his magic to gather up the last few bits of paper still scattered around. “Sir.”

“Not a problem.” Emerald prepared to shoulder his bags, then accepted the pocket-filled vest that Papercut floated over. “Oh, almost forgot that on the bathroom floor. Thanks again.”

“Just attempting to leave the workplace neat and tidy for Twilight Sparkle.” Papercut followed obediently behind Emerald as he scurried down the stairs, his sharp nose twitching as he peered into every corner of the quiet library. “Acceptable, I suppose, although there are still quite a few books that need reshelved.”

“Leaving them for the regular librarian. Don’t want to miss the train.” Emerald paused at the front doorway and looked back at the library he had called home for such a short time. Everything was so neat and tidy it could almost have been his own father’s library. If nothing else, the Princess’ student should appreciate finding it so—

“Just a second, Papercut. One last thing.” Darting into the main room again, Emerald bucked out with both hind hooves in a calculated bump against the nearest bookshelf, setting it wobbling and knocking some of the neat rows of books into minor disarray. He repeated the process on the next bookshelf, trying to control the impact enough not to send any of the books tumbling to the floor.

“What are you doing?” hissed Papercut from the doorway. “We need to— Oh, hello Miss Sparkle. Is there anything I can do for you?”

The returning librarian’s answer was nearly inaudible, although a second, much younger voice that had to have been her dragon added, “We’re fine, just glad to be home. Papercut, right?”

“Yes indeed, young sir.”

Emerald did not quite catch the rest of the conversation, because he gave a quick hip-bump to a last bookshelf on his way around the corner as Twilight Sparkle passed on the other side, and the sound of books rustling drowned out the words. He did catch a glimpse of the dragon, a short purple creature with frilly green fins, as he headed out the front door right afterward, and managed a quick nod of the head before emerging into the cool night air and turning his steps to the distant train station. Slow at first, but increasing to a rapid gallop when the first short whistle sounded.

He managed to convince the conductor to hold their departure the extra minute it took for a panting Papercut to catch up. After all, he was the one who signed the cheques.

Author's Note

And everything was fine, until the next morning when Emerald woke up to find a police officer waiting for him…

6. Just Desserts

The Substitute Librarian
Just Desserts

“Hey, Greenie. There’s a policemare here for you.”

“Osteomalacia-induced wingbone distortion,” gasped Emerald as he bolted up from the bedroom floor with two pages of notes still stuck to his face. “Or undiagnosed erythematosus causing joint… Oh, Bunky. Policemare?”

“Officer Grace,” said the neatly dressed unicorn mare behind his fellow fraternity brother. The fraternity hallway was dim because several of the illumination workings had been scavenged to complete midterm projects by the engineers among his frat brothers, making the quadratic equations covering every inch of the walls difficult to see, and the dark green mare in the blue uniform practically fade into the shadows. “If you will come with me, sir?”

“Because…?” Although he was still blinking away sleep, Emerald was not about to burn any of the precious Day down at the police station, not-answering questions about whatever his frat brothers had done during Night.

“It’s about the library.” The laconic expression on the policemare did not shift one muscle, but Emerald practically hopped up off the floor and dove into his notes.

“Another Bearer mission this soon?” he grumbled, stuffing notes into his bag and holding a quill in his teeth. “I might as well move into the library and live there until midterms are over. Bunky, make sure the professors know I’m missing the exams while on Crown business, so I don’t get gigged. Repeat that back to me.”

“What?” asked Bunky before tearing his eyes off the slim unicorn mare with the silky dark green coat and managing a weak focus back on his fellow frat brother.

“On second thought, take this note to my professors,” muttered Emerald through the quill in his teeth, scratching away on the desk notepad. “Make sure they know I’m on Crown business and that I get to retake my exams without being gigged for missing them. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The policemare seemed subtly entertained by Emerald’s bag-stuffing, although she did not contribute one thaum to his efforts, or help him with his unbalanced load while they hustled downstairs and out into the dimness of the early morning Canterlot streets. She did however, raise one eyebrow when he stopped on the sidewalk.

“Escort to the train station?” he prompted, expecting the gut-twisting sensation of teleportation like the last time he had been picked up at the frat house for his substitute librarian job.

“We will be walking,” she said instead, turning to stride down the sidewalk with long, brisk steps. It took little time for Emerald to catch up, and he managed to get his thought processes jump-started by the exercise before they had traveled a single block.

“We’re not going to the train station, are we?”

“No, sir.”

A few steps later, Emerald added, “Are you taking me to the police station, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

After due consideration, he hazarded, “What if I refuse?”

The young mare shrugged and kept up her brisk pace. “I’d have to arrest you, your father would send a lawyer, and most of the day would be taken up by unproductive arguments, shouting, threats, legal actions, posturing, that kind of thing.”

“Oh.” Emerald continued walking for a time while thinking. “How do I know you’re not going to get me to spill whatever few beans I have, and then arrest me anyway?”

“Because…” Now it was the policemare’s turn to look contemplative. “I will give you my word.”

“Your word?” echoed Emerald. “You expect me to trust you? That will be cold comfort for when I wind up in a cell.”

“The Princess trusts you. The Princesses, that is. I have gone over your records extensively and believe that you are sufficiently honest that I can trust you in return. And… Well, there is one other thing, but I shall reserve that question for later. I can give you no more assurances.”

“I… suppose.” Emerald made a sharp turn into a nearby Starbuckers. When he came out with a cardboard carrier on his back, Officer Grace was standing there with the same patient look on her face. “Since we’re going to be at your office for a while, I got your usual,” explained Emerald as he continued walking. “The barista knew you.”

“Practical.” The unicorn mare floated a foam cup out of the cardboard carrier, took a sip, then returned it with a grimace. “The quality I’ve learned to expect.”

Emerald shrugged. “Sue me. I still think you’re going to arrest me anyway.”

Officer Grace shook her head, making the tight bob of reddish mane at the back of her head wobble. “Believe it or not, I am far more interested in finding out what is going on.”

“Ahh…” Emerald picked up his pace. “You know, I think the feeling is mutual.”

“And when our conversation is complete, and you return to your studies,” continued Grace without missing one step. “Remember that on the exam, it’s never erythematosus.”

- Ω - -

It was the fastest Emerald had ever gone through a police station, and on a side of the dividers he had not seen before. Rather than an interrogation stall, the two of them appropriated a smaller conference room that still had an empty box that once held donuts littering the desk, and Grace brushed away the crumbs before dropping the first thick folder down on the cleaner surface.

“What?” asked Emerald. “No threats of prosecution? No searches of my possessions for nefarious plans?” He looked around the conference room. “No one-way mirrors?”

Grace shook her head again. “We received your file as a matter of procedure before you were assigned your task in the Ponyville library. I was the one who did the preliminary security investigation. In addition, when the reports began coming in early last evening, I took the liberty of sending for your recent academic records. I doubt that you have had the time to plot treason against Their Highnesses’ representatives.”

“Treason?” Emerald lifted one eyebrow and peered at the flattened parchment scroll that Grace scooted across the table to him. He read for a while, then looked back up. “I’m conflicted. She’s writing this on parchment that I purchased. Are these even laws?”

“Two of them are,” admitted Grace. “Several of the city attorneys are looking into the last one. Either Twilight Sparkle made an error in her transcription, or you somehow managed to merkle a fizgomet.”

“The fizgomet probably deserved it.” Emerald flipped the sheet over and passed it back, only to have Grace send another bundle of parchment sheets his way, this one about twice as thick.

“That was the initial missive,” she said in a perfectly flat voice. “This one was sent about an hour later.”

“Theft. Grand Theft Shopping Cart. Theft again. Misappropriation of funds. Malicious mischeif is misspelled. Hm…” Emerald made a correction with the red pencil from his pocket, then read for a while, turning pages and making marks as needed. “Probably has to do with the boxes of scrap books I sent in for pulping, and the check I wrote Uncle Picker for replacements. There’s several boxes of books in Mrs. Bradel’s care also that didn’t get recorded in the ledger, so… Still, the estimated loss she has listed for the—” he squinted “—armed robbery and ultra grand larceny in the first degree is too high. And redundant.”

“New volumes, first editions. They don’t come cheap.” Grace slid over a book catalog. Emerald slid it back.

“Public library. Secondhoof purchases and… I better stop there,” admitted Emerald.

“Your ‘Uncle’ Picker, I presume,” said Officer Grace. “Frankly, I’m torn. He provided a great number of my textbooks during my school years, and I have several of his volumes in my private library.”

“Uh-huh,” said Emerald, working his way through the sheaf of parchment.

“All first editions, of course,” added Grace.

“Of course.” Emerald turned a page and stopped. “A writ of replevin? What’s that?”

“An action to recover the property you supposedly stole,” said Grace, still watching his face. “I.e. the vast collection of the Golden Oak Library historical references and antique texts snatched callously away from their shelves and flung into an unknown and most probable horrific fate.”

It took a while to properly absorb the legal charges. “You know, a mouse ate all the way through several of them, and I really don’t want to guess what the book on plumbing was used for.”

“I didn’t say it made sense,” stated Grace. “I said she was filing the legal demand.”

“Should be easy enough to abide by the recycled letters of the law,” mused Emerald as he flipped forward a page. “I’ll get Picker to load up a wagon full of wood pulp and dump it— No, better not. Twilight Sparkle is wound tight enough to be used as a watch spring already.”

“She is the trusted student of Princess Celestia,” said Grace, “bearer of the Element of Magic, noted scholar—”

“And if you stuck a lump of coal up her ass, you’d have a diamond inside of a week. I already have parents like that, so I don’t need some short-tempered librarian trying to control my life,” said Emerald under his breath. He flipped forward another page, then looked up into Grace’s wide eyes. “What, did I say that out loud?”

The policemare seemed to be having some sort of problem with her bottom lip. It twitched, and a tear was forming in the corner of one eye. “I will… disregard that for the moment,” she said after a while. “All of the Bearers have their own idiosyncrasies, but Twilight Sparkle has an impressive collection. One must realize the importance of her work is sufficient to overcome them, as well as be considered one of the most critical assets of the Princesses.”

“So…” Emerald considered his relative position, which was quite low and rug-like, before returning to the impressive collection of documents. “She wrote all of this last night, after going out on some dangerous mission for the Princess. Risking her life for several days, then… Did she write a report on what the Bearers did?”

“That’s classified,” said Grace, with a certain stubbornness to her tone that indicated she was not privy to that information either.

“So either my actions made her report be delivered late to Her Highness,” mused Emerald, “or she managed to write a report already and all this, which is just crazy. I mean priorities,” he added with a wave of one hoof. “If I’m such a threat, why was I sent to librarysit her precious books, and if she’s just having a serious angst fit about her latest Bearer mission…” Inspiration struck, and hard enough for Emerald to stop talking for a moment. “She’s coping.”

“Beg pardon?” asked Grace, who appeared slightly set back at his rambling train of thought.

“Everypony copes with stress in different ways,” he started, falling by habit into his best lecturing cadence. “I get a little hypersensitive and start contingency planning, my father spends extra hours at work hammering out new projects, my mother cuts the heads off flowers in the greenhouse, and you…” Emerald looked his polite captor in the eyes, shifted his gaze down to the image of a camera on her flank, then nodded. “Eidetic memory, I presume?”

“Photographic, yes.” Grace lit her horn up, and a small illusion of Emerald’s frat room appeared on the table in front of them. “I never forget a detail.”

“So you never forget a stressful moment either,” continued Emerald, “which means your favorite way of dealing with stress is not to deal with stress. I’ll bet Twilight Sparkle deals with the Bearer mission stress with a quill. She takes it out on anypony except Her Divinity, Princess Celestia, which I can’t blame her for. Heavens knows, I’d never want to dump on Her Highness. So—” he prodded the pile of parchment “—I get to be her bucking bag.”

“That does seem consistent with the treatment her previous librarian substitutes endured,” said Grace with a slow nod as she let the greenish illusion of Emerald’s messy room fade away. “She has high standards, but some of her complaints were slightly excessive.”

“Slightly?” Emerald gave her another close look. “You’re not her sister or something, are you? An aunt, perhaps?”

Grace shook her head. “No relation. My House does not cross with hers inside the last five generations or so. Or yours, for that matter.”

“Meh.” Emerald prodded the thick pile of parchment again. “So how do I get out of here without being arrested?”

“One simple task,” said Grace. “Over the years that I’ve worked for the police office, I’ve found a single eyewitness to an event will always give misleading testimony, even when that witness is myself. Since I have the responsibility of reporting to Their Highnesses with regards to Twilight Sparkle’s complaints, it would be preferable to have your perspective on the events. Perhaps some middle ground can be found, without involving lawyers, judicial actions, and dismal swamps in distant lands where you can be—” Grace lifted a single sheet of parchment in her magic and squinted at the scribbled letters “—locked up in a prison to be banished to another country where you can be locked up again forever.”

“I feel like I should grow an evil mustache to twirl,” groused Emerald. “Unconditional immunity for my testimony?”

Grace slid over a piece of parchment, all filled out except for his signature. “To hear the other side of this story? Absolutely. All I ask is that you do not leave out any detail, no matter how small.”

Well, she did ask for it. And the longer Emerald was in the police station relating his story, the more he could claim he was being cooperative at any trial. With a little urging from Grace, he started his recitation at the train, because the trip from the frat house to the station had been a little chaotic at best, and he had a unicorn police officer/witness escorting him anyway. Grace seemed interested in his walk around the oak library once he reached Ponyville, so he expounded for a few minutes about his theory on the genus of the Common Library Tree. He could not help but add his thoughts on the young unicorns he had given a little tutoring and how the town was so different from Canterlot.

He had just gotten to the evening where he was making a fruit salad, when there was a knocking at the door to the conference room, and a delivery pony came in with oatburgers and hayfries for the both of them. After Grace had paid (with the absolute minimum tip), they spread the food out across the conference room table and dug in.

“I have to say,” said Emerald after a quick swallow of oatburger, “that this is the most polite interrogation I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing with the police.”

Grace dabbed her lips with a napkin before returning to cutting her oatburger with a knife and fork expertly manipulated in her pale green magic field. “I examined those records in the process of doing your security review. I would hesitate to call them ‘interrogations’ except in the technical aspect of the word. Repeating ‘I want my lawyer’ for several hours makes rather boring reading. The officer only wanted to know which of your fraternity brothers had stolen her hat.”

The old container of wake-up juice from this morning was empty, so Emerald dropped it into the trash and picked up the remaining glass of orange soda that had obviously been purchased for him. “In any event, you bought my favorite lunch, we’re talking privately without one of those one-way mirrors, and I have to say this is the most pleasant time I’ve had with a young mare in simply ages.”

Grace looked down at the table and seemed to be totally engaged with the precise bisection of her remaining oatburger. “Please, sir. I’m not that young.”

That was worth a brief snort on his behalf. “Nonsense. You should have seen some of the old crones my father was trying to set me up with. Well, you probably have, if you were responsible for reviewing my file.”

The resulting silence and the light blush along her ears spoke volumes, but it did bring up a thought that rattled around in the back of his head as he continued his testimony after their light lunch. After they cleaned up the table, all that was really left to tell was yesterday’s interrupted preparations for a relaxing evening at the library, but as he wound up his story with the noble train-bound band of brave replacements headed back to Canterlot to cash their checks, Emerald noticed a certain twitching to Grace’s bottom lip again.

“I have a few questions,” started Grace once she had gotten control of her concealed giggling. “I did not want to ask this at first, but why are you so forthcoming with me now, as opposed to your previous interactions with the police.”

“I was captivated by your smile,” said Emerald.

“I don’t smile,” countered Grace, demonstrating the straight face she had been wearing since they met.

“Well, I signed that immunity agreement.”

“I scarcely think a simple signature explains your cooperation.”

“You bought me lunch,” added Emerald.

“You were cooperating before I fed you,” said Grace.

“I… um… gave some thought to the matter,” said Emerald reluctantly. “Twilight Sparkle is Princess Celestia’s student. If Her Highness got involved… Well, I don’t want to meet her again.”

“Again?” Grace got the distracted look his professors managed whenever Emerald was taxing their memories, only since her talent was perfect recall, he suspected he knew exactly what folder she was mentally leafing through, made only more obvious by her next words. “There are no indications in your file that you have ever met with Her Highness. Either of Their Highnesses, in fact.”

“It was a long time ago,” offered Emerald.

“I suppose I could ask Her Highness when I deliver my report,” mused Grace.

“No!” Emerald tried not to fidget and failed. “Look, I was very forthcoming today. Can’t you just leave it at that?” The silence made an effective answer. “I met her just after I got my cutie mark in unicorn education,” he admitted. “I was young, excited, exuberant, and extremely proud of my rump at that moment.”

After a moment’s consideration, Grace seemed to accept his excuse without further elaboration and move on. “Before I ask my next question, I just wish to state for the record that I do not see any possibility of you being incarcerated for any of your actions at your assignment. Well, except for one possible action, and I’m beginning to doubt that Twilight Sparkle even noticed.”

“One?” Emerald began to rise to his hooves, only to settle back down in his chair at a quelling motion by the policemare.

“As a matter of fact, it relates to my first question.” She licked her lips with just the tip of her tongue and cocked her head slightly before continuing. “What would you assume if you returned to your home after a long absence, only to find your caretaker of the opposite sex had prepared a candlelight meal large enough for two, a warm bubblebath, placed a mildly pornographic book on your favorite desk, and dusted herself in fragrant night-blooming crocus, which according to the file is one of Twilight Sparkle’s favorite scents.”

Emerald chuckled briefly. “I’d think she was trying to get some— Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no!”

“A flirtatious young male from a lesser unicorn house, with a history of feminine matchmaking from his family,” continued Grace without changing her impassive expression or breaking out in laughter as he suspected would happen. “In hindsight, selecting you for the post shows a startling lack of political tact on behalf of the assignment committee. That is unless they were influenced by your father.”

“Oh… no,” said Emerald finally and with absolute authority. “That’s not dad’s style. He’s a subtle as a crutch. Mom too.”

“In any event,” said Grace, organizing the stack of papers with her magic, “there has not been any kind of averse indication from Her Highness’s student, so either she is lurking in wait for your return with amorous intent, or romantically clueless. I suspect the latter,” she added.

“That’s… You don’t seriously think somepony other than my parents was trying to set me up with Twilight Sparkle, do you?” He shuddered with the thought. “I’m starting to think I’ve got a price tag still stuck to my hat, and there’s a sale. It’s just… my parents or the selection committee didn’t put the fruit salad in the icebox, or run a hot bubble bath, or force me to light a candle—”

The realization hit him like a brick, or maybe a nightstick considering his surroundings. “Officer Grace,” he started slowly, “how much do you know about the magical abilities of Library Oaks?”

“No more than a casual exposure during several classes from my University days and your theories from earlier today,” she responded, although she connected the dots with uncanny speed. “You cannot possibly believe that a magical oak tree might possibly be attempting to ‘pollinate’ its librarian in order to raise a future generation of librarians, right?”

“It’s… highly unlikely,” he admitted after due consideration and considerable trepidation. “Librarians tend to be old, dried-up spinsters with a half-dozen cats. And no ‘pollination’ of any sort.”

“A future that both Princess Celestia and Twilight Sparkle’s parents would find less than optimal.” Officer Grace left out a brief huff of breath. “As would my parents.”

Emerald’s heart nearly stopped again. “Wait a minute,” he started, but the policemare was having none of it.

“Your home situation parallels my own in one fashion,” said Officer Grace. Her horn lit up with a faint green corona, the door to their conference room glowed, and the door’s lock engaged with a very final clicking noise, followed by another short stack of papers sliding over to his side of the table in her magic. “It only seems sensible that the solution to our respective troubles be shared in turn. My parents are quite upset that I have not produced an heir to the family yet, and they have engaged in several frustrating and fruitless attempts to match me up with unsuitable suitors.”

“A prenuptial agreement,” murmured Emerald as his eyes were drawn to the papers in front of him.

“An established, contracted relationship.” The initial burst of energy that Grace had used to get this far into the proposal had faded, but she managed, “It would not need to involve intimacy. There are medical procedures to allow childbirth without that process. I understand it is not uncomfortable, or at least too much.”

“Foalbirth or intimacy? Wait a minute!” With the door locked, there was noplace for Emerald to run, and he most certainly was not going to assault a police officer inside a police station. If nothing else, the resulting arrest would be… difficult to explain to his father. And the newspapers would have a field day.

Prison or matrimony. There has to be a third choice.

“So if I don’t sign,” he began slowly, “I won’t have a defense when Twilight Sparkle comes to the mistaken conclusion that I was trying to seduce her? And if I do sign, you’ll defend your—” he shuddered “—fiancé against the insinuation that I might be unfaithful to you? Because being married to you and in prison would not be very conducive to conception.”

“Yes.” His blushing would-be-bride seemed to be finding something on the conference room table to be absolutely fascinating, and had not taken her eyes off it while talking. “Foals can wait a few months, I believe. My family will make arrangements for a proper nanny. You need not concern yourself with their nurturing, other than the occasional visit. Their genetic makeup should be satisfactory, since my family has a great deal of magical control but lacks the thaumic strength and reserves that House Chrysanthemum is noted for. My mother insists on the phrase ‘hybrid vigor’ when discussing her plans for my betrothal. Her selection criteria in that regard has been… lacking, and although you were not on her initial list, I believe I can talk her into it with little effort.”

The conversation was falling off the side of Mount Canter and gaining speed. The only brakes he could think of…

“Even though I’m an earth pony?” asked Emerald, realizing how stupid it sounded since she was responsible for his security screening, and had to already know despite his hat.

“There are several earth ponies in your family tree,” countered Grace. “The fact did not prevent your lineage from producing many powerful unicorns. In fact, it may have been a contributing factor, which only increases your prospective ability to sire powerful unicorn foals.”

And there was the crash, the explosion, and fire. So much fire.

With a growing regret for the number of times he had casually flirted with one young mare or another, Emerald browsed through the prenuptial agreement and subsequent engagement paperwork. It was perfect, as he suspected everything was that Grace touched. She was a unicorn from an established family, so his parents would be… happy if he signed, he supposed, although each of his siblings would laugh themselves sick. And true to her word, it would remove one of the major foci of his conflicts with his father.

While he was thinking, there was a quiet knock at the conference room door, and a pegasus officer stuck his head in. “Grace, we’ve received another letter from the Princess’s student.” He glanced once at Emerald and added, “You’re going to want to see this one.”

And that was it. Undoubtedly, Twilight Sparkle had just twigged to the mistaken idea that her creepy criminal replacement had planned some sort of unwanted romantic intervention, and the next thing he would hear was the slamming of a jail cell door. That also spelled the end of his tutoring career, because no parent would dare hire a teacher who had assaulted the Princess’s student, even in theory. Dad would undoubtedly provide a lawyer and support, but even if he only had to serve a year or two sentence, the old stallion would be right there when he got out of jail with a prospective bride and a position at the company, just like he had dreaded every year in college.

Breathing out slowly, then taking a deep breath, Emerald asked, “So?”

Grace dismissed the other officer before opening the message and reading it. There was only one page, and it did not take her more than a moment before folding it back up and turning to Emerald.

“If I were a cruel mare,” she started, “I would demand an answer from you right now.”

Emerald licked his dry lips. “In my experience, all mares have a cruel streak in them. Some thicker than others.” After a moment, he added, “You do not strike me as a particularly cruel pony. Neither does Twilight Sparkle.”

Dangling the letter in front of him, Grace almost smiled. “Suppose it asks us to transport you back to Ponyville so that you can complete your interrupted romantic interlude?”

“I’d suspect a forgery,” he responded instantly.

With the short amount of time that Emerald had been exposed to the impassive police officer, he was getting a good handle on how to read her reactions. She was the small-print edition of a mare, written right out to the margins in endless pages of large words and with multiple volumes but no illustrations. The faint flicker of her eyelashes and short snort was the equivalent of loud laughter from any other mare.

He took the message when Grace floated it over to him and read it with a growing sense of relief.

“The dragon certainly seems to take after his owner, and vice versa,” mused Emerald. “Dear Police Commissioner. Morning mail arrived. Twilight currently sleeping curled up on top of new books. Disregard all previous letters. Sincerely, Spike.”

Which only left… Grace.

He had to admit to some degree of sympathy with her situation. His own parents had pulled out most of the stops to get him hitched up to an ‘appropriate’ mare, and their qualifications for the position had declined over time. It would even quench their obvious desire for grandfoals, which would take some of their attention off him. And if he wanted any feminine companionship, there did not seem to be any problem with continuing to ‘fool around’ as he had in college.

But he found his thoughts turning away from himself.

“Grace,” he said slowly, “what kind of social life do you have?”

“An adequate one,” she stated in plain, simple words that made him think of late hours at her work with long evenings spent reading books and doing crossword puzzles in an empty apartment.

“No, I mean have you ever approached another pony with any kind of romantic intentions?”

“Why should I?” replied Grace. “Feelings should be kept out of the workplace.”

“Not at work. At a social event. A party. A walk in the park. A date. You’ve been on dates before, right?” A cold lack of response made Emerald press onward. “You can’t expect to win the game if you don’t play. No, wait,” he added. “Life isn’t a game. It’s… everything. My parents had an arranged marriage, and they lived into it. Not perfectly, not even close to what I want out of my own life, but they made it work. Marriages are pain. You give your entire life to somepony else, you live with their pain, you hurt when they hurt. Except for labor,” he added. “My father refused to be in the delivery room for any of us.”

Grace did not react to his admittedly disjointed argument. Emerald pushed the unsigned prenuptial agreement back to her.

“No. Not because of me, but because of you.”

“Me?” Grace looked up with what must have been the first real emotion she had displayed so far, and the tears he could see in the corners of her eyes just tore Emerald’s heart out.

“Yes, you.” Emerald got up and scooted his chair around to her side of the table so he could sit beside her, and offered her a kerchief from his vest pocket. “Your special talent means you’ve always been afraid of something bad happening when you open up to some other pony, and having to live with that experience every day forever. So when you researched my background and found out I’m a hopeless squish, you decided to do the first spontaneous thing in your entire life.” He nudged the pile of prenuptial agreement papers. “Of course, you had to plan that too.”

With a faint green glow of her field, Grace lifted the kerchief out of his hoof, dabbed her eyes, and sniffed. “Of course. Planning is—”

To be honest, Emerald had not planned to dart in close and kiss Grace on the lips. It was spontaneous, it was brief, and it was a lot like kissing his mother, but it made those drooping green eyes open wide, and both of her eyebrows nearly vanish into her short manestyle.

“Sometimes, not planning is better,” he managed.

It seemed wise to shut up at that point, since he had just technically assaulted a police officer inside of the station. He busied himself with putting papers back into folders, arranging things on the conference table until they were about as arranged as they could be, and then tucking the slightly damp kerchief back into his vest pocket.

Once things were put into order, he faced a much more important decision.

“A year,” he blurted out. “I will consider your offer seriously in one year, provided…” An idea blossomed, probably something that would get him killed or shackled, but it at least was something.

“Provided you accept every offer anypony makes to you during that time to attend any sort of social event with them. That includes dates, parties, concerts, celebrations, or anything of that sort,” he finished. It was a safe condition, since the socially awkward police officer most likely would never—

“Agreed,” said Grace. “I shall see you in a year. That will give me an adequate time to interview child care professionals and make other arrangements.” She raised one eyebrow. “Presuming you hold up your end of the bargain.”

“I am a stallion of my word,” said Emerald. Despite meaning what he had said, he tried to figure out a way to travel back in time and unspeak those words even while they worked their way back through the building on the way back out onto the Canterlot streets.

He was not used to being thwarted. He was a thwart-er. A year from now, he was going to be right back in this police station, facing the same cold fish, getting asked the same matrimonial question. She probably would not have even kissed another stallion by then, because nopony would know to ask…

Oh!

“Pardon me, everypony!” Jumping up on top of a desk on their way out of the building was probably a little overdoing it, but he had every single police officer’s attention, plus several criminals being processed. “Officer Grace and I made a wager, and she has just agreed to accept every invitation to any social event she is presented with in the next year. For example,” he continued, catching the eye of an officer who was fairly close to the bulletin board, and one announcement he had noticed on the way into the building. “Officer, has anypony ever invited Grace to your blood drive?”

“No,” said the police officer hesitantly. “She would never… You made a bet?”

“In a way,” admitted Grace.

The officer took a moment, then asked, “Grace?”

“Yes, I will participate in the blood drive,” she said

Emerald could not keep from whistling all the rest of the way back to the frat house, despite upcoming midterms. The school problems he was going to face over the next week were nothing compared to mares, and he had passed this test by a wide margin. By the time Twilight Sparkle was finished reshelving all of her new books, his presence would be a fading memory. And in a year, the prim and proper Officer Grace most certainly would meet some social unicorn who would be just as stuck-up as herself, and the two of them could produce however many stuck-up foals as they wanted together.

Best of all, it was a wonderful day for a walk, and he would never have to worry about going back to Ponyville ever again.

Author's Note

And onto hiatus status it goes. Will our hero manage to avoid his destiny of librarian responsibilities and matrimonial complications? Will the poor Library Oak ever manage to pollinate? Who knows.

7. Alicorn and Alibi

The Substitute Librarian
Alicorn and Alibi - Part One

His plan was flawless.

According to Emerald’s father, all of the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony were going to be at the Grand Galloping Gala. So was the latest Future Mrs. Emerald City, escorted to the event by Emerald’s mother for a coincidental meeting with him.

Therefore, Emerald needed to be somewhere else this evening. Somewhere he could go on short notice, where he could not be dragged into another matrimonial scheme. Somewhere he had to be, where even Baron Chrysanthemum could not object.

Somewhere Twilight Sparkle would not be able to find him.

Therefore, the Ponyville Golden Oak Library, Open Sunrise to Sunset Daily.

All Emerald needed to do was leave a note for his parents and his fraternity brothers, catch the train, and spend all evening in Ponyville, lounging at their only hotel while working on some of his inevitable homework.

It was a two-fer. In Canterlot, Twilight Sparkle would be at the Gala. His parents would also attend the Gala, show Lady Whatshername around, and return seething to their home. If they checked at the frat house to see where their son was hiding, they would find an Emerald-shaped hole and a flawless alibi.

His parents would not dare interfere with Princess Celestia’s plans, even if the princess in question was unaware of his scheme. Um… Plan, that is.

The only uncertainty in his plan was timing. If the Bearers were taking the train to Canterlot, they would be on the platform as he arrived. Admittedly, from the pictures in the newspapers, they were a fine group of mares, but he did not want to meet them under any circumstances. Despite Twilight Sparkle’s previous sworn complaints, he was not an epic danger to Equestria. He did not need to be force-fed rainbows, or have his library card impounded, or be imprisoned in a prison in a swamp that was transported to another country to be imprisoned, or whatever the chain of incarceration she had sketched out in her last letter to the Canterlot police.

Once the train wheezed to a halt at the Ponyville station, he peered out the window.

Good. No prospective brides. No famous Equestrian heroes. No relatives. No police.

Still, caution was the watchword. He trotted out into the sun-dappled afternoon streets of the small town, horribly overdressed but maintaining his active and cheerful demeanor. After all, if you looked like you knew what you were doing and belonged there, you could go just about anywhere. And the first place he went was the local boutique. The employment packet from a few weeks ago said the Element of Generosity worked there, and since there was a ‘Closed’ sign in the window…

Looking good. Better check one more place, just to be sure.

The last time Emerald had been to Ponyville, he had been so tempted to stop by the Sugarcube Corner and get something sweet to eat. This time, there was no time pressure, so he slipped in the door with the cheerful ‘ding’ of the bell and got in line.

After one breath filled with calorie-laden atmosphere, he immediately regretted not stopping here on his previous visit.

Even though it was nearing the end of the day and the bakery was getting ready to close, they still had an astonishing collection of goods. He was still making up his mind when the line moved forward and he found himself facing a cheerful chubby mare with a tired smile.

“Oh, you must be Mister Emerald,” she said before he could even open his mouth. “Just a moment.”

In a blur of light blue fur, she was gone, only to return with a small box tied up with twine. She put it down on the counter carefully and nosed it in his direction.

“I didn’t order anything yet,” he protested. “Although I’d like that last brioche, two of the cinnamon twists, and go ahead and bag everything left on the bottom tray. They look so good I can’t decide.”

The requested pastries vanished into a paper sack, which cost far less than Emerald had expected due to the ‘End Of Day Half-Off Sale’ and the lack of the Canterlot ‘Everything-Has-To-Be-Brought-Up-The-Mountain’ surcharge.

“Thank you very much, Mister Emerald,” said the clerk as she swept up the bits. “Now, don’t open that in here. Pinkie Pie was very upset at not being able to throw you a party last time.”

“Pinkie Pie knew I was…” Emerald considered the obvious holes in the information packet he had received on his last visit, weighed it against the poke in the flank he had just received from the next pony in line, and decided it was not important. “Is Pinkie Pie here, ma’am?”

“Sweet heavens, no. She went up to Canterlot with all of her friends about an hour ago.”

A second and more solid poke in the flank made Emerald move to the bakery door, calling out “Thank you, ma’am” over his shoulder.

Once he was safely outside, he had time to think. About an hour ago, he was boarding the train in Canterlot, and yet he was supposed to believe the Bearer of the Element of Laughter managed to discover his destination, create a gift—

He eyed the box. It seemed innocuous enough to ignore for now. He had things to do.

☑ — Escape from Canterlot
☑ — Verify that the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony are not in Ponyville
☐ — Establish alibi at the library
☐ — Spend the evening eating donuts and studying at the local hotel
☐ — Return to Canterlot in time for morning classes

Checking to make sure his bow tie was still snug, Emerald trotted in the direction of the library with dinner and the odd gift resting on the middle of his back. It was a little unnerving. The evening Sun and a light breeze cast the waving oak leaves into dark shadows moving in a constant pattern that made it seem alive. Or that may have just been his mind playing tricks.

“No pollination today, you naughty shrub,” he murmured under his breath as he slowed to a walk. “Just a quick stop and a hotel room for the night.”

The ‘Closed’ sign was up in the library’s front window, but he knocked on the door anyway, with just the slightest concern that perhaps Twilight Sparkle had not been able to make the trip to the Grand Galloping Gala. In that case, he would simply excuse himself to the young mare with a polite lie and come up with a different tale to spin to his parents tomorrow. Thankfully, there was no response, and alibi established, Emerald turned with the intention of heading straight for the hotel.

Unfortunately, there was an older mare standing on the path in front of him.

“Good afternoon,” she declared, giving him the committed smile of an expert con artist or a salespony. “Are you needing into the library, sir?”

Giving her a shrug and moving to one side, Emerald kept his face friendly. “Well, I was going to pick up a book for the evening, but it looks like your librarian is out of town.”

“Oh!” The mare’s face gained a look of sly joy, much like somepony who had just found a ten bit coin on the sidewalk. “Mister Emerald! Why, I almost didn’t recognize you in such a fine suit. I’m Mayor Mare, which you should have known if you had dropped by the Town Hall on your previous visit like your instructions had specified.”

Oh, no. She’s a politician. It’s worse than I thought.

“I really didn’t have time. I was so busy with the library work and teaching some of the town’s young unicorns,” said Emerald, trying to keep as close to the truth as possible.

“So I heard,” said the mayor with a growing smile.

Emerald did not like that expression. It was far too shark-like.

“I understand you taught Firelock how to make a flame,” she started, showing a few teeth in her predatory smile.

“With the proper precautions,” he added quickly. “It is far better for her to learn in a controlled environment than on her own.”

“And you taught the rest of your students how to make the most interesting noise,” she continued.

Better to go on the offensive than defense.

“They’re practicing? Oh, how wonderful!” he gushed. “You would not believe how many young unicorns neglect their early developmental period when they should be getting control over their magic. I know personally how it can cripple their abilities for years afterward. Some of them have uncontrollable destructive flares, or worse, wind up with first-level corona instabilities and live their life without being able to even lift a spoon. Why, my own unicorn parents still roll their eyes when I eat my cereal right out of the bowl without proper table utensils, which of course, I can’t use the same way as them. I guess teaching the precious children of your town is as close to using unicorn magic as I’m going to get.”

“Oh, I never thought of it that way,” said the mayor, giving Emerald’s hat a short glance. “I suppose as much as we dread what our young students do with their developing talents, the alternative would be far worse. Still,” she cautioned, “Firelock.”

“I’ll drop a note with some suggestions for the next visit by your Unicorn Magic Youth Educational Specialist,” said Emerald while trying to figure out how to do just that. Certainly, somebody at the college would be able to pass along a message to her tutor. And some burn cream for the inevitable hiccups during lessons.

The mayor was not taking his hint about the conversation being over, and gave him a quick top-to-bottom look, lingering on his expensive suit. “So, have you returned to pay our Twilight Sparkle a visit?”

“No.” It was as solid and definite answer as he could make to the mayor without stomping one glossy hoof-boot against the ground. “My visits here are strictly on a professional basis. While I was on the way to the Gala, one of my fraternity brothers mistakenly told me that the library was needing a sitter this evening, so I hurried right here.”

So I told Bunkie instead of him telling me. Close enough for an alibi.

Emerald rattled the door, feeling the faint tingle of the locking enchantments under his insulating dark hoof-boot. “Regrettably, I seem to be too late. I might as well head over to the hotel for the evening and work on my homework before heading back on the morning train.”

“Nonsense,” scoffed the mayor, producing a spell key. “As a matter of fact, this evening is the annual Harvest Night Library Sleepover for young foals among the community. We have story-telling and board games, which incidentally allows the parents a few hours of quiet time after a long day in the fields. Then they all curl up in their sleeping bags until morning when the parents pick them up.”

“Uh-huh.” Emerald considered his words. “Do any of them actually sleep?”

It was the mayor’s turn to shrug. “It’s always been such a difficult time, what with the previous librarian making us hold the event in the Town Hall. We have two volunteers, but to be honest, I wasn’t quite sure how it would go tonight without somepony else providing a quelling influence on the children’s natural energy. It’s so nice that you came down from Canterlot to help out.” The mayor paused. “M’lord.”

* * *

“Next time, I’m going to be born into a small woodcutter’s family,” mused Emerald as he dropped his saddlebags on the library desk and began kicking off his hoof-boots. “A little proper tugging at the forelock, some bowing and scraping, nothing but porridge every meal… Well, maybe it’s not that bad.”

“Twilight Sparkle wrote up a lesson plan for this evening,” said the grey-maned mayor, hoofing over a thick scroll of parchment. “As long as you keep the students out of her room and nothing burns down by tomorrow morning, we can all call this a success.”

“Right.” Emerald eyed the mayor, who had begun moving toward the front door. “We?”

“There is some long-delayed paperwork waiting for me back at the office,” explained the mayor, who continued to crab slightly sideways in her escape attempt. “Twilight Sparkle made some requests for library procedure changes after her last Bearer mission. This seems to be a good time to catch up on them, since I’ve found a volunteer to preside over the story reading tonight. Several of the children will be bringing older siblings or relatives, so you don’t have to worry about assistants. Just keep them out of the books and don’t make a mess.”

“Don’t make a mess,” he murmured to himself after the mayor left. Dropping into the oak chair behind the massive desk, Emerald opened up the stack of instructions, and the inevitable checklist accompanying it.

☑ — Read checklist
☑ — Read instructions
☑ — Take optional test on Page 47 regarding same
☑ — Make sure Pinkie Pie’s snacks are unpacked
☑ — Greet young ponies when they arrive
☑ — Take attendance

“Emerald!” By all means, the charge of three young foals should not have knocked him onto the floor, but since they were unicorns, and were therefore leading their charge horn-first, he decided on indignity instead of injury. Then again, if he had been thinking, a minor injury would have gotten him out of this task.

No, it was too much fun listening to the children babble about what had gone on since his last visit.

There was, of course, the inevitable backsliding in their magical homework among the unicorn students, although Snails had progressed to being able to pick up the pasteboard boxes of the boardgames, and Snips was at least trying to sort the pieces when everything spilled. Sweetie Belle, however, had regressed back to a flickering first stage corona with occasional sparks, although she somehow managed to incinerate a cookie and a glass of juice while getting snacks, which was a good sign.

As more students arrived and Emerald found himself being introduced to the young and the old, the names started to blur together. It was far better than working on the homework in his saddlebags, which Emerald had deposited in the librarian’s chair, along with his formal suit and pinching hoof-boots.

He kept the hat. Otherwise, he’d be naked.

To be honest, Emerald had played all of the worn board games before as a foal and grown rather tired of them. His older siblings had never been comfortable with taking him out into the dangerous world to play risky games such as hoofball or Scuttle. “Your brother is too fragile,” was the constant refrain from both Mother and Father. At least in school, he had been able to join the track team, even if he was destined to come in at last place during every meet. And the chess club, of course, in which he held a similar record more by intent than disability.

None of the children had any such reluctance, and neither did Emerald. He could have called it his second childhood if he had not been rather shorted on his first one. Between brief conversations with the younger ponies, they trounced him at Battleclouds, clobbered him at Food Pyramid, out-tossed him at the beanbag toss, and out-tailed him when pinning the tail on the paper pony. Things by that point had begun to wind down, so after declaring that he was exhausted and needed to sit down for a time, Emerald took a break with some snacks, a paper cup of juice, and a spot next to Derpy’s seat.

“I’m glad I only get to do this occasionally,” he admitted to the quiet pegasus. The temporary lull in the activity gave him the opportunity to ask a question that had been bothering him over the last two trips, although he wanted to angle into it just in case it was a sensitive topic. “I’ll bet you’re glad to have Sparkler over there to deal with Dinky, Miss Derpy. Or is it Doo? I’ve heard it both ways tonight.”

Derpy looked at him… well, one eye looked at him, which was about as good as he was going to get. “You can just call me Derpy,” she said flatly. “Everypony does.”

“As you wish, m’lady.” Emerald touched one hoof to his hat. “I understand that group story reading is next, and—” he nudged a short sheaf of paper on the nearby librarian desk “—due to the youth, inexperience, and fragility of the children, the present librarian has a list of topics we’re not supposed to cover.”

“Any story with words in it?” asked Derpy, which struck him as unreasonably humorous.

“Yes,” he managed through a stifled chuckle. “Although I’ve got an idea. If you could talk to Sparkler for me…”

* * *

“Everypony over here, please. Bring your sleeping bags.” Emerald pushed on the librarian desk to get some more space on the main floor, but was unable to make any progress until several of the children contributed their assistance. “Thank you, Truffle. And…”

“Scootaloo, sir.” The diminutive pegasus hooved her mane back into shape and looked up with pale violet eyes, although her face was covered in crumbs. “This is my first Harvest Night Library Sleepover,” she added proudly.

“Please don’t call me sir, just Emerald. Now, everybody get comfortable and I’ll tell tonight’s story just as soon as I get our storytelling light.”

It was a short walk back to the kitchen pantry where Emerald found the ancient candle lantern stored exactly where he had found it the first time. It took some effort to extract it due to several more tins of generic wake-up juice concentrate stacked in front of it, and he managed to get the water reservoir refilled without making too much of a mess.

“Just need to figure out what story to tell them,” he muttered between his teeth while striking the match. “It’s a lot easier to fake an idea for a story than an actual—”

In the flare of matchlight pushing back the kitchen’s darkness, little glints of microscopic crystals sparkled in the oak walls, the floors, and everywhere the raw tree was exposed, giving him the brief sensation of floating aimlessly in a star-strewn sky. The brilliant reflection of the spotty mirror over the sink drew his attention away from the glittering spectacle and to the shadowed spectre looking back through the silvered glass, much like some sort of ghostly librarian looking disapprovingly at his pitiful attempts to entertain the town’s youth.

It also gave him an idea, once he got his breath back.

Once he had returned to his previous seat out in the library main floor and turned off the overhead lighting devices, the idea had bloomed into a full-fledged terror. His brothers would have approved. His younger sister would have screamed. His older sister would have clomped him over the head with something.

“It’s awfully dark,” complained one of the students out in the shadows.

“It’s supposed to be dark,” countered Emerald as he placed the candle lantern on the massive oak desk. “And quiet. You see, this is a library after closing time. We don’t want to disturb the librarian spirit who is cursed to haunt this place until the end of time.”

“Haunt?” sounded one of the small voices.

“Librarian?” sounded another, more afraid than the first.

Several flickering unicorn horns lit up, and the small ponies gathered closer together. The faint chill of a distant breeze encouraged their herding behavior, and Emerald pretended not to notice Derpy on top of a nearby bookshelf, using her wings and pegasus magic to shift the temperature of their storytelling area until it began to resemble the upcoming winter. If they were chilly and huddling together for warmth, they would be that much easier to deal with, after all.

“Haven’t you ever wondered just how your town acquired a magical library oak tree?” he started, low and nearly under his breath. Faint flickers of ghostly light reflected from all of the surroundings with much the same microscopic crystalline glitters in the raw oak, giving a fairy tale atmosphere to the darkened room, even without Sparkler adding her own faint blue glow of light to the surroundings in order to make the shadows dance.

“It all started many, many years ago, in a land far from here, where an elderly librarian managed her collection of books in a ramshackle stone building. It leaked when it rained, let wind in through the cracks when it stormed, and was a generally miserable place for her to live.”

“Why did she stay?” asked Dinky.

“Because she loved her books,” continued Emerald. “Each and every one of them was like a child to her, even though she had no children of her own. And that was probably a good thing, because for a pony who loved books, she despised pony children.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward, putting every bit of contempt he could into each word. “You see, children lose books. They fold the corners back on pages. They put them face-down on the floor and break their spines. They spill sticky things on the covers, and tear pages when they squabble with other ponies. And yet, in order for her to have a place to live with her beloved books, she had to lend them out,” he added, curling his lips back from his teeth and hissing. “She hated that more than anything, and glared at everypony she met.”

“She sounds like Twilight Sparkle,” grumbled Firelock, who had not even lit up her horn, most probably due to the number of fire alarm and extinguishing spells scattered around the bookshelves.

“Oh, no! Twilight Sparkle has friends.” Emerald waved one hoof in a broad arc around the dark book-filled room. His eyes were adjusting to the dark, which boded well for the anticipated ending of his story when the time was right.

“This librarian had nopony at all. As long as she was surrounded by her books, she was… Well, not happy. Let’s just say she was less miserable than she could have been. During Day, she would glare at the ponies who dared to slink into her library and borrow her beloved books, while at Night, she crept around the building in the dark, without even a candle to light her way. You see, she was very old, and knew there would come a time soon when she would die and go beyond the Great Plain. She would not be able to bring her books, and she could not bear to see them destroyed. That is why she could not bear to see any candles. She hated fire of any sort!”

“The monster,” whispered Firelock.

“That was only the start of her monstrous ways,” continued Emerald. “You see, one night when she was muttering and complaining around the library, she found a strange book on the shelves, where she was certain there had not been one before. The ancient book was dusty and cracked, with glowing silver runes on the cover and a thick band made of leather strapping it closed.”

“Don’t open it,” whispered Snips with his eyes closed. “Don’t open it, don’t open it…”

“And she opened it!”

The little ponies all gasped.

“It did not seem to be one of hers, but it was in her house, so she read it!”

The little ponies all gasped again.

“Then something truly terrible happened. Something so awful that it had never happened before, and most probably would never happen again.” Emerald paused for dramatic effect. “She… smiled.”

Several of the little ponies screamed, but hushed up quickly when their friends shushed them.

“It was a terrible, cruel, evil smile,” continued Emerald. “Because you see, there was a spell in the book. Something so vile that I don’t dare tell you, because your young minds would break under the strain! The librarian did not care how evil it was, just that it could solve her dilemma and she could be with her books forever!”

“What’s a dill emma?” asked Snails.

“Shh,” cautioned Snips with his eyes still closed. “I’ll tell you later.”

“So that evening, while the whole town was sleeping, the librarian made her preparations. She drew runes on the creaky floorboards, arranged all the library cards into a mystic circle, and drew upon her power to summon…” Emerald paused, and looked around the circle of entranced faces, feeling marginally smug about seeing Sparkler just as entranced as her little sister.

“First, I must tell you about alicorns from long, long ago,” he said in a conspiratorial tone, but continued before any of his audience could break their immersion. “Back long before Celestia, far in ancient history when there was an alicorn for everything, every blade of grass, every tree, every rock. Thousands upon thousands of them, with magic beyond measure, filled the world with light and wonder. Nopony knows what happened to them, but they all passed into the Great Beyond many years ago, leaving only their spirits behind to roam the world. One of these alicorns was the spirit who lives in every library across the entire world.

“She was a majestic creature, beautiful beyond words and graceful, although not large because she was a very practical creature, and to be large would have made it difficult to fit between the bookshelves, of course. Since her passing from the material world many years before, she had transformed into a being of pure ideas, thoughts, and dreams. Of storms and summers, of patrons walking quietly among shelf-lined walls and the loud cries of the young. Of books, lined and straight, filled with the knowledge of ponies long dead and awaiting a chance to live again in the hooves of an interested reader. Of rain and sunshine and wind, the droning of bees outside her windows, and the touch of the snow upon her roof. She was the unseen queen of all she surveyed, ruler and guiding hoof, a refuge for weary souls battered by the world and a beacon of learning for the hungry masses.”

After sufficient time, one of the students asked, “The librarian summoned an alicorn?”

“Not just an alicorn,” whispered Emerald. “The Alicorn of Knowledge, she who knows everything, and what she does not know, she can find, because every book in the world falls under her domain. Knowledge is its own power, and the librarian let out a joyful cackle at the sight of such a mighty creature trapped within her runes and sigils.

“Alicorn,” she commanded, “I have two tasks for you.”

Despite its overwhelming might, the alicorn remained quiet and did not attempt to escape its bonds. “Speak,” it said in the calmest voice.

“I wish to have a library suitable for my books,” said the librarian with a sneer. “One that does not leak when it rains, and remains comfortable for me in the worst weather. It must grow as I add more books, and never be destroyed. And over that library, I shall reign forever as an alicorn just like yourself. Immortal, powerful, and respected, making all who come near cower in fear, and never touch the books in my care.”

The mighty alicorn nodded, then lifted her head and looked the librarian in the eyes. “Are you certain?” it asked.

“Of course, I’m certain,” snapped the librarian. “Do as I command!”

“Bound by your spell, I can do no other,” said the alicorn.

She lifted her horn, and golden light filled the ramshackle library until it was impossible to see. An oak tree which was growing along one outside wall burst into furious growth, whipping leaves and branches around as it sprang into the air and expanded, wrapping the library in its wooden embrace. In moments, it had completely surrounded the old library, and when everything stopped moving, all of the librarian’s prized books were secure on their new shelves.

Well, the librarian was pleased, to say the least. The mighty oak tree was at least twice as large as her previous library, and the books had enough space between them for a great expansion of her collection. However, her aged limbs and wrinkled face had not changed a bit.

“Alicorn!” she snapped. “Why have you not completed the second of my tasks! Give me your power so I can live forever, like yourself!”

“Your second task is far more difficult,” said the alicorn. “The risks are great. Life cannot be given without life taken in return.”

“Take the lives of those wretched children,” spat the librarian as she gestured to the library cards scattered across the floor. “They are worthless creatures, who live only to damage my beloved books.”

“Why would I do that?” The glowing alicorn stepped forward, through the scattered runes and sigils which no longer held their previous structure, and therefore no longer blocked the creature’s power. “Children are the precious gift given to the future, filled with boundless potential. They are the ones most in need of my wisdom, learning from my pages, becoming more than the generation before. They come to me, and I open my heart gladly so they can drink deeply of wisdom and knowledge.”

The alicorn stopped, and lowered her horn. “Nevertheless, I shall give you what you demanded.”

To the librarian’s horror, flames began to erupt from her coat, and in moments, she was consumed in a cold fire that devoured her entirely. Still, the ancient alicorn continued to speak while the librarian burned.

“In your foolishness, you shall attain wisdom. You shall become as I am, a spirit of libraries all over the world. Your home will be wherever books are kept for the use of many. You will see your beloved books placed in the care of others, powerless to interfere as they read them and enjoy. Perhaps, after centuries of this ghostly afterlife, you will learn the lessons I have attempted to teach. This is the gift which you demanded, and that is what you will receive. Forever.”

* * *

Emerald placed the glowing candle lantern down in the center of their tight group, with each of the little ponies staring at the flame with wide eyes. “Nopony ever saw the librarian again. In the morning,” he continued, “there was an immense oak tree in the center of the town where the ramshackle library once stood. The ponies of the town marveled at their new library, and did not miss the troublesome old mare one bit.

“Time went on, and the town needed somepony to watch over the books, so they hired a pleasant mare who appreciated the children of the town, and always made sure every pony found the books they enjoyed the most. It could have been a satisfying end to their story, but there was more.”

By this time, the smaller unicorns had become so transfixed that none of them were keeping their horns lit, not even Sparkler, which he took as a good sign. He had been a little worried about the fire portion disturbing his audience, but Firelock’s presence must have made most of the young students fairly immune to mere literary fire, so he continued.

“In the spring, the town’s new library erupted in—”

“Fire?” asked Firelock eagerly and expectedly.

“—blossom,” continued Emerald with a cautionary look at the young firebug. “Beautiful white flowers like flames covered every branch, and by that fall, hundreds of acorns were gathered by the townsponies. They were so excited by the gift of nature that they sent those acorns to every single city in Equestria. Some of them did not grow, of course, while most never got larger than saplings. Only a special few grew into great libraries like this one, centers of knowledge for ponies of all ages. But…”

He lowered his voice and bent closer to the candle’s flame. “The librarian’s curse followed the trees. It is said that on dark nights, when you light a candle in a closed library and listen very closely, you can still hear her screaming in the fire that turned her into a spirit.”

Every little pony perked up their ears and listened with wide eyes, even Snips. It probably did not help that Emerald had his lips just barely parted, and was releasing his breath very slowly between his teeth in a nearly inaudible hiss.

“You see,” continued Emerald in a low whisper that made the little ponies huddle closer, “there was a flaw in the librarian’s prison. She was only powerless to affect the living who enjoyed her beloved books. Wherever there are libraries, there are mischievous little ponies who abuse the books, tear the pages, stain the covers, and lose them. None of you are like that, are you?”

All of the young ponies including Sparkler dutifully shook their heads.

“Good,” said Emerald with a sigh. “Because naughty little ponies have been known to vanish at night around this kind of library. Nopony ever sees them again, but in the morning, the tree always looks a little bigger, and has more space for books.”

“Twilight might like that,” said Firelock hesitantly.

“I’m sure she prefers you all just the way you are now, since you’re good little ponies,” said Emerald. “Besides, there are always two ways to tell if the librarian is looking at you, ready to pounce. First, is to look into a candle flame like this one.”

All of the young ponies stopped their fidgeting and gave the flickering candle their full and undivided attention while Emerald continued.

“Whenever she uses a candle flame to spy on naughty little colts and fillies, it flickers because she breathes on it… like this one is doing. Hm…” Emerald pulled the candle lantern closer and got a good grip on it, because the next part had a good chance of getting it knocked over, and he did not want to clean up the mess.

“Of course, the second way of telling if she’s going to pounce is if you see her ghostly figure—” he whirled and pointed at the top of the library stairwell “—like that!”

The screaming started immediately, and little ponies began running everywhere.

8. Alicorn and Alibi

The Substitute Librarian
Alicorn and Alibi - Part Two

“That was probably the most fun I’ve had at an all-nighter, ever.” Emerald picked up the dustpan and dumped the last of the dirt into the paper trash bag while Dinky scurried to put the broom back into the kitchen where it belonged. Most of the children had already departed with the dawn as early-rising parents had come by, checked the building and the child for fire damage, then toted off their sleepy tot for whatever they had scheduled for the day. The children had been astonishingly helpful during the morning clean-up time, particularly when Emerald had wondered out loud if he needed to light a candle to help them see the trash that should be thrown away or the sweeping that needed to be done. All in all, a very productive evening, even if he had not managed to teach a single magic lesson to the unicorn students.

“The party was way different than I expected.” Derpy shook her hoof and considered the sleeping bag she had somehow tied to it while rolling up the extras. “The mayor normally does the story reading.”

“And puts everypony to sleep, I suppose. What fun would that be? Here, let me help with that.” Through judicious application of teeth and hooves, Emerald managed to free the awkward mailpony, although he had to roll the sleeping bag back up and tie it to prevent an encore bondage performance. “There! All the spare bags are ready for the mayor to pick up. Which reminds me.”

He scurried back to the librarian’s desk and began inking a note with quill firmly grasped between his teeth. It was the first writing he had done this evening, which made it an effort to maintain a cheerful attitude while writing the note. After all, his college studying backlog just kept growing back in Canterlot the longer he was here, enjoying himself. Plus, Twilight Sparkle was due back in the library soon, and he really wanted to be gone by then. One arrest was plenty.

“Good morning, Emerald!” The mayor poked her nose in the front door and looked around, perhaps expecting fire residue or explosive damage. “Oh, my. No problems overnight, I presume.”

“Nothing I was unable to handle with the assistance of the volunteers,” chirped Emerald once he had finished his short note. “Miss Doo, if you would take the trash out to the bins while Sparkler and Dinky carry the extra sleeping bags outside, I believe we can leave the library nearly as clean as we found it. And if you could please sign here, Madam Mayor?”

“I hope you’re not expecting a check,” said the mayor as she trotted over to the desk. She read the thank-you note without further comment, then selected a fresh quill out of the library patron cup and signed her name at the bottom. “Considerate of you,” she added after putting the dripping quill back.

“Twilight Sparkle deserves considerable thanks for letting us use her space, and you deserve the credit for how well it went,” stated Emerald while grabbing a tissue and wiping up the leftover drips of ink before they could stain the desk. “Now, come on. Time to go.”

“You don’t want to meet our local celebrity again, Mister Emerald?” The mayor cocked her head as Emerald finished shrugging into his dress coat, then shouldered his saddlebags. He took exceptional care to make sure all of his hoof-boots were snug, because the last thing he wanted to do was leave anything out of Sheeping Beauty that could lead back to him.

“No,” he stated plainly. “I never met her last time, and that’s fine. Come on, out you go.” With one last look around to make sure there were no stragglers left inside, Emerald ordered the lights off and closed the door to the tree, feeling the sharp bite of the locking spells as they secured the building behind him. At least this time, there was no chance of Twilight Sparkle coming to the mistaken conclusion that there was any kind of romantic intent in his visit. With luck, she would never even realize he had been here.

“I’m behind on my studies, so I’m headed for the train station, Madam Mayor. Unless you have anything else for me.”

“Well, I could use some help taking the sleeping bags back to be stored in the Town Hall,” mused the mayor.

“We can get that! Hey, Sparkler!” called out Dinky as she galloped out from behind the library tree where she had been putting the trash. “Come help!”

“Nopony should be this cheerful in the morning,” grumped Sparkler as she followed her sister in a slow trudge. With little effort, the three of them managed to get the lumpy bags organized and headed in the general direction of the Town Hall, leaving Emerald to give them a cheery wave and head out for his own departure via train.

“She’s still using her back instead of her magic,” mused Emerald with an over-the-shoulder glance at the happy foal bouncing along beside her sister, each carrying a sleeping bag. “Still, her magic is coming along nicely, like most of the rest of them. Not a bad day after al—”

The whistle of an airborne pony was something Emerald was used to in college, since pegasus students liked to swoop down on him and try to knock his hat off. They never actually hit him, like Derpy managed with a flurry of flailing limbs and an anguished “Oops!”

“Miss Doo,” managed Emerald when he had gotten turned right-side up and determined nothing was broken. And although the suit was showing the stress of the last day, and seriously needed some seams restitched, his hat was still where it needed to be, but scrunched a bit. “Did you have something you needed to speak with me about before I left?”

Well, that’s what he tried to say. He suspected what came out was slightly less coherent from his growing concussion.

“I was just…” started Derpy. “I thought… If you have time… I have a question,” she finished.

A few pieces of loose homework had slipped out of his saddlebag, but once they had gotten stuffed back in and the latch closed, Emerald took a look across town at the train station, and the relative lack of train within. “I suppose, if we talk while we walk. Are you wanting to discuss Dinky’s magical progress?”

“Oh. Well. No. Oops.”

Whatever the mailmare had tripped over on the path was too small to see, and Emerald picked himself up off the ground again, trying to keep in mind what the packet had said about Derpy not trying to be such a road hazard.

“I was watching her corona density when I was telling the story,” continued Emerald, walking a little further away this time. “All of the unicorn students flickered during the stressful parts, so she seems to be above average for her peer group. I can write you up a series of exercises for her to do at home, if you like. Wait. No?”

“I wanted to ask about the story you told,” started Derpy while nodding. “It was really, really good. Did you find it in a book?”

“No, I wish. I was just pulling… I mean making it up as I went.” Emerald scratched the back of his mane while walking, trying not to grimace. “I may have gone a little overboard at the end, what with the students screaming all over the library and Snails hiding under the kitchen table. But it certainly kept them out of Twilight Sparkle’s bedroom,” he finished with a chuckle.

“I admit I didn’t know anything about unicorn magic before,” said Derpy. “Raising two unicorns helped. They say it’s really, really difficult to do magic with anything resting on your horn. Or covering it,” she added. “So how did you make the ghost at the top of the stairs?”

“Ah…” Emerald hid a knowing smile. “That is something very, very special. A little trick I picked up from my family. Tell me, Miss Doo. Can you keep a secret?”

Golden eyes shifted to look in all directions around them, and twice as fast as Emerald could in similar circumstances. Derpy moved closer and whispered, “Yes.”

“Well, then.” Emerald lowered his voice too. “So can I.”

He resumed his brisk trot to his destination, although Derpy did not seem to get the humor of the remark as she trotted alongside, to the point where she actually looked irate. Or at least one of her eyes was glaring at him.

“Look, Miss Doo.” Emerald slowed to a walk, although he noticed other ponies out in this early hour of the morning were giving them both considerable space so there was no real collision risk. “It’s a joke. Do you really want to know why you saw an image on the top of the stairs?”

“Um… Yes. I think,” hedged the mailmare.

Giving a shrug to get his stuffed saddlebags properly situated, Emerald continued in his best lecturing voice, “It’s an optical effect. Everypony stared at the bright candle, then when they looked up the stairs, the bright spot stayed on their eyes for a few moments. That’s probably why some of them thought it was chasing them through the library,” he added.

Derpy shook her head, making her blonde mane fly in all directions. “I know that. I wanted to know how you made a glowing unicorn up there.”

Emerald stopped. “Glowing unicorn?” After a few moments thought, he cautiously added, “Perhaps one of the foals was—”

Derpy shook her head again. “I was watching. Even Sparkler. None of them had a glowing horn with a cordova.”

“Corona,” corrected Emerald. He shrugged off the shiver that went down his back and started walking in the direction of the train station again. “Probably just a figment of your imagination. I really had all of the students going, didn’t I? Nightmare Night is coming, so they might as well be ready.”

“I suppose.” Derpy fell in alongside again, nearly tripping him again in the process. “It could have been a spell to reflect your image, because it was a unicorn like you. Only without the hat. And all white, with a pale blue mane. It really looked like a ghost.”

Emerald stopped again. “All white, with a pale blue mane? Younger than me, perhaps?”

“Yes,” confirmed Derpy. “You’re really talented to be able to—”

“It’s Frost, my younger sister,” said Emerald, turning around to look for a trailing pony. “The little genius is in Celestia’s school. She could have followed me to town, snuck into the library without anypony seeing her, hid upstairs all night… and not left? No, that can’t be her. She loves being around other fillies her age. And she can’t keep from giggling when she’s trying to pull something off. It must have just been your imagination.”

“Is she as good at magic as you are?” asked Derpy. “Because she had to be really good to not be spotted.”

“No,” said Emerald firmly. “It wasn’t Frost. I wasn’t casting a spell. It was an afterimage from the candle and your imagination.”

“I don’t have much of an imagination,” said Derpy slower than before. “And I was only watching the candle with one eye, since I can’t even do that right. So you had to be using a spell,” she finished with a sharp nod that spilled mane down over her eyes. “It was very special. Can you teach it to Sparkler sometime?”

“No!” Emerald stopped and took a shallow breath. The train station was fairly close, and still no train, so unless he did something, Derpy was going to continue pestering him. Of all the unicorn families (of a fashion) in Ponyville, she was most likely to be accepting of his ‘disability’ unlike Missus Bradel, for example. Besides, when he graduated at the end of next semester and went out to do his student teaching, he was going to have to face this kind of cognitive dissonance over a non-unicorn teaching unicorn magic anyway, so it would be good practice.

“Miss Doo. Can you keep a secret? And I mean it this time. Not just a secret from everypony else, a secret from Dinky and Sparkler too?”

That seemed to set the mailpony back a step. “Is it a bad secret?”

“No. Well, some stuck-up unicorns in Canterlot think it’s a bad secret, which is why I don’t tell them,” hedged Emerald. “I don’t think it’s a bad secret. It’s just that unicorn parents want their children taught unicorn magic by the best unicorn teacher available. I think the results are more important.”

“You’re a good magic teacher,” said Derpy, although drooping a little. “A lot better than me. Dinky has been so happy since your last visit, jumping around and making tooting noises with her horn. Before, she had trouble even getting it to spark, and I didn’t know what to do.”

“If everypony knew what to do,” countered Emerald, “you wouldn’t need teachers, and I’d be out picking apples somewhere. Teaching talented children like yours is the greatest blessing I could ever receive, and not just because I’m a lousy apple-picker. Teaching requires absolute trust between the teacher and the parent.” He lowered his head to look Derpy right in the eyes, or at least close. “Do you trust me to teach your child?”

“Well…” Neither golden eye looked at him, and her voice choked up. Reading wings was one thing Emerald had learned well from his father’s business connections, and if Derpy’s wings had been any more tense, they could not have been pried away from her flanks with a crowbar. “It’s hard to trust unicorns,” she admitted reluctantly through her teeth.

“I know how that is at times,” said Emerald with a nod and a short glance around to make sure there were no snooping nearby ponies. “Sometimes, unicorns can be terribly cruel without meaning to be. I’m in a unicorn fraternity at college, and wealthy stallions are not the kindest creatures in the first place. Even my siblings sometimes did not know how much they hurt me. Were you… hurt by a unicorn?”

“After what he did… I mean I thought he… abandoned me,” she finished in a short burst of quiet words that struggled to make it through clenched jaws. After a few short breaths she added, “Abandoned us. I think about him every time Dinky… And then Sparkler needed us too, and I brought her in. Sometimes, it’s so hard to keep from hating him. I see his face in every unicorn. Every sneer when I misplace a piece of mail. Every time they shout at me for breaking something. Every day I expect him to walk around the corner and take my Dinky away from me because I’m such a terrible parent.”

“That would not end well,” said Emerald. “For him. I’ve seen the way you love your daughters, adopted and natural. I suspect the face you keep seeing would be missing a lot of teeth afterward. Maybe with a flattened nose, and two black eyes.”

The relaxation that swept across Derpy was a welcome relief for Emerald too, and her subdued giggle made him go on further. “Did I tell you that when I was a foal, somepony tried snatching me from a park in Canterlot once? My own dear, sweet, formal mother, the overcivilized unicorn who refused to go out in public with a chipped hoof or unbrushed mane, who insisted that I wear a jacket whenever there was the least little breeze, she grabbed him by the tail, and… Well, it was educational, and for weeks, I insisted I was going to become a professional wrestler, but that’s not important right now.”

Taking a deep breath, he continued with no small hesitation. “I made up the librarian ghost story. I’ve always been good at making up stories. I once had a report in college with thirty-five pony tribe myths, from the Sasquash to Cloud Fleas, and found out at the last minute I was short a few pages, so I just made one up and threw it in. The teacher was a unicorn, the myth I made up was an earth pony story, so he didn’t care and I still got full marks. There was no ghost in the library.”

“Of course not,” said Derpy, which gave him a moment of relief until she added, “You were casting a spell. So can you teach it to Dinky?”

“I was not—” Taking a deep breath, Emerald spoke in short words. “Ma’am, it appears there is only one way I can convince you I was not casting a unicorn spell.”

With a little extra effort to overcome the stictation spell he had on all his hats, he lifted his formal top hat, gave her a short bow, and put it back on.

“Oh,” said Derpy.

Since Emerald had determined the mailmare was not stupid, just slow, he stood there and waited for the mental gears to finish grinding and the little flag to pop up.

“When did you lose your—”

Admittedly, the little flag popped up in an unexpected spot. “I never had a horn.”

“So…” After another long pause, Derpy leaned over and peeked at his sides.

“Or wings,” added Emerald.

“Oh,” added Derpy again. Then after a period of more thought, “Oh!”

“So…” started Emerald, “do you still want me as Dinky’s unicorn magic teacher whenever I’m in town? Which I’ll admit isn’t on a regular basis, but if my student teaching curriculum gets approved, I’ll have Ponyville as one of my regular stops next year. If you want me.”

Derpy nodded vigorously, paused to toss the mane out of her eyes, then nodded again. “Why wouldn’t I want you to teach my daughter? You’re a great teacher. You’re funny, and smart, and tell wonderful stories that teach lessons, like not to abuse books. I’ll see you when you return and see if you can teach her some more. She likes learning as much as I am!”

“Do,” corrected Emerald.

“And you call me Miss Doo instead of Derpy,” she bubbled. “You’re such a sweet stallion.”

Derpy leaned in close, kissed him on the cheek, and tripped. Thankfully, he was ready for that portion, and caught the pegasus before the two of them wound up in the dirt. “Whoops,” she added. “I better get to work. The letters won’t deliver themselves, you know. Because if they did, I wouldn’t have a job.”

“A tragedy indeed,” said Emerald. “Thank you for your trust, Miss Doo. Hopefully, we will run into each other again soon.”

“I like flying into you,” she said with a giggle as she ascended up into the cloud-dotted morning sky. “And I won’t tell anypony about the secret ghost in the library.”

“But…” By the time Emerald could say anything, the mailmare was far out of shouting range, leaving him to make the short trip to the empty train station by himself.

“I hope she’s not going sweet on me,” he murmured to himself after buying a ticket and sitting down on an empty bench. “I’m not sure if ‘likes flying into you’ is a warning sign for pegasus dating.”

Derpy was a premade family, after all. Cute single mother, unicorn children, guaranteed to drive his father into the third heart attack that would be his end… Well, maybe not that tempting of a dating prospect to consider while wasting his time waiting on the train.

The pegasus who ran the device repairshop would be more of a practical prospect. There was just something attractive about a mare who had a few dabs of grease on her face and a sincere need for being brushed. Something familiar, in fact. Dad would flip over having a pony in the family with an equiportant diagram on her flank, but he could not remember for the life of him ever meeting a pegasus so Marked. Maybe a few minutes back at the frat with a copy of Twerp’s Peerage would shed some light on her identity.

Of course, if he were feeling particularly suicidal, he could expand his matrimonial search to some of Twilight Sparkle’s friends. The photographs in the newspapers had shown one to be a fashionable unicorn, pretty enough to meet his parents qualifications… No, make that pretty enough to meet his qualifications. His parents had attempted to pair him with some real peaches recently. Rarity seemed to be a perfect bit of pretty side-candy, enough to make the other stallions stare… and probably as shrill as a saw with the personality of a mink. It seemed to go naturally with pins and measuring tapes, after all.

The idea of the fashonista’s perfect white coat next to his own dismal green hide only hammered the depression in deeper, and triggered some curiosity about last evening’s overnight stay in the library. It was entirely too easy to dismiss the goofy pegasus mare as somepony with a head that rattled when shaken, and who saw ghosts in mirror reflections. The only thing was, Emerald had firm memories of his foalhood where bigger ponies refused to even consider the strange things he had seen, so he had sworn never to blow off anypony else’s odd perceptions. Even odd perceptions from eyes that did not want to focus on the same thing.

It was troubling enough to keep him from working on his homework during the cheerful morning train ride back up the mountain. The sun felt cold against his thick green coat, unable to penetrate below a few hairs, while the normal thinner air of his childhood home left him strangely lethargic.

There was a possibility that Derpy saw somepony in the library other than his younger sister, although that was quite impossible. His family had always been protective of their goofy earth pony sibling, even if his parents never harped about their sacrifices for his good. They suffered in silence, in a way that each child knew darned good and well meant the same thing, only stretching back through the generations long past away to dust and decay. It was an unspoken responsibility given to each child from their parents, and expected to be given to their child in return, and then another, growing heavier with each transfer until he felt the entire mountain on his shoulders.

There were more than enough photos of Emerald’s birth and first year of life back in his parents’ albums, and he understood perfectly why. As a newborn, he had been a spindly-legged, hollow-eyed shadow of health, only regaining his normal weight and activity after his younger sister was born. There had been such a thin thread tying him to the world of the living for so long, and if he had died, the only thing his parents would have to remember him would have been some pictures and a few ashes behind a brass door in the family crypts.

He really should have headed straight for the fraternity when the train arrived in Canterlot. There was no reason to turn down the sun-dappled street to the inner section of the town, moving slower than his usual rapid trot to get from class to class. If he had encountered anypony he knew, he would have turned away, but his path remained unobstructed. Once he passed beneath the decorative wrought-iron barbican that signaled the division between the living of the city and the dead, it was too late to turn back anyway.

Slowing his steps again, Emerald strolled between rows of flowers and ornate bushes, each kept in pristine condition by the aged caretakers of the quiet place. Technically it was a necropolis, the largest one in all of Equestria, with cremated remains of thousands tucked into flowered nitches and hedged turns among the winding paths. More colloquially, it was called The Gardens, no more, no less, and Emerald walked past each bloom and leaf without the slightest urge to take a nibble, no matter how hungry he was.

In due time, he passed over the inscribed symbol of his House, a chrysanthemum in full bloom worked delicately into the cobblestoned path. To one side there were small brass doors with familiar names, great uncles and grandparents who rested at nose-height to the little colt he was during their funerals. Such a small space for deceased ancestors, all blissfully quiet compared to the squabbling chaos of any meeting between them when they were alive.

The small doors remained unmarked beyond a certain point due to innate frugality. After all, his older sister was in Baltimare pursuing a career, and if she pursued a stallion to a successful family life of her own, there would be no reason to reserve a space for her inevitable passing when she would most probably be buried with her spouse. Likewise his eldest brother and his new spouse would pass into a noble family’s embrace several flower-decorated paths from here.

There were three notable exceptions. His parents, of course, who Emerald suspected of having inscribed their doors back when his father had his first minor heart attack. Then a small door below theirs, inscribed with his own name that must have been purchased soon after he was born.

That was as far as Emerald had ever looked before. It had always given him a warm feeling to know that wherever he would pass after death, be it the Heavenly Pastures, the Great Nest, the most probable Shadowlands, or whatever else happened, he would be surrounded and protected by his family just the same as they had protected him during his life. Now when he was standing there all by himself in the cool morning sunlight, he could not shake the warm protected feeling of being with his family.

Frost had always been a ball of happy white fur, who bounced more than she walked. Mother occasionally said she had the energy of two ponies, but always turned away afterward, and withdrew emotionally. Emerald, being the nosy child he was and filled with curiosity, had nosed his way into the family keepsakes of their birth and had come across a letter from around that date in which the word ‘twins’ had been used.

Curious he may have been, but mixed with a great deal of caution. Curious noses frequently got burned. It was enough to know that his mother had been pregnant with two foals and only one survived, but ever since then he had wondered just what having a second little sister would have been like. Or even a little unicorn brother to cuddle, teach about his magic, and defend against the dangers of the world.

There were a few tufts of scrubby grass obscuring the very bottom doors, which Emerald brushed aside while crouching down to read. As expected, the doors were all blank except one.

He remained there with his chest pressed against the sun-warmed cobblestones, his nose against the dirt, and his mind slowly wrapping around a concept that he quietly moved from Impossible to Unlikely.

After a time, the Sun on his shoulders warmed. Birdsong began to echo among the fragrant blossoms, the unthinking happy residents of this place making the best of their last few warm days before winter’s snow. Life went on, throughout Equestria and the city. It was the rhythm of hope, the promise that made ponies keep going when everything had turned to horseapples, and a gift that Emerald carried in his own heart so that he could give it to others, particularly the most vulnerable and innocent.

After all, he had been given that same precious gift in his youthful infirmity. His parents, his siblings, his family had never given up on that fragile child he could still see reflected in the mirror whenever he thought about it too much. The realization filled him with a sense of completion, of purpose, and an awareness of how much studying he needed to do today. He stood back up, brushed the loose soil off his damaged suit, and turned his brisk steps in the direction of the fraternity house. He was a son of House Chrysanthemum, and there was much left to do before he could rest.

Behind him, the bent grass slowly straightened to cover the tiny brass door.

Winter
Beloved Son

9. Intermission

Author's Note

Drill Sergeant Emery Board is from Estee's story Like a Well-Oiled Machine. You do not have to read it before this story since it does not mesh with the events detailed there, but I'd advise it. You will notice a significant difference in the drill sergeant's behavior between the two stories, because 'Machine' covers Sgt. Board in two roles, addressing a superior officer and addressing recruits placed into his tender loving care, while 'Intermission' has him conversing with a potential candidate, which is where a drill sergeant will turn on the... um... Well, Sgt. Board has little charm, but he does have a lifetime of experience in bending others to his will with or without physical violence.

R. Lee Emory. Marine and great man. We will not see your like in this world again. Semper fi.

9. Intermission

The Substitute Librarian
Intermission

Students in Canterlot, as a general rule, never saw Sun rise.

Military cadets did.

In fact, the best place to see the event was a long, winding road that swept around Canterlot’s mountain skirts which had seen the tread of countless armored hooves, providing a convenient route for said cadets to visit one of many training areas they would learn to loathe over their years of service. The road bore no real appeal for anypony else, even amorous ponies seeking a quiet place to amore, because at any time an entire class of steel-clad cadets could come tromping along, led by the stentorian bellow of a drill sergeant.

Very few romantic rendezvouses could withstand such interruption.

At night, the broad path was lit by a precise string of glowrocks to either side, so that trainees would not lose their way under light of Moon. It was, after all, a long way down the mountain, and arranging specific rocks as punishment had been a Royal Guard tradition ever since rocks had been invented. The glimmering guidance of lingering roadside glows was not needed this morning, since Sun was quite near to Rising and lit the horizon with a red glow like fire.

The young stallion trotting up the road this morning needed water more than fire. His pace kept much of the froth from dripping off his hefty frame, allowing the cool morning breeze to keep him from overheating, even at the slow trot that he was managing. To be honest, Emerald was not quite sure why he had begun his pre-dawn exercise routine. Perhaps it was more effective in starting his day than trying to chew his morning wake-up juice concentrate. Or when he found out the scent of actual sweat around his female physical therapy instructor raised his grades by multiple points.

Going through his family history to find how many of his ancestors had died of heart failure had nothing to do with it. At all.

For now, he was going to blame his new exercise habit on Twilight Sparkle. After all, if she had not left so many hopeless books around her library, he would not have wound up pulling a wagonload of them up to Canterlot to be pulped. From there—and the subsequent sore muscles the next day—the urge had evolved into a forced morning routine of trotting along various Canterlot roads, an exercise that his own father would not be caught dead doing in public. And if ‘Emerald’ was going to wind up librarysitting in Ponyville any more, a certain degree of practice in the art of running away would be useful.

Any further musings on the theoretical benefits of healthy exercise was quickly squashed for practical considerations when Emerald heard the precise tap-tap-tap of pony hooves on the road behind him. The noise did not come from not a class of cadets, because it was obviously only one pony, but the pattern was far too strict and machine-like to be another ordinary trotter out enjoying the early morning Sun. He moved to one side of the road, keeping up his slow but steady pace, and waited for the obviously faster military pony to pass.

The metronome of clicking hooves behind him did not change their pattern by even the tiniest fraction of a second.

Deciding that he did not particularly like being followed, Emerald picked his pace. With significant effort, he managed to step rapidly enough to match his hoofsteps against his unseen companion, but there was still no change in volume that he could hear over his own huffing and puffing. Exercising every morning was one thing, but Emerald had not yet managed the willpower to reach the clearing with associated cave that his father had shown him one lazy summer morning many years ago.

It was a comforting memory of his father that stood out for its relative rarity. They had left early in the morning before any of the household had awoken, and progressed at a fairly leisurely pace, with his much smaller self being carried over most of the journey. The sight of Sun painting the colorful leaves of the clearing had been… less than overwhelming for his youthful eyes, and he had found exploring a nearby shallow cave more exciting.

Father had merely stood to one side of the exercise area and watched the grass blow in the breeze while blinking away tears for what seemed like forever, before turning for home. Only later when they visited the Gardens had he realized the day had been the anniversary of Grandfather Pritchel’s death.

By heart failure, of course, probably caused by overwork at the company.

None of his woolgathering was helping to get any distance from Emerald’s unwelcome companion, but it was occupying his mind while his body strained. A sensible pony would simply stop and let the misplaced cadet or officer trot on past. Said sensible pony would then walk back to the fraternity house and proceed to eat ice cream until the morning calorie loss had been resolved, and most likely drop over dead before reaching middle-age.

Emerald was not feeling very sensible, particularly when he remembered a pertinent fact that his research had uncovered about Twilight Sparkle’s brother, who was a Captain of the Royal Guard. It made keeping up his pace remarkably easy, until he could see the curve that signaled the end of the road where the shallow cave still most probably remained. It would be a convenient place for a trained Royal Guard to pound on his sister’s disagreeable book-pulping not-coltfriend without anypony noticing, but also could contain some welcome witnesses to deter such a pounding.

All the more reason for Emerald not to look over his shoulder as he wheezed along, making remarkably good time. Or at least until a stentorian bellow right behind him.

“Son, what are you—”

Father had that same iron tone of command in his voice, and for one small fraction of a second, Emerald was convinced the bulky stallion would be trotting right there when he turned. Four hooves fought with forward momentum and a rapid rotation, leaving a generally unathletic student rolling along the hard-packed ground for a short but painful distance.

And Emerald looked up.

Thankfully, it was not his father, or an irate librarian-sibling. In fact, the military pony appeared to be far too old to still be in the guard, despite his immaculate uniform with razor-sharp creases and the odd flat hat with ear-holes. Perhaps he was some old sergeant out to reminisce about his times in the harness, although still in remarkable shape. The only wrinkles Emerald could see were not on the cloth, but on the pony’s craggy features, which looked more like they had been chiseled out of dark granite by a sculptor who left a dense web of creases and folds around a terrible frown and narrowed eyes, with faint tinges of white like frost on his shortened mane and bushy eyebrows.

“Son!” bellowed the military pony again. “What are you doing down on the ground like some rug? Get up!”

Although Emerald had already started on that task, he sat right down on the road and regarded the retiree with a firm gaze. “No, sir. I’m perfectly comfortable here for now.”

“Do not call me sir!” The frown became a terrible scowl that even managed to exceed the combined amount of scathing disapproval Emerald received during the worst of family dinners, with a volume that flattened his ears and threatened to tear off his own hat. “Now, what is your name, and why are you in a restricted area?”

It seemed a reasonable demand, if overly loud, so Emerald answered the first question with all the detailed precision he would have given a historian, right down to his ancestry and birth order within the family and the full motto⁽*⁾ of his family House. As for the second question, he added, “This is a public road, sir. During Summer, young pegasus mares from school often visit the training ground up ahead so they can watch the guards practice.” Emerald shrugged. “Not really my cup of tea, actually. I’m just doing this for the exercise.”
(*) fronti nulla fides - No reliance can be placed on appearance.
—

The old stallion considered his objection for a moment, then seemed to settle back into familiar mental ruts constructed over decades of service, only with a disturbing controlling glint to his eyes that Emerald recognized far too well.

“You certainly inherited Cadet Martel’s iron head. Called him Ironskull during training and he took it as a point of pride. Shame he dropped out when your grandfather passed away. Are you planning on following in their hoofsteps and making something of yourself in the Royal Guard?”

“No!” yelped Emerald. “Never! I’ve spent most of my life trying to set my own path.”

“Joining the Guard will let you shape your destiny!” snapped the old sergeant. “You will learn to reach your full potential!”

“I will not!” Emerald found himself on his hooves despite his best efforts, and he fought valiantly to keep his temper under control. No doubt, the ancient sergeant had several lifespans devoted to getting inside the heads of stubborn Royal Guard cadets, ponies that—despite his constant experience with family—were most probably more stubborn than his own father. The primary advantage Emerald had in this competition was authority, as in the old stallion had no more rights to order him around than he was given.

It would have been simple to ignore the old pony and simply turn setting his slow-moving pace for home, but that would be accepting defeat, being out-maneuvered by a stallion who was older than his deceased grandparents. Maneuvering was his constant habit, since Emerald was used to figuring out just where to put the proverbial prybar while fending off similar attempts to find his own weaknesses. Social gatherings had an inordinate number of elderly mares who really deserved degrees in breaking and entering, in the metaphorical sense. If he had only one recognized weakness, it was a reluctance to back down when cornered. Escaping and evading if he had a chance, certainly. Having a ‘coincidental’ previous engagement when faced by a situation he would rather avoid, weak but used if nothing else was available. Hiding in the Ponyville library when Twilight Sparkle was safely elsewhere, certainly. Honesty…?

“I’m not going to become a Royal Guard,” stated Emerald as levelly as he could, staring straight into the sergeant’s icy blue eyes. “I’m not going to work at his company, I’m not going to be married off to some vacuum-brained noblemare, and I’m not going to let anypony else determine my destiny. Not you, not my father, not even Princess Celestia herself. I’m not going to submit to anypony else’s authority over my actions. I’m going to teach young unicorns their first magic, because that’s my Mark. But first, I’m going to trot to the end of this road, because I can, and you have no authority to stop me. Good day, sir.”

It would have been a more dramatic exit if Emerald had not nearly tripped again when turning to continue his interrupted trot. Diverted anger made a lousy substitute for endurance, but he picked up his pace again, trying to ignore the steady click-click of hooves at his side once again.

I’m going to get to the end of this road if it kills me.

Something about his determination must have been written across Emerald’s face in letters large enough to be read by the red glow of impending Sun, because the old stallion was not content to trot silently by his side.

“I knew your grandfather,” he said, which was the last thing Emerald expected. “Good soldier. Acceptable Guard. Just as iron-headed as your father. Served a short enlistment before returning to the family business.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Emerald, partially out of appreciation, and in part just to see the fierce scowl that the word ‘sir’ seemed to cause.

“Son, it isn’t just strength or skill that makes a good Guard,” continued the old stallion in measured, clipped words. “It’s determination. Sheer, raw guts. I can build muscles, train reflexes, drill even the worst coordinated ponies into precision marching, but unless there’s steel in the spine, all they’re good for is propping open doors.”

“Father must have been a wonderful cadet.” Emerald suppressed a snort through his intense desire to keep breathing. “The only pony who can give him orders would be Celestia herself.”

“It is a high honor to carry out the General’s commands!” If the elderly sergeant could have saluted while trotting, Emerald suspected he would have. “There can be no greater accomplishment in your life than to obey her will.”

“Been there. Done that,” panted Emerald as they began to trot around the last wide curve before the clearing. “Librarysitting for her student. Twilight Sparkle. Few assignments are more dangerous. Escaped with no injuries. Twice.”

The scowl deepened. “I do not recall seeing your name in the General’s reports, which I read extensively.”

“Good!” Despite his fatigue, Emerald’s pace picked up. “I’ve heard enough about Twilight Sparkle and her friends to know— Reports?”

“Evaluations of their combat prowess, details about their encounters as Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, analysis of their potential.” Bright blue eyes turned to give Emerald a penetrating stare. “Do you have any observations to add, son?”

“I’ve seen one of them, from the tail, as I was leaving the library, and that’s all I really care to see,” managed Emerald. “You want terrifying stories about them, go talk to Police Chief Miranda Rights in Ponyville. She can tell you all about the Ursa Minor that went tromping through their town, and how Twilight Sparkle lifted it up and carried it back to its cave.”

Giving up on reaching the shallow cave at the end of the road and taking a turn instead, Emerald slowed his trotting as he entered the Royal Guard exercise yard. It was unoccupied, of course, with only groups of wooden soldiers standing around in various places on the short-cut grass. It gave him a twinge around the heart to think that his own grandfather might have trod this same sod, firing bolts of magic at the impassive dummies and maneuvering with his own peers. Or maybe the twinge was dehydration. He pulled out his water bottle just in case and took a long, deep drink before passing it off automatically to the elderly soldier at his side.

“Here you go, sir. Looks like it’s going to be about the last warm day of Summer, so drink up.”

At first, it did not look like the old sergeant was going to accept his offer, which was fine with Emerald. But after a quick look around, he took the water bottle and polished off the last of it.

“Cold as a mountain stream,” he said while returning the bottle. “Is the bottle your father’s work?”

“Little sister,” said Emerald between gasps. It had become more comfortable to lean against the wooden dummy and catch his breath while getting set for his return trip. “Her Mark is in cold spells. Working on a device for the company to keep a canteen cold without freezing it solid. Father’s so proud of her. And no, she’s not going to join the Guard either. She’s having too much fun at Celestia’s school.”

The elderly sergeant’s square chin jerked up, and his expression became even more grim. “Not everypony who protects Equestria is in the Royal Guard. By your admittance, you hold the post of protecting Twilight Sparkle’s home while she is on the General’s orders. Should some enemy attack her refuge with the intent of laying a trap for her return, it would be your responsibility to—”

“Run like crazy,” said Emerald rapidly. “Screaming at the top of my lungs if I can. Hence—” he pointed at the road “—my new exercise program.”

“How do you expect to run with this much suet on your ribs?” said the sergeant with a sharp hoof-poke to Emerald’s admittedly padded sides. “I haven’t seen this much fat since I visited a griffon meat-market!”

“I’m starting to burn it off!” protested Emerald.

“It better be a controlled burn,” growed the sergeant. “If that lard goes up all at once, they’ll be able to see the fire for miles. What if you are cornered and cannot run? Can you fight?”

“A little,” hedged Emerald. It was only a small lie. Being younger and un-horned in his Canterlot classes had led to a certain amount of physical criticism from his peer group, which Father had attempted to compensate for by hiring a self-defense tutor. That only made the problem worse until Emerald talked to his older brother Regal, who passed along a request to the captain of the school polo team, who then conducted an unscheduled polo match. Personally, Emerald was convinced that if his life ever came down to a real fight, his best bet would be to go straight for the throat and hold on until they had to pry him loose for the funeral.

The elderly sergeant looked in the direction of Sun, still just barely below the horizon, then to the unoccupied road. “Since my trainees have not yet arrived, I have a few minutes to bestow my wisdom upon you, and in the process get warmed up for today’s activities. Of course, since you are not under my command…”

It was uncomfortably tempting, even though he did not want to admit to the urge. Then again, the old stallion obviously had Celestia’s ear and was familiar with Twilight Sparkle and her odd group of friends. A single critical word from him could cause no end of trouble, so playing along with his urge to train the untrainable was the only practical course.

“I will submit myself to your authority for the purposes of one exercise, sir.”

The resulting expression was not a smile. Emerald was not even sure the old sergeant’s face was able to smile without breaking something, or somepony. Then he inhaled. Deeply.

“WHILE UNDER MY COMMAND, YOU WILL NOT CALL ME SIR! YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS DRILL SERGEANT AT ALL TIMES. IS THAT CLEAR?”

“Yes, s— I mean YES, DRILL SERGEANT!” managed Emerald through the ringing in his ears.

“VERY WELL. AT THE FAR END OF THIS FIELD YOU WILL SEE SEVERAL DUMMIES QUITE UNLIKE THE DUMMY AT THIS END. YOU WILL CHARGE YOUR HORN, AIM, AND FIRE AS HARD AS YOU ARE ABLE IN THAT GENERAL DIRECTION. NOW!”

“Um…” Emerald hesitantly removed his fedora, feeling very cold on the top of his head as accumulated sweat began evaporating. The old sergent did not even hesitate.

“SINCE NATURE HAS NOT PROVIDED YOU WITH A RANGED OFFENSIVE WEAPON STRONGER THAN YOUR SCENT, YOU WILL STRIKE THIS TARGET—” he patted the wooden dummy next to them “—JUST AS HARD AS YOU ARE ABLE. NOW!”

Emerald jumped, and in the process stepped on the dummy’s support base, which promptly tipped toward him and impacted somewhere in the nasal region.

“Ow!” he managed from the ground, rubbing his nose. “I think I have splinters.”

When Emerald looked up at the old Guard, he suddenly realized how much of a mistake he had just made. Pure fury simmered under that precise military jacket, like an ancient coffee pot, filled with a dark and terrible rage just ready to perk out at the slightest provocation. The old stallion’s bottom lip trembled, his eyes were drawn into a narrow squint, and Emerald was momentarily seized with terror over the concept that one of the Royal Guard’s revered and retired drill sergeants was about to burst a blood vessel and expire right then and there.

I’ll have to carry the body back to Canterlot. To Princess Celestia.

He practically sprang up from the ground, cocked back a hoof, and hit the combat dummy on its wooden chin just as hard as he could.

Then, after a few moments to watch the inanimate soldier bob back and forth with the impact, Emerald sat down and held his pastern. “Ow,” he said while wiggling it and giving a brief unspoken prayer of gratitude that it was not broken.

“That was pathetic,” growled the sergeant.

“Yes, it was, drill sergeant.” Emerald put his forehoof on the ground and checked to make sure it would hold his weight.

“Hit it again,” said the sergeant. “Harder, which should not be difficult, since that first blow would not have inconvenienced a sick butterfly.”

“I think the poor thing has had enough for one day. Don’t you agree, sir?” Emerald bumped the dummy’s base with a hoof, making it nod agreement.

“YOU WANTED ONE LESSON, SO HIT THAT DUMMY LIKE IT INSULTED YOUR SISTER!”

Emerald leveled a hoof at the wooden dummy, cleared his throat, and declared, “I shall tell my older brother upon you!” Giving a huff of exhausted breath, Emerald stood up and tried to keep his temper. “There. I assure you, drill sergeant, that once my brother and his polo team have finished with this poor wretch, he shall never insult my family again.”

“Your lesson is not over until you have struck your target with enough force to satisfy me!” snapped the sergeant. “What if that dummy was a threat to Princess Celestia?”

“I would get out of the way,” said Emerald through gritted teeth, “so I would not catch on fire also.”

“How about if it were threatening Twilight Sparkle’s library?”

“I would get far out of the way,” said Emerald. “Manehattan, perhaps.”

“Suppose that dummy were a threat to your country, your friends, and your family!”

“I don’t have any real friends,” said Emerald through narrowed lips. “Canterlot has seen far worse, and I should know, because it’s my home, and my family can take care of itself!”

Then the drill sergeant said one more thing.

The wooden dummy crashed into Emerald’s shoulder with enough force to feel the shock all the way to his tail, and he drove forward, into the pain, into the red madness of frustration and rage. Wood crunched beneath his hooves, driving vengeful splinters into his tender frogs and fetlocks, but Emerald did not stop until he had taken out his last bit of energy with one final kick where it was needed most.

His target remained tilted on its back, in a state where it most certainly would not father any more wooden dummies, or at least until a carpenter did some reconstructive surgery. Emerald slumped up against it and panted for breath for a moment, giving the old stallion a bitter glare instead of words, although the favor was not returned.

“Certainly Guard material,” he said. “Haven’t had a viable candidate yet who would let that particular comment about their mother stand.”

“My mother…” Emerald took several breaths and considered his options. Slugging the old stallion was not one of them. Neither was running away, at least until he could stand up again without wooden splinters reducing him to a cripple. After biting one of the larger splinters out of his punctured frog, he looked over the rest of his hooves for wood while continuing, “Anypony who does not stand up for their mother is… worthless. She sacrificed so much for me. More than anypony knows. Did your mother want you to join the Guard, drill sergeant?”

“That is none of your business.” By the proud arch of his back and a distant glitter in his eye, the old sergeant had indeed gone into a career that his mother approved of, and in all probability ‘Your mother wears army shoes’ would be taken as a point of pride instead of an insult. And probably be accurate.

“My mother wants me to be a statue,” said Emerald after spitting out another splinter. “Standing around, looking impressive at parties. A noun. Or maybe an adjective,” he added as an afterthought, “because she wants me to modify another noun to produce grandfoals.” He tactfully did not mention anything about matchmaking library trees and the possibility of being paired against Celestia’s student by a mere plant in search of its own metaphorical sprouts. Or a certain Canterlot policemare with a misplaced mating urge.

Then it was time to say nothing as Moon gracefully descended below the horizon and Sun rose, bringing new life and a fresh burst of well-needed energy to Emerald. “Thank Celestia,” he murmured before raising his voice and looking at the nearby road, which had several wagons headed in their general direction. “Well, drill sergeant. I suppose I should be going once the road is open. Looks like your trainees are here.”

It was going to be a long plod back to the fraternity house, which if Emerald timed it right would leave him just enough time for a quick shower before heading out to his morning class instead of making himself comfortable at the breakfast buffet. Still, his curiosity bump was itching.

“Drill sergeant, I have to ask one thing. Why are your recruits coming here by wagon?”

“Those are not my recruits,” said the old stallion, swelling with pride. “Those are lions.”

“Oh,” said Emerald while trying to figure out how to get away without sprouting wings, since there was only one road to this area, and the wagons were taking up most of it.

“And tigers!” said the drill sergeant.

“Oh?” Sprouting spontaneous wings seemed to be a better option every second.

“And bears,” finished the old stallion with a growl.

Emerald hesitated before the obligatory, “Oh, my.” Clearing his throat, he added, “This isn’t part of my one exercise, is it? Because I’m mildly allergic to cats. And bears. And blood loss.”

Getting no further information, Emerald kept an eye on the moving wagon while hesitantly adding, “I didn’t realize that the Royal Guard had such stringent training.”

“They are not Guards,” said the sergeant with his eyes lifted up to where a pegasus carriage could be seen coming over a mountain ridge and sweeping down to a landing at the far end of the road, next to the shallow cave in the mountain’s wall. “They are something more. A new defender for the Generals. Something special that has not been seen in a thousand years.”

A brief chuckle escaped before Emerald could stop it. The gaggle of ponies crowded into the oversized carriage were looking around like tourists visiting Canterlot, clumped together and pointing at things while one of the group was sleeping with her tail draped over the edge. They were a most unlikely group of defenders, with nothing that he could see at this range that indicated any kind of military potential other than shrieking at spiders and dressing fashionably.

“You’re acting like they’re—”

The prismatic tail dangling off the edge of the carriage should have been his first clue, but the mares’ color patterns finally soaked in through his fatigued mind. They were the same colors that had been featured in the first packet he had when librarysitting, including that particular shade of light purple that he had last seen on Twilight Sparkle’s skinny rump. For one terrifying moment, he thought the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony had planned on tracking him down, but according to Chief Rights, planning was not really one of their strong suits, and even Emerald had not planned on making it all the way to the Guard exercise area this morning. It had to be a coincidence. It was more likely that the library tree was scheming a romantic pairing with its librarian behind his back… although there were a lot of oak trees around the Guard’s exercise area.

“I’m going to be busy today,” barked the old soldier. “Working with them one-on-one for starters, so if you would please wait in the cave with Twilight Sparkle and her friends, we will see about starting a real exercise routine for you. We’ll start you with push-ups, sit-ups, and squats, then a good, brisk run once around the mountain to warm up. Then we’ll start your training for real…”

Emerald was not there to hear.

He was running as fast as possible, and did not stop until he reached his fraternity house and a well-needed shower. He did not see the old stallion take out a notepad and pencil to write a few lines, or did he ever find out if his brief exposure to military training ever made it into the report to Princess Celestia.

In the days to come, he did continue with his morning exercise program, only with renewed vigor and determination, never skipping a single day no matter the weather.

Except the next time he went back to Ponyville.

But that is another story.

10. Night Deposit

The Substitute Librarian
Night Deposit

Winter was at least honest about itself. Snow piled everywhere meant ice underhoof, while icicles hanging from eaves told everypony to watch where they were going, and although the season had disagreeable elements, it was balanced by the inevitable Hearth’s Warming Sales.

The week after Nightmare Night was the most deceitful time of the calendar. An evil, cruel time with damp breezes hovering just above or below freezing, depending on how the pegasi had the clouds stacked, little dribblets of sleet or drizzle down the back of the neck at unexpected times, and soggy leaves that dampened hocks and stuck in the frogs of only one hoof, leaving you lopsided if you were foolish enough to walk through a pile of them. Boots did not help, because the damp fragments of leaves inevitably worked their way in through the open tops, forming an indescribable mash in the bottom that squished with every step, and dried into an unremovable paste when you came inside.

It was the one time of year where Emerald would have been perfectly glad to spend sitting by the fireplace at home, sipping cocoa, and catching up on his perpetual reading homework for his college classes, instead of…

“Are you getting off the train, sir?”

“What?” Emerald looked over his shoulder at the mustached conductor, then back out at the Ponyville train station. “Oh, just thinking. I’m supposed to be covering the library for a few days, and—”

“Then off you go,” said the old stallion, giving him a push. “We’ve got a schedule. And keep an eye out. It’s Flitter weather.”

“Flitter—?” Emerald turned around on the train platform, only to have the train door slide shut nearly on his tail and the train start to move almost immediately. It did seem to be a warning, although ‘Flitter’ did not show up on the weather schedule posted on the side of the station.

His first step out from under the station’s roof made the warning abruptly obvious.

“Oops,” sounded a female voice from above, in the same vague direction that the brief deluge of slush had just fallen. “Sorry.”

Whatever pegasus had just dumped a cloud on him certainly did not sound sorry. The laughter only drove the point in deeper.

“That’s fine,” he called up into the cloud cover. “Accidents do happen, after—”

The second cloud full of slush caught him right in the face.

* * *

“Good morning, Madam Mayor.” Emerald stood in the center of her office and dripped, because that seemed at first glance to be the best position to transmit his ire. Apparently, such ire had been directed at the mayor before in far greater measure, with real threats, and she was shrugging it off much like Emerald’s rain slicker was supposed to likewise shed rain. A long, cold thread of growing ice down both sides of his neck proved that particular selling point from Barneigh’s was less than honest.

“Flitter weather,” said the mayor, who had not stopped writing. “I see you got my letter?”

“Three day gig, same pay as the first time,” said Emerald. “Twilight Sparkle left on whatever she does for Princess Celestia, I presume?”

“Personal appearance in Manehattan, I believe.” The mayor finished writing and passed the sheaf of papers across the desk. “Standard contract from the town, your complaint to the weather patrol about Flitter, and insurance waiver. Sign, please.”

He read first, of course, while dripping, of course again. Once he was certain there were no traps or matrimonial entanglements in the contract, he took a well-gnawed quill out of his vest and signed at the bottom, then pushed the damp papers back across the desk. “I take it nothing’s going to happen with the weather patrol?”

“No,” said the mayor. She passed over a spellkey and a thick library procedures folder. “At least Rainbow Dash left with Miss Sparkle also.”

“It’s probably drier in Manehattan. Thank you very much, Madam Mayor. I’ll see you in three days.”

“Just a moment.” The mayor held up a hoof. “There have been some comments from the townsponies. They do not think it is very appropriate for you to be spending your nights in Miss Sparkle’s bed.”

“That’s why I sleep on the couch,” said Emerald.

“And this did not make it to the newspaper, but I understand that she requested your arrest.”

“A minor issue, quickly resolved at the police station,” continued Emerald. “Which you had to have known on my last visit, or you never would have allowed me to conduct the story reading at the library with the town foals.”

“I know, but…” The mayor bit her bottom lip. “Is the library really haunted?”

Now that was worth some thought before responding. And some more information. “Why?”

“Well… I’ve been over at the library on a few evenings to discuss things with Twilight, and there have been—” Mayor Mare stopped, but did add, “I didn’t want to bring it up with Twilight. She might try to answer the question, and we only have one library.”

“I assure you, Madam Mayor, if I find a ghost over at the library, you will be the first to hear. I’ll scream,” he clarified. “Loudly.”

* * *

Really, after trying to dodge soggy clouds all the way from the Town Hall to the library, Emerald was not thinking very well or in a stable mood. Particularly since he had not dodged all of the slush, and he was starting to feel a tickle in the back of his throat. Whoever Flitter was, she deserved a good kick in the teeth. And another kick or two for the Barneigh’s designer who made his rain coat with a detachable hood, which worked just fine as a slush collector and funnel, trapping every frigid drop against his neck.

At least the spellkey had worked, once he had galloped to the library door with it clenched in his teeth and tapped it against the wards. The big oak tree felt welcome as Emerald stepped inside and turned on the lighting devices. That is Emerald felt welcome walking through the door, not that the tree felt anything. Unless it could read the look of deep thoughts on his face, which was unlikely, since it was a tree, and not his home.

The really odd thing about today so far was the way that the library felt like his home, much like a bird who had traveled away for the season coming back to a comfortable nest. It was not, of course. The library could never be his home unless Twilight Sparkle were never to return, which to be honest, was an outcome that neither of them wanted.

Neither as in Emerald and the tree, of course. And probably Twilight Sparkle.

“I just wanted to check,” he announced at the top of his lungs while standing in the entranceway, “since I just got here, and I am soaked to the skin. I’m going to get naked and dry myself off, so if there are any other ponies here, look somewhere else for a few minutes. Thank you.”

After making sure the library’s front door was closed and the security spells engaged, Emerald vanished into the bathroom, only emerging when he had been thoroughly dried to the point where he had fluffed up to about twice his size.

“I hate shedding season,” he mused, looking at how the thick clumps of scroungy green hairs on the pristine white towels mixed in with a number of shorter purple hairs. They made an intricate collage of artistic patterns together, although standing there and musing about his latest artwork was not getting him one step closer to opening the library. After all, his librarian job was the whole reason he slogged here in the first place.

At least his warm vest had stayed mostly dry, and his hat could be wrung out over the sink, so after hanging the dripping rain slicker on the shower nozzle, Emerald put on his most polite smile and flipped the ‘Open’ sign. A quick peek out the window revealed no wet pony patrons standing in line outside, complaining about the late start. This was a good thing, because it gave him time to drag his damp saddlebag over to the heavy librarian desk and begin sorting through his own portable library.

Goals were a good thing to have. His own goals, of course. Emerald always had significant issues when other ponies tried to tell him what to do. It made no end of little notes to his parents from schoolteachers while he was growing up, and even recently in college from certain frustrated professors. In this case, the town’s goal of having somepony watch the library while the librarian was off doing ‘Very Important Pony’ stuff matched with his own goal of avoiding a long weekend at home, dodging questions about any ‘proper’ unicorn mares he might have met at school, fallen in love with, and become engaged to marry since the last week when he had denied such at the family dinner table.

Which reminded him briefly of Officer Grace of the Canterlot police, before putting the thought behind him. That particular incident would only need to be explained to his parents (or anypony else) in the unlikely event the attractive older mare was unable to find a suitable match among her own peer group, and if she followed the rules of their deal, there had to be somepony suitable she would encounter in the course of a year of dating.

And of course there was always the option of running away to the griffon nation of Protocera if that scheme failed.

Today’s goal was to get through today, sitting quietly at the librarian desk and dealing with the bibliographic desires of the quiet pony town while working on his school project during free periods.

Tomorrow’s goal was much the same.

The next day’s list included ‘Get out of town before Twilight Sparkle returns on the evening train.’ A nice, brisk hike up the side of Mount Canter would make up for his relative inactivity, and would ensure he would not accidentally meet the young mare at the train station, get introduced, tell his parents about their meeting, have them work behind his back to set up an arranged marriage, and wind up spending the rest of his life as the not-so-important spouse of a famous national hero who met with princesses on a regular basis.

He shuddered while arranging his notecards and books on the table for more studying. A terrible fate indeed. At least he had some control over his life now. And the last time he had been in the same room as Princess Celestia… No, he would rather not think about that. Ever.

Flitter weather thankfully discouraged library visitation, allowing Emerald to continue getting the last of his homework cards marked and categorized. There were a few patrons who showed up and dripped their way around the bookshelves, although most of them made at least a token attempt at wiping off the worst of the wet with the towel he put at the entrance. The old towel that really was threadbare enough not to steal…

Which of course somepony promptly did. And then somepony else stole the replacement towel when the first one vanished. After that, he just left the incoming patrons drip.

One of the more interesting patrons was an elderly pony, who came into the library and immediately ducked behind a bookcase. Then over the course of about an hour, he proceeded to work his way around the shelves like some sort of slow-moving secret agent, ducking and dodging with frequent peeks around Emerald until, obviously disappointed at a lack of real librarian in the library, he trudged back out into the mid-morning drizzle.

“And thus does the Twilight Sparkle Fan Club adjourn for the day,” murmured Emerald under his breath, “with a lack of their fearless leader and a need for brunch.” He turned over another notecard and put a weight on his reference book to keep that particular griffon dynasty on top. “Looks like I have enough time to take a break. Wonder what the Cafe de Librarian’s Icebox has on the menu.”

No sooner had he moved to stand up than the front door of the library banged open and three small fillies stormed inside, or at least they looked vaguely like fillies under the thick coat of mud, leaves, more mud, twigs, and odd bits of straw. The few scattered library patrons scattered to the far corners of the bookshelves as Emerald flung himself forward, managing to get in front of their mud-slowed rush for one of Twilight Sparkle’s precious treasures.

“Stop!” he shouted, and braced himself for impact, which was cushioned by their slower speed and thick covering of mud. “You can’t come into the library like that! Go home and take a bath!”

“But mah sister will clobber me if I track mud in the house like this!” exclaimed the heftier of the trio, who had a sodden bow peeking forlornly through the dirt.

“My sister will… I don’t know!” wailed the second mudball, who had a point sticking out in front and a familiar voice, so she had to be Sweetie Belle.

Three sets of mournful eyes looked up at Emerald, triggering memories of his own happy romps through the mud puddles of Canterlot as a foal, and subsequent laundering at the hooves of his mother. Nopony really deserved to be scrubbed that hard at that young of an age, and the relative unfairness of the situation grated on his conscience. Particularly since there was a simple solution much closer.

“You know,” he said with a tap of one hoof against his chin, “Twilight Sparkle’s written procedures specify that the library bathroom may be used for patron’s hygiene.”

“You want us to wash up in the sink?” said the mud-laden pegasus, who was barely identifiable as such by the stubby tips of feathers sticking out from her sides.

“I don’t recall her written procedures saying anything about what portions of the bathroom are off-limits other than the locked cabinet,” said Emerald slowly. “And there’s a bathtub in there.”

All three of them hesitated, which was a good sign. “Twilight’s never let us use the tub before,” said Sweetie Belle.

“If you’re careful, and don’t make a mess, she’ll never know,” said Emerald. “I’ll even get out the good towels.” It was a fairly inconsequential promise, since the library’s single scroungy old towel was gone, and the only ones left locked in the cabinet were all fluffy and foal-friendly.

Once he had gotten the three balls of mud herded into the bathroom, Emerald removed a few of the towels out of the cabinet, along with a fairly stingy collection of mane shampoo and conditioner, then closed the cabinet door. “I’m trusting you three in here,” he said in his most sincere voice despite his deep concern. “Scrub up, dry off, and clean up. I’ll go mop up your muddy trail and put a bucket in front of the door so you’re not disturbed.”

* * *

It was a common thing for young noblestallions from his college frat to make a pass at a waitress in a bar in order to spirit them away at the end of the night for an evening of personal entertainment. Emerald had never wanted to wave his family ties around for the dating scene, particularly since some mares grew cat-like claws at the mere whiff of a House name, and promptly wanted to climb the family tree in search of a nest. It was far more productive to be himself, a helpful, working pony who despised lounging around without some constructive activity to keep him busy, which in turn led him to find out how much young waitresses appreciated some help around closing time…

It was a secret he kept from his fraternity brothers. They would not have been able or willing to duplicate it anyway. Besides, they probably did not even know which end of a mop to use on the floor. Emerald had always considered it a point of pride that he did, and was skilled in the use of such, despite discouragement from his parents and some private scolding from the household staff whenever he was discovered doing their jobs.

Leaving the muddy hoofprints of those three little menaces until tomorrow would be foolish. Wet mud had an aggressive attitude and liked to explore its environment as it turned into dirt, leaving little granules and nodes of sand in the most uncomfortable places. Thankfully, there was a mop and bucket in the closet, and with careful consideration, the used mop water could be dumped around the base of the library tree as his contribution towards that long-awaited branch library expansion project.

It was a terrible pun, but kept his mind busy while mopping.

The exercise kept him active and was probably good for him, so Emerald did not complain while mopping into every corner and nook of the first floor, under shelves, and along baseboards. It was probably like a spa visit for the creaky old oak tree, with a good scrubbing to scratch all of the dusty floorboards and get all the gunk out from between its roots before settling down for a long winter snooze. A sleeping tree would also not be doing vegetative schemes to mate up its librarian with a visiting education student, so there was plenty of incentive for Emerald to do a good job.

drip

And once he had finished with most of the mud, he discovered a few cold puddles on the floor where cracks in the leafy roof were letting inside a little of the outside. It did not look too serious at first, and a quick pass through the ground floor showed a half-dozen rings in the oak flooring where buckets normally resided during such precipitation events.

drip, drip

So after distributing the buckets (filed under ‘B’ in the closet) to their appropriate places, he headed upstairs where another chill puddle of water made itself known to his just-getting-to-be-warm-again hooves.

“Starting to wonder why they haven’t torn this leaky thing down yet,” he grumbled while returning downstairs for the mop bucket. This much exercise only showed where his clammy vest had been soaked more than he expected, but taking it off would give him a terrible chill far worse than the brief tremors that made his sides tremble between short suppressed coughs.

Nothing seemed to be dripping directly on the bookshelves, which was probably wise of the library oak tree, because Twilight Sparkle did not seem to be the forgiving type when it came to her books. Likewise, there were no leaks inside her bedroom, which he had to check just in case. Unexpectedly, there were library books in her private room, packed just as tight as the rest of the shelves and organized by whatever strange ordering that the librarian had determined right before she left.

It was so tempting to bring all of his homework into the librarian’s dry and warmer room, but to spread out his project on the floor, he would have to move throw rugs and the bed, scoot her private desk into the far corner… No, he had too much work to do before even thinking about that. Apparently, there were some young library patrons who liked to use the librarian’s bedchambers as a romantic rendezvous, because he met a giggling couple on his way out, and it took a stern look and a few sharp words to convince them to go elsewhere.

I’m turning into my father. Or a real librarian. Not sure what’s worse.

Of course there were fresh puddles to mop on the main floor, patrons needing help with checking out books, and new tasks that kept him from grabbing lunch or checking on the trio of foals monopolizing the library bathroom.

As time rolled past noon, freeing up the bathroom took on new urgency. Particularly when he noticed water begin to trickle out from under the door.

“Hey, what’s going on in—”

Soap suds washed past his ankles when the door was opened, along with three suds-covered fillies who promptly launched into well-practiced excuses. It was going to take a lot more than words to clean up the waterlogged floor, made only worse when Sweetie Belle spotted the mop and decided to use her spluttering magic to ‘help.’

Shouting ensued.

Dripping wet ponies ran all over the library, leaving trails of watery suds.

By the time Emerald had chased them outside, there was more water on the floors than when he had started, but at least the drizzle from outside had tapered off into a damp, cold fog, and the dripping from the ceiling had quit.

“How?” he muttered to himself by the time he got back to the bathroom and took in the waves of soap suds, the open cabinet that had been stripped of dry towels, empty bottles of shampoo and conditioner scattered around the soggy floor, and a lone yellow rubber duck bobbing in the middle of the destruction.

“Cutie Mark Crusaders,” said one of the library patrons. “We thought you knew.”

* * *

Research was effective on more than college assignments. By the time Emerald flipped the ‘Closed’ sign on the library, he knew enough about the Cutie Mark Crusaders to know their record put his own youthful experience to shame. Worse, they had only been active in their quests for a few months, and yet had left a trail of destruction wide enough that every library patron would respond to a subtle question about them with the same phrase.

“Well, I shouldn’t tell you, but one time…”

Their reputation was bad enough that Emerald was thinking maybe surviving his first visit and training session for Sweetie Belle was a fluke, and that perhaps Chief Miranda Rights had been watching her instead of him for whatever might blow up or get knocked down during unicorn magic training.

The bathroom was proof enough of that. Every single towel dripped with suds to the point he just gave up and threw them all into the empty tub, and the oak flooring had soaked up enough water he was not sure if it would dry out by Twilight Sparkle’s return, particularly since the library heater still wheezed and groaned more than worked.

The library tree obviously did not like having a wet bathroom. Little individual drips followed him around on his rounds, catching him on the back of the neck or the tip of the nose when he least expected it. It even kept happening after the library had been closed and Emerald heaved his saddlebags up on the hefty librarian desk.

“You want another mopping?” he asked, looking up at the damp ceiling. “An apology scrub, with a dab of floor wax perhaps? Because I can’t study with wet books, and I’ve got a lot of work to do before Twilight comes back.

The tree responded with another drip, right in the middle of the desk.

“Obvious tree is obvious,” he muttered, getting up and heading for the mop bucket. “Just glad the library is closed or the whole town would think I’m crazy.”

It took quite some time to complete another full mopping of the library, from top to bottom, with special attention paid to where the tree would dribble a few drops as if to indicate a portion of the floor that itched and needed extra scrubbing. It left him both damp and sweaty enough to get a washcloth out of the mess and take a quick swipe or two to clean his face before returning to his homework.

Which was still damp enough he did not want to get it out of the saddlebags.

The situation was worthy of a good stewing sulk while he went back and nudged the library heater in the forlorn hope it would cough up a few more thaums of thermal energy. In theory, it was a dual-mode machine, with the unicorn device section of the mechanism warming the air while the pegasus magic spread it around the residence. It was supposed to at least keep the kitchenette and upstairs bedroom wear-your-vest chilly, which would work so much better if the vest in question were not still damp, and the air blowing out of the heater vents barely tepid.

“If I were a unicorn,” he muttered, looking at the far-too-late time on the library clock, “I could get dry. I could patch the leaks in the tree. I could work on my homework without being dripped on. I could teach young students without wearing a hat.”

He paused at the sound of a small noise, walked over to the library’s front door, and opened it.

In the darkness, a dripping Scootaloo looked back at him.

There was a fairly long pause.

“Library’s closed,” said Emerald.

“I left something here,” said Scootaloo rather quickly.

Emerald raised one eyebrow. “That is the worst excuse I’ve ever heard, and I live in a college fraternity.”

After a moment of obvious thought, Scootaloo tentatively said, “My parents aren’t home yet, and I wanted someplace to stay dry until they get back.”

“Better.” Emerald stepped to one side on his way to the bathroom to retrieve some of the damp towels “Come on in. I’m not going to make you stand outside in the drizzle all night.”

Scootaloo scurried inside and closed the door.

“Good idea,” said Emerald, who had scooped the driest towel off the dripping heap in the bathtub. “Otherwise some of the cold, damp air might escape into the town.”

Although Scootaloo looked puzzled, she dried off with the damp towel, only wincing slightly when Emerald produced a wet washcloth and scrubbed behind her ears.

“Seriously, you soaked the whole bathroom, you’ve been out in the wet all day, and you still have dirt behind these ears. And no, I don’t think there’s a Mark for that. Unless you’re a seapony, and they’re a myth.”

“How do you know they’re a myth?”

It was a fair question, and caught Emerald off-guard. After all, he had considered Ursa Minors to be myths until Chief Rights had told him about Ponyville’s historic nocturnal visitor. He left the washcloth for Scootaloo to continue her ineffectual ear-cleaning while he headed for the kitchenette.

“Good point,” he called over his shoulder. “Always question what others tell you. I was just making dinner, so would you like a snack while waiting? We have—” he opened the icebox door “—apples.”

“That’s good news,” said Scootaloo out in the main room.

“That’s also the bad news.” He poked around in the icebox before adding, “Or we could have ice cubes.”

“Apples are good.” Scootaloo came trotting into the kitchenette and dropped the washcloth behind her.

Emerald dumped a dozen chilly apples on the small kitchenette table before scooping up the used washcloth and heading back to the bathroom. It was not a sign of obsessive-compulsive behavior, but the discipline of growing up in his home. He had an excuse. Twilight Sparkle… most probably had a similar excuse, writ large.

I am never going to meet her family. Ever. Our parents might actually get along.

There were a few small driblets of water across the library main floor from leftover drips and some mop water, although the couch seemed dry enough for Scootaloo to nap on while waiting on her parents. He grabbed the damp towel from the middle of the floor and made a quick run around the library, top and bottom, just to catch any last puddles before eating. Once he had the damp-er towel thrown into the tub, he headed back into the kitchenette where Scootaloo had both cheeks full of chewed apples like some feathered hamster.

Harsh, father-like words were warranted, dealing with table manners and just exactly how a guest should behave. Emerald would rather die than say those words right now, mostly because he had not eaten anything all day. He picked up an apple instead and went to work on it silently.

The dampness from the miserable day still saturated his thick winter coat, giving their delayed dinner a chilly overtone, made worse when the young filly asked, “What does your father do, Mister Emerald?”

“Important things.” Emerald waved a hoof in the general direction of Canterlot. “Things he thinks are important, that is. I want to teach young unicorns their first magic. That’s what I think is important. We have a certain… conflict about such things. What does your father do, Scootaloo?”

“He’s an explorer!” The last time Emerald had seen somepony’s face light up like this, she had just gotten her cutie mark. The little pegasus fairly hovered at the table with an excited buzz of wings and a rapid flood of words about how her father was such an amazing pony. It just squelched whatever tiny sparks of pleasure Emerald had left after such a miserable day, but he nodded in the appropriate places of the one-way conversation, and found an opportunity to go back to his pending homework once he had finished what was left of the apple.

This time, he carried his saddlebags up to Twilight Sparkle’s dry bedroom and plunked them down. He had too much homework left to mince around with working in the damp downstairs. Notecards to correct, dates to check, the notorious griffon habit of changing small parts of their names as they accumulated glory or discredit, it did not make for easy facts with sharp edges.

As the nighttime study session wore on, the Griffonant numbers and letters began to blur together, and the chill of the evening had given him a low shiver up the flanks. It was an obvious sign he needed a break, so Emerald shook his head and put the notecards to one side.

The kitchen downstairs was empty of Scootaloo, and only had a few stems of the apples, so at least the young filly could clean up after herself if the trash was edible. The front door was closed and the wards engaged, the bathroom about as clean as it was going to get until he could find a laundromat, and the couch… had a damp spot on the ceiling above it, as if the library was just waiting for him to fall asleep.

“I can’t even outsmart a matchmaking tree,” muttered Emerald to himself while picking up a couch cushion and the mostly dry throw as a blanket. “Chasing me into her bed like this. Dirty minded oaks.”

He trudged upstairs, put out the lights behind him, unbuttoned his vest and put it on the chair to dry…

Then slid under Twilight Sparkle’s bed on the repurposed couch cushion. There were certain advantages of a naturally shaggy coat in a chilly environment, after all. After making himself comfortable in the narrow space, Emerald wrapped up in the thin blanket, put his head down, and muttered quietly to himself.

“If she comes home early, I’m never going to be able to explain this.”

11. Cold Season

The Substitute Librarian
Cold Season

Night was cruel. Morning was crueler. Dawn strode boldly into the room with spiked boots and a whip, and not the polite bedroom variety either. Dawn believed in carrying a salted whip with shards of ice in the strands.

After a considerable amount of stressing, heaving, grunting, stressing, and one exceedingly terrifying moment when he thought the real librarian had snuck into her bedroom sometime during the night and was sleeping above him, an exhausted Emerald managed to roll out from underneath Twilight Sparkle’s bed.

Although the same beam of morning Sun that had stabbed through the bedroom Phrench doors at the exact moment of its raising remained squarely in his eyes.

His sleeping position was probably responsible for much of his pain. Frost was also a possibility. Sometime in the middle of the night, the library heating device had given up the proverbial librarian ghost, Thankfully, the technological exorcism had merely frozen a worthless spare librarian, not one of the fabled Bearers.

One painful limb at a time, Emerald stretched out, feeling a twinge in every single muscle he had used yesterday to mop and reshelf, as well as a stiffness to his shaggy coat that certainly could be ice. Worse, there was an industrial-sized plug of mucus that had set up camp in his nostrils and showed no sign of being blown or snorted out.

At least the sleet and drizzle had stopped outside, replaced by a biting wind that howled around the library bark like a starving windigo. No sane pony would willingly go out into that frostbitten wasteland.

Emerald was not feeling very sane.

He grabbed his battered hat, heaved himself to his hooves, and stiffly headed for the bedroom door. After checking the library heater and finding it completely unresponsive to his minimal technical skills, he stumbled downstairs to the bathroom, determined to get outside and complete his tasks before a growing amount of common sense and hypothermia stopped him.

Must launder towels and couch throw, now. Twilight Sparkle won’t just arrest me for leaving this much mud and loose hair in the pile of soggy towels in her bathtub. She’ll kill me. And Celestia would probably pardon her for it, provided Twilight writes a paper on the event and tidies up after herself.

Laundry was a quest worthy of a hero.

Don Rocinante looked for his armor and prepared to tilt at the nearest windmill on his way to the laundromat.

Unfortunately, there were no convenient coats his size in the castle armory. He pulled out his thin raincoat, and cinched it around him as tight as it would go.

Thankfully, the library owned a sizable laundry bag. He filled it with wet, hairy, muddy towels.

Alas, there was no cold medicine within the castle’s alchemical stores to stiffen the resolve of said hero, other than a bottle of painkillers. He took two.

Thus prepared for his quest, the Knight of the Frozen Niblets opened the front door of his leafy castle to face the extremely early Sun, and one surprised library patron.

“Closed for laundry,” Emerald managed to say without snorting too much phlegm on the poor old stallion. “The town does have a laundromat, right?”

* * *

Father’s company did not make washing machines, but they did make several of the components. Most unicorn devices were graded as Consumer, Industrial, and Military, but a certain fraction of them fell in a special grade of toughness.

Laundromat.

It took substantial denial to consider the metal housing around the washing machine as anything except armor, particularly with the number of dents each of the battered machines had suffered over the years. The cashboxes in particular sported a series of shiny scratches from frustrated customers, and more than one blackened char mark that indicated a pegasus had managed the feat of getting a cloud stuffed into the small concrete building and aiming a bolt at their target of ire.

There were four washing machines, one of which was in a state of obvious repair, and one with the more subtle sign of a small glowing red light that said ‘Service’ on the top. Of the two remaining, one was blessedly empty and the last machine was in use.

“Sheets,” he muttered, looking down into the washtub with a sniff. Normally, he would scoop the wet laundry into a dryer to both be helpful and free up a machine, but the last thing anypony wanted was snot covering their precious property. It was going to take two loads in the empty washer, so he loaded it up to the line, added a cup of washing powder from the library’s scant supply, and stuck two bits in the coin mechanism.

There was a cheerful clunking noise, and nothing more.

Betrayed,” snorted Emerald, switching to old Ponish for emphasis. “”

While he was stewing, Emerald became aware of the click-click-click of tiny hooves on the bare concrete floor behind him. A small pink unicorn foal stood in the laundromat doorway, looking up at him with curious eyes, which made him quite glad to have avoided common profanity when faced with the reluctant washing machine.

“Hello, there.” Emerald bent down so his height would not frighten the child. He really did not feel like promoting his career as a unicorn magic teacher to a prospective unicorn student who most probably could not even spark yet, so he settled for what was probably as much of a smile as he was able. “You probably shouldn’t be playing in the laundromat without your parents.”

The child was not in the story-reading group from his last visit to town, so Emerald was at a loss for her name, but not for long.

“Berry Pinch, come here!” The voice was sharp, shrill, and cutting as a rusty knife, much different than the otherwise pretty pinkish mare who poked her sharp nose into the laundromat. “What are you doing talking to strangers?”

“I’m the—” Emerald did not get to finish his introduction, because the earth pony mare finished coming around the corner and continued in his direction, much like the metaphorical Unstoppable Object That Was Going To Trample Somepony And You Look Like It.

“What are you doing with my sheets!” she snapped, poking her nose into the open washer. With swift, practiced movements, she flung the damp bedcovers into one of the functional dryers, slammed a bit coin into the slot, and mashed the start button. “That’s my dryer! Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am—”

“Touch it and I’ll have you arrested. Come on, Berry.” There was a brief thunder of hooves and the mare was gone, followed quickly by her small unicorn foal who did not even wave at him while hurrying to catch her mother.

“And a good day to you and your daughter, ma’am.”

Emerald touched the brim of his fedora, then bit his bottom lip while settling down in the laundromat’s chair to hide his nervous trembling. The situation could easily have been far worse. If the angry mother had called him some sort of pervert, the news would have spread through the town like dragonfire, and his future career as a teacher would be toast. One careless moment, and sitting all morning on a lopsided chair waiting on the washing machines would have been his least problem. He should have done laundry last night, even if it had still been drizzling, and left mopping up the puddles for… No, wood floors and puddles did not get along. Wood warped, and last night’s heater failure would have left him able to ice skate around the library this morning, complete with ramps.

The only good thing he had going so far was a known working washing machine, and he was not looking forward to moving the mess of wet towels and sticky laundry detergent to its new goal. Particularly with his upcoming wait in the lopsided chair, trying to ignore snot oozing out of his nose and the beginnings of a fever starting to prickle under his hat.

There were some days when all options sucked just as hard.

Focus on the present. Laundry needs done. Get off your fat rear and do it. Go to store. Buy replacement towels, cold medicine, and yarn. Fix library heater. World peace.

“Is Berry Punch gone?” asked a voice from behind him. Turning in the chair revealed the young copper-maned pegasus from several weeks ago, who had just parked a small cart outside of the laundromat. Her steel-grey feathers were ruffled and disordered, and her short mane tangled as if she had just gotten out of bed, but she had the most beautiful golden eyes, even if they were slightly bloodshot. And familiar, somehow.

Be professional. She’s probably married, with six foals. And she fixes devices… like the library heater.

“Yes, Miss Ratchette,” he managed, realizing what a mess he had to look with a snuffling nose and unpressed clothes. He did not even want to try another smile, for fear of driving away yet another mare. “The fair lady has departed to bless some other location in Ponyville with her divine presence until her laundry finishes drying. I take it you’re here to fix the washing machines?”

“Just heard one of them was broken. The one on the end is a parts machine.” She hurried forward and looked down into Emerald’s mess of damp towels and crystalizing laundry powder. “Did you give the coin lever a good shove? This one’s stubborn.” She gave the indicated device a solid strike that made the metal ring with impact, then smiled as the water began to run inside the tub. “There. No charge.”

“Wonderful.” Emerald lugged his laundry bag over to the other functional washing machine and began to fill it, despite a low shiver running up his side. “Care to take that delicately calibrated tool over to the library and give the heater there a good thumping when you’re done here?”

“Depends.” Ratchette went outside and returned with a hefty toolbox, which she placed next to the washing machines.

“Depends on how long it takes you here?” Emerald measured out another cup of detergent for the laundry and fumbled for his bit pouch, trying not to get any snot on it.

“Depends on how much you’re going to pay me. Particularly, since I know Twilight locked up the library checkbook before she left.” Ratchette unlatched the front of the broken washing machine with a cleverly bent piece of metal and began to wrestle the access cover free, which precluded her saying anything else.

That put Emerald in a pickle. He planned on sneaking over to the Bargain Barn while the laundry was laundering so he could get personal supplies, as well as a cheap towel or two to replace the ones that had wandered away during his tenure as library guardian. He just did not have enough bits to shop and pay for the heater repairs without getting out his own checkbook, and that would put a giant spike right in the middle of his attempt to remain relatively anonymous in the town.

Despite his current situation, Emerald was fascinated by the way Ratchette went after the machine like it had done something terrible to her ancestors. There were occasional kicks conducted in the close quarters of the machine’s mechanisms, a degree of appropriate profanity that Father would have approved of, and the faint jingle of a bent coin rolling out to land on the floor.

“You found the problem fairly fast,” said Emerald in his most encouraging voice. He had to say something to avoid commenting on her rump, which was the only thing sticking out from under the washing machine, and making little interesting wriggles while she worked at the other end.

“Just a Mazin Knutt that fell out of the cashbox,” she said with a grunt. “Course threading, so it won’t fit anything Equestrian anyway. Leave it alone. I’m going to add it to my coin collection.”

It would have been a good opportunity to start small talk about mutual interests if he had not been feeling so miserable, but it was something to file away for future reference, particularly when bill-paying time came around. Besides, the octagonal Knutt was pre-seventh dynasty, and his own youthful collection had several from that time period that were not bent, as this one was.

“Never mind,” he grumbled, trying to look resolute and determined, much as whenever his father was faced with a plumbing problem. “I’ll go pull the library’s heater housing off when I go back there and see what I can do myself. Can’t be too difficult to poke around in it.”

“Whoa, hold on there, Lightning Lips.” Ratchette looked back over her shoulder with a screwdriver still clenched in her jaws. “Couple weeks ago, you went poking around in that wagon shock absorber over at my shop and nearly killed yourself. I’m pretty sure Twilight wants to come back to a tree, not a bonfire.”

Ah, a nibble.

“I can do it,” insisted Emerald with a snotty sniff. “It’s an antique Hoofford and Stallbrunner, so there’s nothing too complex in it. Not like the newer models, with all their fancy gadgets and regulators.”

“Those regulators keep you from blowing up the heating chamber.” Somehow, Ratchette had managed to get a dab of grease on her face in the brief time she had been working under the other washing machine, which looked unbearably cute on her little turned-up nose.

“If she didn’t leave the checkbook, there’s no other option.” Emerald gave the washing machine coin box a push to get his bits in the slot and tried not to look as if it were too much of a victory over the day so far when the mechanism started. “I’ve got stuffed sinuses from sleeping in that icebox last night. A second night will probably kill me. There’s got to be some tools in the library, and maybe a manual on it. She’ll appreciate me saving some of her building budget.”

“What, you think she’ll greet you at the door with hugs and kisses for your accomplishments?” Ratchette had vanished most of her front half inside the washer by now, and her voice gained an odd echo while she worked. “She was madder than a dragon with a stubbed toe when you left that first time. Took three of her friends to hold her back, or she would have stomped right up the mountain and tracked you down.”

It seemed like the time for a dramatic, snot-filled snort in a futile effort to breathe normally. “No, no. I’ve got this. I can fix it.”

There was a loud but brief noise, and Ratchette came backing out from under the washing machine, rubbing the top of her head. “Never say that, particularly around Twilight Sparkle.”

“I’ll fix it,” insisted Emerald as he walked toward the doorway on his way to the Bargain Barn. “Nothing will go wrong, I promise.”

* * *

“You’ve got this,” murmured Emerald to himself as he trotted back to the library, balancing his purchases and the clean laundry on his back. ‘To himself’ was about as loud as he was able to talk, since the cold weather had started his nose running again until snot was starting to trickle down his chin. Leaning up against the running dryer for warmth had helped, as well as using the new manebrush he had purchased for a perfunctory brushing until his thick coat was about as fluffed and straight as it was going to get without a garden rake.

“So what if the store was out of cold medicine. I’ll just steam my head with the teakettle. And I’m sure Berry was just looking for her missing pillowcase in my wet laundry, not liberating another towel for her use. I’m doing great. I’ll get the library open, blow my nose dry with these splintery paper towels I bought at the store, and fix the heater with my new manebrush and a late notice. No problem.”

The front door was unlocked, which was a problem, or actually an anti-problem, since his library key had not been in the laundry bag where he had hidden it before shopping.

And there was a familiar copper-maned mare poking around inside the library’s heating unit, which was both a problem (lack of funds) and hopefully an anti-problem (maybe a warm library after all.) Then again, having the pretty pegasus show up wherever he went was not a problem at all.

“You left your key in the laundromat,” called out Ratchette through the device she was holding in her teeth.

Rather than dispute the meaning of ‘left’ when the key had been stuffed securely inside his laundry bag, Emerald settled for “I can’t pay you” with a dramatic slobbery sniff. “I wasted my money at the store on paper towels and sandpaper, although I’m having some trouble telling them apart.”

There was a series of clunking noises before Ratchette pulled herself out of the heater’s access panel, spitting what appeared to be a metal face-hugging spider into her toolbox. “I’ll bill the city,” she said. “And since you said the library was out of cold medicine, and the Bargain Barn never keeps it in stock once we get Flitter weather, I went and picked up some from Zecora, our local zebra potion-maker. I’ll bill Twilight for that, too.”

“Zecora?” Emerald fought to keep from wrinkling up his nose and proclaiming “A zebra?” as his mother would have done. Any cold medicine, even from the notorious insular zebras, was better than sticking his head under a hot towel in the kitchenette.

“You certainly have a trusting relationship with your town’s most famous pony,” said Emerald instead, trudging into the kitchen to put on the teakettle. “Are you cousins or something?”

“Just friends.” Ratchette closed the door to the heater with a bang and bumped the activator, which purred to life and began to blow warm air. “One of my best customers, too. She breaks some of the most interesting things.”

“Hey, I broke the heater,” protested Emerald. “That’s interesting. And a thing. Where did you put the cold medicine?”

* * *

Despite the sharp frigid breeze that kept whistling around the outside of the library tree, and the departure of Ratchette for yet another repair job somewhere, Emerald was feeling marginally better than before. There were only a few library patrons willing to fight the wind, so he hung up his stiff raincloak on the appropriate hook (labelled ‘Librarian - Alternate’ as he expected), stuck the clean towels into the bathroom cabinet, and locked it.

He had heard some distant sounds of slush clouds being dumped on unsuspecting ponies during his trip back to the library, which clued him to a few bits of Flitter weather left. By accident, he had discovered the key to traveling in Flitter weather was to wait under cover until you heard the distinctive slushy-whoosh and startled cry of a distant recipient of the cranky pegasus’ talents. Then you sprinted as fast as your hooves would go until you ducked the library’s front door overhang, which was probably installed for just this purpose. At least he had a tree wrapped around him again, with warm air, dry towels, and enough zebra medicine to… do something once he got the kettle on and read the instructions.

Librarianing would wait. There was nopony waiting in line at the desk, and he was starting to dribble enough out of his nose to leave a trail. It was difficult to blame the three little pests because he kept seeing his own youth in their behavior. Besides, they would probably get their Marks in a week or two, so all he would need to do is wait that out too and everything would go back to normal.

And while waiting, he put on the kettle.

Then while the kettle was warming up, he ducked downstairs into the basement of the tree, because if there had been a washing machine down there…

Thankfully for his scratchy throat, the only machines in the basement were odd collections of wires and scientific instruments, which was good. He really did not feel like screaming his lungs out in frustration, after all. Or digging out the teapot, the strainer, the tea cosy, the teacups, a teaspoon, a tea measuring spoon, sugar cubes, honey, and whatever other strange devices were on the tea tray for the purposes of making a hot cup of tea.

Instead, he tore open the paper packet of Zebrican herbs and dumped it into the bottom of the ‘Equestria’s Greatest Student’ mug he fished off the drying rack, then added several heaping spoonfuls of powdered wake-up juice concentrate. After all, they were going to get mixed inside, so there was no reason not to mix them outside.

Even with the burner turned on high, it took forever to heat up the kettle, and Emerald considered for the umpteenth time how unicorns had an unfair advantage over their more plebeian counterparts, or at least in the field of cold medicine preparation. There was a tiny note attached to the packet detailing the administration of the concoction, but it did not say anything about mixing it with something useful, and he was going to drink the wake-up juice anyway, so meh. After squinting one last time at the scribbled instructions, he tossed the packet in the trash and looked for something to keep busy.

There were always things to do around the kitchen, so he occupied his wait time by sweeping the floor and washing the few dishes in the sink. The Zebrican herbs dissolved well in the hot water—once it was actually hot—so after being very careful to turn off the stove, he put the half-full kettle back and took a sip of the medicine.

It was… worth a second sip with some chewing of the leftover herbal bits. Then a third sip, as the hot spicy herbs released some sort of upwelling of vapor in his lungs that traveled to his plugged sinuses and began to clear them. It was not quite like the regular cold medicine his mother made from flower petals and leaves in their garden, but he really could not complain about the end results. Particularly after making himself a second cup to enjoy while strolling back out into the library and resuming the task which he had been hired to do.

The trickle of library patrons did not grow too much as Day faded, leaving him plenty of time to catch up and even get ahead of the process. The library’s ancient heating device wheezed against the load of the front door opening so many times, and Emerald suspected the damp books that came in with dripping patrons were going to take some time to dry under its slow breeze of warmth, which was fine with him.

The first few hot cups of zebra medicine had vanished somewhere during his tasks, so he returned to the kitchenette with his empty cup and checked the kettle, which still had enough warm water to make more. This time he added a sugar cube under the healthy heaping spoonful of generic wake-up juice powder, then a second, before adding the paper packet of herbs and stirring.

Despite his sniffles, Flitter weather had one major advantage. Intelligent ponies would look outside, calculate the probability of getting a cloud of slush down the back of the neck, and determine it was easier just to re-read the books they already had checked out. When closing time came around, there were not enough books stacked up on the Return table to make it worth going out into the library and putting them where they belonged, so he heaved his saddlebags up on the counter instead.

It was still a little chilly in the library’s main room, but at least he had the place to himself. This was literally the only place in Equestria where he could ‘spread out’ and attack his most recent project without interruption. At home in the family library, he would be bothered by both parents and servants, while trying to get anything this complicated done in the frat house was just begging for trouble. And staking out space in the school library was just asking for his project to be used as a hoof-wiping rug.

First things first. He spread his still slightly damp vest and fedora out to get the best effect out of the library’s ancient heater, stomped the library couch cushions until they were less lumpy, and put the container of wake-up juice concentrate next to the packets of leftover Zebrican medicine on the kitchenette table for easy access. Worst case, if he could not get to the end of the project before sleep claimed him, the library’s main room couch would be ready for his inevitable collapse. And his sinuses would remain clear.

It was peaceful. Quiet. A welcome relief from the slush and chill of the last two days. And most of all, a hole in his schedule which the long-delayed research project would fit quite nicely. He already had most of the notecards all made up, with weeks worth of research in odd hours to figure out their appropriate statistics for prominent Protocerans through recent history. All he had needed was time and space, which was finally available.

“When I get out of college,” muttered Emerald as he arranged his notecards, “I’m going to go nutters with nothing to fill my spare time. Probably wind up studying flowers or collecting feathers like Father. The last thing I’m going to do for the rest of my life is study griffon genealogy. Who killed who in what flock, who hatched from what nest.”

He placed down more notecards, then put a shoulder to the librarian’s heavy desk to give him more space. There were a lot of dead griffons to scatter around the main floor, tacked down with colored plastic pins.

“My frat brothers would move these around just to spite me,” he muttered. “At home, the servants would ‘tidy up’ behind me.” He unreeled some red yarn and began to tie it around pushpins. “Red for murder, yellow for treachery, blue for infidelity, orange for incest…”

There was a substantial pile of cards to work through, with notes on each of them. It made a fascinating evening task, with occasional trips into the kitchenette to make more cups of the zebra’s cold medicine. The generic wake-up juice powder from the librarian’s pantry fizzed when heated on the stove with the herbs, giving a bubbly potion that left an undescribable taste at the back of his mouth while clearing his sinuses like some sort of demented nasal plumber. He did not, however, try mixing it with coffee. There are some mysteries that should remain unsolved. Besides, it would probably dissolve the bottom out of the teakettle.

Professional griffon historians had a thousand theories about how certain nests were allies or rivals, mostly driven by the wants and public needs of the same nests. Their books were full of half public relations, half fantasy, half political necessities, until it was nearly impossible to separate the buckets of lies from the few niblets of truth.

One thread at a time, he wove his colorful web across the floor. It took scooting the librarian desk all the way to the checkout counter until he could get all of the cards pinned down, then the task of getting every thread arranged after that became a gargantuan time-sink, far more than he had expected.

“Don’t any of these birds die of old age?” Emerald nipped off another bit of yarn and tied it to a hefty red pin. He had already determined that particular massacre was just as inaccurate as most griffon history, since several later reports had ‘victims’ walking around just as healthy as could be. Still, there were a large number of verifiable fatalities, and the questionable ones could be validated by other strands in the web.

Maybe.

The front door of the library clicked while he was debating between white and mauve for how one would indicate a cracked egg, and the faint trit-trot of feminine hooves threatened to break his concentration on the intricate card-web. “Hello, we’re closed,” he called over his shoulder. “I put the sign up and everything.”

“Oh,” sounded a beautiful feminine voice. There was a short pause, then she added, “We… I thought Twilight Sparkle was at home.”

“She’s at a personal appearance in Manehattan,” he said while trying to focus on finding one feathered murder among dozens. “I’m Emerald. Can I help you, young lady?”

“Actually…” The unseen hooves shuffled on the bare oaken floor, and a faint sound of feathers being rearranged caused him to put a quick hoof down on the few unsorted cards.

“Careful about any gusts, Miss,” he called out over his shoulder. “I just about have my research project on griffon geneology all arranged. If you’re needing a book, go pick it out, find your library card, and I’ll get you checked out.”

Don’t check out the sexy mare while doing homework. Don’t check out the sexy mare while doing homework…

There was a long pause from behind him, most likely while the unseen mare looked over the counter at the rear of the crazy earth pony crouched down in the middle of a rainbow of yarn strands.

“Very well. We shall need whatever your library has on griffon relations over the last century. I am expected to preside over one of their diplomatic meetings next week.”

“Good luck.” Emerald waved a hoof. “History is off that way, in the second bookshelf. Minotaurs on the bottom, griffons on the top, but I can save you looking. I pulled both griffon history books earlier, and they’re sitting on the librarian desk next to my collection.”

It would have been so easy to abandon his project and go help the cute pegasus, or at least she should be cute with a voice like that. A little flirting, some late-night ‘studying’ about griffon preening… was more his brother’s preference. Graphite had the enviable ability to incite affectionate nesting behavior in any feathered female he spoke with, and had left a smiling trail of both female pegasi and griffons in his wake for years. Single ones, thankfully, and to be honest, Emerald was getting a little tired of cute feathered females edging up to him, engaging in friendly conversation, and then dropping the line, “I understand you have a brother…”

There were less than a half-dozen notecards left to get pinned down onto the floor, so this was not the time to get distracted. Unfortunately, he had left the more difficult ones to the end, and there were more question marks than validated facts on each of them. He had just gotten three pushpins into one card and began to stretch out colored yarn when the mare from the other side of the checkout table politely cleared her throat.

“The books upon the table are fictional romances. The historical records are still on the shelves.”

It took a moment to get one of the sour-tasting yarn pieces tied down before he responded, “Griffon history is always wrong. It’s written by the victorious griffons, and they always want to pad their credit. Their romance stories are written by pony citizens of Protocera. They publish under pen names, and keep a much more accurate accounting of dynasty shifts and nest quarrels, who is rumored to have fathered which eggs, real genealogy of ruling branches, vengeance chains, things like that. The rarer the book, the more accurate, since certain aggrieved parties like to engage in pyrotechnic editing practices. Never loan a griffon romance book to a griffon. You’re likely never to get it back. Or at least most of it.”

“Some things never change, I suppose.” The rustle of pages continued while Emerald cautiously backtracked the two remaining yarn strands and tried to find the appropriate eggs with a pin. He had to admit some unseen feminine company in the library was welcome, particularly the kind of company who didn’t look over his shoulder and chatter foolish questions. And ever since he had created a ghost librarian story for the sleepover on his last visit, the mental construct of a ghost… well, haunted him at times. Expansion and contraction of the oak tree made strange noises in the night, and knowing there was another real pony around gave a convenient corporeal pony to blame.

Still, after a period of time with no more noises than the rustling of pages and Emerald’s cautious enumeration of yarn griffon corpses, he decided to say something polite once he had tacked down his next-to-last card.

“If you’re presiding over a griffon diplomatic meeting, Princess Celestia must trust you considerably. Have you known her long?”

There was a brief pause, a short huff of exasperation, and a terse, “Yes.”

“So are you a member of the diplomatic corps?” he asked absently while trying to track an orange piece of yarn which kept trying to turn blue on him. “Or a researcher from the university, getting some practical experience? Because if you waited until the last minute before flying down to Ponyville of all places to learn about griffons, you’re getting pretty desperate.”

There was always a deep pause before the mare spoke, which struck Emerald as a practical habit for a diplomat to hold, like she always weighed her words on a precise scale before speaking. If she had been a unicorn, he might have considered introducing her to Father and seeing how they got along. He appreciated a mare who thought before speaking. But a pegasus? No. He’d either go sparse or full matchmaker.

“I am unfamiliar with griffons of the present era,” she said.

“A closeted historian, then.” Emerald lifted one hoof and tried to remove an affectionate piece of mauve yarn that anchored a dynasty while shifting to the Old Griffonent they probably spoke back then. “”

“,” said the mare out in the library in an elegant short series of Protoceran chirps and clicks. “”

“I didn’t think my enunciation was that bad,” he grumbled. “You should hear my brother, Graphite. He can sing in both modern and historic dialects, with accents. Makes me sound like a crow. Is he helping you with the meeting?”

Again, the pause, and the measured response. “I am unfamiliar with a pony by that name.”

“They’re probably keeping him away from the diplomats’ cute daughters. Last thing we need is for one of them to turn up with egg. Ha!” Emerald ever so slowly teased a knot out of one strand of yarn that had been pinned down in the wrong place, which would have put the hatching before the egg-laying. “You’d know if you met him. Smooth grey coat like crushed velvet and a flowing white mane. He’s a hopeless flirt, and I have no idea why mares let him get away with it.” Since the mare in the main library room was a member of the official diplomatic corps, Emerald squelched his usual crude joke about Graphite being an exceptionally cunning linguist and moved on. “If anybody can get you ready to talk to a Meeting of Claws, he can. Just be aware that he does flirt, and you have to keep his attention on the subject or you’ll find yourself outside walking with him under the stars and talking about foals all night.”

The mare snorted, but it was an amused snort. “Nepotism doth suit you poorly, M’lord.”

It was a bit of a shock, but since most of his homework books on the table were from Father’s library with the House Chrysanthemum seal on the cover plates, it was a fairly short line of deductive reasoning for her to draw a line between the baron who owned them and the idiot son making yarn doodles on the library floor, so Emerald decided to double down rather than fold.

“It isn’t bragging about your relatives if they can do the job,” he started. “If the griffons were led by a single hen, and it was necessary for the Equestrians to obtain an alliance by marriage, I would be willing to bet cash bits that inside of a year, I would have griffon in-laws.” He paused to think. “Inside of another year, nieces and nephews with beaks. Father would be… confused. And I would still never get the teaching job I want,” he admitted, turning back to tracing yarn.

“Teaching griffon histories?” she asked.

“Oh, heavens forbid!” Emerald began to ever so slowly pick his way backward and out of his twisted web, keeping his nose almost to the floor. “I like history too much. I will be teaching young unicorns their first magic.”

This time the contemplative pause went on longer than most, and Emerald regretted putting his hat and vest down on the desk to dry. “Yes, I know I’m an earth pony,” he added quite redundantly. “That doesn’t mean I can’t teach unicorn magic.”

“I never said you could not,” sounded that patient voice again. “I was merely wondering to myself if perhaps you have chosen the more difficult path out of some sense of challenge, but then I noticed your Mark.”

“I’d probably be teaching young students if I had a Mark for flower arranging,” he mused while looking over the yarn strands. “There’s something magical about seeing one of them do something they never could before, young unicorns in particular. As long as there’s somepony around to turn you back from being a gardenia,” he added.

The mare made an encouraging noise from behind one of the bookshelves, where she had probably gone to see if there were any more books related to her upcoming task. He straightened up with several pops from his spine, then moved over to the desk to begin pulling checkout cards from the Ponyville library books she had already selected.

“I should get overtime for this,” he muttered under his breath, then raised his voice. “Ma’am, I’ll get you ready for checkout. I’m done with Father’s books for the moment, so you can give them to Graphite to take back home when you’re done with them. Do you have a local library card?”

There was that distinctive pause again, then a simple, “No.” It only made sense, since she was from Canterlot. He didn’t have a library card in this library either, but he had reviewed Twilight Sparkle’s extensive instructions regarding such, and he had been looking for an excuse to use the machine anyway.

Minotaurs were responsible for creating most of the complicated mechanical widgets in the modern world, and cameras were no exception. The country of Mazin was his father’s second largest trading partner, after all. Little enchanted gizwizzes and hoodads carried out critical tasks inside the optical paths and crystalline innards of modern cameras, including the instant photo development process and thaumaturgically charged paper that a photographer needed to purchase for each photo. With every click and flash, a cash drawer bell rang, and the wealth of House Chrysanthemum grew by some tiny fraction of a bit.

About forty years ago, most probably nudged by Emerald’s grandfather, the Equestrian library system had discovered the convenience of modern plastic identity cards. The old system of actually knowing who was checking out books was promptly tossed out, and libraries across the country plunked down the bits for a state-of-the-art magical machine with levers and cranks, that if treated just right, had a distinct chance of producing a plastic-wrapped card with a recognizable photograph of a library patron on it, which would then in theory be carried around by the patron to identify themselves when they wanted to check out a book.

In practice, no.

The Golden Oak Library of Ponyville had a filing drawer filled with all the plastic library cards they issued, most probably because they had exactly the same problem as the rest of the rural Equestrian libraries when patrons came in without their cards and had to resort to the old method of checking out books. The questions such a policy prevented were obvious.

So why did we spend all those taxpayer bits on this machine? Who can we blame?

Despite Emerald’s legitimate complaints about his parents constantly trying to set him up with a ‘proper’ unicorn bride, there were certain advantages to being in his family. Since the family company had the license for importing the card-making machines from Mazin, a few of the devices had been ‘misplaced’ over the years for research or novelty purposes. And since his father owned the company, Young Emerald had been tickled fourteen shades of pink to find a hefty crate in the family carriage house one morning, with permission to open it up and use it.

It took three days of careful picking through the manual, detailed examination of the mechanisms, and a few dozen-dozen false starts, before he had been the proud owner of a slightly blurred plastic card. At the time, Emerald thought that his father had stayed in the background to allow his ‘handicaped’ son play time with the world’s most fun toy. It was only later that Emerald discovered the company had used Father’s notes to put out a new and much more readable manual, along with selling an update kit for each cardmaker using color-coded knobs and various numbered arrows indicating how to twist or push each of them in sequence.

‘So easy even a foal can do it’ was the advertising line.

Young Emerald didn’t mind a bit, particularly after getting his big brothers to float the clunky device upstairs and into his room for further study. More than a few ‘unauthorized’ plastic identity cards of various types had been produced in the years since, which made getting the Golden Oak Library’s device prepared for use a nearly trivial task. He ran the camera up and down on the greased slides and checked the fluid levels, then got out the paperwork part of the checklist.

“Once you have some time, come over to the counter and fill out this form.” The indicated form was stored right where Twilight’s notes said, which was no great surprise. “Then put it into the green slot on the cardmaker, and I’ll get your photograph. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Two of the yarn threads in his project had become tangled, which required a delicate touch to determine which griffon cousin had killed the other, and gave him something to do while the mare strolled over to the counter and filled in the form with brief strokes of the library public quill.

“I have completed the task,” she stated plainly, “and placed the form into the slot. Now if I am reading the instruction poster correctly, I put my hooves on the green marks, face the camera, and smile, correct?”

“Yep. Let me get the camera elevated,” said Emerald as he pushed repeatedly on the floor plate that ratcheted the mechanism upward along the toothed track. “Tell me when you see the red light in the lens. Any time. Not yet? It’s at the top of the track, so you may have to bend down a little. Don’t forget the smile,” he added.

“I believe I see it now,” she said, adding in a stilted voice, “I am smiling.”

Emerald stepped on the correct pedal, the mechanism gave out a flash, and there was a quiet reshuffling of hooves on the other side of the counter.

“Beg pardon,” she said. “We did not expect a light.”

“Not a problem.” Emerald reached one hoof above the counter and flipped a lever on the camera, although he kept his head down like he had been doing throughout the photography session. “Now turn sideways to put your hooves on the red marks, and we’ll get a picture of your cutie mark.”

“Very well.” There was that distinctive pause again while the mare moved with the graceful precise pace of the aristocracy. “Might I ask a question of you, M’lord?”

“You just did.” Emerald stepped firmly on the camera’s shutter release again and another flash lit up the inside of the library. “There we go. I’ll pull the plastic card out after it finishes developing and store it with the rest, if you’ll sign the slips from the back of each book. I get to file them, also. Thank you for visiting our library and we hope your meeting with the griffons goes well.”

A certain silence continued to fill the library while he returned to his wooling over griffon vengeance chains, determined not to say the first word. It took concentration, and he discovered two more errors on his cards during the process, each of which needed penciled corrections and double-checking every card associated with them.

Eventually, he decided on the better part of valor since the stubborn pegasus might just stand there silently and look at his rump until Sunrise. “Yes, M’lady? Did you need anything else?”

“An explanation, for starters.” The unseen pegasus cleared her throat. “Since I have entered this establishment, you have not looked at me once. Nary a sideways glance, no coincidental looks in a nearby mirror, nothing. Praytell, is my countenance displeasing to you?”

“That is a question which requires another question to answer it.” Emerald nipped out a push-pin and began to unthread a duplicated piece of yarn, since a griffon egg was seldom laid by two different hens. “Are you currently married, engaged, dating, or otherwise in a romantic relationship with another sapient creature of any species or gender?”

There was that particular pause again, only longer this time, followed by a firm, “No.”

“Then I am doing what is best for the both of us.” Emerald considered how the strand of yarn was going to take extra work to extract from its friends and decided to explain his situation as simply as possible. “You see, I am in a similar situation. I will not lie to my parents. They wish me wed in the worst possible way, and I can show you the list of mares they have attempted to pair me with if you wish to dispute my phrasing. When I meet them later this week, they will inquire if I saw any young and eligible mares of appropriate breeding while at this job. If I keep my head down and don’t look at you, I can honestly tell them no.”

After a shorter pause, “And if you look?”

“They will want to know your name. If I don’t know, they’ll ask about your Mark and backtrack from there. They’ll research your family, contact any living relatives, check to see if our families would make a good pairing. The disruption would be a terrible inconvenience for you, m’lady. And worse, if our families decide we make a good match, they’ll arrange a marriage, and you’d be saddled with me forever. Then I would be unable to carry out my plans for teaching young unicorns their first magic, and your career as a diplomat would be negatively impacted, since there are many who look down upon mixed marriages. Particularly one to a scruffy stallion such as myself.”

“I understand.” This time the pause followed the words, and threatened to remain after she added in a somewhat more friendly voice, “What if I like what I see?”

“You don’t need the scandal,” he managed after a few rapid moments of thought. “One of Equestria’s diplomats fooling around with a college student who has not even completed his primary degree? Besides, I’m quarrelsome, stubborn, disagreeable, opinionated, lazy, picky, and I take all the covers at night. I shed like a rug in the Fall, sleep away most of the morning in Winter, spend every day with a book in Spring, and like to spend Summer vacations traveling the country wherever I choose to go. You can do far better.”

“Mmm…” The rustle of paper distracted him from unthreading the pestersome piece of twine, but from the sound of her hoofsteps headed toward the library door, the pegasus was preparing to leave. It would have been so easy to sneak a peek as she walked toward the door, but he had never been able to lie well to his own mother, so Emerald remained silent and focused on his yarn. He was just considering the whole layout of colorful sheep-byproduct and the probability that he could pick out errors every hour for the next century or so when the young mare’s voice shocked him out of his creative fugue.

“M’lord, are you currently engaged, dating, or otherwise in a romantic relationship with another sapient creature of any species or gender? And we shall consider Twilight Sparkle such, for the purposes of this question.”

“I haven’t met Twilight Sparkle,” said Emerald reflexively. “And I’m not currently dating. Although next year, a Canterlot policemare is going to ask me… Well, that’s complicated. So for all intents and purposes, no.”

“Good.” The library door opened and closed, then Emerald could hear the fading sounds of wings.

“I swear this job would drive you to drinking if you weren’t crazy already,” muttered Emerald. “Then it will probably make you an alicorn, and that’s a whole new level of insanity.”

At least all the yarn threads seemed to be correct for a change, and the unexpected library patron was gone, so his life could go on. Part of that was getting the camera out of his saddlebags to capture his work, because it was doubtful that Twilight Sparkle was going to allow him to leave his little arts and crafts project spread out over her floor for the next few months. So after making another hot cup of wake-up juice and zebra medicine, he got the camera out and proceeded to take photographs of every section of his yarn project, with several taken from the second floor of the library where the notecards’ contents would not be clear, but at least they would look pretty.

“Finally. I should leave the cleanup for Twilight Sparkle tomorrow night,” he managed. Another drink of mixed medicine and wake-up juice made him shake his head and regard the mess. “No, she’d probably find a dozen errors and drag me back here to fix them.”

The precious photographs went into a sealed pocket on his saddlebags before Emerald even thought about his library tasks. He arranged the fresh library checkout cards from the unknown mare by habit, sorted them into the correct drawers, and picked the warm plastic card out of the identity card machine.

… which he accidentally looked at in order to file it properly.

… and then had to look again.

Surreal. There were probably some other words to describe it, most of which started with some screaming and running about, and that would not have been productive use of his time at the moment. Not now, when his head was still fuzzy with zebra medicine and enough wake-up juice to crystalize in his bloodstream and set his heart to racing. Maybe later, when he went back to Canterlot where she lived. Or maybe never go back home again. He gave the card one last look, comparing the cutie mark to the brief glance he had gotten of Twilight Sparkle’s skinny flank.

“That is one hot plot.” He held the card up to the library’s lighting devices and gave a low whistle, only to whirl around at a small noise behind him.

For one terrifying moment, he could have sworn that Princess Luna was standing in the doorway, but it was only a shadow, and he was all alone except for the hammering of his heart. With deliberate tread to control his growing panic, Emerald returned to the library desk, picked up the half-empty mug of Zebrician medicine and wake-up juice mixture, and returned to the kitchenette.

“Never mix medicines,” he muttered, pouring the concoction down the drain.

12. Guest Front

The Substitute Librarian
Guest Front

The only thing keeping Emerald from giving in to total panic was absolute certainty that everything could be explained by drug interactions. Quite obviously, mixing wake-up juice with mysterious Zebrican cold medicine caused one to see imaginary alicorns. Well, to hear alicorns since he had never actually seen Princess Luna in the library where he was bent over with his bare butt stuck in the air in her direction and she asked if he was single or dating and this line of thought was not helping!

He had put the plastic library card into the correct drawer without the benefit of any functional brain cells, and now all he wanted to do was to jam his nose into there and look through the cards and not find one with Princess Luna smiling through gritted teeth. It would be proof he was hallucinating. Then again, if he found the card, it would be proof in the other direction, and that would mean absolutely no end of panic.

Panic was bad. Emerald did stupid things while panicking, although few things were dumber than mooning the Princess of the Sun like he did when he got his cutie mark. But no. He had to break that record. He was probably the only pony on the planet to have mooned both the Sun and Moon, but that was not enough. He had to go for the peak of stupidity and panic. A moment that would go down in the History of Stupid as a Crowning (lit.) Achievement. He just had to imply that he might be interested in a romantic relationship with Princess Luna. That was a height of stupidity beyond…

Emerald stopped, stared at the maze of colored yarn bits he had not picked up, and gave out a choked-off hysterical chuckle. Princess Luna was… that is the delusion he had of Princess Luna was going to ask Graphite to help with her meeting. Graphite had no sense of social scale, which is probably why his superiors in the Foreign Affairs ministry had been very careful not to allow his path to cross with any alicorns. She was going to ask about him. She was going to meet him. She was incredibly beautiful, he was attracted to winged beauty like a moth to a flame, and…

She was going to go absolutely, positively, right off the end. Worse than Nightmare Moon all over again, although some terribly unhelpful neurons crossed in a short circuit like a thunderbolt in his brain when he thought of Graphite introducing his new mare to Father…

My sister-in-law, the Princess…

Foals…

There was still time if Emerald started right now to pick up all of his notecards, clean the library of any evidence of his existence, and gallop to Protocera. Some oceanic swimming would probably be involved, which brought up the optimistic possibility of drowning instead of coming face to rump with another princess, or having to explain to his parents how Princess Luna could identify him only from the rear. Then again, with as rapidly as his heart was hammering away, maybe he would probably have a stroke or heart attack right there in Twilight Sparkle’s library.

No. Won’t work. She’d bring me back to life just to yell at me for littering her home.

Work would help. Something nice, safe, repetitive, boring, mind-numbing, and able to crush his frantic thoughts under fatigue poisons and drudgery. Building a refuge against the world, one small brick at a time. The complex mental task of unweaving his rats nest of colorful yarn was certainly not it, but there was a book sitting on the edge of the returns table.

He moved toward the book on trembling legs, shying away from the quiet clicking noise his hooves made on the wooden floor.

Foals book. Something about a bumpy, wumpy rabbit. Goes on this shelf, between an alligator and a turtle. Alligator book has some frosting on it. Take back to table. Wipe clean. Put back on shelf. Line spines up. Get next book. Keep organizing. Everything in its place. Take control of what little of your life you can.

Is this how Twilight Sparkle feels after she saves the world or fights a giant monster? How does she get up the courage to face the world if she’s back here, hiding in the library afterward?

Individual moments of forced action gave way to minutes of numb repetition, then blessed relaxation started to creep into his tense shoulders and neck at an unexpected thought. The activity felt so much like putting books away in his family library that Emerald managed to crack a smile at the thought of Princess Celestia towering over Twilight Sparkle at the dinner table in the palace. Quietly asking if she was prepared yet to step into the family business of raising Sun and Moon. Setting her up with ‘proper’ unicorn stallions for social events. Dropping little hints about grandfoals.

“No wonder she ran away to Ponyville,” he murmured under his breath while checking the order of two books that some patron had reshelved backwards. It was a much more comforting thought than anything outside of the tree, and provided the exercise he was lacking since he had to climb shelves. Unicorns did not have to climb to reach books, but Emerald had grown up amidst unicorns and learned to compensate, particularly in the library. The irresistible temptation of books just beyond his grasp had honed his youthful climbing education, where to brace against which shelf, how to actually bite more sturdy shelves to get leverage, not to let go when his mother caught sight of him several lengths above the hard floor, and other such lessons.

To conduct shelving operations around the outside of the library’s main room, Ponyville had a wrought iron platform with a crank that would raise it up to the correct height for less athletic earth pony librarians. Unfortunately, the broken crank spun with no resistance, making it only useful as a very heavy table that rattled down narrow slots in the oak flooring like tracks and provided a place for him to stack books.

“Maybe I can run away to someplace out of Equestria, or just out of the way,” he mused. “Doc mentioned he lives in Trotter’s Falls, maybe. It’s fairly obscure, and he could find me a job. The Princesses would probably not care enough to find me down there. Far enough away I’d never have to face my family, or at best, once a year.”

That made his breath catch in his chest even worse.

“After Regal’s wedding. And after I graduate. Otherwise I’ll wind up washing dishes instead of teaching. I can keep it together that long. I’m just overthinking things again. And talking to myself.”

A chill evening breeze blew across Emerald’s fetlocks when he climbed down to get one of the last books that needed reshelving, leading him to glance at the library’s front door. He had been avoiding any looks in that direction for some time now, but now it was open just a crack and swinging wider every moment with a low, eerie creaking noise that raised the hair on the back of his mane.

For the longest time, Emerald tried to convince himself it was just a breeze.

Then the ebon darkness outside parted, and something began to drift into the library through the open doorway. It was a cloaked figure, with the edges of the tattered cloth glowing a faint blue and floating in a ghostly fashion. The library lighting devices flickered once and promptly died, leaving the apparition only visible in the darkness by its own eerie light as it glided forward, making a strange raspy groan with a noise like dry bones whenever it took a step.

It drew closer, crossing into the library’s main room and headed straight for Emerald, with nothing visible beneath the cloak’s shadowed hood but darkness and nothing to hear but his own panicked breathing.

“Cower, Brief Mortals,” came a voice dry as dust. “For I am Death, ‘gainst no lock will hold nor portal bar.”

All of Emerald’s remaining breath went out at once in a gigantic wheeze, and he sat solidly down on the library floor. “Oh, thank the STARS!” he gasped. “I thought you were Princess Luna. What brings you to Ponyville, Trixie?”

“Wait.” There was a brief burst of blue light from under the cloak and the library lighting devices activated, showing less of a spectral figure and something more of a unicorn covered by a bedsheet. The ‘hood’ of the cloak flipped back, and a familiar blue unicorn looked back at Emerald, with tangled tendrils of white mane draped down almost into her eyes. “Greenie? What in the name of Starswirl’s beard are you doing in Twilight Sparkle’s house at this hour of Night? Are the two of you—”

“No!” Emerald held a hoof to his chest and tried to breathe as panic surged back into the area that terror had just left. “No, we’re not anything of what you’re thinking right now. None of it. I just… Well, it’s a long story,” he added while scurrying to the library door and making sure it was closed and the locking wards engaged, then giving it another shove just to be sure.

“Hey, far from me to criticize your choice of bedmates.” As she trotted upstairs, Trixie shed the bedsheet she was using for a cloak and tossed it behind her. “This is great! I’m going to wake up Sparkle and give her such a ribbing for keeping your sorry green rump around.”

“No, don’t— Let me— Just a minute!” Emerald galloped back and forth between the fallen sheet and the stairs several times, trying to get a grip on his renewed panic, before he scooped up the discarded sheet and flung it in the general direction of the bathroom.

“Tada!” filtered down from above before he could get his wits back in order. “Wake up, Twilight Sparkle and marvel at the Great and Powerful Trixie! Hey! Where are you hiding?”

“She’s not here,” called out Emerald quickly.

“What?” Trixie poked her head over the stairway and looked down at him. “I was going to catch up on what has been going on before challenging her to a duel this morning. This time, I’m going to beat her sorry excuse for magic and prove the Great and Powerful—”

“She’s out of town,” insisted Emerald with a wave of one hoof, sitting back down before he fell down. “Can you just… come down here and talk with me for a minute?”

“Why?” Trixie’s frown grew. “You’re not sick, are you?”

“Panic attack. And drugs. But mostly drugs, I think. I hope. Look, just get down here or I’ll mail that letter to your mother!” he snapped.

“Fine!” Trixie flounced down the stairs. “You were a much nicer pony when we were in school.”

“Three years will change a pony. Just… Hold still for a minute.” Emerald put both forelegs around the Great and Powerful Trixie and held on for a while, trying his best to keep from frantically squeezing to ensure she was real and not some herb-triggered delusion.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” protested Trixie.

“Thinking about burning a certain blackmail letter, so just hold still for a moment. I need to know where I am to calm down,” said Emerald with a sniff.

The hug was awkward, clumsy, and uncomfortable on many levels, including olfactory. It did calm him down, even though it brought back some highly uncomfortable memories of college and raised a few questions. Most importantly, the mare he was actually holding was real, not an alicorn, and was not trying to control his life.

That had always been one good thing about Trixie in school. She was so focused on herself that she did not try to mess with his fat head. Beg for homework, steal his peanut-butter crackers at the cafeteria, and insult him, yes. Consider using him as a social ladder into the upper crust, never. It had always given him a sense of relaxation around the blue braggart, trading jabs and embarrassing stories about other students. In some ways, she had been a somewhat-but-not-really friend. Of course, that was years ago, and to have her pop up in the library at Night bespoke of an unlikely coincidence or true desperation.

“Thank you,” he murmured into her shoulder.

“No prob.” Trixie patted him on the back. “Trixie did not think her performance was so frightening.”

“It’s the drugs.”

“Drugs?” Trixie moved a step away and looked deep into his eyes. “You? Mister Clean from college?”

“Zebra cold medicine and wake-up juice,” he clarified. “It makes you hallucinate. By the way, did you happen to see any alicorns outside?”

“Alicorns?” Trixie held a hoof to his head. “You are sick. What’s going on with you and Twilight Sparkle?”

“Um…” It was a question that could take hours and at least one chalkboard to answer fully. “I’ll summarize. Twilight Sparkle doesn’t even know I exist. I volunteered with the mayor to watch her library while she’s out. Enough about me, though. Where have you been since leaving college? I mean other than letting giant space-bears wander through Ponyville.”

“Oh.” The Confident and Brash Trixie sagged like a balloon meeting a pin, and a familiar scowl replaced the pleasant smile she had been using like a mask. “Sparkle’s story reached everypony, I see. She’s out saving the world again, fighting monsters and ancient evils while Trixie is the laughing stock of the country.”

“Actually, she’s at some social event in Manehattan, probably bored out of her mind and wishing she were home,” said Emerald. He sniffed again. “And you’re filthy.”

It was Emerald’s turn for cautious pony examination, and he did not like what he saw. He was not one for being kemp or combed, and had never really been heveled because a long-haired coat was such a pain to keep in that state, but Trixie had always been a fastidious fashion follower with every curl and stretch of coat in perfect condition.

Not any more.

Her short coat over protruding ribs was matted on one side, with a few perfunctory lick-marks that showed an attempt to make the worst of it lie down flat, and she looked almost naked without her obligatory cloak. Even her tangled mane was knotted, with a few thin spots showing where other knots had just been yanked out instead of properly combed. Far worse than her poor grooming was the look of suppressed frustration he could see all across her face, along with just a little more crazy than he remembered. Or maybe he was just seeing himself reflected in her eyes.

“Before you say anything,” started Emerald at a rapid clip, “go take a bath. I just bought some new towels and a manebrush, and there’s enough shampoo to soap up the whole town. Then I’m going to stuff you with—”

“Hey!” protested Trixie.

“—enough apples to fill out those ribs. And third, I’ll make a cup of tea for you while you’re studying.”

“Studying?” Trixie had an impressive sneer of contempt, worthy of any respectable high-society unicorn matron looking down upon the hornless wretch who was being promoted to wed their daughter. It was an expression Emerald had faced so often that he could shrug it off like water off a swan’s back.

“Until Twilight Sparkle comes back tomorrow evening, you may stay in the library for whatever reason you want. But I’m pretty sure you came to the library to find a spell,” he continued, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “Something that will make Twilight Sparkle impressed with your skill, which is a little loopy but average for what I’ve learned to expect from you. Because this is her library,” he added when Trixie opened her mouth to object. “Any spellbook on the shelves is something she’s probably read a dozen times.”

After a few moments of huffing and casting suspicious glances around the library dark corners, Trixie stalked into the bathroom. “You are such a supercilious brat, just like Sparkle,” she grumbled.

* * *

Married life was probably much like this, or at least married life if he had the gargantuan error of judgement needed to marry Trixie. It was a comforting feeling, much like being a servant. Fetching towels, mopping up after her in the bathroom, slicing apples, preparing a pot of tea using all of the equipment that ‘Sparkle’ had available.

Making tea was probably good practice for being romantically pursued by an alicorn, if nothing else.

Cook had always made it look easy, or at least until Young Emerald had started ‘helping’ in the mornings. Using filtered water out of the icebox to get the kettle going was the first critical step. While it was warming up on the stove, Emerald got out the rest of the tea things and took inventory. Trixie had always been picky, so he wanted to do at least something that would relax them both, and preferably nothing that would disturb even one crease in Twilight Sparkle’s immaculately made-up bed.

Tea. Most certainly tea. The other option had far too many long-term consequences to even consider.

He arranged his tools across the counter, the tea strainer, the tea cosy, the tea spoon, the tea tray, a borrowed tea cup, and a box of decaffeinated green tea leaves that was marked ‘For Emergency Use Only’ in the back of the pantry. Oh, and the teapot, which far too many ponies skipped and just dumped leaves in the kettle. Cook would rap his fetlocks with a wooden spoon if he tried such a shortcut.

The pattern, the motions, the ritual, all came together like familiar siblings hunched over a jigsaw puzzle. Each part fit into another, from dumping hot water into the teapot to warm it, then dumping it right back out again with the cooled steam wafting up his nose. Time was of the essence now. The strainer went into the teapot, and Emerald scooped the magically altered leaves right after it. Then came the kettle, and the peculiar sideways pouring technique that earth ponies used to avoid scorched nostrils. A full pot of tea was better than making what he thought was needed and finding Trixie was unusually thirsty, so he poured until the leaves were floating, added a good teaspoon of salt, stirred briefly, and popped the lid on, followed by the tea cosy.

“One or two lumps,” he called out into the library main room.

“Yes,” called back Trixie.

“Calories it is for the starving artist,” muttered Emerald, getting out the sugar cubes and the container of honey, then slicing several apples to go on the tray. He crunched on one sugar cube while waiting on the tea to finish steeping, then got out two teacups and littered their bottoms with several cubes each, and a tiny dab of butter.

Timing was key to making the perfect cup of tea. Emerald was willing to settle for the not-so-perfect-but-heavily-sugared-distraction. When he guessed the correct amount of steeping had been completed, he whisked the strainer out of the teapot and dumped the dripping mess into the sink.

“Close enough,” he muttered while filling the cups, then dropping the tea cosy back over the pot in case anypony wanted seconds.

It must be nice to be Princess Celestia’s pet student, and have a dragon servant to do all the work around the library.

“Order up!” Gripping the tea tray in his mouth, Emerald stepped out into the main library where Trixie promptly relieved him of his burden.

One tea cup was promptly pillaged in a long slurp and the empty tossed back onto the tray before Trixie placed the second cup to her side and began munching on an apple slice. Trixie had literally made herself at home at the main librarian’s desk, in every sense of the word. It was probably a few steps too personal to be wearing Twilight Sparkle’s bathrobe and drinking out what Emerald suddenly realized was her ‘Best Student’ teacup, but it would not be Trixie if she were not pushing the limits. So she sat there with a cup of steaming tea to one side and a hefty spellbook in front of her, doing more studying than Emerald had ever seen her do in school, ever.

And as a prospective teacher, it was Emerald’s responsibility to encourage this positive behavior and retrieve any additional promising spellbooks, so he turned for the correct shelves and began to search.

“Sparkle certainly has a taste for exotic books,” said Trixie, sounding about halfway impressed. “I’ve never seen spells this complex.”

“Bearer of the Element of Magic,” grunted Emerald, trying not to lose his grip and fall while wrestling with one heavy spellbook that did not want to leave its comfortable shelf at this hour of Night. “It’s right there in her title. Ha! Gotcha!”

“They’re impressive, or at least the titles are. I’m not sure Trixie has the power to pull off more than half of them. Or a third,” she added as Emerald dropped the thick iron-bound tome on her desk. “Are you certain none of these are forbidden or dangerous?”

“I doubt it.” Emerald rapped the book across its spine with one brisk hoof when it took a snap at him and bent several paper teeth against his fetlocks. “Nopony would ever store dangerous books in the reference section. Hey, now! Cut that out!” A second sharp rap against the book’s spine made it stop chewing on another spellbook and look vaguely guilty. It was probably a bad thing for a librarian to be mistreating the books, so he picked up the misbehaving tome and tucked it into the crook of his foreleg to keep it away from its fellows.

“Right…” After making another entry into one of Emerald’s spare notebooks, Trixie closed the cover and fixed him with a steady stare. “Spill it. Why are you so eager to have The Great and Powerful Trixie in your presence after three years?”

“Truth or a lie?” he asked once Emerald had settled into one of the library chairs opposite to her and put the book on his shoulder to give it a reassuring series of pats.

“A lie, of course,” said Trixie with a wave of her hoof. “Truth is boring.”

“Boring is right. I’ve studied nonstop for the last three years. I took this job just to get out of Canterlot and take a break from my parents. How about you? The short version.”

Trixie had started to respond, but stopped with a scowl. “The Great and Powerful Trixie does not do short.”

“Or humble, or modest, or apologetic after dragging a giant star-bear through town,” added Emerald, putting the purring book in his lap and giving it an absent-minded stroke down the spine. “Officer Rights said you had a wagon that got smashed in the fight. Since you look such a mess, you obviously didn’t get that replaced. Or replace anything. Even a manebrush.”

Emerald specifically did not mention his missing bit pouch, particularly since it contained only loose change.

“Trixie is fine. Trixie will have a new act shortly, one that will dazzle and amaze all audiences. And Trixie will not need drugs to do it.”

The jab hurt, although it was deserved. Most of his panic had gone away by now, but the combination of wake-up juice and Zebra herbs probably was not going to fade until late into Day. Since Trixie was no longer in a talkative mood and returned to sulking over her studies, Emerald gave the misbehaving tome a gentle pat on the cover and put it back on the table before returning to his own tasks.

In reflection, it was a good example on why he probably should not marry any mare who even slightly resembled Trixe, or particularly Twilight Sparkle. Given a chance to show how bright he was, Emerald would leave hoofprints over the backs of any unwary adult, so any long-term relationship with Trixie was doomed to wind up in a gargantuan fight worthy of her ego. Their egos. Likewise, the only thing he had in common with Twilight Sparkle was overwhelming parental figures, excessive reactions to stress, and an obsession about how other ponies viewed them.

Maybe the three of us could get bulk discounts on therapy.

It took a little less than an hour to clean up his tangled web of yarn, consider the possibility of using the resulting multi-colored ball as some sort of learning tool for the young unicorns around town, then haul it out to the trash bin in the dark instead. The last thing aspiring students needed in charge of their magical education for the single day he had left in Ponyville was a drugged-out, sleep-deprived… him.

Sleep was out until the wake-up juice and Zebra medicine had run its course. That also left out an early-early-morning jog around the town circle for fear that somepony would run screaming to the police about zombies. Since he could not keep his eyes focused on anything for more than a few seconds, it also meant he was not able to burn his forced-wakefulness time reading any more of the library. He could volunteer to help Trixie with her research, but he would probably wind up being used as a research subject, and… No. Just no.

It did give him time to go into the dark spooky basement to shuffle boxes around, sweep up a few bits of dirt, and get a better look at the strange machinery Twilight Sparkle was keeping under the dust covers. Then a mandatory trip upstairs to look up the names of some of the mechanisms, and if perhaps they were used in any necromantic rituals in the middle of thunderstorms.

That left him close enough to Sun for a needed task, if not for him, for Twilight’s return.

First, a stop at his saddlebag for his emergency bit supply. Then the library’s bathroom to wash his face and at least try to look fairly equine. And finally, a brisk trot out into the darkened town in the direction of the market. After all, the rural ponies were proud of their early-rising habits, and having a city-bred townie waiting on them for a change would…

…give him the chills, regardless of his thick winter coat.

There were not enough emergency bits to get him a warm jacket, but a brisk trot around the opening stands and some judicious shivering kept him warm, while negotiating his purchases kept his mind from freezing up. Even the zebra was there, bundled up in a thick coat that barely showed her nose while she was unpacking a tiny cart filled with bottles and bundles of herbs. He lingered around her area, looking for anything vaguely labelled ‘antidote’ or such, before swallowing his pride and continuing in the straightest line possible.

“Excuse me, ma’am. The cold medicine that Ratchette bought yesterday…“

“Oh, my!” The zebra leaned closer, her green eyes almost glowing in the illumination of the market’s lighting devices and the approaching Dawn. “Your eyes. Too much of the concoction did you swill. Make you sick it surely will.”

“Made me see things and gave me a fright,” said Emerald. “An alicorn I even spied last night. Do you have anything to effect a cure, so once again, what I see will be sure.”

There was a long pause where the zebra did nothing but look at him before Emerald continued, “I don’t have to rhyme too, do I? I’m bad at it.”

“No,” said the zebra, turning to her cart and removing a small bottle. “So…”

“Something less than five bits,” added Emerald. “Because I bought some food for the library icebox, since all that was in there was apples, and I’m a little shy of funds.”

“Ah, you are preparing another romantic meal for our librarian’s return.” The zebra smiled. “Perhaps an apology for the books you did burn?”

“They weren’t burned, they were pulped to be made into new books,” insisted Emerald. “And I really didn’t make a romantic dinner for her. It was just some fruit salad with bananas, a hot bubble bath, and a dirty book…” He put down the metaphorical shovel, dumped the last of his bit pouch into his hoof and counted, then passed them to the zebra and took the small bottle in return.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Emerald nodded, then followed the zebra’s eyes to where the library’s lights were still shining against the relative darkness of the town. “I have a pest for a guest,” he continued, “but a guest nonetheless.”

“The mare of the show, I certainly know,” said the zebra. “Please see my sheet returned before it is burned.”

“Oh.” Emerald put the bottle into his saddlebag, wondering briefly why the whole town had such a thing about fire. “I’ll be right back.”

* * *

By the time Emerald got done running back and forth on his errands, Sun had been brought over the horizon, and a few library patrons were lining up outside the door. He checked to make sure Trixie was out of the way first, and from the missing spellbooks and the way that Twilight Sparkle’s bedroom door was firmly closed, he derived her Great and Powerful presence within. It would have been easy to keep the patrons outside by locking Trixie inside—except for the obvious problem of the door lacking a lock—so he quickly drew up a bedroom door sign and returned to his desk.

Caution
Do not wake sleeping python

Snuggles is preparing for Winter
and may wrap around you for warmth

Do not panic unless she starts to squeeze
and don’t disturb the eggs in her nest

“Last day in crazytown before I return to sanity.” Emerald took a glance at his homework-filled saddlebag, then up the library stairs where the new sign was busy repelling its first curious bedroom-visiting ponies, who actually backed up fast enough they almost tumbled down the stairs. “If this place is sanity for Twilight Sparkle, her job taking care of things Princess Celestia doesn’t want to deal with must be absolutely wacked.”

Still, as he sat back in the creaking chair and observed his limited domain, it did make him feel ever so slightly like a prince. Looking out over the assets of his kingdom and the busy ponies scurrying from place to place around the world, or at least World History, Aisle Four. His word was law, chastising the guilty, rewarding the virtuous citizens who brought back books in good condition with a smile, and passing out justice to those who cried out for requested books or begged for leniency for their page-tearing transgressions. He needed a scepter. And a crown.

And the bottle of Zecora’s antidote, since obviously he was still suffering delusions from wake-up juice and Zebra herbal overdosing.

Then again, swigging on a bottle while sitting in the librarian chair/throne would not look good at all. Word would undoubtedly get back to the mayor before he finished drinking, and having the reputation as a drunk librarian would be significantly worse than his present somewhat frazzled state.

A quick stop by the bathroom for some concealment solved that dilemma. If he ever took this job full-time, he’d be tempted to store bourbon in the locked closet, for a quick afternoon nip now and then.

All in all, it was a fairly good morning, by comparison to the evening before. No alicorns wandered through the library, making comments about his rear. No little menaces covered with mud came running through the front door, leaving a filthy trail. No unexpected college friends with criminal records dropped by, looking for a place to stay. No problems at all, which left him free to put his head down on the desk for a moment and…

* * *

“Hey.” A rough hoof jabbed Emerald in the shoulder. “Are you done?”

“Wasn’t even aware I was cooking,” muttered Emerald as he lifted his head and started the blinking process. “Only put my head down for a min. Form a line at the checkout and have your books ready—”

The library was quite empty, and the front door closed. Worse, the view out the window showed Sun nearly at the horizon, which left Emerald with several missing hours in his day, and an extra pony standing next to him, shaded in a familiar purple.

He was quite awake now. Really awake.

“Do you sleepwalk too?” asked the Great and Powerful Trixie, who was still dressed in Twilight Sparkle’s purple bedrobe. “Because every hour while Trixie was working upstairs, I’d hear you call out something weird, regular as clockwork. Even singing once or twice.”

“I… um…” After catching his breath and looking around for any additional unexpected unicorns, Emerald dug the empty bottle out of his saddlebag and examined it carefully. “Have no doubts, this may cause shouts. So sleep after taking, several hours until waking.”

“Hey, don’t blame me. You’re the one taking weird drugs from the freaky zebra,” said Trixie. “Since you said Sparkle’s going to show up tonight, are you going to stick around and watch me kick her purple tush?”

“No.” Emerald pried himself up from the chair and gave a short stretch, complete with joint-popping noises as his mind stacked up a ‘To-Do’ checklist that his body was reluctant to start. “Look, I need to run if I’m going to get to the Town Hall before they close so I can turn in my key and get paid. Then I need to run back here and clean up your mess before Twilight Sparkle returns, pack up my stuff, and get out of town before you summon another giant stellar bear.”

“You bring one Ursa Minor through town and you’re branded for life,” muttered Trixie. “Sure you don’t want to stay and watch the fireworks?”

Emerald hesitated at the library door with the spellkey draped around his neck and a lump in his throat. “Not… really. I don’t want to see you beaten,” he added much slower. “You’re always going to be the Great and Powerful Trixie to me. I’d like to keep that image in mind. Just… try not to get hurt tonight, and open the door when I come back.”

* * *

The brisk afternoon’s worth of sleeping on the desk made Emerald feel at least a little healthier, and able to get into his regular trotting pattern before he reached the Town Hall. By the time he was trotting casually back to the library, he had a good idea on the elusive problem of Trixie, or at least a framework. And a small bag of bits, since he had managed to talk the mayor into cash instead of a bank draft. After all, cash could get spent in Ponyville, and Emerald had made quite an impact on the local community with his spendthrift ways.

Just why bananas were so cheap in the town market was a nagging concern.

“Thank you very much, ma’am.” Emerald stepped inside the library, glowing softly in the evening dusk with friendly lighting devices and welcome warmth, like a home should be. And with about as many books as he would like in a home, although it had one more Trixie than he preferred.

“Took you long enough. About went to the train station and waited on Sparkle without you.” The Great and Powerful Uninvited Guest nudged Emerald’s packed saddlebags with one hoof. “Collected all your stuff and tidied up some.”

“I’ll say.” Emerald nipped the purple bathrobe off Trixie as he passed and headed upstairs. “There ought to be something for you in the lost and found box that’s a little warmer.” It only took a second to hang up the robe in Twilight’s closet, a small but packed space filled with elaborate dresses done up in more gemstones and silver lace than some of the most rich dowager mares in Canterlot owned. The scent of cedar and cloth was overlaid with a subtle but yet rich aroma that was pleasant to his recovering nose, or at least until he realized how much of that cinnamon and lavender scent came from the well-worn bathrobe in his teeth.

That’s Eau De Twilight. 100% pure magic and she’s going to turn me into a toad if I leave one hair in here so back up one hoof at a time and make sure you don’t oh stars that’s one of Trixie’s.

For a long moment, Emerald was caught between trying to nip every incriminating white hair off Twilight’s robe and the certainty of leaving some of his residual snot or drool behind. Then he just backed up, closed the closet door, and consigned the problem to the future.

Taking a long look around Twilight Sparkle’s bedroom and trying not to feel like a voyeur, Emerald searched in vain for other evidence of Trixie’s presence. The bed was made just as perfectly as unicorn magic could stretch sheets, the desk exactly organized with quills and ink in precise array, and absolutely nothing he could complain about. Even the books were absolutely perfectly aligned.

Likewise in the rest of the library, there were no loose books scattered around or crumpled papers to be seen. Even the spellbooks were nestled snug in their shelves, making little muttering noises and nudging each other for space.

“Tada,” announced Trixie.

“In a minute,” said Emerald.

The bathroom was just as clean as if it were his own at home, with a monogrammed towel laid across the edge of the tub, the mirror cleaned, and a fresh roll of toilet paper on the reel, edge out.

“Tada!” declared Trixie as Emerald emerged.

“One moment.” He went to the librarian’s desk and wrote a note, taking it into the kitchen pantry and attaching it to the zebra medication so it declared in large letters ‘USE ONLY ONE A DAY AND DO NOT TAKE WITH WAKE-UP JUICE.’ The rest of the kitchen was just as spotless as he had hoped, with the tea things arranged on the tray and the empty kettle in the draining rack. The only thing he found out of place was an empty banana peel, which he dropped into the trash.

And there was a fresh fruit salad in the icebox, cubed and mixed far better than Emerald could have ever done it, which was a pleasant surprise.

“Tada!” said Trixie from right behind him. “The least you can do is acknowledge the Great and Powerful— Oof!”

Trixie was much more pleasant to hug when she was clean and fed. “Thank you,” managed Emerald into her soft neck. “Sorry I’m going to miss your fight.”

“That’s… something Trixie was wanting to discuss.” There was a much more serious Trixie to be seen when Emerald took a step back and looked at her. And intense, also.

“Having second thoughts?” he asked. “Maybe you should consider making peace with Twilight Sparkle instead of—”

“You did not see the way the Great and Powerful Trixie was defeated.” Trixie’s lips twisted into a near-snarl. “It was worse than a fight. Sparkle ignored me. I humiliated her friends, confounded her dragon, did everything that should have driven her into a furious rage. And she… left. Pretended to be an ordinary unicorn, and refused to show her magic. I traveled to this backwater for her! She was going to be my ticket to the big cities! Nopony was gullible enough to believe Trixie had fought an Ursa Major, but the Bearer of the Element of Magic? Defeating the unicorn who saved Princess Luna? That’s something the average mark can understand! Nopony had even seen an Ursa Major before.”

“I thought you brought an Ursa Minor into Ponyville, right?” asked Emerald.

“Who’s telling this story, you or me?” spat Trixie. “Anyway, two of the dumbest foals in this miserable town believed Trixie when she spoke of her exploits of defeating an Ursa Major, so they decided to go lure one into town so they could see me in action! So they found one, got it good and angry, and led it right to Trixie’s wagon.”

It took considerable effort to keep his sarcastic comments choked back, but Trixie did not look as if she was very open to constructive criticism, so Emerald merely allowed himself a brief nod in lieu of a unicorn-powered pounding.

“The deadly Ursa Major was resistant to Trixie’s spells, and could not be bound or struck! Trixie and the beast struggled for hours, with neither of us willing to back down. We were engaged in an epic struggle that had never before—”

Emerald cleared his throat.

Trixie cringed. “Very well. Trixie threw like two spells at it. When it crushed Trixie’s wagon, Trixie was lucky to escape with her life. It was HUGE!”

“Then Twilight Sparkle put it to sleep, and carried it back to its cave,” continued Emerald with a shudder. “You’re planning on confronting her when she gets off the train, after she’s spent the whole weekend surrounded by snooty upper-class twits in Manehattan and getting wound tighter than a two-bit watch. I take it back about not wanting to see you beaten. I’ll be able to watch this one from the train on the way up to Canterlot. I just hope there’s a town left when she’s done blowing off steam.”

“Are you saying that the Great and Powerful Trixie’s plan is anything but flawless?”

“I’m saying there are not enough words in the thesaurus to describe how dumb your so-called plan is,” countered Emerald. “She’s going to beat you like a rug, and if there’s anything left over, drag it back to the library and nurse it back to health and that’s your plan, isn’t it? You’re looking for a warm place to spend the winter. And you were criticising me for my choice in bedmates.”

“No!” Trixie scowled at Emerald with her nose pressed against his. “Trixie has no choice! Nowhere to go! By Winter Wrap-Up, she will be nothing more than a frozen corpse found in a ditch somewhere! Trixie will not come groveling back to Twilight Sparkle like a kicked dog and beg for the scraps from her table! Trixie does not need her charity!”

“Help when you need it is not charity.” Emerald swung one hoof around the empty library. “Was I supposed to throw you back out into the mud? If you’re that worried about dying in a snowdrift, have Twilight give you a job!”

“Oh, says the spoiled rich brat!” spat Trixie. “Since when did you ever have a job?”

There was a fairly long pause, and Trixie’s head slowly lowered like a truculent turtle.

“Other than this one,” she added in a low growl.

Silence filled the library, a chill quiet that was only broken by the endless creaks and quiet pops of the tree’s preparations for winter. After all, it was full of nuts and certainly had two squirrels in it now. With all the times that Emerald had clashed against his parents and teachers, this was different. There was no ‘winning’ in this argument, since there were few ponies more hard-headed than himself, and butting heads with Trixie was only going to wind up with mutual headaches. By the same regard, there was nothing to compromise. Trixie was going to do what Trixie was going to do regardless. All he could do was be supportive. Just like his mother.

Emerald bit his bottom lip so hard he could taste blood. “No. I apologize. I’m trying to do exactly what my father does. I see something broken and I want to fix it. I don’t know which of us is broken more, but I was wrong to—”

“Trixie… does not want to wind up frozen in a ditch.” Her blue coat twitched with short waves of shivers. “And you may be correct. Sparkle is not going to be in a good mood. Perhaps—” Trixie bit her own bottom lip “—you may be right. A job. Just for the winter.”

“And I can’t see you working in my father’s company,” admitted Emerald. “Manufacturing unicorn device after device, all identical, all with exactly the same spells.”

“I’d rather freeze in a ditch,” said Trixie. “Far worse.” Without another word, she plodded over to the library announcements board and began to look it over while Emerald got out the Canterlot paper and folded it back to the classified advertisements. They searched together but apart for a time, nudging each other to draw attention to certain ads with short nods or shakes of the head, and occasionally exchanging places.

“Here’s one. I think.” Emerald squinted at the page-long missive on the wall, joined by the Great and Unemployed Trixie a few moments later. They read side-by-side for a while, puzzling out the scribbled words and wondering out loud just why anypony would post a recipe for rock soup mixed in with what could quite possibly be a job offer written entirely in pink icing, particularly since the prospective employer was listed as ‘That meanie Mister Pie who you really don’t want to work for’ and the location was ‘The worst rock farm in all of Rock City, except for my sisters, who made me post this.’

“It can’t hurt to try this one, I suppose,” said Emerald, taking out the push pin. “That’s on the other side of Canterlot, so if they’re advertising this far away, they must be desperate.”

Trixie sniffed the paper before sticking it in her saddlebags, which appeared to have been liberated from the library lost and found box. “In the worst case, I can eat it. Do you see anything else? Particularly with ‘high-paid’ or ‘no questions asked.’”

“Appleoosa is looking for a deputy sheriff… No, I suppose not. Join the Royal Guard. Wonderbolts are seeking support staff with impeccable records… No, that looks like everything useful, other than idiot temporary librarian seeks temporary assistant to help clean up before Canterlot’s Smallest Obsessive-Compulsive Therapy Group shows up and kicks both of our buns. That’s about as close as you’re going to get for now. Ten bits?”

After a short hesitation, Trixie accepted the short stack of bits and put them into her bit pouch, then hesitated again.

“You’re welcome,” said Emerald. “Now let’s get to the train station before— Oh, wait. Just a minute.” He dashed upstairs, followed by Trixie’s voice.

“Leaving a chocolate on Sparkle’s pillow?” she asked.

“Getting you something warm so you don’t freeze,” he countered. “I saw some clothes earlier in the storeroom.”

It was a small room with no shelves and no real lighting devices other than a dim glow over the door which revealed a dense collection of boxes, packed fairly solid by Twilight the Hoarder, except for a narrow path and several of the empty buckets in a neat stack. “This would work better as a spare bedroom,” he muttered under his breath, looking around for the box that had caught his attention when he had first discovered the area. “It would need to be bigger, though. At the rate an oak tree grows, Twilight’s grandfoals might be able to sleep in here, if they’re patient. Ah, there it is.”

The box labelled Stored Clothes and Journals was easy enough to open, and yielded a thick cloak and pointed hat in short order. Several rips in the cloth had been expertly patched, giving Emerald a brief chill down his own back at the thought of just what might have made that damage, and how ineffectual a mere piece of cloth would be against any of the other fanged and clawed creatures who lived in the Everfree Forest.

Never jogging here. Ever. I’m not monster fast food.

He turned the hat inside-out as he made his way back out of the room and back downstairs, calling out, “This should keep you warm, and if you wear the cloak upside-down, you can keep all the sparkling stars and moons from giving you awa— Urk!”

For a unicorn, Trixie had the grip strength of several earth ponies. Her hug was almost enough to crack ribs, and Emerald was gasping for breath by the time she released her energetic hold. With one quick burst of light, she flung on the cloak and hat, then ever so slowly descended to rest all four hooves on the floor of the library again while obviously struggling for a word.

“You’re welcome,” wheezed Emerald. “Now let’s get to the train station before Twilight Sparkle comes back and finds us.”

* * *

It was impossible for Night to be both too dark and too light at the same time, but Ponyville managed. Trixie’s presence at his side was devoid of her usual bluster, and he had even convinced her to put the cloak on star-side down, although it just reminded him of the definition of Accessory After the Fact from his legal courses. At any moment, he expected to see some shadowed resident dash forward with a glad cry of “Behold! The criminal mastermind who destroyed our town and her accomplice! Get the torches and pitchforks!”

It didn’t help that they had just walked past a Torches and Pitchforks store, which was another example of Ponyville weirdness, but thankfully closed for the evening. After getting Trixie stashed in a shadow next to the train station, Emerald slipped… Well, more like plodded over to the ticket booth and the elderly mare inside it. “Two tickets to Canterlot,” he managed, getting out his refreshed bit pouch and giving it a shake. “Third class,” he added at the dismal clinking that resulted.

“Better than a walk up the mountain, young lad.” The elderly ticket clerk proceeded to do whatever noisy mechanical ritual train tickets required and stuck the resulting tickets out of the slot.

“Oh, and I need a ticket from Canterlot to Rock City, ma’am,” he added, getting his bit pouch out again. From the sour look he earned, it was probably good ticket etiquette to order all the tickets at once instead of piecemeal, since he was holding up the very short line. While he was counting out the bits and the clerk was making the ticket, Emerald could hear the creaking of floorboards behind him and a faint huff of warm breath across his bare back. “I’ll be done in a minute,” he called back while tucking his bit pouch away.

“That’s perfectly fine, my little pony,” sounded a rich and aristocratic voice that Emerald had not heard since he had gotten his cutie mark. If he had not already been moving, inertia would have frozen him solid, but he managed to get his dry lips around the train ticket that had just been pushed through the window and take one stumbling step at a time in the direction of the train station’s shadows. Doubt was his life preserver in a sea of adrenaline and stress, letting him force his misbehaving hooves one at a time into a slow walk instead of the panicked run he wanted.

It’s a coincidence. Somepony who just sounds like Celestia.

As long as he did not look back, Emerald could control his motions to a rough if stiff-legged pace in the direction of away. That is until he heard a second voice behind him addressing the ticket clerk with a quiet, “Would it be acceptable if we were to wait for my sister’s student here?”

“Of course, Your Highnesses,” said the ticket mare behind him, which nearly froze Emerald’s legs into immobility right there, except for the close proximity of welcome shadows engulfing the train station. Accelerating to a brisk trot in the darkness, he turned the corner and promptly ran into Trixie, who he wrapped around like an affectionate octopus as the panic surged in and overwhelmed his limited defenses.

“Urk!” managed his target and little more, because Emerald was not exactly the smallest of stallions, and Trixie had to spread her legs out and brace at the unexpected weight. His positioning left one foreleg around her warm neck and his cheek against her horn, which gave him warning as a trickle of magic began to illuminate it.

“Shh!” he cautioned between chattering teeth as he nudged her horn until the corona winked out. “I’m seeing alicorns again. Just… hold still for a few minutes until I can stand up.”

Thankfully, Trixie did not object, although she did shift positions slightly in order to hold up his not so trivial weight, and made one short grunt. Their present proximity really deserved an explanation, and Emerald was too scrambled to lie and too nervous to shut up.

“C-celestia is o-on the loading platform,” he stammered into her soft neck. “I mean I didn’t see her but I heard her, and if you’ve heard that voice once, you never forget it. All I could think of is she came here to marry Twilight and I… Twilight and me, that is, or maybe Luna because she’s out there too and I’ve always been terrified of other ponies controlling my life and you know what they say about the scale of disasters where there’s one alicorn involved and there’s two of them right there and both of them saw me from the end they recognize and they had to know who I was and I am so, so bucked.”

He had to pause to breathe because things were getting a bit wavey and breathing was important if he did not want to fall down. The scent of Trixie’s coat was comforting in the stygian darkness of the train station’s shadow, although it smelled vaguely of coffee and ink instead of burnt flashpowder. As much as she had been going through lately, maybe she had taken up drinking coffee too, even if she had always seemed like more of a bourbon mare.

“Sorry,” he added. “I didn’t want to drag you into this and I thought this job would get me away from the crazy but this town makes Canterlot look like a pillar of normality and fewmets what was I thinkinging about Celestia? What if they’re here to invite me to Graphite’s wedding as best stallion or oh that’s so stupid! Celestia’s probably here just to smooth Twilight Sparkle’s ruffled feathers after that disaster of a meeting in Manehattan because that’s further than she’s ever sent her student.” He gave his supporting unicorn an extra squeeze, then began to ever so slowly get his hooves under himself again. “Thank you, Trixie.”

“Trixie?”

The voice was familiar, but very much not Trixie, and a faint light like foxfire lit up the horn of the unicorn that Emerald was getting untangled from. The face was familiar too, a mottled greyish-brown in the insufficient light, with an expression somewhere between flummoxed and perplexed, with just a little levity thrown in as an extra. Emerald swallowed, his hooves still behind the middle-aged mare’s neck with his nose in front of hers so he could see every twinkle in her grey eyes, then ever so quietly said, “I’d like a cell on the north side of your prison, Chief Rights, and a lawyer or twelve.”

“A lawyer?” asked Miranda Rights in a near whisper. “What crime could you two possibly have done this evening. Don’t leave so soon, Miss Lulamoon,” she added as Trixie began to shift backwards into the remaining shadows.

“Um… Discounting assault on a peace officer,” said Emerald as he removed his hooves from around the police chief’s neck and put them back under him where they belonged. “There’s… no, that’s legal. Hm, and that is too. Littering, maybe.” Emerald bent down and picked up the loose train ticket from where he had dropped it and stuffed it into his saddlebags. “I don’t believe consulting the library reference section without a card is a crime, actually. And Trixie’s clothes are hers, so theft is right out.”

The clatter of the arriving train spurred Emerald’s mind to greater speed, partially because of who was probably on it, and mostly because it was an escape out of this situation.

“In fact, the two of us were just waiting for our train,” he continued faster and under his breath, “standing behind this shadowed section of the train station, because we didn’t want to stress the Bearer of the Element of Magic. Trixie is a college friend of mine. We caught up on old times, she did some studying, and now I’m going home and she’s headed to a job. Away from Ponyville. Far away from Ponyville. Where she won’t cause you any trouble.”

At least the police chief looked as if she were considering the balance between dragging an unwanted criminal in front of two princesses and a stressed Bearer, against just looking away for a few moments. And she was staying quiet while the sounds of princess-powered welcoming continued into blessed motion of a group headed for the library and away from the train and away from Emerald and that alone allowed him to take a deep, needed breath.

It would have been so easy to throw Trixie to the local law enforcement in order to ensure his escape, but as much as she was a total and complete burr under the saddle, she deserved to at least have a chance. He just was not sure what form that chance would take.

“May we go now, Chief Rights?” Emerald swallowed. “I’m sorry for grabbing onto you, and I’m certain Trixie is sorry for a great number of things, she just can’t say them out loud. I promise she will not make any trouble, or at least until we’re in Canterlot, where it won’t be your problem any more.”

“There’s nothing in the library that will upset Miss Sparkle?” asked the middle-aged policemare, who was paying only minor attention to the very meek and silent Trixie. “No torn books, no fiscal catastrophes, nothing burned, no Cutie Mark Crusaders’ aftermaths, no pulping, no strange gestures that can be taken as romantic by the world’s least romantic mare, nothing like that at all?”

“It’s very clean,” said Emerald, allowing the words to flow out with only minimal editing. “I mopped up twice after the Crusaders’ flooded the bathroom, and Ratchette fixed the heater. Trixie helped,” he added in what was supposed to be a positive. “And there’s a fruit salad with sliced bananas in the icebox. That’s starting to be a habit. I hope it helps when she comes home after a long day of fighting monsters. Everypony loves fruit salad. It’s about all I can make. Other than tea. And toast.”

“And you are never going to do that affectionate gesture again,” said Miranda Rights in what was most certainly not a question.

There were so many ways to screw up that response. Emerald settled for keeping his mouth closed and shaking his head, expecting to hear a rattle in the process.

“Because there’s a rumor from the Canterlot police about you and policemares,” she added.

“Absolutely false. Whatever it is.” Emerald thought for a second and decided to shut his big mouth again.

“Very well, m’lord. Good Night.” Miranda Rights gave him a fractional nod with her dimly illuminated horn. “And to your unknown companion as well. You should hurry or you’ll miss your train.” After a moment, Miranda smiled with a particularly narrow gap between her lips that just barely showed her teeth in the dim light of her horn. “Run.”

They ran.

* * *

Emerald did not say a word on the trip up the mountain to his home city, although Trixie did, and with her usual flair. It was comforting in some way, because Trixie had gone to… well, been run out of so many interesting places, while all he had done was stay in school and study. Plus, it sounded like she needed somepony to listen, and he did not feel like talking.

Canterlot came too quickly, and he found himself standing next to Trixie in the harsh whiteness of the station’s powerful lighting devices while scattered Night travelers shuffled to their next trains with bleary eyes.

“I don’t know when I’ll see you again,” started Emerald. “I hope that job in Rock City pans out, which is why— Oh. Just a moment.” He dug through his saddlebag in search of the train ticket, only to see Trixie hold it up in front of her with a smirk.

“Is this your card, Greenie?” She made the ticket vanish again and held out empty hooves. “Presto. And now the Great and Powerful Trixie will vanish too. After a hug,” she added.

After a quick look around, Emerald leaned into the proffered hug, keeping his embrace far gentler than before. “Don’t let my father find out about this,” he murmured. “He’ll have a heart attack right there.”

“That bad?” Trixie pulled back to look him in the eyes, appearing almost worried.

“Not really.” Emerald shrugged, getting his saddlebags settled against his flanks again. “He’s managing it. I just worry so much that I see it as worse than it really is. Father’s doctor says he’ll live to a hundred if he sticks to his exercise program and medicine. Still, don’t push it. My parents are so focused on getting me harnessed to another mare that they might take you up on the offer.”

“And we’d kill each other inside a week,” finished Trixie. “I won’t write, just to be on the safe side. But, when I duel Sparkle again, I’m sending you an invitation.”

“I’ll bring the bandages and burn cream,” said Emerald. “Be careful out there.”

“You too, you big green galoot.” Trixie leaned in and kissed Emerald on the cheek, then trotted off to her train without a backwards glance.

It brought a spring to Emerald’s step as he trotted through the dark city on the way back to his fraternity house. Sometimes, things did work out the way he wanted. Twilight Sparkle was not having him arrested. Trixie was not being arrested, or freezing to death. And for himself, he no longer was hallucinating alicorns. It made him chuckle during the walk, with a short glance upwards at the glimmering stars.

The idea that an alicorn of all mares would find him attractive enough to marry was impossible. No horn, no wings, no endearing personality traits other than a nimble mind, and the disadvantage of not being able to breathe around one. No, Princess Celestia was perfectly safe from having to pick long green hairs out of her sheets, and so was her sister. And to think they would even for a moment consider him as a mate to Twilight Sparkle was even more unlikely. Probably Blueblood. He was Canterlot’s most eligible bachelor stallion, after all. He got invitations to parties that Emerald would not even be permitted to visit as a member of the catering staff. And then they would have foals, little unicorns who would need a talented unicorn magic instructor to help with their tricky first magic.

The thought was slightly disconcerting, but he put the feeling off to leftover zebra potions. Things were looking up, and even though he did not bring back a single bit from his job, the trip had been well-worth it. While climbing the fraternity house stairs to his room, he concealed a smile at how Trixie would react to find the depleted bit pouch he had snuck into her cloak pockets during their hug. After all, she needed them far more than he did.

That warm feeling lasted all the way until he dropped his saddlebags onto his desk in the frat room and began to unpack. The missing books from Father’s library could be explained by accident or happenstance, not alicorn borrowing, but the lumpy bit pouch that he could have sworn he had slipped into Trixie’s cloak was sitting right there, with the same number of bits that he remembered inside.

“You little…” He closed the bit pouch with a snap and put it back on the desk, then let out a resigned chuckle. “Oh, well. At least she has a job for the winter.”

Then the displaced librarian curled up in his bed and went to sleep, looking forward to the next day.

...quite unlike the other librarian he left behind.

14. Hearth's Warning Eve

Author's Note

I want to point out (again) that this is not cannon to Estee’s Continuum, just as close as I can write with some of the serial numbers shaved off. Estee’s Derpy is smarter and plays dumber than mine, and her Lyra is a fragile piece of glasswork. (I made both a little tougher in order to play the humor better) Also I would like to state that the Chief of Police, Officer Miranda Rights, does not have a sense of humor, and any indication in these chapters that she is able to smile, laugh, or take a joke is strictly fictional, as well as any indications that she needs a male companion to complete her life. Also the restraining order against the Pie family does not extend to the railroad. They can ride by and make faces out the window all they want, but one step onto the platform…

That being said, let’s take a look at one of the trains that stop off at the Ponyville station on their way to other parts of the country, and in particular, the pony on board who might not want to go to a winter engagement party at Hearth’s Warming for some unknown reason.

14. Hearth's Warning Eve

The Substitute Librarian
Hearth’s Warning Eve

“Greenie?” His younger sister sounded concerned, even more worried than he expected. “Are you back here somewhere? Regal says you haven’t left the train since it stopped at Ponyville, and this is the last compartment.”

There was a rustling of hooves out in the corridor, and Frost’s voice took on a friendly air. “Oh, Princess Cadenza! Such a pleasure to see you and your beautiful lady friend. Are you looking for my little brother? I think he’s in the lavatory, and he’s single.”

“No, I’m not!” blurted out Emerald, then rested a hoof in the middle of his forehead while his sister laughed outside the door. “She’s not really following me, is she?”

“Nope. You bugged out before she got all the way into the car. I think all she saw of you was your tail.” Frost tapped against the lavatory door. “How did you get in there anyway? Don’t they lock the door when the train’s approaching the station?”

“Key,” said Emerald. “Amazing what you can get by mail-order these days.” He waited a moment and added, “You know, I didn’t get Regal’s bride an engagement present yet. I could stop off in town here and buy something really quick.”

“Not a chance. Father said you’d try to sneak away in Ponyville. You have a marefriend here?”

“Four or five dozen,” he quipped while considering how quickly he could open the door, sprint out the back of the train, and vanish into the snow-covered town before the train left. Normally, the last place he would want to be was Ponyville, home of the world’s most dangerous librarian. Correction, home of the world’s most dangerous unmarried librarian. Today was different. He had a plan. Well, part of a plan.

Escaping his family’s winter trip to Manehattan celebrating Regal’s engagement was supposed to be easy: Hide in the bathroom, slip out just as the train began moving, and take the next train back to Canterlot. It would be a lot easier than trying to be civil among Regal’s soon to be in-laws for an entire week. Hearth’s Warming was supposed to be a time of togetherness, friendship, and warmth between ponies who did not usually see eye-to-eye. It was certainly not a time to trot out your family’s youngest unmarried son to be examined for compatibility against whatever Manehattan mares who could not be matched to more suitable stallions. His presence at those events always felt like he was starring as some sort of after-holiday sale item, marked down to half off with a discount price tag hanging off his hat.

“Come on out, Greenie. We’ll go back to the dining car and get you some cheesy asparagus, then we can bug Graphite about his new marefriend all the rest of the way to Manehattan.”

Admittedly, the offer was tempting, and not just for the asparagus. There was a problem, however. Well, more than the Princess of Love lurking somewhere on the train.

At the Manehattan end of the trip, there were a thousand ways to sabotage any attempts by his parents to match him up against yet another single mare or two, but far too many of them could backlash during such an auspicious occasion, and inevitably hurt his family. The safe thing to do was also the chicken thing to do, since Twilight Sparkle and her merry band of Bearers were reported out of town for the next few days, getting ready for the Canterlot Hearth’s Warming Play.

Which meant Ponyville was safe for the moment. Or as safe as a town that had visits from a giant stellar bear and Nightmare Moon could be, he supposed.

“Hey, Snowball.” Regal’s cheery voice sounded as the back door to the train opened and closed. “Got Greenie trapped in the loo, I presume?”

“Right where you said he’d be hiding.” Frost giggled outside the door. “Want me to get Princess Cadenza to talk him out?”

There was a long-suffering sigh and some scuffling noises from Regal as he turned their sister around in the corridor. “Go on, Snowball. I’ve got some stuff I wanted to talk to Greenie about in private, anyway. I’ll bring him back to the dining car when we’re done.”

“Promise?” There was a faint sniffling noise, indicating that Frost was using her big blue eyes to their best effect.

“Absolutely. Now, scram. And no listening in, or I’ll tell mom.”

“K.” There was no mistaking Frost’s progress down the train car because she practically bounced along, much like Pinkie Pie was rumored to move. Once she was gone, Regal waited a moment, then followed along, most probably to make sure she was not listening at the train door.

It was Emerald’s chance, and he popped out of the lavatory like a wind-up foal’s toy, making the corner and—

Stopped cold in the corridor, Emerald looked back at his smirking big brother and struggled briefly for appearance’s sake. “Glue spell?” he asked.

“Glue spell,” confirmed Regal. After checking at the door for eavesdropping little sisters, his handsome brother strolled back down the train corridor and regarded the less-than-handsome younger brother. “What in Equestria are we going to do with you, little bro?”

“Drag me to Manehattan, marry me off to some third-tier industrialist’s daughter or such, and chain me to the Chrysanthemum House factory, supervising the making of magical widgets for the rest of my life,” said Emerald. “Oh, wait. What are you going to do with me? I have some suggestions,” he added, taking a plaintive look at the exit door to the train corridor while Regal undid his spell on the train corridor floor.

“I bet you do.” Regal shrugged out of his fur-lined coat, which had been a gift from one of Father’s business contacts in Protocera, so the rabbit-fur around the hood was most likely real. He brushed a few flakes of snow off the shoulders and continued to hold it in his magic while speaking. “Father has every step of this trip planned out,” said Regal in that infuriating Now-Pay-Attention-I’m-Important voice he could do so well. “I’m certain any mares you happen to meet will be perfectly fine, and you don’t have to worry about any surprise weddings. Once we get there, I really want to introduce you to my future bride and her little brother, who I noticed in the photographs did not have his cutie mark yet.”

“I checked her family out in Twerp’s Peerage before we started,” said Emerald. “She also has an unmarried little sister just a year or two younger than her. I love you as a brother, Regal, but I don’t need you as a brother-in-law too.”

From his expression, Regal had not expected that twist either.

“So,” continued Emerald just as smoothly as he could, “if your little brother happened to vanish into Ponyville to buy you two an engagement gift, which he hasn’t yet, and happened to miss the train on the way back due to unforeseen delays in town, you could explain that I cared so much and was so upset, and that I really wanted to attend this horrible week of torture while being auctioned off like a discount fruitcake.”

“Greenie,” started Regal in a cautioning tone, but Emerald was having none of it.

“Or you could drag my struggling carcass in with all the rich unicorns who are going to be at your party, and I swear by the Protocerean’s First Egg that I won’t try to make a scene, but one of those overstuffed plutocrats will say something that will make me say something and I don’t want to hurt your chances with your beautiful bride, but I can’t keep my big mouth under control with that many chances to use it. You know it. All you have to do now is stand aside, close your eyes for a moment, and your perfect week with your future in-laws will run on greased rails. Please?”

Regal considered it for a time with a sharp frown and a total inability to meet his younger brother’s eyes before muttering, “You’ll at least come to the wedding, right?”

“If I have to go to the dentist and have my jaw wired shut,” said Emerald with one hoof upraised. “Promise.”

“Well…” Regal floated his coat over Emerald’s back, then tucked a pouch of bits into one of the pockets. “I’m not closing my eyes around you again. And I’m going to be terribly miffed that you borrowed my best coat for your shopping trip, just so you know.”

“Just don’t tell the local police,” said Emerald, moving forward and giving his big brother a quick hug. “Good luck with your fiancée, and keep Father busy until the train starts moving.”

Then Emerald was out the back door of the train and into the frosty morning air of Ponyville.

15. Hearth's Warming Song

The Substitute Librarian
Hearth’s Warming Song

Patience was the word.

Emerald was fairly certain his father was watching from the train car window, so rather than just trot on out into the station platform and be spotted, he remained quiet and unobtrusive behind the train car’s back step until the engine gave off a whistle and began to chuff forward.

Then once the train was out of the station, it was one step to freedom and a few minutes of rapid walking to get into the center of the snow-covered town of Ponyville. Admittedly, Canterlot put on a larger display with more sparkle and unicorn-magic in the decorations, but Ponyville seemed more honest about it. All three tribes of ponies here mingled without regard for the subtle flavors of class separation that was de rigueur for a city containing the Royal Sisters. The idea that the Cutie Mark Crusaders could even exist in Canterlot was laughable, because there, young unicorns grouped with unicorns, pegasi grouped with pegasi, and earth ponies certainly did not want to be seen with the youngest son of a unicorn house. Well, unless they could get something out of it.

Which to be honest was another reason he was glad to be ‘Emerald’ in Ponyville again, because walking around Canterlot kept giving him the uneasy feeling that his rear was being watched by curious royal eyes. After all, on his last trip here when he had met Princess Luna, she had actually asked if he was single, and had mentioned Twilight Sparkle at the same time.

The memory no longer made him hyperventilate and feel woozy, or make him try to dismiss it as a cold medicine induced delusion. He had come to terms with the concept as something the Night Princess might have found humorous instead of serious, particularly since he had not seen any further Royal interruption into his waking or sleeping life. She had better things to do than play matchmaker. Obviously, a beginning unicorn magic tutor was far too insignificant for Princess Luna’s world of huge powers and important ponies.

Although his brother Graphite had been remarkably smug and closed-mouth about his newest marefriend.

And speaking of strange mysterious mares of the unconventional type…

It took a few minutes to retrace his steps back to the Ponyville train station, where his parents and their train were nothing but faded memories long-gone down the tracks to their destinations, but that was not the reason he had returned. A casual glance at the sole remaining inhabitant of the train platform might confuse her with an ornate haystack, size large, but adorned with a number of golden accoutrements and precious gemstones. It was not a normal thing to see a yak outside of Yakyakistan, but then again she was standing in Ponyville, so it was a normal kind of abnormal.

From the silver shade of her coat, this yak was much older than usual, and if Emerald were to be perfectly honest with himself for a change, he had become slightly worried about the elderly mare. Or whatever a female yak was called. A cow? To make things worse, his extremely sketchy memories of Yak culture from his international affairs class did not match against her ornate golden horn-inlays or the particular crystalline dangly bits holding her heavy coat away from her eyes, so she was not in the traditional merchant caste or even a diplomat. Her meticulous grooming did not fit with a long overland journey from the mountains of her homeland, and there had been no article in the Ponyville newspaper about a rich elderly yak moving into town. There was still some half-melted ice frosted on her sides from a vigorous trot through snowdrifts, which meant the elderly-looking yak most likely had proceeded to Ponyville down the mountain from Canterlot in what was a casual stroll compared to her arctic home. Although that still left a serious problem unresolved.

Even as a young colt, Emerald had to know what was in a box. The week leading to Hearth’s Warming Eve was pure torture. Even if the elderly mare was perfectly fine, healthy, not a mental patient, she was still all alone on the train platform, and that was unfair. There were few things in the world that Emerald could positively affect, and quietly sitting down next to an elderly yak to provide company was a good thing. And if he happened to find out why she was here, that was better. After all, the race of yaks were not so furry that the elderly yak could be hiding an unmarried younger yak beneath her coat, so it was fairly safe.

For a very long time, they sat together on the train station loading platform without a word. It was a peaceful kind of quiet with no more noise than an occasional metallic tinkling as an errant breeze knocked around two or three of the yak’s hair trinkets. Despite his expectations, it was also relaxing, although there was the constant refrain of his student hindmind considering just what books were not being read or lecture notes not being studied. As a matter of fact, it was so relaxing and natural that it was beginning to make him worried, so he asked in his best polite voice, “Excuse me, ma’am. My name is Emerald. Are you lost?”

Ever so slowly, the elderly yak’s head turned from side to side. “Everything is where it belong,” she said in a voice that even sounded old and frail, despite her size. “Lillemor is here. You are here.”

“Ah.” Emerald nodded at the not-answer. “And where are you going?”

The old yak did not even turn to look at him. “Yak journey where yak family is. Snilldar Fest a time of great family togetherness. Also gifts.”

“Oh, gifts.” Emerald bonked himself lightly on the forehead. “My brother is getting married, and I need to get him a gift. But I can do that later. Do you mind if I sit here with you until your train arrives?”

Ever so slowly, the heavy head nodded. “Time is the greatest gift of all. It cannot be smashed.”

“But it can be wasted,” said Emerald, who rose to the conversational bait despite his initial wariness.

“Time is spent as we wish,” countered the old yak. “Time spent with family is never wasted. Neither is time spent passing wisdom to young yaks.”

The point could be argued, since Emerald had wasted quite some time arguing with his father, but in her defense, that time had made him stronger and better able to argue with other more argumentative ponies. It also gave him the wisdom to realize that arguing with an elderly yak on the Ponyville train platform would not be productive. He was here for support, and that was it.

“You are a teacher,” continued the elderly yak, “and yet you ignore the lessons of your elders.”

Support was vastly overrated.

“Look, I sat down here—” One lesson about being a teacher was control. A teacher must never be seen to lose control, to shout at a student or anypony else. Just because his family’s attempt to control him in turn was a constant irritation, did not mean he had to take it out on Grandma Lillemor here, so he bit down on his terse response, took a shallow breath of Ponyville’s chill morning air, and tried again with far less pepper on it.

“I’m only here to provide company, not get criticised about my family,” he responded just as calmly as Princess Celestia would have⁽*⁾. “I could be anywhere else, but I decided a yak elder sitting by herself needed somebody to watch over her, to make sure she isn’t abandoned or lost. So I’m going to stay here until your train shows up, if that’s acceptable to you.”
(*) Not likely.
—

“A protector.” Lillemor appeared to be unmoved by his outburst. “As was your father, and your father before him. And a nurturer of the young, as your mother, and your grandmothers before her.”

“N—” Emerald bit off his sharp response and considered his brief encounter with the Royal Guard drill sergeant a month before. Father and his grandfather had brief stints in the Guard, while his mother had her Mark in flower arranging, a rather earth pony talent that was fairly rare in unicorns, and both of his grandmothers had been Marked in fairly similar fashion. The probability that an ordinary yak sitting in Ponyville knew that was extraordinarily small. Emerald studied the ornate gold-leaf decorative patterns on the elderly yak’s horns for a few moments, swallowed what felt to be a monumental lump of cooked corvid, and tried again.

“Beg pardon, Esteemed Elder,” he started, and decided that was as far as he really needed to go, except to add, “I would be honored to answer any questions you might have.”

“There are no questions.” Just when Emerald was about to relax, she added, “There are only answers. Yak find them in our own way, and discover the way they fit into our journey. For now, everything is where it should be. Lillemor am here. Emerald are here.”

“And… um… later?” asked Emerald, not looking forward to the answer, but unable to resist asking.

Ever so slowly, the yak responded, “Everything is a journey. The snow falls, the wind blows. I shall journey to my family yurt, and you shall continue on your journey, finding the answers you seek.”

“Ah,” said Emerald, caught in the dictionary between relieved and retensioned. “You’re just waiting for a train.”

“Among other things.”

There was a long silence, unfilled by the arrival of any more trains or yaks. Despite Elder Lillemor’s claim that there were no questions, Emerald’s head had a number of empty spaces in search of answers, although he preferred not to find unwelcome answers, so he kept his mouth shut. Well, at least for a little while. To his surprise, the elderly yak spoke first.

“With age, comes the burden of far too many answers for one yak to bear. As you have shown kindness and respect, I will give several of my better answers to you. Pass them along or keep them. It is your decision on your life journey.”

There was something about sitting next to the old yak that brought a weight to every word, both hers and his. It was like descending into a well to seek knowledge, only to find another patient well-sitter relaxing in the water while waiting for the frogs to sing. The last thing he had expected when leaving his family on the train was this, and yet it was just exactly where he needed to be at the moment, for the moment.

“It would be unfair to burden you with my answers in return, Esteemed Elder.” Emerald waved one hoof at the empty steel rails of the train station. “They never seem to fit with my… journey, as you said.”

“A teacher should recognize the difficulty in placing an answer where it does not belong. Would you travel to the Ibex and teach their young how to fly, or to the deepest oceans and teach the seaponies how to gallop?”

“I’m teaching young unicorns their first magic,” said Emerald. “I’m good at it, and I’m needed.”

The old yak nodded. “All ponies are alike. You believe you best at something that no other pony do as well. Has always been, will always be. Your fathers was like, so will your child.”

“I’m not saying I’m the best at teaching young unicorns,” said Emerald carefully despite an overwhelming instinct to defend his own immature skills to the highly mature yak, just the same as he wanted to agree with her in regards to his own overwhelming father. Emerald did keep his mouth shut afterward, though. There were all kinds of shovels in the old yak’s words, and he had already dug himself a deep enough hole. He did find himself forced to add, “And I don’t have a child.”

“Yet,” said the yak. “You want to protect everypony and help them grow. Pony like that not alone for long. Love will find you unprepared.” She gave a short snort. “Both of you.”

“That’s why they call it falling in love, I suppose,” mused Emerald. “At least I will be able to choose my own mare, instead of having one forced on me.”

The yak slowly glanced in his direction, then silently turned her head to look down the tracks at the distant train approaching. It seemed as if Lillemor were about to say something, but she returned to her impassive pose, not even reacting when the train chuffed into the station. If it was intended as a power play to force Emerald into responding first, it was quite effective, since he had begun to wonder what exactly would happen if she just remained sitting there in silence for days.

She can. I can’t.

“It appears our journeys must continue on to separate destinations, Elder Lillemor.” Emerald bowed as well as he could after having sat on the cold wood of the train loading platform for so long. “This is your train according to the station board, so will you need help with your luggage?”

“In any journey, Yak can only take self.” With a short motion and a few subdued popping noises, the old yak rose to her hooves and faced Emerald. “You give yak great gift of time and company. Now yak give you gift in return.”

“I don’t need anything,” responded Emerald immediately, thinking about how many young unmarried yak brides she might have on the incoming train.

“You accept gift of protection from family.” Lillimor touched his heavy coat with one hoof. “Your brother is a powerful protector, who will guard you all of your days. Now you accept gift of advice from old yak who has seen far too many winters.”

“I…” Giving a quick glance at the train, which was probably going to leave again if he kept arguing, Emerald nodded. “I will accept your gift, Elder.”

The old yak smiled a very small and wrinkled smile. “You fear being unloved, although you are loved beyond measure. This makes you seek approval from all who you meet, even those who you disdain. Your greatest fear will turn into your greatest triumph if you embrace that fear and accept what it brings. Goodby, young one.”

With measured tread, the old yak strolled into the train car just in time for the door to close behind her, leaving Emerald to watch as it chuffed down the tracks on the way to the frost-clogged north lands.

“I will never get used to Ponyville,” said Emerald to himself, turning his path away from the train station. “Now, I need an alibi… I mean a gift for Regal before I head back to Canterlot. I don’t think he would appreciate a gift of time and advice like yak. Besides, it would be terribly difficult to wrap for his official engagement announcement party. No, I need something special and unique for the future bride and groom. And useful for them, not just me,” he added with an envious glance at Missus Wonderment’s shop, and all of the sparkling impractical widgets inside.

Something like a rainfall simulator to play soothing music at night or an animated star display for the ceiling might appeal to the bride, or might not. Clothes would be a guaranteed failure, because he had never bought a mare anything they would wear anyway, but a carousel-shaped building attracted his attention during his stroll, and the window display had the words he really appreciated.

“Holiday Clearance,” he mused. “Pocket squares. Regal wears suits. Suits have pocket squares. And matching ribbons. Mares wear ribbons. Hm…”

The price on the display seemed far too low compared to his Canterlot shopping experiences, or at least until Emerald realized the number was for each item instead of the whole collection, but to be honest, he had no idea what color to get, and buying just a few would probably still not match any particular coat and outfit tint. But buying them all…

It took some wriggling underneath Regal’s large coat to get his travel saddlebag out, which looked like it contained a once-popular novel, but a little work with cutting and glue had turned it into a convenient place to store his checkbook and a few useful tools. A close inspection showed his Canterlot bank account balance was still fairly substantial due to his frugal habits, but family was worth the occasional splurge, particularly since Regal had covered for him again. Still, it did not hurt to check the bottom line.

“Tens column, not hundreds,” he mused through the quill in his teeth, clicking the beads on his tiny travel abacus to calculate the total. “And done. Not bad. Add a little for taxes and delivery, something for a tip. Round up. Less than I’d spend in Canterlot, that’s for certain.”

Since the shop was closed, it took a few minutes for him to write out a polite note requesting the whole display of pocket squares and ribbons, then added instructions for delivery, and finally a careful scribing of the bank draft. The chill of the winter air made the ink slow to dry, so he took a few more minutes to look at what little male clothing inventory he could see through the window and give an idle contemplation to what it would look like on… well, not him. Despite his recent exercise program, he was still comfortably stout, which provided some winter insulation underneath his abundantly fuzzy green hide. Poor skinny Twilight Sparkle would be freezing in this weather, unless she could share a winter coat from one of the other Bearers—

Without thinking, Emerald’s eyes tracked down to the bank draft, then up to the store’s familiar name in the window, then back at the now-dry draft.

What are the odds that there are two Rarity’s in this town? And they both run clothing stores?

It was completely unwarranted nerves. Really. Twilight Sparkle’s friends did not know him from any other random pony on the street, and they certainly would not wish to set their neurotic, single, skinny, book-obsessed, antisocial friend up with a neurotic, single, chubby, book-obsessed—

In any event, the name on the bank draft was his real family name, and the delivery was to Regal’s to-be-in-laws in Manehattan, which left no strings for Twilight’s powerful friends to tie Emerald-the-temp-librarian to the purchaser. Still, it took substantial willpower to get the note and bank draft into an envelope, then pushed through the mailslot in the door.

“There,” he said to himself. “All done. Now, find the next train to Canterlot, where I can spend the whole holiday… all alone, in the house.”

He could not help but think about the elderly yak and her advice about life’s journey, which made his eyes wander across the frosty Ponyville landscape until they came to a rest on the library oak. It was winter, so the tree would be dormant and not likely to try⁽¹⁾ any of its tricks. There were still a few days before Hearth’s Warming, so the mayor might be willing to hire a temporary librarian to keep the building active, provided he did not complain about the meager payment. And there was a book on the third from bottom shelf near the librarian desk that he had considered reading that last auspicious time he had been here.
(1) Provided what he had seen so far was not merely a figment of his imagination or approaching insanity, neither of which Emerald had totally discounted.
—

After all, college was out for Winter break, and the frat house closed, so he would not be able to get in the door there. That left House Chrysanthemum, which would be open to him since several of the servants had no other home, but it would be a terrible imposition on their lives if he were to return there. This was their rare time-off, and to have Master Emerald moping around the house for a few days would take all the sparkle out of their Hearth’s Warming decor.

Miserable in Canterlot. Useful in Ponyville. It was worth at least asking the mayor about volunteering his excess time to keep the closed library open for any remaining patrons. After all, time was the greatest gift, and he owed the town a few gifts of his time for the trouble he had caused before.

* * *

“Oh, here we go a carol-ing, a carol-ing, a carol-ing. Oh here we go a carol-ing in the words that I don’t know.” Emerald bumped the library door open with the spellkey in his teeth and called out into the quiet building, “Oh, honey! I’m home!”

If anypony had answered, Emerald would have been right out the door and halfway up the snowpacked mountain to Canterlot in the blink of an eye. Thankfully, nothing but echoes responded, and he finished stomping the snow out of his hooves on the bristly mat before moving into the library and bumping the door closed with his tail. He had to move slowly, because he had taken a shopping trip around town after leaving Town Hall, partially to get something other than apples to eat for a few days, and the other part to recover from Mayor Mare almost kissing him when he walked into her office.

It was probably the mistletoe sprig over her doorway. Hopefully. Perhaps there had been some office eggnog involved, because she had been blushing rather heavily and slurring her words.

He took it slow and easy on the way into the kitchenette with his heavy culinary burden. For the first time in months, Emerald did not have an assignment due, homework notes to outline, extra credit to wheedle out of a professor, or even dishes to wash in the frat house. Add in that he was in the middle of an enormous number of books, with no picky list of rules from the permanent librarian, and his mood could not be brighter. In a very yak-like manner that went well with his naturally shaggy coat, he could not only give his time to the town, he could also give the gift of time to himself for a change.

‘Slack’ was a rare enough occasion that Emerald really did not have a structured plan on what to do. Wandering through the Ponyville market had given him plenty of culinary ideas, although he had not been able to find any of the ‘special’ ingredients or products he had been exposed to during Father’s trips to various griffon customers. A few bites of braunschweiger or some chicken weisswurst would be appropriate for the season, although rumors about his diet would swirl around town at record speed, so even if he had found some, it would probably have been left unpurchased. It was probably for the best, because he had always gotten a stomach ache after sneaking out to eat griffon cuisine during that trip. Of course, if he had been able to restrain himself…

Nog, however, was something everypony made, and his stomach had never objected to any formulation or quantity. Emerald never had the time to mix up Hearth’s Warming Nog on his own before, although he had always wanted to, and even had a sketchy recipe of sorts to vaguely follow. Anything more specific would just be a waste of time, since everypony made their own little tweaks to the ingredient list, and mixed it in a different fashion. And with a few days of relative peace and quiet in the library, he had enough time to play with the formula, and maybe leave a pitcher of it in the icebox for Twilight Sparkle when she returned. It certainly would be more appreciated than a fruit salad, and less likely to have inadvertent romantic implications.

One thing for certain, any recipe he tried for nog was going to be booze-free. The last thing he wanted was foals staggering around the library shelves. Or any unexplainable kissing. Or the unanticipated return of a certain librarian, who would then certainly sample from the remaining eggnog supply and blame him for any resulting inebriation.

It took some time to unload his supplies in the kitchen and restock the icebox, taking in the relative size of his workplace and the optimistic approach he had made to buying foodstuffs, before sticking some of the nonperishable items into the pantry and looking for a punch bowl.

“Every library has a punch bowl,” he mused, checking the pantry shelves before reaching back behind everything and groping around. “It just isn’t used every day, so it’s going to drift back… Ah, HA! There we go. One… dusty bowl. Didn’t think there was any dust inside the whole tree.”

“Am I early?” called out a cheerful voice from the front door.

“Come on in,” he called back. “I just opened up the library.”

“Tables still in the basement?”

“I suppose.” Emerald dragged the punch bowl over to the sink and tried to figure out where Twilight Sparkle hid the dish soap while the front door of the library banged open again.

“Brought the music stands,” called out a male voice that sounded just slightly nasal. “The automatic page-turner isn’t working quite right, so keep your noses away from it or you’ll lose all your hairs.”

“Music?” asked Emerald to himself. Since he was not going to get an answer that way, he poked his nose back out into the library where several ponies were bustling about, dressed in thick coats. It did not seem to be some sort of impromptu musical number, but the stacks of worn sheet music combined with the current holiday season made it quite obvious that the library was becoming a hub for an activity that Emerald had avoided for most of his life. “Oh, caroling.”

“Caroling!” called out another familiar pony as she bounded into the library, trailed by more music sheets wrapped in a pinkish magic. “Twilight! Thanks for letting us use the library this year!”

That was his cue. “Sparkler, Twilight Sparkle isn’t in the library today,” said Emerald, coming out of the kitchenette to the scent of fresh cookies. There was a whole chapter in Twilight Sparkle’s rules about food in the library area, but mere words could not compete against the scent of toasted oatmeal and alfalfa wafting through the air. “What’s going on?”

“Caroling,” announced Sparkler as she danced down the basement stairs. “I love this time of year.”

“No, I mean I know you’re caroling,” said Emerald to the empty stairwell. “Why are you caroling in the library?”

“We’ve never sang at the library before,” said a rather nondescript stallion who was setting up the music stands. His brown-on-brown coloration made it easy for the eye to slip over him, although Emerald had to admire his bow tie and wonder how he got his mane to stick up like that, or if it was natural. He certainly was not bothered by the cold weather, because he wore nothing else but a colorful scarf and a set of music-stuffed saddlebags embossed with his hourglass-shaped Mark.

“Oh, we’re just going to practice a little before heading out,” came Sparkler’s voice from downstairs. “The snacks are for when we get back. Are you coming with us, Mister Emerald?”

The answer was obvious. Outside contained snow, icy breezes, deep potholes filled with half-frozen ice that hid themselves until stepped in, and quite possibly Flitter with one last cloud of slush that she had been keeping back for her favorite green target.

“Woot!” called out Dinky, who skidded through the front door and across the wooden floor of the library until she came to a halt in the growing collection of winter snack food with a solid thud. Almost immediately, a faint golden glow lifted a sack of haychips off her face, and the little unicorn’s face lit up like Sun when she met his eyes. “Alright! It’s Mister Emerald! Are you going caroling with us?”

- Ω - -

It was a good thing that the carolers had sheet music, because Emerald could only remember about half of the songs they were singing. While his voice was barely harmonious, at least he had volume, which was the most important part of caroling, and when it got too dark to read the music, they would be headed back to the warm library. Their little group picked up more Hearth’s Warming carolers as they traveled, avoiding certain houses because they were dark and others because of general singer consensus.

Which was a shame, because Emerald really wanted to meet Thistle Burr sometime to see if he was as disagreeable as everypony said.

“So do you do this every year?” asked Emerald to his nearest caroler, a cheerful green unicorn named Lyra who was practically glowing under the streetlamps as they trotted back to the library.

“Yeppers!” Lyra swapped ends and walked backward while talking, which seemed to be natural for her. “We were going to invite Twilight to go caroling with us this evening, but she had that opportunity in Canterlot and we were hoping the mayor would let us use the town hall for our snack stop if Bonnie slipped her an extra box of candied cherries.”

That made sense, but he had to ask, “Did they have bourbon in them?”

“Maybe.” Lyra turned and walked sideways for a while. “So why are you spending your holiday with us instead of—” she jerked her horn slightly in the direction of Canterlot, which was lit up in the darkness of the mountain above “—with your family?”

“My family is out of town on a trip.” He hesitated in his rapid pace to squint at Lyra’s face, then took a quick look at her lyre Mark framed quite well on her shapely green rear end. “Oh,” he added as a few neglected neurons began beating out a rapid alarm spell in the back of his noggin.

“Wondered how long you were going to take to recognize me.” Lyra swept a casual hoof at his hat, although far enough away that Emerald did not even have to dodge. “You’re still wearing the same ratty hat you did in that Canterlot party. Good thing Rarity’s not here or she’d toss it into a fire.”

“It’s been a few years since we met,” protested Emerald, racking his brains to remember just exactly what party in Canterlot she was talking about, and in particular if they had ever dated. After all, some of his dates had been more than a little irritated when he slipped away from parties to go help with the foalsitters, and mares held grudges forever.

“My therapy group was playing at a party your parents attended,” said Lyra as if she was reading his mind from his expression. “You mentioned something about having your father marry you to a color-coordinated cutie in the quartet rather than the terrible mare they were trying to tie you to. Fairly good alliteration and amazing voice projection, by the way. I don’t think anypony in the building missed it.”

“Oh,” said Emerald as the memory popped up. It was both good and terrifying, making him take a quick look around the shadowed snow-packed streets in search of an earth pony mare with a most unlikely manestyle. “Oh,” he added more weakly. “She’s not—”

“Bon Bon has been selling candy all day,” said Lyra smugly. “She’s sleeping⁽³⁾ while I’ve been out with the carolers tonight, so you’re safe.”
(3) Bon Bon had not been invited to go caroling because her allergies tended to flare up around holidays, and her respective vocal range suffered as a result. So to prevent anypony else from suffering…
—

“I was more worried about my father than myself,” said Emerald, rubbing one side of his brother’s thick winter coat. “That look she gave us after I made my ill-timed protest hurt! You don’t think she’s still angry, do you? Wait a minute. Your therapy group are musicians?”

When no more words were forthcoming and a certain displayed reluctance to continue further made itself obvious, Emerald took an educated guess based on her lyre Mark and continued quieter, “Falling into your Mark is no laughing matter. My parents have been constantly worried that I’ve gotten so obsessed with teaching unicorn magic that they think I’d be better off chained to… I mean managing a factory with a placid mare beside me, churning out grandfoals like the House manufactures magical widgets.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m married,” said Lyra firmly.

“I’m sorrier,” said Emerald in an immediate comeback with one waggled eyebrow. “Mother’s most recent plan is to marry me off to a Manehattan family. My big brother, too. It would be a shame if I were claimed before— Yikes!”

Unicorn magic was tricky enough, but a far trickier Lyra had managed to scoop up a snowball while he was talking and use her magic to accurately dump it down the back of his neck. It broke the tension perfectly, and he was inordinately glad to see the giggling unicorn result, which made up for his present physical discomfort and then some.

“I’ve got to get you to show my students how to do that,” said Emerald while dancing around in a vain attempt to get the melting snow out of his mane before it got trapped under his coat’s unused hood.

“Maybe Dinky. If you want to show the rest of those troublemakers tricks, talk to Twilight,” said Lyra. “Just keep Firelock out of Bonnie’s shop. She was running around all last week with a flame on the end of her horn, like a happy candle.”

“Really?” Emerald quit digging for ice crystals. “How long? I mean she’s really showing promise if she can maintain a first-order corona spell for more than a few minutes and why are you looking at me that way?”

Lyra giggled while the rest of the chattering carolers were filing back into the library for post-singing snacking. “Because some of the mares at that party dated you in college, and they talked. They said you were so fascinated with teaching basic magic that you would happily light the fuse without seeing the fireworks factory at the other end.”

“Oh, really? Um…” Emerald lowered his voice. “You’re not going to spread that around town, are you? Particularly about my family?”

“No way.” Lyra giggled again. “If you want to hide out from your parents' attempts to put you in the chains of matrimony again, Bonny and I will keep your secret on two conditions. When they finally do shackle you to some poor mare, we want an invite to the wedding.”

“That’s… um… only fair.” Emerald eyed the library, which loomed as a massive leafless shadow in the growing frigid darkness. “What’s your other condition?”

“I want to be around when you meet Twilight, so I can watch the fireworks.” Lyra’s horn glowed and the library door opened. “Now, come on. Let’s eat.”

* * *

In hindsight, going caroling with the mixed group of happy Ponyville natives was the far superior choice for his evening’s entertainment. He would have wound up cleaning the leftover snack crumbs in the library anyway, and this way he got to spend time out in the frosty air with a happy group of singing ponies. As a bonus, by agreeing to Lyra’s conditions there was a reduced probability of picking up an unwanted Bearer spouse.

So once the end-of-night socializing was over, it took a few minutes of saying goodbye to the well-fed carolers, a couple of insincere failed attempts at turning down leftover goodies for the library icebox, one last running around the shelves to find a misplaced scarf, and the library was empty again. Well, except for one tired temporary librarian.

He could not get Lyra and her well-natured ribbing out of his head while sweeping up the crumbs which had scattered to various dark corners of the library floor. Technically, he could have just collapsed on the couch and ignored everything until the morning, but his mind was still buzzing and happy from the night’s activities, which naturally made him concerned about what was going to go wrong next.

The tentative knock at the library door did not help.

“Oh, it’s you, Scootaloo.” Emerald moved to one side so the young pegasus could come inside. “Your parents are still out at a party tonight, I presume?”

“Just for a while.” Scootaloo picked up a leftover plate of mixed cookies from the table and carried them back to the kitchen, a helpful gesture that it was Emerald’s responsibility to encourage as an example to the youth of Equestria.

“See if there’s any space to put those in Twilight’s cookie jar,” he called out. “I put everything cold in the icebox already. And I wouldn’t mind if you did dishes while waiting.”

There was no response, so Emerald imagined the helpful young pegasus putting away things while he bent his efforts more into the crumb-seeking and sweeping kind. Upon further examination, the library floor was probably worth mopping too, since there were a few drips and dribbles from his attempts at nog. After wrestling the folding tables back downstairs, considering just how much less space there was from all the new boxes of books stored there, and wedgeing them in anyway, Emerald returned to the main floor with mopping intentions.

The task was oddly normal and appealing, taking very little thought to imagine what it would be like to be a librarian husband in the small town, although he would probably wind up wearing the apron. While mopping, he could even imagine Twilight Sparkle sitting comfortably at the big librarian desk, deep into researching some obscure magical issue with a dozen books scattered around her while one of their children washed dishes in the kitchenette.

The mental image was… highly improbable because Twilight Sparkle was strung tighter than a violin, at least according to the townsponies. Besides, Emerald had no problem doing housework on occasion, but if he had the monumental error of judgement necessary to marry the Element of Magic, there would need to be at least one household servant who did not breathe fire and eat gems so he could sit back and read also.

After a short break from mopping in order to toss one last small log onto the fire for the evening, he closed the metal mesh spark arrestor back around the fireplace mantle and returned to…

Wait a minute. Fireplace?

There had not been a fireplace in the old oak tree the last time Emerald had visited, but there was one there now. It was fairly small and tidy, fitted into the oak tree with exquisite care like it had been designed specifically for the space, and with the itching tingle of fire suppressive enchantments on small devices concealed all around the edges. The warm breeze coming from the top section bespoke an equally expensive pegasus wonder to circulate the warmed and dry air through the library while keeping the small chimney soot and spark free. It was a reasonable precaution for the oak tree if nothing else, and close inspection showed it was also extremely new, perhaps a Hearth’s Warming gift from the other Element Bearers before they all went up to Canterlot for their performance.

“And I’m just getting my brother a few pocket squares for a gift,” muttered Emerald before picking up the mop again. “I should be with the family today, like the yak said. Of course, I’d be dodging matrimonial attempts and having to bite my tongue instead of telling his in-laws what huge twits they are, so maybe this is for the best.”

“Is somepony else out there?” called out Scootaloo from the kitchenette.

“No, your parents aren’t here yet.” Emerald shut up, put his mop into the bucket, and placed them off to one side for later. The main floor looked clean enough for now, although tomorrow he would want to tidy up before opening up for the patrons. The odds were strongly against Twilight Sparkle returning to Ponyville before Hearth’s Warming Eve unless her parents were as overbearing…

“Hey, Mister Emerald. Can I ask you a favor for tomorrow?”

“Are you washing dishes?” he called back. The resulting noise of a scooting chair toward the sink was an effective negative answer, and Emerald returned to looking for Twerp’s Peerage on the shelves. The fabled Bearers certainly would cluster together in this time of friendship and family, but which family they would visit was the question.

A quick peek at each Bearer library card allowed him to check names against families in Twerp’s, in the section in small print near the back under what Emerald thought of as Distinguished Ponies Who Are Not Really Nobility But They Get A Reference Anyway.

Fluttershy - Cloudsdale, of course. Pinkie Pie - Rock City… which was where Trixie had gone for her winter job, so at least his somewhat-friend would be well-fed and happy for the winter. Rainbow Dahs had the misfortune of a typo, but still had family in Cloudsdale so it seemed, as well as a scribbled correction in the book. Rarity - Ponyville, which only made sense with her business and Sweetie Belle being in town on his last visit. Some ponies just never escaped from their parents.

Twilight Sparkle was a different matter, so he had to flip back into the real nobility section to find her family House, and was more than a little surprised to see Spike Twinkle listed right beside Twilight as a sibling. It spoke to the significance of their House, which was a long-term Canterlot fixture. It ranked slightly higher than House Chrysanthemum on the social scale and perfectly eligible to have an odd hornless husband also grafted into their family tree, if either of their families decided to put in the horticultural effort.

Wonder why nopony ever put a family tree ring on her during school?

And last but not least as he flipped back to the distinguished pony section was… nothing. At first, he thought Applejack had just been missed when the book had been published. After all, several of the newspaper articles on the Bearers had skipped over making any reference to the apple farmer, and their photo sections were rather erratic. ‘Posed’ did not seem to be in the Bearer’s vocabulary, leading to photos that were either blurred with motion or fractions of rapidly departing tails.

Out of idle curiosity, he flipped to the nobility section again and found nothing around the ‘M’ section where ‘Malus’ would be, but placing the book on its spine and squinting carefully showed—a missing page. Excised from the book by a very sharp and precise knife, a page in the ‘R’ section was simply not there. It could have been a coincidence, but after just a few trips into Ponyville, Emerald was becoming a coincidence agnostic.

It’s only a matter of time before Twilight Sparkle sees this. She’ll blame me. Again.

After putting everything away, Emerald settled down at the heavy librarian’s desk and got out some stationary from the locked internal drawer, which was the only paper still available, then picked a used quill out of his vest pocket. A bank draft in a quick letter to his favorite bookstore—the one with the odd bespectacled stallion who always wore a cloak—was a simple solution to the problem. The library would get a new copy of Twerp’s and he would not get arrested again. Cheaper than bail, for certain.

“What did you need tomorrow, Scootaloo?” called out Emerald as he waited for the ink to dry.

“My parents left me a cash voucher for spending money,” she called back. “They’re leaving tomorrow before the bank opens, and I need an adult to countersign it for the clerk.”

“Sounds reasonable,” said Emerald. He folded and tucked until the envelope was ready for mailing, then placed it into the outgoing mail, reminding himself to pay Miss Doo extra for express delivery and return. A quick stroll into the kitchen left no doubts that Scootaloo was at least trying to do dishes, although making a terrible mess.

By the time he had gotten all of the suds cleaned up and the dishes onto a towel to dry, he was all alone in the kitchenette again. A quick look around the main room showed no sign of the young pegasus, so Emerald finished up his chores, checked the front door of the library to make sure the wards had engaged when Scootaloo had left with her parents, then settled back down on the familiar couch, lumps and all.

“Not a bad day,” he murmured to himself, looking at the cheery red glow the fireplace was putting out across the library main room while making a short list of his chores for tomorrow. It gave him enough light to read for a time, then when he got too tired, he put his list in the book to mark his place, curled up under the warm couch throw, and let the cozy warmth and scent of a library carry him off into slumber with one final murmured, “Life is good.”

16. Hearth's Warning Presence

The Substitute Librarian
Hearth’s Warning Presence

Morning sunlight reflecting through the library skylights had a way of communicating that mothers could only envy. The glitter and shine said quite plainly that although it was nippy out on the main floor of the library, he was not going to get any more sleep, and it would not get any warmer until some lazy green sot got his hairy rump off the couch and put a log onto the low embers of last night’s fire.

So he did, although with a few complaints and yawns.

“I could get used to this,” Emerald muttered as he left the couch cover across his shoulders for warmth while doing the morning chores, which included putting the cushions into the center of the room. “Wonder if Twilight Sparkle needs a live-in housekeeper on a more permanent basis. Living in a library is great. Naa, Mother would only try to set us up, and I’d put the dragon out of his job. He probably doesn’t even need to use the stove for tea,” he added while putting on the kettle.

It gave him something to think about, although slowly, while the kettle warmed up, also slowly. Dry winter cold with a fireplace was far better than the wet cold with a stopped-up nose and failed central non-heat. Although it might be worth it with a warm librarian in his bed. Having Twilight Sparkle as a spouse would be a dramatic change in his life, but some things would probably remain much the same, like making tea, or… No, that was about it. Although the life of a Bearer involved a lot of travel with her out getting into trouble while he stayed safe and warm in the library, so that was a plus. After all, whatever could happen in a library?

There was a solid thump from the other room, so Emerald turned off the kettle and scurried out to help Derpy stand back up from where she had crashed through the library skylights into the couch cushions again.

“Good Morning, Miss Doo. Not much for incoming mail today, I see. If you have some time, I’ve got a rush order for a bookstore in Canterlot. With tip,” he added. “Oh, and the letter for Manehattan can go by regular post.”

“Thanks!” Derpy stuffed the letters into her saddlebags after a brief inspection and collecting a short stack of bits. “I should be able to get your order back here before the Hearth’s Warming play this evening. Do you want to come to my house afterward?”

“Sure,” said Emerald, half-occupied by putting the couch back together and only looking up when the library front door closed behind the mailmare. “Wait. Are you…”

It didn’t seem like the invitation for a romantic interlude, although he vaguely knew that the cross-eyed mare was single with two unicorn children, one of which just had to be adopted or just a renter because she was almost as old as Derpy. By the time he reached the door to call out a question, mail and mare was long gone, and he settled for flipping the ‘open’ sign over for the library and unlocking the security wards. He thought about the ‘date’ while putting the mail where it belonged and visiting the bathroom for some delayed tooth-brushing, but nothing came to mind until he came back out into the main room and saw Scootaloo impatiently waiting in the doorway.

“Oh, that’s right. I promised to help you cash a voucher at the bank.”

Nopony would mind the library opening a little late on Hearth’s Warming Eve, so he flipped the ‘Closed’ sign over, put his brother’s warm coat back on, and braced himself for a brisk morning stroll, which rapidly turned into a much faster pace to keep up with Scootaloo.

“Must be a pain to have your parents take off for Hearth’s Warming,” said Emerald once they got their trotting velocity matched. “Are you staying with relatives until they get back?”

“Yes!” said Scootaloo far too abruptly, which made Emerald bite back any further questions in that direction. Obviously, if the young pegasus had relatives in town, they could help her cash the vouchers and she would not need to borrow a visiting librarian for the task. She was probably sneaking over to a friend’s house like Emerald tried to do when he was that age. Of course, it would have helped if he had more than one or two young friends in Canterlot who did not just pretend to like him for his family connections.

“I’m glad your family trusts you with money,” he said instead. “I didn’t get my own money until I was most of the way through school, other than what I found on the ground.” Or hustled.

The little pegasus swelled up so much that Emerald thought she was about to start floating. “I’m very responsible,” she started in what was probably going to be a long line of self-promotion.

“So why don’t you have a bank account so you can cash your own vouchers?” he asked, feeling vaguely dirty for having stepped on her lines like that, and even dirtier when Scootaloo did not respond while they trotted along.

“Your parents are probably too busy when they’re in town, I suppose. Well, since you’re so responsible, we might as well get your account set up today.”

“Really?” The way Scootaloo reinflated after deflating was making Emerald think she was more pufferfish than pegasus, although she slowly lost her eager attitude as they approached the bank’s front doors. The reason was obvious.

“I’m sorry,” said the well-dressed pony at the top of the stairs in a tone of voice that indicated no sorry at all. “Scootaloo is banned from the bank.”

“She has bits to deposit in an account,” countered Emerald.

“She doesn’t have an account,” said the banker.

“She will by the time we’re done,” said Emerald, taking a bit of satisfaction at the wavering of the obstructive clerk at the concept of incoming money.

“She doesn’t have any bits,” started the clerk, only to stop when Scootaloo dug into her saddlebags and brought out several cash vouchers, which he accepted and examined carefully.

“They’re forgeries.”

“Oh, really?” Emerald took a step forward and let his smile fade. “Let’s send for Miranda, then. Since the bank is misidentifying documents and slandering citizens, let’s get her professional opinion. If you’re right, she can take this young filly off to prison. And when you’re wrong…” He slowly changed to a frown and took another step forward into the clerk’s comfort zone. “Putting forth unproven accusations of criminal behavior is legally actionable slander. And against a child. Would you care to explain to a jury just why a banking official would leap to this kind of ridiculous accusation. And worse, the damage to the bank would be substantial, both in reputation and in any civil lawsuit.”

It was unfair. Emerald had far too much experience watching his father engage in vicious business negotiations with some real heavy hitters, and he had soaked up the approaches like a bitter sponge. It felt good to press the point without the risk involved in pressuring a griffon or minotaur, but not so good that he didn’t think about the upcoming day of peace and harmony that he was stomping all over just to help cash some vouchers. Also, he had already used his Ponyville trip to snap at an elderly yak and ruin the morning for some young banking clerk, so he forced a pleasant smile onto his face, took a deep breath, and tried again.

“Rather than disturb the neighborhood, how about we take this inside your office for a more polite discussion, Mister…?”

“Pfenning,” said the young earth pony, who looked relieved at the offer.

There were more than a few curious looks cast in their direction as they followed the banker into his office, and Emerald was not sure if it was because of his own growing reputation or Scootaloo’s membership in the Cutie Mark Crusaders. It had been a few weeks since Emerald had visited Ponyville, so perhaps the Crusaders had managed another of their dramatic disasters⁽*⁾ while he was not looking.
(*) Five, actually.
—

The mental image almost tempted him to rent a small apartment in Ponyville as a hidy-hole and observation post. It would also let him duck out on uncomfortable social events in Canterlot without having to trust that one of Twilight Sparkle’s disasters would coincidentally match up with his own. Of course, keeping him up to date on any local gossip was not worth the danger of actually meeting Twilight Sparkle or being set up by her friends the same way his parents constantly tried to set him up, so the idea was going nowhere.

He remained quiet while Mr. Pfenning examined the cash vouchers on the banker’s desk, and shushed Scootaloo when she started to speak up. Silence was important at this stage in a negotiation, even if merely opening a bank account was not supposed to be an exercise in power politics, or involve a large magnifying glass.

“I apologize,” said Pfenning, placing the cash vouchers down on his desk. “The security seals and embedded threads all verify.”

“So Scootaloo can open her account,” said Emerald without phrasing it as a question.

“If she uses the trot-up window for future transactions, or brings a responsible adult with her.” Pfenning brought out his abacus and clicked through several lines of beads while Emerald tried not to think of the implications of ‘responsible’ in the restrictions. He had spent most of his life avoiding responsibilities, after all.

“Is this all of the initial deposit?” Pfenning sorted through the slips of thick paper. “You are slightly short of the required account minimum.”

Since the discussion was supposedly between the clerk and Scootaloo, Emerald had been trying to stay out of it, but it was rapidly becoming obvious that things would not go her way unless he stepped in.

“Just a moment,” said Emerald. “Scootaloo, could you go over to the counter for a moment and pick up a pair of lollipops? I’d like to speak with Mister Pfenning privately.” Once the young pegasus was out the door and Emerald checked to make sure she was out of earshot, he turned to the clerk. “I’ll make up the difference so she can open the account. Just don’t tell her.”

“You’re not an account holder at the bank,” started Pfenning as Emerald began nosing into his brother’s coat pocket. “We can’t accept—”

There was a quiet thunk as Emerald put a gem on the table. “Got it from my brother,” he explained, which was not exactly a lie since Regal had left a pocket full of them in the coat he had loaned to his baby brother. “He likes to think of himself as a heavy tipper. Or do you need another one,” he added while rummaging around the coat pocket and eventually producing another gem.

“You could start an account also,” said Pfenning, gaining verbal velocity without taking his eyes off the gems. “That would allow you to do an interfund transfer, as well as deposit your earnings as a librarian.”

* * *

Scootaloo was unusually quiet as they left the bank, although most of that could be excused by the two lollipops she had stuffed in her mouth. At least she had waited to start on the candy until after the paperwork had been signed and Emerald had reclaimed⁽¹⁾ his quill. With the Cutie Mark Crusaders’ reputation, Emerald had nearly expected some sort of explosion or fire during the whole process, and from the intense inspection from the bank employees, they obviously had also.
(1) The bank rented quills by the minute with a substantial usage deposit, but Emerald was cheap.
—

Even Mr. Croseus had joined in the observation of their new depositors, making Emerald feel a little like a bacterium under a microscope. The bank owner was the model of a pinch-smidgen miser, from his pinched cheeks, a pinched expression, and a whole lot of other pinched in one skinny package. It felt good to get out from under his squint, although Emerald was starting to get a matching squint from his young companion.

“What gives?” asked Emerald.

“Nothing,” muttered Scootaloo, looking away while she reduced the remainder of the lollipops to shards in a series of crunches.

“You’re too young to be ‘nothinging’ already,” said Emerald. “Are you upset that the bank won’t let you take a withdrawal out of your account for a week? You know they have to clear those vouchers by sending them back to the originating bank. If your parents want to give you souvenirs of their travels, they should probably send picture postcards to keep, not the ornate stubs from cash vouchers. They are unique, though,” he admitted. “And practically free.”

“It’s not that,” groused the little pegasus. “Must be nice to be rich. Mister Pfenning has windows in his office. I saw you pay him. I wanted to do this by myself. It’s just not fair.”

“Money doesn’t make things fair,” admitted Emerald. “By itself, money is just a thing. It’s a tool, like a hammer or a saw. What good would it be to have a lot of money if all you could do was make a big pile and sit on it, like an egg?”

“That would be so cool!” Scootaloo slowed her pace as she thought, which was a good sign. “If you can’t spend the money, it’s not really money, is it?”

“Exactly. Particularly on Hearth’s Warming.” Emerald got into his saddlebags and nipped out a package. “Money is more a verb than a noun. It’s not a destination, it’s a journey, and how you use it counts more than how much you have. Speaking of money and gifts, I got a little something for the Cutie Mark Crusaders while I was at the bank. You see, I was a late bloomer too, and I know how expensive getting your cutie mark can be, what with broken windows and torn-up gardens.”

“Bits?” Scootaloo looked at the short tied-up package as Emerald brought out two more of them.

Emerald shrugged. “My Mark is nowhere near picking out gifts, a flaw that runs in my family. I had a great-aunt in Manehattan who gave me a bright shiny smidgen every time we visited. Said if I saved it prudently, by the time I retired it would grow beyond my imagination. Then she died, and I really didn’t feel like saving them any more, so I bought a package of gum. It was good gum, though. Mint.”

“I think I see,” said Scootaloo. “By themselves, the smidgens just sat there. Now, every time you taste mint, you think about the time you spent with your great-aunt.”

“No. Well, yes.” Emerald scratched his chin and considered the wisdom of children. “I guess that’s a better example than I thought.”

“So you’re trying to say that you having money is better than me having money?”

Emerald let out a small huff of frosty breath which held suspended in front of them like a cloud. “Close. When you’re young and don’t have money, you think that having money will solve all your problems. Then when you get older and have money, you wind up with a lot of problems that you can’t just spend away, and the more money you have, the bigger the problems. You need to appreciate your youth, because you only get to spend it once. Every young pegasus dreams of being the best flier, every young unicorn wants to be the most powerful spellcaster, and all the young earth ponies—” Emerald scratched his chin again. “Want to grow the best garden, I suppose. Having money doesn’t fill those desires. It can help, but all the money in Equestria won’t give me pegasus wings, or grow a working unicorn horn. Even Princess Celestia has problems. Big problems.”

“Princess Luna isn’t a big problem,” protested Scootaloo. “She’s just a little weird.”

“The Royal Sisters are on the very top of Mount Problem,” said Emerald. “All they have is giant problems they can’t spend away or magic away, and I’ll bet both of them would be more than happy to trade away all their problems in order to be in your shoes for one night.”

“Not likely.” Scootaloo slumped and got that bulldog-with-a-burr-up-its-butt expression that Emerald could recognize from his own mirror when he was feeling defensive.

“Look, I’ve got two things you should remember about today,” he countered as firmly as possible, since the library was near and he suspected Scootaloo was going to bolt just as soon as he opened the door. “Everypony who stomps on you in life is stomped on in turn by others above them, and they in turn are stomped on by others above them. If we all try our best to stomp gently, we’ll be happier for it.”

“Easy for you to say,” grumbled Scootaloo. “You’re rich.”

“And I got stomped just as hard at your age,” countered Emerald. “Which brings me to my second lesson that I hope sticks. Money doesn’t buy happiness, but it can buy misery, cheap. If all you care about is money, it corrupts you. Money is one source of power, but using money for power is greed, and attempting to gain money at all costs makes ponies mean and cruel.”

“So you say,” said Scootaloo. “I don’t see you complaining about not having any money.”

“I have before,” admitted Emerald. “Money can be like a superpower. With it, you can influence others, overcome problems, and make life better for yourself and your family. It has power on its own, but it can shape you to its will without you realizing it.”

“Like a rich supervillain,” said Scootaloo, who seemed to perk up at the comic references.

Emerald nodded and put on his best dramatic face. “But for every Sun, there are two Shadows. Greed can far too easily consume you and all you care about. If you desire money too much, soon you will only want more and more with no end. You will see those possessing what you want as evil, and those who own nothing as unimportant pawns, worthless creatures to be manipulated as you wish. Oh, look.”

There was a tenth-bit sticking out of the snow, and Emerald bent down to nip it up, then tucked it away into his bit pouch.

“I thought you were going to give that to me,” said Scootaloo, obviously disappointed.

“You got your Hearth’s Warming present from me already,” said Emerald as he fumbled in his saddlebag for the library’s spellkey. “Winter’s a good time to find loose bits, particularly outside the laundromat and stores. Now, go play with your friends. I’ll see you at the Hearth’s Warming play this evening.”

“Are you staying at the library tonight?” asked Scootaloo.

“Of course. On the couch,” added Emerald. “I really need to see about getting a hotel room when I’m in Ponyville, but I never seem to get around to it. Besides, I’m never done in the library until late, and I’m afraid I’d get lost in the dark on the way back to my hotel room. Just because I have money, doesn’t mean I have to spend it.”

It was a successful attempt at getting the last word in, because by the time Emerald reached the end of his sentence, Scootaloo was long gone. It did make him think while just standing there, looking at the door with the spellkey in his mouth. He had always been a manipulative little brat, and viewed it more as a game than he should. With children, his goal was always them, and the game was intended to bring their full potential to light. With adults, not so much. Money and power had always been merely tokens for the game, and the only time he took it seriously was when his parents placed a potential spouse on the playing field. If he ever did abandon the game and as a result, his family also, it would mean…

“I’d be dead broke, wandering from town to town eating ditchgrass and doing odd jobs so I could teach young unicorns,” he admitted under his breath to himself. “No books, no cushy couches to sleep on, and no long-term relationships.”

He could still remember the joyful expression on Firelock’s face when she conjured that first noisy firework, and the look of intent concentration on Snails’ face when he lifted up the library key. Nothing was more important than that. Then again, he remembered the laughter when Frost had conjured her room full of snow, and the endless times that his big brothers had chided him about his Mark being a catalyst for their own magic. Regal was destined to lead multitudes, and his little brother had braced him up whenever he was afflicted by self-doubt. Graphite was a hopeless flirt among both pegasi and griffons, leaving his little brother to smooth the feathers of upset ex-romantic partners. And his older sister had grown so quietly frustrated about her own numeric Mark being unappreciated that she had not even complained when Emerald had done a little surreptitious matchmaking to pair her up with a lonely lawyer. It was not really a case of family or his educational career, because there was no real sharp demarcation line between the two extremes.

Standing out on the library stoop and freezing was not going to help with the problem.

He didn’t think about Derpy’s invitation until he put the spellkey to the door and it locked, so he had to unlock it while trying not to appear angry at his forgetfulness, and by then, his musing about his life’s journey was ready to be put aside. Besides, honesty about a potential date with the town’s most crash-prone postalmare—if it was a date—didn’t have to be spread around, much like he did not want to admit that he stayed on the library couch to pinch his own limited funds.

* * *

There was a certain comfortable routine in a library during the holidays. It was a warm, pleasurable time with leftover cookies in the icebox and library patrons who would wish him “Happy Hearth’s Warming” while checking out their books. Even better, the library was scheduled to close early for the town’s Hearth’s Warming play.

Emerald had seen the play every year, which made him think about his family in Manehattan gathered together with Regal’s future in-laws. At this moment, they were without a doubt getting all dressed up in suits and ties to attend some upper-class presentation of the Hearth’s Warming Tale where the unicorns would seem to be the heroes of the whole story, defeating the Windigo and uniting the three tribes. It would be much like the Canterlot elementary school version Emerald had participated in once, and only once, since it seemed the unicorn teacher in charge of the youthful production was not too happy about his ad-libbed lines in the middle of it.

Ponyville would probably put the play on in their own special way—with explosions—so Emerald had no particular desire to head out into the frosty air, be bored or terrified during the performance, then get back to the library in the dark. Besides, it also gave him an excuse to avoid going by Derpy’s house later. If her casual invitation had been romantic in nature, it would be best to avoid temptation with one of his student’s mothers, after all, and if it had just been for polite company this evening, it would be best to avoid the appearance of impropriety involved with such a meeting.

Therefore, it was time to skip the Hearth’s Warming play for once and spend the evening curled up in front of a warm fireplace with absolutely nothing to do but read. For now, he spent his free time between patrons by collecting several interesting books for the expected relaxation time and figuring out what leftover cookies in the kitchenette were going to accompany him for a limited time. The pleasant activity dulled his senses to the approach of an unmarried mare, so he did not realize the library was not quite empty when he chased the last patron out and flipped over the sign.

“Officer Rights!” Emerald cringed backward and hit his rump on the library door, which nearly got his tail caught in the door’s thin and still unfixed crack. It would have been entirely too easy to run away since the wards only prevented entrance, not exit, but the guilty flee when no pony pursueth, or at least that was what the police would think of his abrupt departure. Probably. Instead, he fixed his best smile for the situation, or at least bared his teeth, and asked, “So, what brings you to the library, ma’am?”

Don’t say me, don’t say me…

“You, actually.” Miranda Rights smiled in a You-Are-Vaguely-Amusing-But-Don’t-Push-It fashion. “I’ve got a few questions.”

“Yaks say there are no questions, only answers,” said Emerald in a frantic grasp for a defense.

“Then I’m looking for pony answers,” said Miranda in a smooth pivot that only made Emerald feel more outclassed and quite glad he had not decided to become a lawyer, because he would have so many clients behind bars. Particularly, if the judges were unmarried unicorns.

“I suppose I have a few extra answers that I’m not using at the moment,” admitted Emerald. “Will you be needing them down at the police station?”

“Oh, let’s not go to the office,” said Miranda. “If I walk in the door, there’s going to be no end of paperwork waiting for me. How about we talk here?”

Emerald could not help but look down at the thick rug in front of the glowing fireplace, arranged with an overflowing bowl of cookies and a bottle of juice to one side, and one of the couch cushions for a comfortable curling-up spot with reading material. To his growing horror, he could see the top book on the stack was a harem fantasy which he had only picked out because of the sultry-eyed mares on the cover, and a certain curiosity as to the odd subject matter. The resulting ‘nest’ he had created was just the right size for one, or could easily be mistaken as a romantic gesture from a student who had a reputation for romancing police officers—

“Any answers in particular?” he managed through suddenly dry lips.

“Nothing too serious.” Miranda Rights tapped on her chin with one hoof as if she were thinking, which was always a bad sign in a mare. “We just had a report that Trixie was spotted in town this morning.”

“And you want to find her or don’t want to find her?” asked Emerald.

After a brief pause, Miranda Rights said, “That’s a really good question. What do you think?”

“I think Trixie is not the only unicorn with a way of twisting things back on other ponies. Can’t you just not find her? Spirit of the holidays and such. Maybe she’s just in town to visit an old friend.” The clue dropped with a nearly audible thump. “Oh, that’s why you’re here. I thought perhaps you were going to invite me to the Hearth’s Warming play this afternoon.”

“Accepted,” said Miranda. “We’ll go over about an hour before it starts so we can get good seats.”

His fate seemed to be inevitable and it would get them away from the inadvertently romantic fireplace, so Emerald nodded quickly. “And you can watch the crowd as they arrive while keeping an eye on me.”

Miranda Rights said nothing, although he got a faint sense of approval from her, so he continued digging his metaphorical hole in the hopes of making it some sort of defensive bunker.

“I would be delighted to be in the company of such a beautiful young mare this evening. And I’m presuming if you’re with me, your subordinates will be less likely to interrupt you with minor matters this evening?”

“It had crossed my mind,” admitted Miranda. She paused again. “Who pays admission?”

* * *

Emerald was cheap, but not so cheap as to have a police officer pay for his inadvertent not-date. Besides, admission to the play was only two bits each, and that was a small price to pay for an ironclad alibi in case something went wrong, as he expected. Since they were early for the play, they had the pick of sitting spots, and Emerald tried his best to make small talk while Miranda selected the best tuft of snow-covered grass to put her coat on for a warmer seat.

“So, have things calmed down in town?” he asked, hopeful for a positive response to start off the evening.

“Not really.” Miranda rolled her shoulders and looked around at the gathering ponies. “When they’re gone, you’re here. When you’re gone, they come back.”

“Very funny,” huffed Emerald while arranging his coat on the snowy ground..

“Overstated, at least.” Miranda Rights paused, looking back into the town. “You went caroling with Derpy’s children and nothing fell down. You were seen talking to a yak visitor at the train station, and they haven’t declared war. Yet. And you survived taking Scootaloo into the bank while Mister Croseus was present. Didn’t I warn you about the Crusaders?”

“Vastly overstated, I’m sure.” Emerald gave a throwing-away gesture with one hoof while wondering if there was a concession stand somewhere since he had missed dinner, and had no intentions on taking Miranda out to a restaurant later. “I was in two different Mark-hunting groups when I was growing up. Everypony gets a Mark eventually, and the things we do while looking for one are stories we remember for decades later. Didn’t you ever do anything crazy trying to get your Mark?”

“Can’t say. Statute of limitations.” Miranda looked back at him. “How about you?”

“Can’t say,” said Emerald immediately. “On a date with a police officer who I’m not married to, so she can still testify against me.”

To his delight, Miranda blushed slightly, even if it was difficult to see against her mottled dark coat. “Flirt. That’s going to get you into trouble someday, mister.”

Giving a shrug, Emerald added, “Been there, done that. Got my Mark. Now, come on. You had to have done something crazy while trying to get your Mark. It’s practically a tradition.”

Miranda Rights shook her head, allowing her short-cropped mane to settle around her neck in a way that made Emerald consider the advantages of being outside of Canterlot and out from under his parents’ sight. “I tried to keep other ponies from getting into trouble,” she said firmly. “There were two ponies fighting in a playground, and I separated them. It was that easy.”

“We managed to build a cart and race it down the South Market Road,” said Emerald proudly. “Well, half-way, if you count how far we skidded when the wheels came off. Oh, and we tried to make a smoke-air balloon from one of the bakery chimneys, but it crashed. And burned. Then crashed again. Three Marks total, none mine.”

“Don’t you mean a hot-air balloon?” asked Miranda.

“No, it was just bread smoke.” Emerald waved at one of the ponies coming into the audience, but did not get a wave in return. “Hot air rises. This didn’t. I smelled like bread for a week. I was in two different Mark-gathering organizations, got my Mark last, and still survived.”

Miranda looked over her shoulder at Canterlot glowing quietly above them in the pre-dusk murk.

“Yes, and the city never crashed down the mountain,” added Emerald with a wave of one hoof around the half-full audience area. “Everypony has a story to tell about getting their Mark, or about one of their friends or relatives. Someday soon, the Cutie Mark Crusaders will get their Marks and all this hubbub will just be more embarrassing stories to tell about them, just like I tease my little sister about hers.”

“Hmm…?” prompted Miranda.

Emerald held up a bare green leg and gave it a shake. It was a little nippy in the growing crowd to be coatless, but it was far better than having his bare rump sitting directly on snow, and the more ponies gathered around, the warmer he was. “We’re both long-hairs, although she’s curlier like she’s part sheep. In winter, she bounces around like a happy yeti, but summer is normally brutal for her since Mother doesn’t think shaving down to something more comfortable is very ladylike.”

“Her Mark is a snowflake, if I remember correctly from Twerps,” said Miranda. “Ice magic is rare among unicorns.”

“Rare doesn’t mean never,” said Emerald. “My mark isn’t exactly common either, particularly in my situation. Anyway, Mother found Frost in her room one summer, making a snowpony. I mean you can’t yell at somepony for that, but you can draft her older brother into helping mop when it all melts. Mother always fretted that I’d wind up with a mop for a Mark,” he confided quietly, to Miranda’s subdued giggle. “The shame!”

They had to lower their voices as more ponies filtered into the outdoor theatre, which may have looked to some lookers as if they were hiding secret nuzzles, but he really did not care at the moment. There were worse things in life than to spend the evening in pleasant conversation with a clever mare, even if she was unmarried. As a benefit, Miranda knew some of the best gossip around town, even if she was unwilling to leak more than a few tantalizing driblets due to her official position. In turn, he provided a few tasty tidbits about his college friends, although nothing that could be prosecuted. They chatted quietly until the play was just about to start when Emerald had a sudden epiphany.

“Does paying for your ticket make this an official date?”

Miranda thought for a short time. “Or bribery. How long do you think we’d be married before I threw you in jail?”

“Two weeks,” said Emerald immediately.

“That long?” Miranda Rights cocked her head to one side.

“At least,” said Emerald. “I’ve started jogging.”

Miranda Rights had the most delightful laugh.

17. Hearth's Warming Grifts

The Substitute Librarian
Hearth’s Warming Grifts

“You know, it was nice to see a Hearth’s Warming play where the earth ponies aren’t treated like tenants behind on the rent.”

It was a pleasant night to be out on an after-entertainment stroll with a pretty unicorn at his side, particularly since the unicorn in question showed little interest in arresting him for whatever Emerald had undoubtedly done wrong recently. Chief of Police Miranda Rights did not seem to be particularly amused by his wit, not even half-way, but she showed no signs of irritation either, which upon further consideration was probably her police training, not his charm. She did soften slightly after a few more steps and moved closer so her jacket-clad torso brushed against his while they walked, and her words in response were spoken with great care.

“I believe you once asked me why I stay in this town.”

“Oh. Err… Yes, I did.” Emerald paused. “Don’t you have some sort of police-y thing to do this evening?”

Miranda nodded slowly. “Of course. First, aren’t we going to stop off at Derpy’s house and say hello? She’s sort of the hub for odd singles without families around on Hearth’s Warming. She did invite you over, correct?”

“Yes, she did. That explains— I mean of course I was going to stop by Miss Doo’s house,” finished Emerald without any more verbal stumbling. It was a peculiar question since nopony else had actually heard Derpy invite him over, but Miranda had displayed unusual insight into the activities of the town residents before. Still, there was a difference between insight and manipulation. After all, Miranda implied by omission that she had not received an invitation, so she was piggybacking herself into the house on his good grace. Or he was being played for a sucker.

Once they reached Derpy’s rather humble abode, that sucker-sense was getting hard to ignore. There were several ponies inside already, laughing over a table heaped with muffins and cookies, and none of them looked overjoyed to see the police chief at his side. Even the ever-cheerful mailmare seemed to scowl briefly before coming over to him with a hug, although it could have just been a trick of the light. In short, it was quite comfortable, lots of food, and a scattering of ponies kept coming by for just a minute even if they were just cashing in on the free cookies.

While in Canterlot, Emerald had been an unwilling participant in uncounted parties, some of which spread across several buildings and cost more than any sane pony could possibly afford. The larger the party, the easier it was to slip away and go help with the foals, who were typically dressed in their most uncomfortable clothes and put in the care of the most uncomfortable old fossils somewhere in the basement. He had always been more comfortable around younger ponies, even in school since he had been advanced several grades. As he grew older, that tendency had not changed very much, other than an odd sense of expanding scale since he had grown up.

The urge to sneak away and visit the foalsitting area was quite easy to resist in this party, since Derpy’s whole house only had three rooms, and one of them was being used as a large icebox, complete with small wisps of blowing snow.

“So, Miss Doo,” asked Emerald once the ebb and flow of guests had calmed down for a bit, “why are the windows in that room all open?”

“Oh, that?” Derpy giggled and looked far more foolish. “It’s nothing, and it gives us a cold place to put the cookies.”

It wasn’t much of an answer, but it didn’t help that Derpy promptly followed that up by lowering her voice and sounding much more serious. “Why did you bring the chief of police to my house?”

For a moment, Emerald wanted to say something flippant about their previous marriage discussion, but there was something deadly serious lurking deep below Derpy’s words. He gave a brief glance across the room to where Derpy’s youngest daughter was engaged in uncomfortable conversation with his inadvertent not-date, then turned his eyes back to Derpy’s mismatched face.

“She’s smarter than me,” he admitted under his breath. “I engaged in a battle of wits completely unarmed.”

“It’s not that bad.” Derpy patted him on the coat-clad shoulder. With the open windows in the other room and the front door opening and closing, there was no real need to shed the coat, which made Emerald wonder how warm the Doo family’s bedroom was even with three of them inside and Derpy’s pegasus magic for heat-shifting.

“It is too that bad,” said Sparkler, walking up to them with a cookie floating behind in her pale magic. “Don’t bother Mister Emerald on my account. This makes twice now. I’m quitting, while I still have my job over at the Bargain Barn.”

“Now, don’t—” began Derpy, only to be cut off by her adopted daughter again.

“Next time, somepony could get hurt instead of just breaking some windows. It’s not that important. We can still make ends meet.” Sparkler lowered her voice as several other ponies looked in their direction.

“On the contrary,” stated Emerald. “It’s very important. One of the most important things in all of the world. So important we don’t even have a word for it. You could even call it the most important thing, ever.”

After a moment, Sparkler blinked several times, then winced. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, right?”

“Not a clue, other than I presume it has something to do with magic and your missing windows.” At Sparkler’s hesitant nod, he turned to Derpy and added, “Could you give us a moment, Miss Doo? Teacher stuff.”

Once Derpy had gone off to talk with somepony else, Emerald lowered his voice. “Magic problems?”

“Magic problems,” confirmed Sparkler quietly. “I used to be able to split gemstones for extra bits when I was younger, but I didn’t for a few years, and now when I try…”

“Bloowie,” said Emerald. “At least twice, like you said. Mind showing me? Not in here,” he added when Sparkler looked around the small room containing a half-dozen of Derpy’s neighbors who had just come inside and made a beeline for the free cookies.

A few minutes later as they arranged themselves around a table in the small bedroom, he was just as determined, although still a little chilly and just slightly worried about littering up the three beds stuffed into the limited area

“I’ve got a few shards from Rarity still,” said Sparkler while scrounging around in a cardboard box. “Not much, but—” She cut off abruptly when Emerald found what he was looking for first and dropped it on the endtable with a thunk.

“My brother’s tipping supply,” said Emerald almost apologetically at the size of the bright red gem. “They’re full of imperfections and not worth much in this state, but if I’m going to see how your spell is breaking down, I’d rather not need a microscope. Besides, we can try again on some of the larger pieces later.”

“Well, if you’re willing.” Sparkler settled down beside the table while Emerald squatted on the other side, moving right up to the gemstone until his nose was practically up against it.

“No,” said Sparkler, abruptly straightening up. “The last one went off like a bomb, and it was just a little garnet.”

“My college classes say higher energy flux per surface area and a smaller volume makes a fracturing spell more difficult to control,” countered Emerald, tapping the gem with one hoof. “You need a big target.”

“We don’t need your charity.” Sparkler pushed the gem back at him.

“I’m a teacher.” Emerald pushed the gem back onto the center of the table. “Teaching supplies are an expense. They’re tax deductible. Besides, this will give me valuable experience in my career major. I might even be able to turn it into a paper.”

This kind of confrontation bothered Emerald. While Sparkler considered the offer, what Emerald really wanted was to be chatting up Ratchette, the cute coppery-maned pegasus that he had seen briefly out in Derpy’s main room. There was still something about the young mare that was familiar somehow, and he was fairly certain that an hour or two of conversation would help him figure out how many years ago their lives had intersected, if briefly. That reminded him about the broken elevated platform for reshelving books in the library. Having Ratchette fix it at his expense might be a small gift to the town, but obviously the current unicorn librarian had no problems floating the books where she wanted them. Then again, Ratchette’s cutie mark did not really match up against the broken cast-iron gears most likely in the lifting platform mechanism, and he really did not want to saddle the young mare with unwanted⁽*⁾ work on this holiday.
(*) Emerald obviously did not know Ratchette very well.
—

Sparkler was at that awkward age: too old to be one of his regular pre-Mark students and too young to be a romantic interest. It was an adjustment to even consider the teenager as one of his unicorn magic students, but it helped since he always tried to treat even the smallest unicorn as an adult, probably because he had skipped over much of his childhood anyway. Besides, this was a matter of fairness. It was just wrong that a near-adult could not use her special talent in the right way, as in a way that did not involve shattered windows in winter.

“Once,” said Sparkler decisively. “I’ll try once, and when it doesn’t work, we quit before I shatter these windows too, and we’re sleeping in a snowdrift.”

“That’s only fair.” Emerald lowered himself back down to peer closely at the large gem. “Just relax and use your spell the way you feel is right. Yes, that’s a good start. Slow and steady.”

There was a certain exquisite feel to unicorn magic that Emerald was quite certain he would never be able to comprehend totally, but experience, his Mark, and the best set of thaumic silver shoes that money could buy, helped. Children had such a pure and simple magic, like a single oboe note filling a concert hall to the brim and then some. Anything beyond that beginning primal simplicity was simply not there to his senses, like a pony trying to hear a dog whistle or a dog trying to understand a color painting. That did not stop him from imagining what it would be like for a unicorn, and Emerald had an extraordinary imagination, the best training the school in Canterlot could provide, and a sharp mind.

Still, it caught him by surprise when Sparkler’s spell wavered like a candle in a hurricane, there was a blur of motion as his student hit the ground, and the gemstone exploded.

“Is everypony okay?” Derpy stuck her nose into the room and regarded both her adopted daughter flat against the floor and Emerald, who had been knocked onto his back in the process. “Oh, Mister Emerald. You lost your hat.”

The mailmare pulled the long red shard of gemstone out of the hat impaled against the wall and caught Emerald’s tattered fedora when it fell. After struggling to his hooves, Emerald accepted the hat and shook bits of red powder out of his tangled mane before putting it back on. At least it had not been damaged too much. Their House maid back in Canterlot had threatened to drop the whole tattered thing into the rag pile and send him back out with a bare head if he made her patch it again.

“Thank you, Miss Doo. Now it’s a proper unicorn hat. My father would be so proud.” He arranged his punctured headwear with great care and turned back to Sparkler. “I see what you did, and the next time—”

“Next time?” gasped Sparkler, still lightly sparkling from a coating of red gemstone dust. “There won’t be a next time!”

“The next time, I’ll show you what you did wrong, and it will work perfectly. I promise.” Out of the corner of his eye, Emerald caught the way Derpy winced at the words, and tried not to wonder about which unicorn had hurt her so badly with a promise of his own.

“I trust you, Mister Emerald.” Derpy put on that goofy smile that made her appear so foolish and bobbed her head before vanishing out the door.

“Wait a minute.” Sparkler glared at him. “You’re not a unicorn.” Her eyes narrowed further. “And she knew.”

“Can’t keep anything away from mothers,” said Emerald with a casual shrug. “Now, I noticed several things when you were casting…”

* * *

By simply bulling his way through the awkward revelation of his unmagical background and going straight to Spell Analysis 205, Emerald hoped to blow enough smoke to cover his bare noggin. Thankfully, Sparkler was more upset about her ability to detonate gemstones than her pointless magic tutor, and less stubborn than Emerald. The lesson rapidly progressed onto several sheets of paper spread across the table and a pencil grasped firmly in Emerald’s teeth like he was going after a late homework assignment. For somepony who had no ability to cast a unicorn spell, Emerald had been through so many courses in his teaching major that he could deconstruct a five-fold spell like Sparkler’s gem-splitter easier than most unicorns could do partial fraction decomposition of an integral while finding the inflection points.

“Hey, Sparkler.” Dinky poked her nose into the bedroom to look around momentarily before coming the rest of the way in. “Mom wanted me out from underhoof.”

Emerald looked up from a particularly fascinating thaumic diagram under construction and caught the nervous way that Dinky looked over her shoulder. “Is she chasing Officer Rights out of the party?” he asked carefully through the pencil in his teeth.

An uncomfortable silence was a better answer than any explanation.

“You can stay.” Emerald pointed with his pencil. “Just remain quiet and watch. This is fairly advanced magic, so save all your questions for later.”

It took a few minutes to recover after the interruption, but the process was nearly up to the practical part anyway. The end result was five different sheets of paper, each with a thaumic diagram that most of Emerald’s young students would view as pure chaos, but Sparkler was nodding along as he broke them down.

“I could have split this spell into a four-part solution, but that raises the complexity of each portion, and it looked as if you were casting it as a five note chord anyway.” Emerald arranged the sheets in the best order he could. “You started your magic training with the music chord system, didn’t you?”

Now it was Sparkler’s turn to wince, and Emerald had to wonder if perhaps Derpy was starting a Home for Battered Ponies Who Had Been Abused By Unicorns.

“The actual theory behind spellcraft really doesn’t matter,” continued Emerald in order to reduce the tension in the bedroom. “If it did, they wouldn’t change it every few years and put out new expensive textbooks. Well, other than to make bits. Still, what you learn when you’re a foal tends to stick with you into adulthood and beyond. String theory, note theory, interference theory, color theory, even a theory that was wobbling around a century ago that claimed think theory was going to take the world by storm. Turned out not even to be a drizzle. Foals use it by instinct, but translating that into older unicorns fizzled badly, even though it had amazing potential since foals can do things with their magic that adults can only marvel about. While dodging.”

“Dinky stuck a spoon into the ceiling once,” volunteered Sparkler, which was a good sign, particularly when the young student in question remained silent and only stuck her tongue out in return.

“Try to imagine Princess Celestia as a foal,” added Emerald as a smooth transition into a practiced lie. “She obviously started using note theory, because if you’re quiet enough during the Summer Sun Celebration when she raises the sun, you can hear her humming.”

That earned the teacher two astonished gasps, which he followed up by tapping the papers with one hoof. “Five parts to your spell when using note theory means you’re doing the equivalent of holding five musical notes at once. Thankfully, horns are more versatile than voices. Dinky, if you could demonstrate that note I taught you the last time I was in town, please?”

It took a little spluttering and a few sparks, but Dinky eventually produced a low note from her horn and sustained it until Emerald added, “Very good, now add a second note, whatever you wish.”

The result was more than a little discordant, and ended with a few gasps for breath.

“Excellent for your age.” Emerald managed to restrain his exuberance to a polite smile, then turned to Sparkler. “Same thing, five notes in any major chord.”

This time, the music came out crystal-clear, a beautiful mix of notes that made Emerald blink away a tear. He always got maudlin when an adult unicorn showed their abilities, and just for one moment he could feel the itch of magic crawling across his green hide in search of a horn to express itself. Then the moment was gone, and he forced himself to take a deep breath as Sparkler’s horn faded back to its regular violet hue.

“Right.” Emerald nudged one of the papers forward instead of any further sniffling. “Just think of this as the first note. Then merge with this one,” he added with a second page of notes. “Then once the two are stable together, fade out the first as you bring up the third here…”

It took remarkably little time to tie the deconstructed spell sections into the correct sequence, made easier by assigning them all a musical note, which they worked through verbally with Dinky’s help. Several repetitions later and the addition of a second gemstone from Regal’s pocket stash, Sparkler was ready to try for real. She did not even ask for Dinky to leave the room, which Emerald took as a good sign of confidence because it would help her concentrate.

In the end and after several false starts, the actual spell was almost an anticlimax. The gemstone merely split into several clean portions like an opening flower with no more sound than a quiet popping noise and Sparkler’s breathless panting afterward.

“Very good,” said Emerald, giving the results a gentle poke. Several pure gems glittered in the collection, and there were also a few usable shards that might be worth loose change at the bank. “You may consider this my Hearth’s Warming present for the House of Doo. That should pay for any windows you may have broken with a little left over for your mother to make some more of those delicious rugelach cookies that vanished off the table before I could get more than one. Oh, and that reminds me.”

It took a few short moments in his saddlebags to bring out the other tidy packages of bits that he had picked up at the bank, and he placed them on the table with brief clanks of the coins. “Dinky, this one is your Hearth’s Warming present for tomorrow, and if I could get you to take the other three to Snips, Snails, and Firelock, I’d appreciate it. Every studious student deserves a reward for their work, after all.”

“Thank you,” chirped Dinky while scooping up the packages. “I’ll deliver them first thing tomorrow, just like Mama.”

“It’s just like the first time I did it,” said Sparkler under her breath, still entranced by the collection of gemstone pieces on the table.

“That’s one success,” said Emerald, looking at Dinky. “Now, what comes next?”

“Practice!” she declared with two quick toots of her horn.

“Correct. I’m not either of your official instructors, so I can’t assign homework, but I can encourage you to write down notes on tonight’s exercise and practice over the next few days.”

Sparkler collected the notes together while nodding vigorously. “You bet I will. That went so much better than…” She took a quick glance at a small gemstone splinter still embedded in a nearby wall, which Emerald took as a cue to leave before the cookies were all gone.

“Come on, Dinky. Leave your sister alone to study and we’ll help your mother clean up.”

“That’s not much fun,” declared the young unicorn.

“It comes with leftover cookies,” said Emerald, which seemed to be a great incentive to movement because he had to hurry in order to follow her rapid pace back into the main room. Derpy was sending the last few visitors home, including the odd brown stallion with the mane that stuck straight up, who she gave a kiss on the cheek as he left. That left Emerald with a small sense of relief to think he was not being shopped as a husband by the goofy mailmare, which went well with the warm feeling he had in his chest from Sparkler’s successful magic lesson.

There were only a few small cookies left over, which did not last long under their assault, although all of the best ones had already been pillaged. Despite his efforts to provide clean-up assistance, Emerald was not permitted to stick around, but Derpy did beam like Sun when Dinky told her how well Sparkler had managed her spell.

“And she’s going to get the windows fixed she broke,” announced Dinky through a mouthful of crumbs. “Mama always says you should fix things you break, even when they say you don’t have to and try to chase you out of the house.”

That let Emerald leave with a chuckle, even after Derpy gave him a kiss on the cheek on his departure. It didn’t seem like a husband-hunting gesture of affection, but it put him back into waffling about if she was interested or not. On further thought while walking, it really did not matter, and Derpy had slipped him a small baking tin filled with cookies (and one inevitable muffin) while leaving, so it left him with a happy skip to his trot on the way back to the library.

To make things even better, the library door opened effortlessly to the touch of his spellkey, rather than leaving him stuck outside in the snow like he had begun to dread since everything was going so well this evening.

“Happy Hearth’s Warming eve to me,” he murmured, going over to check the fireplace once all the snow had been stomped out of his hooves on the bristly entrance mat. There was still most of a log in the warm coals, so he toasted for a few moments, used the bathroom, and curled up on the couch, his home away from home. It was getting more comfortable the more he used it. Tomorrow would be a leisurely day lounging around the library all by himself and reading, then back to Canterlot before the regular librarian returned and toasted him over the fireplace.

Still, there was something missing, just ever so slightly wrong with the library this evening.

The library had a low table next to the fireplace which suited his needs, so Emerald trudged out to the kitchen, prepared the traditional offering, and returned to the warm glow of the fire.

“Cookies for Santa Hooves,” he murmured while arranging the plate and preparing a note. “What am I, a child?”

It was tempting to take one of the cookies for himself, but he was fairly full and had already brushed his teeth, so Emerald settled for writing the most accurate and polite letter to Santa that he ever had managed before. One quick check for errors later, he tucked it under an edge of the plate and prepared for bed. At home, Father would have checked the letter for inevitable errors before sending it to Santa by way of the fireplace, and as much as Emerald fought against parental interference in his life, he had to admit he missed the gruff technique and painstaking accuracy involved. And perhaps someday Emerald himself would be carefully examining the letters of his own children in a similar but more friendly fashion.

But not here. And particularly not with the current librarian.

The image of Twilight Sparkle as a spouse made him chuckle under his breath as he turned for the couch. After all, he didn’t even have the courage to get into her bed when she was nowhere in the vicinity, so how would he ever be able to sleep with the most powerful unicorn in the world at nose-length away, let alone anything involved with foal creation, so that was a dead end.

Tomorrow was Hearth’s Warming day. The library would be closed and nopony would expect his presence anywhere, although he would temporarily miss out on presents. It would be the perfect day to curl up in front of the fireplace without any Cutie Mark Crusaders, unanticipated old school friends, or local police officers interrupting his relaxation. During every yak journey there were most likely pauses to reflect, and tomorrow he intended on reflecting with leftover cookies and books until it was dark, then taking a red-eye train back to Canterlot and his normal life.

It was a good plan, with little chance of Twilight Sparkle interference, so he pulled the star-embroidered purple blanket up around his shoulders and settled down on the couch to dreamless sleep.

18. Hearth's Warming Passed

The Substitute Librarian
Hearth’s Warming Passed

Hearth’s Warming Day was a holiday for sleeping in. Ponyville did not seem to celebrate that option, or at least whoever was knocking at the library door was that kind of holiday agnostic. Then again, if Twilight Sparkle was on her way home early, it was a good idea to take whatever early warning he could get, so Emerald rolled off the couch with a blanket still over his back and stumbled toward the door. He could see the fireplace out of the corner of his eye as he plodded, looking cold and extinguished, and therefore another task he needed to jump on this morning once the door-knocker was dealt with.

Unfortunately, that looked easier said than done.

“Good Morning, Miranda.” Emerald leaned to one side, looking for perhaps a few other officers outside the library with shackles to really spoil his morning. Miranda Rights certainly did not appear any more joyous at her early morning visit than Emerald was to see her, since she had obviously not slept well or had a chance to tidy up before setting out on her morning pestersome duty.

“I have a few questions,” said the rumpled chief of police bluntly.

“Are they anything I’m legally required to answer?” responded Emerald out of reflex. “If not, have a good Day and goodbye.” He did not slam the door, because in his experience, nothing good ever came of slamming a door on a police officer, and besides, the poor mare looked pathetic.

“I’m just asking for your cooperation,” continued Miranda as if she were gritting her teeth under the concealment of her stern expression. “You see, Trixie Lulamoon is still missing, and we received a communication from the palace asking about her.”

“She’s not here,” said Emerald just as bluntly. He was getting sick and tired of being blamed for the blue braggart’s schemes, particularly when he had not even seen her since school. And the last time he had been in Ponyville. “If she was here, she’d be in the safest place possible for the town, so if you find her somewhere, I’d advise dropping her off and I’ll have her… sort books for her parole or something. Now is there anything else you want to say? Like an apology?”

“Apologize?” Miranda Rights blinked several times. “For what?”

“For insinuating that I’m hiding some sort of criminal in Twilight Sparkle’s library!” he thundered back. “For using me to interrogate one of my students last night! The wedding is off!”

Emerald closed the door, then promptly opened it back up a crack and asked sweetly, “Would you like some cookies, Officer Rights? I’ve got some extras in the kitchen, and I’ll bring them right out.”

“Er…” Miranda blinked again. “Yes.”

“Great. Give me a moment to make up a plate.” He closed the door again, feeling the brisk tingle of the locking wards as they reengaged.

With the library wards set, even the police chief would not be able to get into the library, or at least that was what Emerald would bet cash bits on. One key for the city kept at Town Hall was likely it. Twilight Sparkle did not seem to be one to make any extra keys if she was not required, or to spend one extra bit that could more appropriately go to purchasing a book or two, and Emerald would be willing to bet every bit he owned that Miranda Rights did not own a Tarsus Key to break through Twilight Sparkle’s wards, if it could.

“Can’t believe I thought about marrying that mare,” mumbled Emerald through a yawn as he headed for the kitchenette. “Either of them. Shackles of Matrimony should be more metaphorical, and Til Death Do You Part shouldn’t involve your first overdue book. What’s this?”

The table next to the fireplace where he had placed Santa Hooves’ cookies last night was bare, or at least bare of cookies. Instead, there were five small packages next to the empty plate, each addressed to an improbable recipient.

Emerald shied away at first, then moved closer and nipped up the empty plate since he was going to need one anyway, and there was no need to find a clean one in Twilight Sparkle’s shelves if it was just going to get dirty with crumbs again. He quietly visited the depleted cookie stash in the kitchenette to refill the plate, then on his way back to the front door, stopped by the collection of presents to pick up one in particular.

“Gotta be the tree somehow,” he muttered under his breath while headed back to the awaiting police officer. Once he managed to get the door open, he called out, “Happy Hearth’s Warming day, Officer Rights. Here you go, your gift and cookies. Which are also a gift. Except for Twilight’s plate, which we’ll need back.”

He hesitated before ducking back into the library, because he had no idea what was in the gift either, and he had to know before going back inside. “If there’s a ring in there, it’s not mine,” he added quickly.

“So Twilight Sparkle left me a gift?” asked the officer while unwrapping and folding the paper on the original creases. “Or is it from you?”

Emerald shrugged while she extracted out a colorful sweater knit in a pattern of green pine trees and bright seasonal ribbons. “Maybe it’s from Santa Hooves. Later, ma’am.”

There were more important things to worry about than who was leaving presents for him, at night, in a locked library. Breakfast, for one. And more fire to keep him from freezing.

Shifting the blanket on his shoulders, Emerald put the last log on the coals of the fire and arranged the spark arrestor screen before turning to the table and the other four presents, three wrapped in colorful paper and one just a bunch of bananas with a tag that read ‘Librarian.’

“That would get me arrested for certain.” Taking the nametag off the bunch of bananas, Emerald picked up the rest of them before giving the odd fruit a second look. “It’s the middle of winter. Where did they find bananas? Who brought Twilight Sparkle a bunch of bananas? Even if Officer Rights has a spare key and let herself in last night, she’s not so blatantly tone-deaf. And nopony else could possibly have a key to the door.”

His eyes slowly tracked to the fireplace, which was far too small for a mythical jolly fat reindeer, then he looked up to Derpy’s favorite skylight.

“Ahh. Unicorn blind spot.”

Most wards froze the locking mechanisms around a location, that is around what was being warded, much like a belt. Odds were that Twilight never even noticed the mailmare’s morning visits took place despite the library being locked.

After a certain amount of shelf inspection, Emerald picked his climbing path and worked his way up to the top of the most promising bookshelf in the library. It was further up than he had gone before and he still could not reach the skylight, but he could see it from here, as well as the spring-loaded broken latch that kept it from staying closed when pressure was put on the glass pane from the outside. And now that he was up high enough, he could see a pegasus ‘nest’ on the outside of the upper ledge, with several blankets woven into a small resting spot right where the afternoon Sun would shine the warmest on a cold winter day.

“Rainbow Dash,” said Emerald to himself. Stories from the townsponies had painted the weathermare’s numerous napping spot locations as near-legendary, and from several unique polychromatic tail hair strands tied into the blankets, she had obviously found a quiet and uninterruptible way to stay hidden and warm while loafing. It would be a pleasant spot for a certain substitute librarian to spend the afternoon also, except for the near-certainty of a dangerous fall inside the library or a questionable climb up the outside of the tree to access the spot from the defective skylight. Most certainly, Scootaloo had turned around and used his gift to buy the other gifts, then took that exact secret path to deliver them this morning, like a very small Santa Hooves. Then all Scootaloo needed to do was walk out the front door of the library since the active wards only blocked entry, not exit.

“Twilight is going to be so miffed when she realizes she didn’t cover the skylights with her locking spell,” mused Emerald. “I wonder if I could fix that extendable resheving platform myself. It would probably reach high enough so I wouldn't have to climb… No, better not. Don’t want a librarian and a weatherpony angry at me too. The last thing I want is a napless angry Bearer who I have absolutely no chance of outrunning.”

It took some cautious maneuvering to climb down to the floor again, which is to say it would have been terribly easy to get there in one step, but he didn’t want to break anything, particularly himself. He wanted to hurry because he had not opened his own present out of the collection Scootaloo had delivered. After all, he could only feign disinterest in the contents for so long, and once he had it open, he had to keep himself from squealing in joy.

“Jellybeans!”

It was rumored that Princess Luna’s secretive bat-winged guards went bonkers over mangos, and even moreso for a strange prickly-skinned fruit from the far south jungles, but that was a small shadow of Emerald’s love for the tiny sweet beans. If not restricted by his iron willpower, Emerald would have gladly put his nose down into the cardboard box and not come up for air until he was licking the bottom. As it was, he nipped up one mouthful of jellybeans before folding the cardboard top back over the contents and making a beeline for the librarian desk. The bottom drawer was lockable, so he tucked the rest of the box away while chewing, then headed for the kitchenette to put some distance between himself and temptation.

“Operation Sloth is a go.” Emerald finished mixing up a fresh pitcher of wake-up juice from the concentrate in the pantry and poured himself a glass, then ignored the rest of the raw food he had tucked into the icebox a mere two days ago. Instead, the simple goal of spending the whole day reading in front of the fireplace was within his grasp. Of course, he would not be able to read far into that first book without opening up the desk and getting into that box of jellybeans.

“Begone, temptress beans,” he murmured beneath his breath while walking back to the couch, since the fireplace had caught up with the chilly morning air, and the borrowed blanket was starting to make him sweat. Placing it back on the couch, Emerald brushed several long green hairs off the purple surface…

Wait a minute

Upon further examination, the purple couch blanket looked suspiciously like a particular star-embroidered cloak, and if the cloak was here, the owner could not be far away. That owner who the Ponyville police chief was searching for, and the unmistakable cloak Emerald was wearing over his back when he met Miranda this morning.

It was worth some panic.

On second thought, it was an unwarranted worry. All of yesterday went by without any of the many patrons reporting any wanted criminals in Twilight Sparkle’s book-packed bedroom, which they tromped through like their own home when not properly discouraged. Still, just in case, he took a trip up the ramp to peer into the quiet and quite unused bedspace before returning to the warm library fireplace.

“Obviously, a false alarm,” he muttered to himself while setting up his reading nest for the day. “Chief Rights must think I’m a blithering idiot, or that I have Trixie stashed in the upstairs storeroo—”

Getting up again, Emerald went upstairs and cracked open the door to the back storeroom, which opened with the faint tug of an unrenewed security spell, something that his best estimates guessed was cast just over a day ago. The room was somewhat larger than Emerald remembered, with the boxes relegated to packed shelves scattered around the walls, and a heart-shaped⁽*⁾ window shedding light over the cushions and blankets making a study nest the center of the floor. And the blue unicorn who was curled up in the middle of several books taking notes.
(*) Literally, with each blood vessel and nerve path labeled.
—

The Great and Powerful Trixie looked up. Then she looked back down at the book she was studying and ignored him. Emerald backed out of the storeroom, or more correctly, the uninvited guest bedroom, and closed the door.

“Didn’t see anything, can’t be blamed,” murmured Emerald as he headed downstairs.

It did change his plans for the day. Trixie appeared contained for the moment, but if she had been in the room for a whole day without any food, the research monster would soon go foraging for her preferred sustenance. And with the chief of police lurking outside his door, that meant Slothday had turned into Chefday.

The icebox-to-stove process for most Canterlot unicorns involved a call to the local servants or a visit to the most trendy restaurant. As much as Emerald liked to downplay his own cooking skills, he appreciated food too much to always wait for others to prepare it. With relatively little training from his home’s servants, he discovered sandwiches were easy, fruit salad practically a reflex, and cookies a dangerous rarity⁽¹⁾ that ate away at his resistance until the container was empty. Additional practice had expanded his skill, not anywhere near the level of a chef, but there was nothing preventing him from becoming a fry cook other than the need for a very large hairnet.
(1) Cook knew that the House’s youngest son was vulnerable to her sweets, but it was her Mark, and she spoiled him over the years far too much for his own good, which Emerald’s waistline only proved.
—

Besides, Emerald needed something to distract himself from the partial box of jellybeans locked in the librarian’s desk. Food was an odd counter to food, but putting together a simple lunch for three present ponies kept him busy, and if there was a little food left over when he was done, it would fit in the ice box for Twilight Sparkle and her dragon servant when she returned tonight. So food for four, prepared with extra time to cut the crusts off Trixie’s peanut butter sandwiches and a few tidbits for Miranda Rights lurking around outside the library in the snow.

“Cooking for three mares,” he muttered from around the knife hilt while peeling carrots. “Somehow, harem romances never mention this particular aspect of the relationship.”

There was a knock at the front door, and since Emerald was waiting for the dried bell peppers to soak for the ratatouille, he decided a brief interruption was warranted.

“Hello, Scootaloo.” Emerald looked around the snow-strewn town square, which looked empty, but he was fairly certain it contained at least one hungry unmarried policemare.

“Sorry to bother you, Mister Emerald.” The young pegasus had snow crusted on her mane and the bright violet eyes of a child who had an active morning filled with youthful fun. It made something inside Emerald twinge with regret for his own youth spent with far too few snowball fights and many sledding opportunities missed.

“But you’re cold and need a rest break before tearing around the town some more,” finished Emerald. “Tell you what. The library is out of wood, so can I get you to bring in enough logs from the outside woodpile to fill the rack? I’ll make you a plate for lunch, too. Oh, and Santa Hooves appears to have left you a present over by the fireplace. Only one log at a time!” he managed to call out as Scootaloo vanished around the side of the library tree.

After all, Emerald knew what it was like to be that age once too. And young children probably should not be exposed to the harem fantasy resting patiently by the fireplace, so he quickly locked it and several other questionable books into the bottom drawer of the librarian desk and replaced them with a few age-appropriate books before Scootaloo appeared with her first log for the indoor fireplace supply.

Instead of supervising the following trips, Emerald returned to the kitchenette for more cooking. It was all for the best, after all. He needed the practice and now he was cooking for four mares.

Besides, he had already torn the wrapping on Scootaloo’s present just enough to see that it was a bottle of Lightning Rod brand gear oil.

* * *

Cooking in winter and keeping it healthy was a challenge. Everything that would normally be fresh had to be used dried or preserved. Admittedly, he could have gone for the easy bean soup route, but by the time he had all the beans correctly soaked, Twilight Sparkle would have returned and cooked his beans for good when she found Trixie upstairs.

He liked to cook, just not as the subject.

Given a generally spherical student of uniform density and provided with unexpected free time, how much food could be produced in a small kitchen? Well, that was never a question on any of his tests, but Emerald was trying his best to provide an answer. After all, if it was not cooked, the leftover raw ingredients he had purchased earlier would just sit in Twilight Sparkle’s icebox. Plus, Hearth’s Warming was a time to throw away diets and splurge. A complete bag of sugar had already been sacrificed in the direction of that particular goal, and there were several pages in Twight’s kitchen recipe book he had not even considered yet.

In the main room, Scootaloo had curled up on the fireplace rug for a quick energy recharge, which let Emerald take his time with the oven. He did peek in on his sleeping houseguest occasionally, and caught a glimpse of a unique sweater-clad pony peeking through a library window in the process, so the young filly was well-supervised in her inactivity.

On this rare occasion, coffee made for a good cooking companion. It was quiet, filled the air with a pleasant aroma, and gave a sharp kick to his tongue whenever Emerald considered breaking out in song. It was also the kind of gift that practically begged to be shared, because if he went through the entire percolator, Emerald was fairly sure he was going to burn a hole in his stomach lining.

So once he had the ratatouille arranged in the baking pan for the first phase of the process, Emerald put together a cold platter with his peanut butter crackers and a steaming cup of plain coffee, braced himself, and took it to his un-guest upstairs.

“Lunch will be served shortly, ma’am. Until then, I thought I’d whip you up a study snake. I mean snack.”

Trixie pulled her attention away from the book with great reluctance, thought for a long moment, and said, “You didn’t take down your sign last time I was here.”

“No, and I got in trouble for it, which you don’t care about.” Emerald sat the tray down nearby and watched the first few peanut butter crackers vanish. “How have you been using the bathroom for the last day without anypony noticing?”

“Used Twinkle’s.” Trixie took a sip of coffee and blew across the ebon surface while Emerald looked around. There was an open door nearby which concealed a half-bath, just a sink and a toilet for the librarian’s bedroom use, or it would have been if the shared door was not latched so the storeroom had exclusive rights to it.

“Was this here last time?” he asked.

Trixie shrugged. “Probably. Didn’t look for it. What’s for lunch?”

“And just why should I make you lunch?” asked Emerald in a momentary spat of peevishness.

Trixie stopped what she was doing and placed the coffee cup down in order to focus her full attention on the library staff. It was a very sincere look, one that Emerald had not seen before, and it rattled him slightly. This was a different Trixie than he had known before, right down to the way she did not even put up the slightest complaint about drinking coffee without any sugar.

“Trixie finally found information on an edge that will let me face Twilight Sparkle on an equal basis.” She tapped the dark book she had been examining, then scooted it a little closer to herself. “Trixie doesn’t know how Sparkle acquired it, but when I came into the library yesterday, it was sitting on her desk. So Trixie borrowed it.”

“Mmph,” grunted Emerald as he turned for the storeroom door. “Don’t know, don’t care. I’ll bring lunch up when it’s done. Don’t come downstairs. Scootaloo is taking a nap in front of the fireplace and the chief of police is watching the library.”

It was entirely unlike Trixie to pass over a line like that. She should have teased him about kissing strange policemares before he went downstairs, but it was possible her job out at the Rock City farm had mellowed her acidic tongue. It certainly had done wonders for her chubby flanks, because she had never looked so lean and muscular when at school. Still, in Ponyville, some questions really should be avoided if you are unprepared for the answers.

Out of some instinct, Emerald took the remaining couch cushions and spread them out in the main room before returning to the kitchenette and his cooking projects. It seemed like an appropriate precaution, and was only borne out when Scootaloo came into the kitchen in order to watch when he was just about ready to slip the souffle out of the oven.

The whole tree shook to a familiar impact just as he touched the oven door, and after a quick check of the kitchen clock, Emerald called out, “Good afternoon, Miss Doo. Would you like your scrambled egg and carrot sandwiches with or without cheese?”

“Cheese, please.”

“Me too,” chimed in Scootaloo.

Since Emerald was in the middle of using the Prench pelle to scoop the souffle/pancake pan out of the oven, he was unable to respond right away without getting splinters in his tongue. Once the hot dish was taken care of, he put the paddle to one side and bent over the kitchen cabinet for the next immediate task while the kitchenette added one more observer in the form of the local mailmare.

“Ah, there it is,” he added, coming out with the dish clamp to hold it still while cutting. “Twilight puts all her kitchen utensils in the back of the drawer.”

“She doesn’t need them and Spike can just pick up the hot dish,” said Scootaloo.

“Meh. Point taken.” It took little time to cut the souffle into pieces and begin applying mayo to the bread. Through great willpower and focus, Emerald had managed not to eat anything more than a few vegetable peels up to this point, but hot food at the end of his nose was proving harder to resist.

Of course, having two hungry pegasi in the kitchen meant that by the time he put the used mayo spreader back in the sink to wash, ‘his’ egg sandwich vanished out the door with a clatter of small hooves en route to an afternoon of vigorous youthful exercise where the extra calories would burn off like a torch.

“I think I’m going to starve to death while cooking,” mused Emerald. “What brings you to diet headquarters, Miss Doo? Mail isn’t being delivered today, I don’t think.”

Derpy nodded around her bite of egg sandwich. “I got the book you ordered yesterday and forgot all about giving it to you.”

“Because I brought over Miranda last night. My bad, I suppose.” Father had always said never apologize for the actions of others, but Emerald could see a sudden shift around her wing muscles in the same way a griffon would tense up right before an irate peck, so he had to add, “I’m sure she was just concerned about Dinky’s well-being, just like she’s hanging out around the library today to watch Scootaloo. It’s her job to care about the most defenseless ponies after all. Right?”

The phrasing was a rhetorical trick to force an answer advantageous to your argument, but it only worked if your debate opponent actually said something. Derpy just kept on eating her egg sandwich until Emerald added, “I’m going to be a teacher. If I saw somepony hurting a child, I’d tell her. It’s not my job, it’s my responsibility.”

“I’m a good mother,” she said through the last bite of her sandwich and with her eyes closed.

“And I know that more than about any other pony,” said Emerald quickly before the conversation could take a darker path and encourage the tears he could see lurking at the corner of her eyes. “You’re raising a unicorn, so there are ponies who think you can’t do it. Nosy, pestersome ponies with long noses they like to stick into everypony’s business. Like the nattering mares in my neighborhood who could not believe my mother would lower herself to an earth pony child.” He patted his battered hat. “Part of the reason I wear this. If my family were pegasi and we lived in Cloudsdale, I’d probably wear a coat all the time.”

“Or a parachute.” Derpy blinked several times and took a deep breath, although she picked up an oatmeal raisin cookie he pushed in front of her. She took two bites and stuck out her sticky tongue. “Too much nutmeg.”

“Never can get that right.” Emerald took a cookie of his own and bit into it. “Thought I had it this time. Anyway, Miranda’s seen your house now, and she’s had a chance to talk to Dinky. Any reports she’s gotten from idiots will be cleared up from direct observation. Where’s the book?”

Emerald did not think Derpy felt like talking about her issues because she left quite promptly after the delivery, although she gave him a sticky kiss on the cheek as she departed. It distracted him from opening the book and inspecting for a few moments worth of quiet contemplation. After all, she was single. Then again, presuming she had been traumatized by a unicorn before, and considering his family, he might as well pass out sticks of dynamite to the Cutie Mark Crusaders. It would do less damage.

In any event, the new copy of Twerps had only been scuffed slightly by its passage through the skylight and other delivery travails, and he had work to do before heading back to Canterlot. It only took a quick peek to verify what was on the missing page in the library’s copy, even if it was only two lines, and Emerald rationalized tucking the brand new book into his saddlebags instead.

“House Rosaceae. Huh. Never pictured an apple farmer that way, and it looks like she doesn’t want the attention either, so might as well keep it so she doesn’t get out the knife to do some editing. I paid for it, after all.”

* * *

Cooking provided an easy way for Emerald to pass the afternoon and relax because it combined his two favorite activities: eating and reading. Twilight’s cookbook helped him whip up some scones with dried blueberries and rhubarb bits, as well as a plate of kichel, although there was no way he could manage anything like Derpy’s rugelach pastries or the baklava that he had managed to taste before they were all gone.

Another reason not to marry a good cook. I’d get all fat again.

It was still later than he expected before a mussed Trixie poked her nose into the kitchenette and sniffed, then picked up one of the closest kichel for a more in-depth analysis. Since Emerald had requested that she stay in the guest bedroom, he had expected her to ignore his advice and come downstairs anyway, most probably in the midst of Scootaloo and Derpy’s visit, but the library was empty now, so maybe she had more common sense than he had thought.

“Oh, good. You’re up.” It only took a few quick motions with the wooden pelle to slip the waiting ratatouille into the oven and adjust the heat. “Santa left you a present in the other room, if you want something to do while waiting for lunch to cook.”

“Santa Hooves left me a present,” said Trixie in a perfect deadpan. She wandered out of the room, taking a scone with her, and returned several minutes later with the stack of blank notebooks which Emerald had expected from a previous examination of the present and some judicious holding-of-the-present-up-to-the-light-and-squinting. She didn’t say anything else while standing in the kitchenette and looking at her present, so Emerald filled in the conversational blank.

“Don’t thank me. I was sleeping. Scootaloo gets all the credit.”

It was a credit that he did not want to examine too closely while occupying his mind with putting together a salad for Trixie. At this time of year, bananas alone were worth more than the stack of bits he had given the young pegasus for a Hearth’s Warming present, and if she had one bit more to her name, Emerald would be willing to eat it. Besides, Scootaloo did not know about the blue bat in the library belfry, which narrowed the list of suspects down to Derpy, who was just as broke, or the oak tree, which was plain acorns all the way down.

Or a certain reindeer. Maybe Santa Hooves had left the presents. It still did not explain the bananas, which reminded Emerald that he had left them out in the main room. Trixie had obviously found them first, because several were ‘empty.’ It did not seem appropriate to chastise his guest for consuming what he planned on turning into banana bread, particularly since she had been working so uncharacteristically hard on her mysterious studies.

Since the ratatouille was cooking, he returned to the creation of lunch-based food products as a one-pony fry cook with the world’s most cynical non-paying customer. It made him feel better about ignoring the various puzzles that had popped up during his visit to the odd little town, since none of the weirdities were his responsibility, after all. Well, except Trixie, who was about as irresponsible as equinely possible, and he would probably be blamed as an accomplice for whatever she did.

“You’re welcome,” said Emerald in the middle of making banana bread batter. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but—”

Trixie put down her fork with the last fragmentary leaf of expensive greenhouse-grown lettuce still clinging to it. “The Pie’s are picking me up at the train station this afternoon. I’ll be back in Rock City and out of your way so you can properly romance Twilight Sparkle.”

“As if.” Emerald gave the batter one last stir and went looking in the pantry for a bread pan. “I’m half tempted to go with you instead of going back to Canterlot.”

“That would go over so well with my employer,” said Trixie with a slight hint of the snark that Emerald had missed.

There was little more conversation in the small kitchen as Trixie joined the cooking, mostly restricted to passing items back and forth while asking for opinions on nog contents. It made Emerald feel less like a co-conspirator and slightly like a brother, or at least what might pass for a Trixie sibling. He had learned several years ago when they first met not to ask about her family, much like she avoided talking about his unless she was lighting his fuse.

Fruitcake cooking brought out more interaction, since the holiday ‘food’ had no end of humorous jokes involving the attempted eating thereof, and Emerald’s attempt at constructing one was inept to say the least.

“Needs bourbon,” said Trixie, who had moved from assistance to supervisory comments from her chair at the table, as well as a small amount of product sampling.

“So does the fruitcake,” muttered Emerald, jabbing at the mess in the bowl with a wooden spoon. “Speaking of which, how do you plan on dodging the police on your way to the train station?”

“Hadn’t given it much thought.” Trixie swirled one last piece of leftover ratatouille around her plate, heaping it high with the leftover gooey cheese. There had been a slight misjudgement in the cheese purchasing process, leaving several multiples of the needed ingredient in several varieties as well as serious consideration for what to do with the unused portions.

Probably don’t want to add cheese to the fruitcake.

Most of the leftovers had been packed away in the icebox, enough calories to stun a dragon with cheese and carbohydrates to spare. From an examination of published train schedules, Twilight Sparkle was most likely coming into town on the same train that Trixie was leaving on, so she would walk into the library a few minutes after the both of them departed.

Or at least if Trixie was not stopped and detained by the local police, in which case things would probably get far more uncomfortable.

“I’ve got an idea that should give me some plausible deniability.” Emerald jammed the fruitcake batter into the pan, sprinkled the top with shelled pecans, and slammed it into the oven. “Remember that card trick you always could use to take me for ten bits?”

* * *

Late holiday afternoon with the general malaise that followed over-eating and socializing left the Ponyville streets fairly unoccupied. The scattered few who did go out into the snow included several young ponies building a snow fort and throwing snowballs at each other, although most of the adults were perfectly happy to sit inside with a cup of cocoa and watch the winter activity through a window like they did every year.

Only this year, there was a slight disturbance in the regular routine when a pony wearing a familiar purple star-embroidered cloak and hat emerged from the library and promptly took off at a brisk gallop. After all, every pony in the town knew that particular clothing pattern and the giant stellar bear incident it had caused.

The pony only managed to make it down several of the snow-covered paths before slowing to a trot, then stopping when a darker pony wearing a cheerful Hearth’s Warming sweater stepped in front of it.

“Wait a moment,” said Miranda Rights. “Trixie?”

Emerald pushed the purple pointed hat up higher on his head and smiled the happy grin of an innocent stallion just out for brisk exercise. “Miranda!” he exclaimed. “I’d love to stop and chat some more, but I’ve got the library spellkey which I really need to return before I go back to Canterlot, or the mayor is going to be miffed at me. Your lunch is in the library icebox and I’ll see you later!”

“Wait!” Miranda Rights had the advantage of healthy living and a job that involved a lot of walking, but Emerald had a few moments of stunned confusion to get a head start, as well as the pursuit of an unmarried unicorn mare for incentive.

He beat her to the town hall door by a few seconds.

Unfortunately, the inner hallway of the town hall was a dead end, and when Emerald turned around from stuffing the library spellkey into the mayor’s office’s mail slot, Miranda Rights had the doorway blocked solid. Horn glowing at the first corona and panting slightly from her unexpected run, she locked eyes with Emerald and huffed, “Hold it right there, or I swear, I’ll drag you into the jail and stick you in the biggest freezer we have.”

“Why?” Emerald shrugged through his panting. “I don’t have enough earth pony magic to sprout a bean seed, and my unicorn magic is limited to the theoretical, not the practical.”

“Then I will send a letter to your mother,” said Miranda coldly.

“Oh. Dirty pool!” Emerald sat down on the cold hallway tiles and breathed heavily. “Okay, officer. You got me. I’m all yours for whatever you want, in the non-matrimonial fashion.”

He expected questions and prepared evasive answers, but all Miranda Rights did was stand there and just look at him. After a few minutes, the corona around her horn went out, and she stepped to one side. “You’re going to miss your train.”

“You’re not going to ask me about Trixie?” Emerald considered the impassive look he got in response and added, “Oh, you know she took my brother’s coat and went to the train station while I distracted you.”

Miranda nodded with a sly smile. “So far, there haven’t been any disasters when you’re here at the same time she is. The Crown only wanted to know where she was, and since I knew…”

“Do I get paid for babysitting?” asked Emerald.

Miranda’s flat expression was a fair response, although she shook her head also.

“No, I guess not,” muttered Emerald. “Can I at least get you to apologize to Miss Doo? I know you don’t think you need to apologize,” he pressed. “You were just doing your job, looking into the welfare of a child who might be at risk, but you frightened both of them, and you lied to me by omission.”

“Since I was doing my job, as you admitted, why should I apologize?”

“Because pride is cheap and trust is expensive,” countered Emerald. “Spend some to get some. Be willing to bend a little or you’ll—” He bit off the line he wanted to use about her being an unmarried mare until she was old and grey, and decided to shake his own head instead. “Skip it. You betrayed my trust and terrified an innocent child for a good reason, I suppose. Your honor is intact.”

That apparently had some bite, because Miranda winced ever so slightly. “It doesn’t sound very honorable when you put it that way.”

Deciding to widen the wound instead of retreating, Emerald continued, “Try some trust instead. As a teacher, it is my responsibility to report any abuse to the local authorities. I was obviously approved by the highest authorities to watch Twilight Sparkle’s library. They trust me to do the right thing. And you did not.”

“You have to earn trust. You can’t just buy it,” said Miranda, although she cast a look over one shoulder at the distant train station where he could see the anticipated arrival just pulling in. “Goodbye, m’lord. You don’t want to miss your train.”

Emerald started walking, although he paused next to the policemare to give her a long look. “Four weeks,” he finally said, and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, which Miranda obviously did not expect because she failed to dodge.

“Why four weeks?” she asked, wiping her cheek with one hoof.

“Because I’m faster than you on the straightaway.”

And Emerald bolted in the direction of the train station just as fast as he could gallop.

* * *

There was always a degree of pushing and crowding on the train station loading platform, even on Hearth’s Warming day when some ponies were traveling back home after a long visit with relatives. That not to say said relatives were pushing the visitors into the train cars, or at least admitting to it, but many of the tears being shed would certainly turn into shouts of joy just as soon as the outgoing train huffed away.

In a casual group of ponies standing fairly close to each other for warmth and breeze-blocking while waiting for the next train, one coat-clad individual stood out. Head bowed, hunched over, and scooting to use a nearby pony as a visual blocker did not help as much as it seemed when Miranda Rights stepped up right to one side and used her magic to lift the fur-lined coat hood away from the pony’s face.

“Excuse me, I was wondering if you could answer a few quest— Oh, no.”

“Miranda! I have a question of my own!” Emerald lit up with a broad grin, then dropped down on one knee and waggled an eyebrow at her before lowering his voice to a near-whisper. “Can I get you to take your plate back to Twilight when she returns? She doesn’t have very many of them to spare.”

“Yes.” Miranda Rights hesitated and blushed a dark red with her ears laid back as several ponies in the nearby crowd began to applaud the apparent proposal. “Now cut that out!”

“Oh, you’ve made me the happiest stallion in Equestria!” Emerald jumped to his hooves, but only waggled an eyebrow again. “A hug will get me two Moons in the jail, won’t it?”

“Three! Maybe four. Be serious for a minute.” Miranda frowned, or at least made a good attempt at it when Emerald put on his best sad face complete with trembling bottom lip.

“Will you bring your prisoner of luurve meals night and day so I can admire you without end and spend my time composing poetry in honor of your beauty?”

“I will bring you oatmeal,” said Miranda sternly. “A small bowl, with a stick of celery, three times a day until you reach a healthy weight. Now, I’ve got some questions, and I want answers.”

“She’s on the train,” said Emerald, “I’m not serious about asking to marry you, and will there be at least a few small lumps of sugar in the prison oatmeal? I get peckish when my blood sugar drops.”

The train took that moment to chuff forward, and was shortly well on the way to its next destination. For just a moment, Emerald thought he could see a line of frowning faces at the windows with Trixie’s familiar mug at the end, but there was no way those gloomy ponies could be Pinkie Pie’s family. Since he expected Pinkie’s family to be bringing her back to Ponyville from Canterlot, and there was also a lack of exiting perky pink party ponies on the train platform, Emerald began to think that maybe Trixie had given all of them the slip to somewhere else while he was distracting Miranda with his overacting.

The ponies around them had begun to catch onto the humor of Emerald’s situation, although several of them seemed to recognize Miranda as a police officer, and they began to quietly wander away to the far end of the loading platform. The rest of them only caught on when Miranda produced her copper badge and announced, “Show’s over. Police business. Anypony who even breathes a hint of this to Pinkie Pie is going to regret it. Now give us some space.”

In seconds, they were the only ponies on the train platform. Even the ticket seller had taken the opportunity for a break, and the door to her booth was still swinging.

“I don’t see any of the Bearers, particularly Pinkie Pie,” said Emerald, looking around. “Wasn’t she on the train with her family?”

“No,” said Miranda bluntly. “Look, I understand you wanting to ditch your family. If Pinkie ever catches you in town, the two of you can compare notes, and you’ll appreciate your own far more. It’s just… I’m trying to maintain order in the town—”

“And I’m not helping.”

Miranda put her face between her hooves and rubbed her cheeks. “It would help if you don’t flirt with me unless you’re serious. It makes it far more difficult to be in charge of my officers. Some of them were snickering at me today, but I pointed out how relatively calm this Hearth’s Warming was, and that helped.”

“One Trixie, no bears. Win for Ponyville.” Emerald heaved a sigh. “Look, Officer Rights. This is probably my last visit to your town. I’ve got a full spring semester in Canterlot, and student teaching right after, probably in a larger town like Riverbend since there aren’t enough young unicorns here to make it worth hiring a full-time Unicorn Magic Youth Educational Specialist. I’ve even taken my name off the substitution list for your library because I’ll be so busy.”

“Really?” Miranda looked up with some of the longer hairs on her face still rumbled and bent, much like the young mare had not slept in over a day.

“I mean if I’m ever on the train passing by and you want me to stop for coffee—” he added, only to have Miranda place one hoof firmly over his mouth.

“No. And if you lick the bottom of my hoof, three Moons in jail, with nothing to eat but grapefruit.”

“Spoilsport,” admitted Emerald once the blocking hoof was removed. “I suppose that means a romantic note-writing—”

“No,” said Miranda.

“Flowers sent occasionally—”

“No.”

“A fruit basket?” Emerald considered the relative lack of immediate objection. “There’s a fruitcake cooling off in Twilight Sparkle’s oven. If you bring your plate back when she’s home, she might be able to chisel⁽*⁾ you off a chunk.”
(*)Not likely. Spike wound up breaking a tooth on it.

* * *

Ponies began to filter back onto the train loading dock once Miranda was safely away, or at least had been seen to leave. Personally, Emerald felt fairly certain she was ensuring his departure by lurking in some nearby shadow, since Sun was quite nearly to the horizon and there were an abundance of unicorn-sized shadow candidates. The ticket booth was once again occupied, and Emerald took his place in line like the rest of the herd until it was his turn to buy a ticket.

“One ticket and a pack of gum, please.” Emerald pointed at the limited concession area, but the ticket seller had already scooped up one packet and dropped it on the counter. The light-green packaging probably had not changed since Celestia stuck a glob of used gum under her desk in school, and he really was not sure why he had ordered it, but…

“Where do you want the ticket for, mister?”

It was not as simple a question as it seemed on the surface, even with the dangling participle. It took a long pause to consider all he had learned in this small town over just the last few days.

What he had tried to teach Scootaloo was coming back to bite him, hard. There had certainly been several problems in town that he had contributed⁽¹⁾ to resolving with Regal’s tip money, but his own problems remained just as present as ever.
(1)Thankfully, nopony ever found out how Scootaloo managed to afford ‘Cutie Mark Rocket Sled Crusaders, Yea!’
—

“Manehattan,” he said at last. After all, his family was going to be there for a few more days and for the sake of Regal and his to-be bride, he could control his mouth for that long, at least. A mouthful of mint gum would help.

His journey would be a Hearth’s Warming present for his whole family, past, present and future, including himself.

19. The Mountain

Author's Note

This arc is an example of something never touched in Estee’s Continuum except in reference. Naturally, unicorn designers would overlook certain problems in designing an evacuation path from Canterlot, to wit what would happen if a half-wit earth pony were to find himself trapped in the gargantuan staircase without a light. Of course, one would have to be a blithering idiot to wind up in that situation. Or Emerald. But I repeat myself.

19. The Mountain

The Substitute Librarian
The Mountain

“Don’t disturb the Canterlot ghost.”

Emerald chuckled to himself as he recalled the words of the creaky old librarian who had permitted him into the darkness of Deep Storage, the sub-section of the larger Canterlot Archives, which served as a hiding place for all of the older books that no longer had a place in the main library, either because they had been worn to near uselessness or just become outdated. Picker would have been able to feed his pulping business for years with the tattered and battered tomes on these shelves, or at least until the Canterlot Archivists tracked him down and murdered them both.

Death by a thousand papercuts, probably.

Somehow, Emerald suspected the ‘pulping’ incident with the Ponyville library was not common knowledge among the sharp-eyed and dusty librarians here, or they most certainly would have forbidden his entrance into this sacred temple to forgotten lore ruled over by dust bunnies. Nothing was going to hinder him on his noble quest to unearth the one last reference he needed for his research paper to be complete and therefore get his minor in Griffon History at the same time he received his degree in Youth Education.

So that meant it was time to make a trip into the embrace of the mountain’s ebon darkness to do battle with various terrifying monsters of the bibliographic kind. Still, he probably should have just admitted it was easier to simply strike one sentence in the griffon history paper and not use that reference he was looking for at all, but stubbornness was built into his bones, just like Father.

A yawn threatened to let the firefly lantern slip from his toothgrip, so Emerald bit down and concentrated on his search through the dusty passages of the climate-controlled storage area. His journey would have been easier if the gloomy place was lit, but permanent lighting devices were too expensive for areas that received so little hoof traffic, and carrying a light any brighter than the organic lightning bugs would include the risk of fire.

Fire bad. Fire in this ancient repository of dusty books was worse. Ghosts appeared to be acceptable, provided they did not use fire, he supposed. Which on second thought was a strange attitude for librarians. They tended to be old mares with intently practical beliefs, physical instead of metaphysical, proven instead of theoretical, pages instead of poltergeists. Or ghosts.

He shook off the idea and resumed his search in the gloom. The ghost of Ponyville’s library was a mere fiction he had created on his own to spook the foals during the sleepover. If there really was an Alicorn of Knowledge, it would haunt the aboveground sections of the Canterlot Archives where the magical books were kept. After all, foolish young students who experimented with newly found spells in the Archive towers would only blow out a wall or two. Down here, they could cave in half the mountain.

Mystical knowledge upstairs with brilliant unicorn students, plebeian histories and outdated miscellaneous content down in the carved tunnels and storage vaults with earth pony students carrying firefly lanterns and getting hopelessly lost. Well, not lost lost, per se, since there were glowing arrows pointing the way back to the stairs, but lost as in finding a needle in a haystack would have been simple by comparison.

“Fudge,” he muttered at the end of the shelving corridor where the last book index mocked him. “Nine ninety one point two seven two to point two seven three. Where in Tartarus is two seven five?”

He dropped the Easy Canterlot Deep Storage stack guide on the stone floor and regarded it by the flickering light of the firefly lantern. The artist certainly had enjoyed their work, with large illustrations of the various subjects as well as the ‘Here Bea Dragones’ scrollwork over the section of draconic content, but the numbers were written in tiny squiggles, with none of the fractions specifying what he was looking for.

“Another nine ninety one over there,” muttered Emerald to himself. “All I have to do is backtrack out of this section, up two levels, around there, down three levels… There’s got to be a shortcut.”

On the map, the two sections of storage were only a tiny bit apart, separated by a square object labelled EE in orange lettering. A short walk past a series of decaying periodicals brought him to the wall nearest to the map’s odd symbol, which upon searching, also showed a heavy sliding door with the same letters.

“Express Elevator,” he opined in a hopeful tone while looking in vain for a call button. There was a unicorn magic device to winch the door open and a simple lever to push for the other hornless races, but there was also a fairly obvious sign stating ‘Do not use except in emergency. Alarm will sound.’

Mail order was such a wonderful thing. Across Equestria, there were absolutely no end of industrial doors, windows, and cabinets fastened by impressive mechanical locks that needed to be accessed by a large number of ponies with special keys. Trains, for example, unfairly locked their bathroom doors while in the station, even if all you wanted to do was run a comb through your mane. One handy key ordered from an industrial supply warehouse solved the problem. A dozen such keys ensured near-universal access to the moderately inaccessible for an enterprising young pony who rather disliked rules for other ponies being forced upon him.

“Hm… Not the elevator key,” murmured Emerald as he rummaged through the small collection in his saddlebags. “Window latch, ah! Alarms.” The first notched rod inserted into the keyhole did not turn, but the second gave a cheerful click when rotated, and Emerald put his shoulder against the lever to slide the door open without any noisy drama.

“Thank you Kwicky-Lock Corp,” he murmured while replacing the key into a folder in his saddlebags. “Home to the lowest bid cheap wind-up alarms in Protocera. Save a bit, get a Kwicky.”

Once the key was tucked securely away, Emerald stepped through the doorway and looked up.

And up.

Well, as far up as the wan light of the firefly lantern would reach, showing more steps than Emerald ever wanted to climb in his life.

“I am officially boggled,” he murmured to himself. “Ah, I see. EE on the map stands for Emergency Evacuation. Of course.”

It was either a giant ventilation shaft with aspirations to become a staircase, or a gargantuan square staircase that also served to pass air upwards from some lower level. In either case, the scale of the construction took Emerald’s breath away, although the low breeze of fresh air from below brought it back rather quickly. He tried to picture the staircase filled with ponies evacuating from some Canterlot disaster, marching downward with frightened foals held close until they emerged around the base of the mountain. If he squinted carefully, he could see the shadowy lumps of lighting devices along the walls, which would be activated by the unicorns as they passed. It certainly would be an impressive sight, and one that he sincerely never wanted to see, ever.

Curiosity dictated that he at least look over the stone banister to see how far up and down the stairs went. Perhaps there was an open door shedding light on an upper floor, or a restaurant below. He was getting hungry, and all he had hidden in his saddlebags were a bottle of apple juice and a granola bar. Even that had been difficult to smuggle past the alert noses of the elderly librarians.

The banister down the immense staircase had no sliding appeal to his inner foal, particularly since it took a sharp right angle with every landing. The pattern appeared to repeat as far up and down as he could see, with no other lights beside his. A certain sense of epic aloneness made the stairwell no place he wanted to explore just to save some maneuvering around the insides of the much more friendly library. Well, slightly more friendly library storage. At least if he got lost in there, somepony would eventually find him before he starved to dea—

Musing about his surroundings had deafened Emerald to the quiet noise of the sliding door moving down its track behind him, but a deaf pony would have been able to hear the crash of it closing and the subsequent clunk of the lock engaging. Of course, a deaf pony would not have jerked in reaction to the abrupt noise and lost his grip on the firefly lantern, which tumbled down the open shaft of the staircase.

Growing smaller

And smaller

Until it vanished from sight

Leaving Emerald all alone in the ebon darkness.

Locked out of the Archives.

20. The Stair of the Mountain

The Substitute Librarian
The Stair of the Mountain

There was a certain fear that came with darkness, particularly the kind of darkness where you could not see a hoof in front of your face. Amplify that by leaning over a banister with an immense drop just one twitch away, and the distinct click of a locking mechanism on the door right behind, and then add in the sensation of wind coming up from below as one might feel when falling to death…

Emerald might have widdled. Maybe a few drops. Just to mark his position in the darkness.

It suddenly became very important not to move with any speed. Emerald settled for not moving at all, listening to the fading noises of the falling lantern a long, long distance below. He had no interest in following it, at any speed.

One very slow motion at a time, Emerald reversed his steps until his rump was up against the library sliding door. It took quite some time in the dark for him to grope around for a knob or lever, or just about anything on this side of the locked portal before giving up the search as useless. It made sense, after all. Evacuations would take place from Canterlot to a safe refuge, or at least somewhere away from whatever had caused the evacuation. Allowing ponies to come back by climbing the stairs would allow them into areas where they really did not belong, unless they were lost graduate students who accidentally got locked into the stairwell in which case somepony should have thought of this!

Nothing like this had ever happened before he went to Ponyville on that stupid library-sitting job. Maybe this was the universe’s way of kicking him because he took his name off the volunteer list.

“Hello?” called out Emerald on the odd chance that the universe might be feeling generous and might cut him a break for once. “Is anypony out there? Anybody useful, that is. Anypony except a mare looking for a husband, that is,” he added out of reasonable caution, because the universe might be feeling exceptionally perverse instead.

After a long period spent counting heartbeats and the perverse feeling that there was some sort of dance band playing in an upper level that he could barely hear out of the corner of one ear, he added, “Okay, even if you’re looking for a husband, we can talk.”

There was still no answer other than echoes, so he provided his own response while picking ever so slowly up the stairs in search of another more openable door. “So, how did you and mom meet?” he muttered. “Oh, she found me wandering around in the pitch darkness like an idiot, and I decided marriage was slightly better than starving to death. And they said being a little overweight was a bad thing. HA! I have supplies to survive down here for days. Maybe even a week.”

By the time he reached three landings up, Emerald had quit complaining out loud, but he was making a list of ponies who needed a good kicking. Engineers who developed an entire series of evacuation stairs inside the mountain without including unhorned light sources for example. Fire door manufacturers who did not include a way to set off the alarms from outside the thick locked door, with a convenient glowing button to be pressed by trapped ponies. At least there were tall banister rails between him and the air shaft, but that only stood to reason, because when the staircase was full of evacuating ponies, one accidental bump had the potential of killing dozens and terrifying all the rest.

The only problem in his upward exploration—other than pitch darkness—was that this giant staircase was not the only staircase. There were other branches that forked up in their own directions, leaving Emerald zig-zagging back and forth on his vain search for a loose door that could be perhaps jimmied open or banged on until somepony noticed… It was not going well.

After a certain number of identical unresponsive doors thick enough to guard bank safes, Emerald determined it was really not going well.

“Up has failed me,” he muttered. “Time to give down a chance.”

If nothing else, down was easier, and ever so slightly familiar. In short order, he worked his way back down to his point of origin, which was identifiable by the faint scent of urine. In addition, the longer Emerald was in the lightless void, the more he could see a faint glimmer just ever so barely beneath his eye’s focus. It was a mystery until he put his eye to the wall and squinted, allowing the tiny glints to become more obvious as bits and pieces of mica or quartz.

Since he needed to visit the little stallion’s room, and there were none in the immediate vicinity, he arranged himself as discreetly as possible and took care of business while thinking about his situation. Quartz was ever so slightly pizothaumic, and his silver shoes would bleed off any harmful magical charge, so after doing his business, Emerald moved down several steps and found a good prospective piece of wall as an experimental subject.

Brisk taps against the granite walls did indeed give off ghostly sparks, but did nothing in the way of usable illumination. At least they were proof he had not been struck blind, and could provide a useful experiment to relate for his other young students once he had made his escape.

Walking down was easier, too. Not effortless, but far more effective than sliding down the banister and falling off and landing a thousand feet below in a shattered puddle of bone fragments and blood. One step at a time was fine, although slower once he considered the possibility of a broken section of staircase that could deposit him in that same puddle et al…

After all, gravity did not play fair. Several months ago, Emerald had climbed the mountain with Picker’s wagon bouncing along behind him, and it had been a tolerable chore. Seeing where he was going made the journey enjoyable and provided a distraction from measuring every step. Moving one hoof at a time in the darkness with the dread of not finding the next step made every muscle taut, and guaranteed a stumble at every landing. Counting steps between landings would have been a rational approach to avoid a number of painful falls, but he was concentrating more on the idea of a much longer fall and sudden stop, as above, et al...

Other than the lack of doors anymore, there was really no way to know how far down Emerald had traveled before he took a break and sat down on the cold stone. His senses were starting to play tricks on him, with the odd wisps of faint music that his hoofsteps were blocking out and the ever so faint glitter of sparkles in the corners of his eyes, but there were tendons in his legs that fairly demanded a break from his tip-toe-first-check-for-a-step-just-in-case descent.

“Who would have thought it was harder to go down the mountain than up,” he muttered quietly to himself while trying to rub the painful ligaments. “A firepole, that would really be the way to go. Or not,” he reconsidered at the practicality of the thought, and the eternally long slide. “Escalators, maybe.”

Getting back up was painful, but not as painful as simply remaining where he was and eventually starving to death, so Emerald sucked it up and continued. And continued. And continued.

Eventually, every time Emerald put down a hoof, he could actually see the light put out by piezothaumic reactions in the granite, and his eyes had adapted so much to the darkness that the wan light actually made shadows flicker on the walls. Due to the ebon darkness enfolding him, the lack of any other stimuli while walking gave each faint glimmer its own special motion, a friendly indication that he was actually moving instead of some sort of infernal exercise device, designed to cripple him.

So when Emerald stopped on one of the landings for one of his frequent rest breaks, his heart nearly pounded out of his chest when the ever-so-faint flicker of illumination he could just barely see…

Moved.

21. The Young Mare of the Mountain

The Substitute Librarian
The Young Mare of the Mountain

There comes a time in every young stallion’s life where they regret each and every horror movie they’ve ever seen, both the ones they snuck into when far too young, and the more recent ones with even better special effects. In particular, the ones that leap to mind are any where the monster is hidden in some dark and spooky location, and does not have the common courtesy to show itself to the camera right away. A wealth of cinematic experience accumulated over several years is able to be replayed through the modern miracle of adrenaline overload, such that every scene, every blood-dripping knife, every fanged monster, flashes across the eye with a vividness that directors would die to be able to replicate on the screen.

Emerald’s family had a history of heart problems.

For a fraction of an eternity in the engulfing darkness of the immense stairwell, Emerald was absolutely positive that meant he no longer had to worry about starving to death.

Most ponies would run away from something that caused them fear. Emerald was not most ponies. He had been blessed (or cursed) with an overwhelming curiosity toward dangerous magical things. While spiders, snakes, and husband-seeking mares still made him flee as fast as his hooves would carry him, the bellow of an unknown creature or the whizzing-bang of a malfunctioning spell made him stop and look to determine just exactly what creature it was, or precisely how the spell was detonating. He would still be terrified of dangerous things, of course, but at least he would know what he was terrified of, and just exactly what the best approach was in order to maximize his chances for survival. Since he had considered himself to be the only pony in the emergency evacuation staircase for what seemed like most of a day’s descent but was probably only a few hours, his scrambled mind promptly arranged the possibilities in the most rational format.

The cause of the unexplained light is:
☐ — A malfunctioning lighting device
☐ — A rescue team
☐ — A malfunctioning lighting device carried by a rescue team
☐ — Another lost pony (malfunctioning lighting device optional)
☐ — Unexplained natural phenomena worthy of a quick look and that’s all
☐ — Monster (see subtypes A-M, Subterranean, Carnivorous, Hungry
☐ — Creature not identifiable as monster, or herbivorous, or even vegitative
☑ — A vengeful Twilight Sparkle, hunting down a particular book-pulper

Admittedly, he did not really expect to encounter Twilight Sparkle in the pitch-black mountain stairwell, but it was best to be prepared for the worst. Besides, the Element of Magic would generate a much brighter light, or at least right before he was hit by the magic beam that would turn him into glowing library dust.

The light was either brighter than he expected or his eyes had adapted to the dark. It took several landings worth of slowing steps before the source became more visible in a way that slowed his hammering heart and nearly made him laugh out loud.

☑ — Loose lightning bugs

All of the blinking insects had survived the fall, escaped from the dropped lantern, and were glowing on the walls of the last landing where the stairs turned into a large flat area. The fate of the lantern was fairly obvious and widespread, leaving a few thousand tiny glitters of shattered glass among the golden flecks of mica in the surrounding granite. It was kind of beautiful in a glad-it-is-not-me way, although the twisted metal of the lantern housing was ugly and sharp, so he dismissed the idea of carrying it along with him to the eventual exit at the bottom of the mountain. Besides, the Deep Storage sub-section of the Archives probably would not give him any of the damage deposit back anyway.

A long and extensive examination of what little of the area he could see by the light of scattered bug-butts showed there was nothing more ‘down’ where the huge square stairwell ended than the solid stone landing. A massive arched tunnel stretched onward to one side, with an upraised section where a guide would stand during a real evacuation, shouting directions to move along and not crowd. Most likely, another stairwell awaited at the end of the tunnel, a clever engineering trick to keep the size of the evacuation segments manageable. After all, one huge stairwell from the top of the mountain to the bottom was a single-point failure, while a few dozen parallel staircases with interconnecting tunnels could suffer the loss of several components and still allow all of the Canterlot residents to evacuate safely.

Engineering critiques. It’s my father’s influence. Admittedly, it’s not a bad influence…

Since there still was a brisk breeze blowing out of the massive tunnel, and he could see unlit arrow-shaped unicorn lighting devices along the sides, his path onward was obvious, but the sensation of having at least some light made Emerald stop for a brief break.

“You know,” he mused to himself since he was the only one there, and he did know, “if I had a light, these stairs wouldn’t be a bad exercise routine. I mean I can’t give up half-way through unless I want to wind up starving right where I am now. Total commitment, after all. Of course, I’d have to leave word with somebody so search and rescue knows where to look in case I fall down and break my neck, but other than that trivial detail, this is going to be good for me.” He stretched one leg and tried not to wince at the sensation of white-hot wires running up his thighs. “Of course, I should have started with a smaller staircase,” he added once he could talk to himself again.

It was a shame there was no way to gather up the lightning bugs, but he had no place to put them. It was also a shame that there was no flashlight just sitting there, either. Or a rescue team with their own cute pegamedics, as long as he was fantasizing. Or maybe not, because the low rush of moving air was fairly good at hiding most normal noise behind a soft hush, but it did not conceal a quiet tap-tap-tap of something moving a short distance away.

~~☐ — Loose lightning bugs in tap shoes~~

There was a fair appeal to just running as fast as he could down the dark tunnel to the next staircase, but as Emerald sat stock-still and focused on his hearing, something deep inside him wanted to see what it was. After all, if he was going to tell this story to his future Canterlot students as a prime example of stupid decisionmaking, making them afraid of the evacuation route would be a terrible long-term result. So that reduced his list somewhat to more hopeful entries:

☐ — Another lost pony without a light
☐ — Unexplained harmless natural phenomena worthy of a quick look and that’s all
☐ — Monster (see subtypes N-Z, Subterranean, Harmless)

The noise appeared to be coming from one of the side-chambers off the stairs that he had to think of as ‘resting spots’ for the evacuees or ‘gasping spots’ to be more accurate for himself. Moving carefully in that direction, just barely able to make out the walls from the flickering of a few fireflies, Emerald tried his best not to make any more noise than possible.

Well, other than managing to ram his nose into an unseen dark wall.

“Ouch!” he yelped.

The noise stopped while he was holding his nose, which was better than a terrifying roar, at least.

“I’m sorry,” he added out of reflex and entirely too many unicorn etiquette lessons while growing up. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

Sometimes, doing the right thing by accident is just a matter of luck. An ever-so-faint hornlight began to illuminate the other end of the cavernous room, revealing a frightened unicorn mare who was looking in his direction. He could not make out many more details due to the glare of the light, which his dark-adapted eyes were taking with considerable tearing-up and blinking, but she at least did not look like some sort of terrible monster. Although, she could be single, so he was not completely at ease with her presence.

“My name is Emerald,” he continued in his most polite voice, realizing that the room only had one exit, and he was standing in it. “I was trapped in the stairwell when a door closed behind me, and I was walking down to the exit. Are you… lost?”

There was no response from the young unicorn other than to keep looking at him with her huge violet eyes illuminated by glowing hornlight. It was better than if she was firing magic spells at him, or attempting to drag him into a wedding, but still not quite what he was looking for.

Well, to be honest, at this point in time Emerald was looking for a lantern, but she was glowing, so that was close enough for now.

“If you would care to walk with me,” he continued carefully, “we can go down the stairs together until we’re outside. Or if there is an open door upstairs you know about, we can go there, if you would like. Either way.”

There was still no response, and if it were not for the light, Emerald thought he might have accidentally been talking to a statue.

“No pressure,” he said, placing his rump on the cool stone of the floor, with more than a few uncomfortable adjustments due to abused tendons and muscles. “I can talk, if you want. I’m good at talking.”

No response.

“Or listening,” he suggested.

Still no response. It made determining the identity of the quiet unicorn rather difficult:

☐ — Lost pony
☐ — Crazy pony (may or may not be lost)
☑ — It doesn’t matter. She has a light.

The silent response did narrow down his options:

☐ — Leave pony here and go on alone
☐ — Carry pony down the stairs (and probably break neck doing so)
☑ — Talk her into the trip. Be nice. Be charming. Offer her anything except a wedding ring.

“Ma’am, I really need to get downstairs and leave this place,” started Emerald with a slow but measured pace forward, and aimed slightly to one side of the young mare so as not to spook her. “It’s not safe for either of us to be wandering around in the dark, and I would be honored to offer my assistance as an escort to the exit. We can proceed at your pace and rest whenever you wish.” He drew up alongside the young mare, who was rather shorter than himself and built remarkably like Twilight Sparkle, only glittering.

It was extraordinarily rare to find a Crystal pony this far south, and unicorns of that type were even more rare, but the combination seemed to make up a hundred percent of the species canterlotus subterraneanes unicornes. He extended one elbow in a dignified fashion that any of his tutors would have found acceptable and nodded in the direction of the room’s exit.

“M’lady, if you would care to accompany me?”

The young mare did not seem to know what to do with his extended elbow, which was fine because Emerald did not want to go three-legged down the rest of the stairs anyway. She moved forward rather slowly, with her awkward partner staying right beside her.

If Emerald was going to be remotely honest with himself, the unwanted concept of ‘ghost’ had come up in the back of his mind several times during his mental argument, but the young mare’s coat was quite real against his sides with the occasional totally incidental touching he did. She was slightly more cool than he expected, but he presumed she had been down in the stone cavern for quite some time, and the natural slot of ‘undead monster’ in his mind was nothing he really wanted to face either.

“If you’re cold, I could give you my vest,” he offered during their slow walk back out to the stairwell landing. “No?” he added as she shook her head. “Well, it’s probably not that comfortable anyway. I keep the pockets full of children's toys for unicorn education. Well, they think they’re toys. Professionally, they’re field strength estimators and agility evaluators, but I like the ones that entertain children at the same time. Like… um… that,” he finished as the young unicorn’s hornlight brightened by some small fraction, and all the fireflies that had escaped when his lantern shattered began to float toward her.

It was unexpected, but the smallest amount of actual thinking made the mare’s reasoning obvious. “Oh, you want to take the fireflies with us. Of course. If we just leave them here, they’d wander around in the darkness until they di— Wait up just a second!” Emerald had to quicken his pace to catch up with the mare, who had begun to walk down the windy tunnel at a fair pace. It was nice to know she cared about the fireflies, but his ego was feeling a little squished at not getting the same consideration as glowing insects.

Thankfully, the end of the breezy tunnel opened up to another huge downward stairwell, larger than the previous one, most probably due to other tunnels converging onto the same spot. With a light source, even as dim as the young lady’s hornlight and the excited fireflies, the true beauty of the place spread out around them. Tiny flecks of mica in the granite shed a constellation-like quality to their walk down the stairs, and released enough tightness around his chest that he began talking again, even if she did not respond more than the occasional glance.

It was probably a release of nervous tension, combined with the excitement of finding a Crystal unicorn in this most unlikely of places, but once he began talking again, he did not want to stop. He told her about his goal of teaching young unicorns their first magic, and how his first steps along that path were shaping up, as well as Firelock’s untapped talent because everypony deserved a little forewarning even if being introduced to a unicorn with that name should have been warning enough. It was about half-way down the second set of stairs before a pesky detail that should have been taken care of before raised its head, and he had to ask the question he had forgotten up to this point.

“Pardon me, m’lady. I’m afraid I missed your name.”

“Name?” echoed the young mare, coming to a stop on the stairs and causing Emerald to stop too before he ran into her glittering flanks. “You want to know my name?”

It was the first words he had heard her speak so far, and if he had not already been stopped on the stairs, he most certainly would have stumbled to a halt at the melodious harmony of her voice, like a delicate crystal bell choir in full song. His own voice was like a bunch of croaking frogs in comparison, and Emerald was suddenly ashamed of his own meaningless babble, but not so ashamed that he refused to answer her reasonable question.

“Yes, please, m’lady,” he managed with as much attention to his pronunciation as possible. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

The crystal unicorn’s lips pursed ever so slightly in thought and she nodded. “Yes. We have. You mopped the tree. Very careful. No puddles.”

“Oh,” said Emerald with a rush of released tension. “You were in the library while I was mopping that day. I must have been so busy I missed you. Is… ah… Ponyville your home?”

There was another brief thoughtful pause, and she nodded before starting to descend the stairs again. It at least gave them something to talk about during the descent, or something for Emerald to talk about and her to nod occasionally.

The only problem was that Emerald continued to think while he was walking. Little puzzle pieces that refused to meet up along the corners and bits of gossip that he had accumulated from young unicorns mixed together into a strange shape that gave his mind a terrible conundrum and nearly made him stumble several times on the stairs. Eventually, it became too much to bear, and Emerald moved to block her path forward when they reached one of the innumerable landings, which gave him a place to talk without the possibility of rolling down the stairs.

“Just a moment, m’lady. I have to ask you something extremely important, and I know it doesn’t match up with any story, so I really should wait until we’re outside, but I have to.” Emerald took a deep breath, looked the unicorn in her glittering violet eyes, and asked, “You’re not a pony, are you?”

Several blinks later, the crystal unicorn tilted her head slightly to one side and asked, “Why do you ask?”

“A number of things. For example, you’re colder than a real pony, you don’t blink unless you’re looking at me, and you don’t breathe except when you’re talking.” Emerald took a quick breath of his own. “More importantly, you are so unique that if you had actually been in Ponyville, somepony would have certainly mentioned you. So I would really like to hear the rest of your story.”

“You think I’m a story?” asked the mare with her head still tilted to one side.

“Compared to some of the movies I’ve seen, that would certainly be a relief, but I was thinking more of an opera,” said Emerald. “My first thought since we are beneath the city would have been The Phantom, except I’ve never been able to sing while wearing a mask. Or Don Rocinante if you would be willing to play the part of my dedicated servant, Pinto. M’lady, with a voice like yours, I certainly hope you sing.”

“I… can,” admitted the crystal unicorn.

“Wonderful,” declared Emerald with one hoof held across his chest. “Our remaining journey shall be a time of great merriment and song as the intrepid young teacher and the mysterious beautiful mare proceed through the rest of our story, not resting until we emerge into the light of Day at the end. If this is indeed a story, you are a main character, and I am ever grateful to be in your presence.”

“So I’m a character in a story?” asked the glittering mare, only with the most puzzled expression on her beautiful face. “What kind of character do you think I am?”

“Oh, we are all characters in our own stories, m’lady. We live our lives guided by our own actions— if we are lucky—leaving behind a trail of memories that guide the future actions we take. What kind of character we are is up to us, and the list of available options is endless, m’lady. Even if you discount any horror movies, there are no end of stories where the handsome prince—which is supposed to be me in this—finds a mysterious mare in the course of his quest to recover a magic sword or free a kingdom from a curse. They meet by accident, or he rescues her from a terrible monster, and they travel together for some time. Some of the stories have songs involved, although I’ve never seen the appeal of singing in a Dark Forest where it might attract monsters. Anyway, in some of the stories the mysterious mare makes the prince swear not to ask her a specific question, or maybe never to look at her when she has her veil removed, and when he does—”

The crystal unicorn’s eyes had grown quite wide, and when Emerald did not supply any more words, she asked, “Then?”

Emerald shrugged. “Sometimes she turns into a monster, or in the more sedate stories she turns into seafoam or a pile of dry leaves. I think the story is supposed to make young stallions not ask future spouses too many questions. Most pony stories have similar themes so young minds can be appropriately moulded by older and more experienced teachers. Then there are students like me who like to turn these stories upside-down to see what makes them tick. The older teachers don’t like that very much,” he added. “Curiosity is to be rewarded, but not too much curiosity. So do you know what you are?”

“I… Yes. I’m Harmony,” said the unicorn after some brief consideration.

“Wonderful!” Emerald beamed and held out a hoof. “So good to meet you, Harmony. I’m Emerald, and I used to be a substitute librarian at Ponyville.”

The timid Crystal unicorn, or at least that was what Emerald was determined to keep thinking of her as, touched his hoof with hers, then looked totally baffled when he gestured for them to continue their path down the stairs. “But…”

“I think it only fair to let this story write itself,” said Emerald. “If you would care to accompany me the rest of the way downstairs, m’lady, I would appreciate it, not only for your brilliant personality, but… I’d appreciate the company as well as the light,” he added when Harmony looked puzzled. “I get convoluted and go straight over the top when I’m nervous. If you haven’t noticed.”

“Do I make you nervous?” asked Harmony as she started walking down the stairs at his side.

“Slightly. All ponies are trained from foalhood to distrust things they do not understand,” said Emerald. “Both instinct and a whole series of stories we are taught as we grow up shape our reactions to the unknown. I read many stories, from all kinds of species. I love hearing new stories.”

“I really don’t know very many,” admitted the young mare of whatever species.

“You deserve to know all of the stories,” said Emerald with a dramatic flourish of one hoof which nearly made him trip down the stairs. “We are beneath the most cultured place in Equestria. You have the resources of a gigantic library of unequaled size, within a short stroll of Theatre Row where there are at least a dozen different plays every night. Emerge into the open and handsome stallions will vie for your slightest attention, willing to take you dancing or dining as you desire. Or if you prefer a more academic experience, I’m positive Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns would welcome you as a student, where you can learn all about magic and its application to our daily lives.”

Emerald paused, catching a glimpse of Harmony’s wide frightened eyes.

“Or we could continue to talk while we travel, just the two of us,” he quickly added. “I am at your disposal, no matter who or what you are. I thank you, m’lady for your presence in this dark time of mine. It is certainly good fortune that brought you to my side, and I only hope that I can repay your generosity. And speaking from the point of view of a teacher, I would love to hear about you.”

“Well…” Harmony hesitated before reluctantly admitting, “You did tell me about yourself.”

Emerald nodded. “In probably far too much detail, so I’m willing to be quiet and listen for a while.”

* * *

The rest of the trip down the stairs was conducted at a slower pace, and not just because Emerald’s muscles were complaining with every step. He would have been willing to walk down a thousand staircases to listen while Harmony talked, no matter how much pain he had to endure. Curiosity was a dangerous quality in a pony, and Emerald had it in abundance. Knowledge about history was a rare and precious gift, and Harmony had a vast collection of mental treasures, despite her modesty.

They got along quite well.

Naturally, there was not enough time to fully explore her historical knowledge during their short remaining time descending the immense staircase, but Emerald was beginning to reconsider his rather impractical objection to marriage, at least in theory. In practice, going to his parents and introducing Harmony would be rather… interesting. After all, Father had a heart condition, and Mother really wanted grandfoals.

“And there is our destination,” said Emerald reluctantly. With the grandiose scale of the staircase/ventilation shaft, he had thought the exit would be a similarly immense portal with huge doors that neither of them would be able to push open. Instead, muffled sunlight streamed through a screened atrium that stretched upward for quite some distance overhead, but the actual exit for ponies was a dozen double-wide wooden doors that would have been able to accommodate a pair of wagons each, and still have space for a traffic pony to move things along. It looked more like a concert entrance than something designed for an entire fleeing city of panicked ponies, but there were probably several more like it at the bottoms of the other staircases, and it took little mental effort to imagine what the area would be like if actually used for what it was intended.

Packed nose to tail as far as the eye can see.

It was all just so ordinary that until Emerald pushed on the mechanical bar of the closest door and felt it actually open, he really had problems believing the reality of his trip. The blinding light of direct Sun making tears stream down his cheeks and the fresh scent of springtime air helped him recognize reality. So did the stream of fireflies headed past his ear in search of warm fields of sunlit grass and the first mosquito that landed on his back, triggering an instinctive tail-swat in return.

“After you, m’lady.” It was supposed to be a noble gesture, since Emerald had moved forward toward the door first and was standing like a doorstop to hold it open, but since he was temporarily blinded by the outside light, he really did not trust himself to move more than perhaps a hoofwidth in either direction without falling down. “I know you haven’t had much experience with Ponyville, but I’m willing to take a week or two off from school in order to show you around. You’ll just love Sugarcube Corner—if you eat pastries, that is—and I’m positive the Cutie Mark Crusaders will ask you about your Mark, so you should probably be ready for that. Oh, and Pinkie Pie likes to throw a party for everypony who comes to town, so if you see something moving in a high-speed pink blur, don’t worry. So far, I’ve managed to avoid the experience, but I’ve been told it’s inevitable. I can also introduce you to Twilight Sparkle, since she is…”

Emerald trailed off as the world came back into watery focus, with him holding open the door and nopony else in the vicinity, either Crystal unicorn or bemused bystander.

“Miss Harmony?”

Emerald really did not want to go back into the stairwell and look for Harmony because he was not positive he would be able to get back out again. Besides, Emerald had been quite specific in their conversation about not forcing the young Crystal mare into any uncomfortable situation, which in hindsight fairly defined Ponyville. He stood and looked around anyway, since there was no real time pressure, but the only sign she had ever been there was a single book sitting on the spring grass.

“There are no coincidences,” murmured Emerald as he leafed through the book, then slipped it into his saddlebag next to the untouched bottle of apple juice and the granola bar. “Then again, from what I know now, Harmony exists everywhere at once. She could have been in the library archives and retrieving the book at the same time she was walking down the stairs with me. Or I wonder if she picked the book up first before…”

The whole consequences of his recent conversation opened up before Emerald like the well-oiled jaws of a trap. He had just now discovered a secret that was known to only two other living ponies. And a large number of dead ones.

“Of course the Princesses know about her,” he managed through the beginnings of a full panic attack. “And since they know, and it is not common knowledge, they don’t want anypony else to know. They can’t let anypony else know. And I do now. The only way they could keep a secret like this is to ki—”

By that point, Emerald was gasping for breath so hard he could not talk to himself. Marriage was only a minor inconvenience compared to the concept of facing both Princesses of Equestria once and only once more. Things were getting blurry, and Emerald had to stagger forward into the tall grass to breathe with his thoughts whipped into a froth. Curiosity had never gotten him into trouble before, because there was always something that kept the consequences away. Now curiosity was about to end him, because there was no way he could keep his mouth shut with a secret this big trapped in his hornless head…

…before the ground came up and hit him.

22. The Memoria of the Mountain Mare

The Substitute Librarian
The Memoria of the Mountain Mare

... slightly earlier

It was strange when Harmony slowed her pace down the stairs to take a short but intent glance at Emerald’s rear. The direct observation felt just ever so slightly like he was back in Canterlot at one of the elite parties his parents kept dragging him to, but did not dent his cheerful mood. Thankfully, she did not look as if she were figuring out what parts of him she would need to change after the wedding, but was considering a more serious topic, made only more obvious by her next question.

“I’ve seen many cutie marks, but none like yours. How does it relate to your special talent?”

Complimenting a griffon on her smooth feathers was a sure way to make her push out her chest and fluff up like a happy puffball. Asking Emerald about his favorite subject worked much the same way, only with more talking.

“I got my Mark at Celestia’s school as a volunteer assistant during entrance exams,” he admitted not-so-reluctantly. “I was helping the young students awaiting their turn, including my little sister. They were all understandably nervous, so I talked to them and calmed them down, got them focused, and helped them practice their magic a little before they went into the testing room. When the last one went inside, I found out I had this.” He wriggled his rump, which made the small white bits of fur around his stubby unicorn horn Mark move as if it was actually casting a failed spell.

“So your Mark is in foalsitting?” she asked.

“Teaching,” countered Emerald. “That was about… Oh, ten years ago. The students spread the word to their friends, and I had young unicorns asking for my help with their magic ever since. I’ve even helped a few young pegasi, but no earth ponies yet. I lost track of how many cutie marks I’ve seen since then. I don’t actually give Marks,” he quickly added. “Nopony can. The students get them on their own. I just give them a little nudge in the right direction.”

“You’ve been doing this on your own for ten years,” said Harmony. “Have you been injured?”

“Just once, and nothing serious. Being a geranium for an hour or so is oddly relaxing, but young unicorns normally don’t have the magical field depth to maintain a transformation for very long.” He stopped on the stair landing so he could touch one ear and fold it forward. “See. There’s always the danger of nibbling, but you can hardly see the bite. That’s one of the reasons I love teaching children. I’ve heard so many horror stories from other unicorns who had something terrible happen to ponies around them when they managed their first spell. Something like that can scar somepony for life, and since I’ve gotten so good at avoiding injury, it would be a disservice to not help the children with their early magic.”

Taking a few steps around the landing to stretch his aching tendons, Emerald looked around the vast open space of the stairwell with a deep breath. “Teaching is a lot like today has been so far. There’s a dangerous surprise you can never expect around every corner, but it’s worth it in the end. You see, young unicorns who are just coming into their magic have no idea what they can’t do, so that first magical burst can be more powerful than adults can ever manage. That’s one reason my parents are so set against my career, I suppose. Magic is dangerous.”

“Yes.” Harmony thought on her words for a few moments and added, “I may never understand it. I’ve found it complicated and frustrating, also quite dangerous at times, but worth the effort so far.”

“Like mares,” said Emerald with a nod. “Or Twilight Sparkle, who is both a mare and quite dangerous.”

“I thought you were willing to face danger to protect unicorns from their own uncontrolled magic,” said Harmony. “Twilight Sparkle is a unicorn who would benefit from somepony to calm her down and give her a little nudge—”

“Not on my checklist,” said Emerald, turning for the next set of downward stairs. “Twilight Sparkle has her friends for that, and a young dragon. Besides, how in the world could a mere earth pony protect the most powerful unicorn in Equestria?”

His light source did not move, so Emerald paused at the top step without heading down into the inky darkness where most likely he would trip and roll all the way to the bottom of the mountain. Harmony looked at him with a peculiar tilt to her head, glittering in the illumination of her horn like a collection of precious jewels and not saying a word.

“You think my Mark might protect me from magic?” he asked after a time. “It… could be. It would explain a lot, but I want to teach young unicorns their first magic, and I don’t want to work in my father’s magical widget factory. Those are my decisions, and my Mark has nothing to do with them.”

“Perhaps,” admitted Harmony as she moved forward and the two of them began descending the stairs again.

* * *

The grass under his chest was softer than a mattress and Sun was comfortable on Emerald’s bare back, with a cool spot where his saddlebags blocked the blessed warmth. Alas, it could not last. Muscles that he had never known existed protested in vain when Emerald pulled himself up, but it was afternoon Sun, and there was still quite a distance to walk before he reached the Ponyville train station.

“Up, you lazy bum, before you sunburn your rear,” he muttered, getting his aching legs centered under his body, then turning to face his objective. “Got my book,” he confirmed with a quick peek into his saddlebags, “and closed the door behind me so the city doesn’t track me down and fine me. Should have enough bits for the train back to Canterlot, so all that’s left is a short, flat walk through Ponyville over there.”

There was a faint cloud of dust rising from said town, with the feminine cry of “I want it!” drifting on the breeze.

“Or better yet around the town so I don’t meet anypony before I reach the station.” He eyed the cloud of dust. “Quickly.”

A few stretches helped calm the red-hot wires of stressed tendons from the awkward trip down the lengthy dark staircase, but there was no firefly lantern in his immediate vicinity no matter how hard Emerald looked.

“It has to be here somewhere,” muttered Emerald, checking behind a low clump of grass. “I remember having a light source on the stairs. I had to be using a light or I’d still be creeping down one step at a time. Maybe…”

For just a moment, Emerald thought of a glowing Crystal unicorn with him in the pitch-black staircase, but he gave his empty head a shake to clear it of the cotton wool clogging it. “No, there’s no imaginary library ghost in the mountain like I told the children in Ponyville. Don’t be stupid. I’ve got things to do back at school, so I better get to it.”

Emerald took one last look at the row of thick wooden doors which were all securely closed, and none of which had the Canterlot Archives rental lantern coincidentally sitting nearby. Twenty more bits down the infinite hole of his educational expenses, and the fine would only grow the longer he sat here, so Emerald started a brisk, pained trot in the direction of a path around the nearby town and to the train that would take him back to his life in Canterlot.

He never noticed the glow around his cutie mark slowly fade while he traveled.

23. Never Volunteer

Substitute Archivist
Never Volunteer

“Should. Have taken. The elevator.”

No matter how much he was overheating, Emerald could not stop on the Archive tower’s ramp because he was fairly certain he would just be stuck there until somepony dragged him off. At least he did not have to worry about slipping down to the bottom of the tower and rolling the rest of the way back to Celestia’s school because of the friction spell on the ramp. It was both a blessing and a curse, which was why he was carrying the heavy boxes instead of pushing the enormous pile of cardboard and supplies ahead of him.

Why is it always stairs?

Spring was turning out to be warmer than he expected, which would have been a good thing except his winter coat did not believe it and had not even begun to shed yet. Therefore, Emerald had decided to do this task just as early in the morning as possible while leaving his ~~toy-stuffed vest~~ youth education and magic evaluation tool collection behind in his fraternity room. Of course he was still wearing his threadbare hat, because some things were more important than practicality, but the warmth of early Sun was starting to send trickles of sweat down through his thick green coat, from his forehead to his flanks to mark the cardboard boxes he carried with faint damp patches.

“Never. Volunteer.”

This time of morning was when Emerald normally went jogging for his health, enjoying the warmth of a Sun that had just barely started to peek over the horizon to start the Day also. Health was more important to him than ever, particularly since he had that short stint of volunteering at the Ponyville library. For a few Moons, there had been a fair certainty that he would need to make his escape from the town as fast as he could run, and getting that pace up from ‘panting with a slow trot’ to ‘a brisk gallop for at least a short distance’ was an ongoing goal.

After all, there was a good reason he was not volunteering in the Ponyville library any more. That small and nearby town had six unmarried mares who bore the Elements of Harmony, and even if four of them were not unicorns, his parents would turn cartwheels of joy if he were to be paired up with any Bearer. He would much rather run away as fast as he could manage. Ever since he had taken his name off the school’s volunteer sheet for librarian substituting, he had breathed a little easier. After all, he only had a few more months of school before diving into his student teaching, and the near-misses he had with Miss Sparkle and her merry band of misfits were distractions he dared not entertain at this point in his fledgling teaching career.

Without a horn to use as a prybar to wedge open the door to any other career opportunity, Emerald was willing to risk anything to advance toward becoming a Unicorn Magic Teacher II (Introductory to Intermediate). Extra credit was not just a good idea, it was mandatory to bring his final grades up to the level where he would stand out among the herd of graduating unicorn teachers, and therefore have a chance at the relatively scattered beginning magic teacher positions that opened up in larger towns every year. Since Emerald was no longer on the Ponyville library volunteer list, that meant his extra credit points could only come from volunteering for additional undergraduate-level tasks around the university on weekends when ordinary ponies took some time off.

The view from this altitude of the Archive tower would have been more appreciated if the ramp had actual railings, but since industrious magic students studying the spellbooks inside tended to try out newly discovered spells where they found them, the tower was in a constant state of reassembly. Construction workers metaphorically battled against deconstruction students, and railings seemed to be a recent casualty of the conflict, although the ramp did not have any fresh gaps.

Yet.

He brushed one shoulder against the tower wall, and kept his eyes down but open while climbing. That helped keep his mind off the impressive drop to the other side, and the loud splat he would make if he fell.

It took a while to catch his breath at the top of the ramp. Thankfully, there was a lot of breath around to catch, since he had just about run out of up on the way here, and the broad balcony with the comfortable bench was the perfect place for him to reconsider his morning task. It also let him actually look at the way the city spread around below him in a way that earth ponies normally did not get to do, except perhaps when falling to their death.

Taking inventory of the heavy box full of folded cardboard boxes and tape was not high on Emerald’s list of things to do this morning. If there was anything not in the box he had been given an hour ago, somepony else could walk down to the ground level and get it. This was time to sit back, enjoy the breeze, perhaps lean out and take a nibble of the greenery cascading over the balcony’s ornate edges… No, maybe not that. Certainly not that.

His eyes wandered to the nearby minaret, set aside the narrowing Archive tower with enough space for five or six ponies to live in style. Canterlot rental style, that is, since apartment space rented in bits per hoofwidth.

Supposedly, there had only been one old buzzard living here who had been pried out of her Archivist job, but he had absolutely zero interest in applying for the position and taking over her glorious perch. This position was about the antithesis of his life’s goal, far away from young unicorns who pressed up against the edge of their new talents in frantic need of wise adult advice. Or at least the unwise advice of a snarky green earth pony who was more of a child at heart than an adult on the outside.

“Boxes delivered. Task complete,” murmured Emerald under his breath as he stood back up. If the school had wanted him to stick around and help the elderly librarian pack her things, they would have asked, and offered more extra credit points. Certainly there were no end of young librarian assistants who would be willing to risk brief Sun exposure to assist, and if he leaned out just a tiny little bit, he could see the very bottom of the tower’s steps where they—

No, it was better to just sit on the bench.

There did not seem to be any other ponies starting their climb anyway, so if he started down now, he would probably meet the old biddy and her minions before the very bottom, and in the rare possibility there was an attractive young mare in the bunch, he would have to find an excuse to hike all the way back up here. Then again, if he was lounging on a bench when they arrived, he would be indistinguishable from any other lazy scion of a noble unicorn House, and most probably gifted with mutual scorn from their whole feminine herd.

Of course, there was always the brass token that R.L. had shoved across the desk at him an hour ago with the muttered instructions of “An’ water the plants while y’r up there afore they dry up.” The greenery around the edge of the broad balcony probably qualified as plants, although the only water he had available was most likely not a socially acceptable method of watering. Which meant the token was probably a key…

The double blue doors opened up soundlessly with a mere touch of the brass token, allowing a breath of cool and dry air to waft past his nose. It smelled of books, ancient texts with unreadable stories trapped inside, notes and undone homework that he really needed to be working on instead of lugging a bunch of boxes to the top of a tower so an old librarian could move out…

Darned responsibility.

The end of this semester would be a nutcracker, with the last courses of his degree in education giving him the key he would need to unlock a career in unicorn education, as opposed to being shackled to a socially ‘acceptable’ mare and working in his father’s factory until he was old and grey. He had all kinds of things he needed to be doing now that his volunteer project was done. Useful things. Studious things. Poking his nose into an old librarian’s apartment was not one of them.

He did it anyway. The scent of books was too tempting, with the faintest whiff of lavender to entice him the rest of the way into the room.

After one step inside, what little breath Emerald had managed to keep as excess after his climb was taken away in a silent huff of air. The library in Ponyville had given him a rough idea of what a librarian’s living quarters should look like, something spartan like a cross between a military barracks and industrial shelving. This was what the living quarters of a Royal Librarian must look like, if there was a Princess of Books anywhere.

The inside of the living quarters looked larger than what would fit into the outside, which could have been a spatial distortion spell, but was more likely the result of clever engineering and illusions, since neither of those had a tendency to torque back upon themselves and take the room contents into a random orthogonal dimension. The school may have been willing to lose an occasional librarian due to spell failure, but repeatedly replacing the opulent furnishings of the suite would have cost them a bundle.

Whatever unicorn architect who had designed the place despised walls. At first glance, the room certainly deserved a second and third glance, along with a few blinks to ensure veracity of the observation. Both the kitchenette and bedroom were exposed fully to any visitors, leading Emerald to the conclusion that this was a private living quarters, or else Librarians led a far more exibitionist lifestyle in secret.

Whoever took this Librarian job next would certainly be an early riser, because the outside walls of the suite appeared almost not there, replaced by what had to be the most realistic illusion of the outside world he had ever seen. Nothing like the stunning bay windows surrounding him had been visible from the outside, so that surface of the minaret had to be just as cloaked with illusions as the inside, only with the opposite intention. The first rays of Sun cascaded through the open area in a brilliant dance, glittering off a few small crystals hanging from the ceiling and bringing light to every section of the room except the bathroom. The brilliant illumination was a far cry from the minimal light let through by two Prench doors in Twilight Sparkle’s austere oak bedroom in Ponyville, or her small bedroom window that had barely enough space for a fern.

He took his time wandering over to the outside wall and looking down at the city. There was no rush, and the apartment only got more beautiful the longer he lingered. It must have had a stunning nighttime view, with Moon up above and the lights of the city scattered out below, although if there was a way to get the view without the exercise, he would have preferred that. And of course, bringing a mare back to spend the night would be the oddest experience, with every nighttime pegasus flying by seeming as if they could watch everything going on in bed.

So I guess librarians really are secret exhibitionists. Who knew?

If Emerald was going to decorate a Canterlot bachelor pad after graduation, he was fairly sure some other elements of the Archivist’s suite were going to find their way into the design. That is, if the salary of a lowly starting Unicorn Magic Teacher could afford something bigger than a time-share closet inside Canterlot. The giant cushion draped over the couch would be a good start. You could never go wrong with a cushion large enough to make into a book-nest, slumped down with limbs sprawled in all directions for an entire morning of reading. Then lunch, a brief bathroom stop, and an entire afternoon of reading. Come to think of it, all he really needed was a cushion and bookshelves, although even his family library was not stuffed the way these shelves had been recently.

Around one side of the room was a tight cluster of floor-to-ceiling shelves with ‘unicorn’ written all over them, since there was also a disturbing lack of ramps to access the top volumes, and only one ladder on the reference section. Even a pegasus librarian would need space to flap, and the way the narrow shelves were packed together would mean shed feathers by the bundle, and a very short flightspan. The scattered contents of the shelves showed that the old Archivist had been removing books for some time, with some sections moved out totally and others still packed in tight rows awaiting their turn in the boxes.

“Maybe stopping by to help the old mare move isn’t such a bad thing after all,” mused Emerald as he browsed the shelf’s selections. “She might have at least put her books in order before retiring, though. Oddest sorting ever, other than Ponyville’s.”

The temptation to lift a few of her volumes and spend the morning reading did occur to him, particularly with the fascinating selection remaining, but he was officially here to work after all. A quick search of the kitchenette found a stoneware pitcher, which he filled partially from the tap, then wandered over to find plants that needed watering in the indoor garden.

“Behold the awesome power of earth pony magic,” he muttered while applying a little water to each plant, a good drink for the short bushes, and sprinkling around as much as he could for the body-length grass patch, which if he had thought about it before watering, would have been a good place to lie down and rest. “No snoozing in the green grass instead of working,” he murmured, putting the last drops from the pitcher into the miniature trees, then heading back to the kitchenette sink to get more water. There were still some tiny bonsai trees in flat pots that needed more precise irrigation, and he was far more careful with them.

“And done. Except for the flowers,” added Emerald. Yet another pitcher of water was needed for that chore, and he nipped a few of the wilted blossoms out of the collection in a rudimentary attempt at arboriculture. A proper earth pony could use their magic to bring some extra perk and bloom out of the neglected flowers, but… Well, it was worth a shot.

The clay flowerpot rasped under his hooves when Emerald held it close, poking his nose into the stems and taking a deep breath, just like he had done so many times at his home’s greenhouse. And now, just as then, his attempts to focus any kind of growing magic into the drooping plant had absolutely no effect.

“At least it didn’t catch on fire,” he mused while putting the pot back into its holder. “I don’t know if that would be better, but at least it would be something for a change. Guess I’m just destined to teach young unicorns.”

He returned the pottery pitcher to the kitchenette with a cheerful whistling, then considered a certain organic issue that needed to be dealt with fairly soon. The suite did have a bathroom, after all, and walking back down the way he came up didn’t.

“Better check first,” he murmured to himself. He could get a good look down from the not-walls next to the kitchenette just in case the old mare was coming up the ramp to interrupt his bathroom break. All he needed to do was put his hornless forehead against the wall and look straight down at the tiny shapes of ponies so far below, just like when his brothers had taken him to the Edge of Canterlot, and he had leaned over the—

”There’s a second town down at the bottom of the mountain,” said Regal, who was standing next to his little brother’s shoulder. “It’s in perpetual shadow, just far enough away from the overhang to keep rocks from crashing down through their tree houses.”

“I don’t see it,” said the young earth pony, who was maintaining his determined squint and keeping all four hooves on the walkway despite the wind trying to knock off his hat.

“I thought Hollow Shades was on the other side of the mountain,” said Graphite to his other side, although the not-that-much-bigger-brother was not quite as adventurous as his earth pony sibling.

“That’s true.” The little earth pony looked some more and shook his head. “There’s nothing but a bunch of treeEEEK!”

Emerald recovered from his fuge in the middle of the apartment, as far away from the illusionary windows as he could get without trampling through the tiny tranquil indoor garden, although he could only stand and tremble for a time afterward. He could still feel the pressure of the hoof on his back, a ‘joke’ that Regal had set up with several of his school friends who had been flying below the cliff to catch him if he had fallen.

His older brother had considered it funny for an extremely short time, because once Emerald had recovered from his fright, he had torn into the older unicorn with a vengeance. Regal was used to being a friendly large fish in a large social pond with other large fish, in the company of important ponies and always at the best parties. Emerald had always been considered meek despite his age-relative larger stature, because he had been shoved ahead in classes, picked on for being himself, and had learned to defend himself with words, not strength. Unicorn peers had a much more comfortable relationship with a handsome firstborn stallion who always could be depended on for a smile and friendly banter, than the last hornless colt in a family who had been shoved forward in class because he was smarter than them, and was not afraid to show it. By the time Emerald was done, his older brother was crying on the sidewalk, and his two pegasus friends were begging for their lives, afraid that they were about to be thrown into prison.

It was a cold victory, because Regal and Graphite never treated him quite the same again. From that day forward they no longer saw him as the little brother they needed to protect against the world. It was cold inside as well, because Emerald could only think about where he had learned those words, and how to manipulate others into doing his will. Father would have been proud of the way he stood up for himself. Emerald had never admitted it to the rest of his family because of that. His brothers appreciated his relative restraint. Emerald held it as a secret shame.

“I’m not my father,” repeated Emerald under his breath. “I will never be like him. Of course not. He’s not a sociopath pretending to be social. He manipulates ponies right out in the open, while I sneak around behind their backs, pretending to like old librarians by helping them move and volunteering at the Ponyville library.”

It was impossible to sulk quite as hard as he wanted, because so many of his recent good memories were related to that small town and the ponies who lived there. After all, he was seriously needed by the smaller inhabitants, and tolerated by the larger ones, as long as he kept his hat on so they thought he was a unicorn. Plus, the town was at the bottom of the mountain.

That chapter of his life was closed now and a new one was opening up just as soon as he earned his degree. A new school was ahead, in a larger town than Ponyville, and many more worried young unicorns with magic troubles to assist. Once he was established as a teacher, his father would have no leverage over him any more, and only then could he consider attracting a bride. Preferably, somepony just as far away from Twilight Sparkle as possible. Maybe even an earth pony.

“I should have been born a pegasus,” he mused as he began to straighten the room and put tipped-over chairs back where they belonged. “I’d probably be as groundbound as Scootaloo or Snowflake. Still a closet sociopath, though.”

The nearly empty reference shelves held a book on sociopathy that he had not read yet, so Emerald made a quick visit to the bathroom to take care of an urgent need, then settled down on the largest cushion to read, once he had brushed away a few loose purple hairs. It was a fascinating read with several parallels to his own life that he had not thought about before, although two chapters in, a nagging thought rose to mind.

So an elderly librarian comes into her home and finds a young colt on her couch, reading a book about sociopaths…

He got up, looking for perhaps a more socially acceptable way to await the old biddy’s arrival, when his eyes fell on the one object he had been avoiding. It was impossible to walk all the way around such a huge object even in this beautiful spacious apartment, because it was inevitable that a piano of this size would find itself pushed to one side of the room and used as a bookshelf. Plus, its bulk would create a gravitational field that attracted objects in the class of ‘Need to be placed somewhere for a moment and forgotten.’

“Terrible shame,” he murmured, running one hoof down the keys in a descending series of notes. “My mother would die to have this in the house instead of that old Wolffhauser. It must have taken an army to bring this up the ramp how many years ago. Or an alicorn…?”

Curiosity was a dangerous thing. The underside of the piano did not give any clue to its legacy, but a small brass plaque on the side sported ornate letters and numbers, giving a date several centuries ago.

“Sheesh,” murmured Emerald, giving the massive ebon body and majestic curves of the ancient instrument a second look with far more respect. “Celestia really must have taken lessons on this thing when she was a foal. And probably hated it just as much, if she dragged it all the way over here for storage.”

The Wolffhauser in his family’s music room was about two octaves smaller than this monster, and just slightly under a century old. Every one of the children had been dragged through lessons except himself, and the resulting sibling bonding had taken off in a direction that his parents had not expected or noticed. When it was his younger sister’s turn to lie down on the padded piano bench and practice for hours, a deal had been struck with her curious older brother: one hour of his noisy practice matched against one of her NuttyOatyOat bars, to be delivered at the earliest opportunity. Many weeks of practice while Frost studied in the same room with earplugs gave him time to get the practice pieces just about as good as he ever was going to get. Of course, all good things—like a dependable supply of candy bars—come to an end when parents find out, and to be honest, it was his fault for missing several points on a test at school due to lack of his study time.

That padded bench was far more comfortable than the black Ironwood of this model, and the upright console keyboard easier to get situated against, but the thick, rich sound that emerged when he pressed the first key made it all worthwhile. He let the music carry him away for a short time, ignoring any mis-struck notes or shift-register misses with the excuse of time and an unfamiliar instrument. Perhaps it was easier now that he was an adult, or maybe the professional piano was balanced more precisely than the Chrysanthemum House heirloom. In either event, it was a welcome break from his normal intensive study schedule, and he was reluctant to stop when he ran out of his limited collection of memorized pieces, so he dug a piece of sheet music out of the bench and battled with Reinbits for a time until he inevitably lost the fight.

“I suppose it’s a better place for the retiring Archivist to find me than reading that book,” said Emerald as he slid off the bench and stretched.

He had wasted enough time in idle frittering to put Sun firmly up in the sky, leading Emerald to consider the possibility of the missing Archivist showing up tomorrow. Lurking around the apartment all day and into the night would mean trying to find something to eat in her icebox… which was defrosted with the doors hanging open, so no munchies there. Or the empty pantry, which he could see from the piano bench. There were the flowers in the tiny garden, but they seemed far too small to make a respectable salad, and grazing on the bonsai bushes would ruin all the hard work some arboriculturist had put into making them all grow in the shapes of various magical notation formula. In other words, it was high time to leave and get some breakfast.

“Welp,” he said, gathering the sheet music book off the stand and opening up the bench to put it away. “Concert’s over for the day and the audience is a no-show. Guess I’ll just have to meet the retiring Archivist some other day. Until later, Miss—” he checked the faded name written on the music book “—Twilight Velvet, House Twinkle.”

There was something terribly wrong with that name, but Emerald could not and did not want to put a hoof on it right away. The ‘Twilight’ part had spooked him at first, but there were families all across Canterlot with a Twilight or two in them. Twilight Sparkle was a member of House Twinkle, but Houses tended to spread out over the years. For example, the Archivist could even be Twilight Sparkle’s great-great-grandmother, or no relation at all. Or, he thought as a cold chill began to creep down his spine, maybe the piano belonged to Twilight Sparkle’s mother, much like the House Chrysanthemum piano, passed down from mother to daughter through the generations…

Then again, he had access to a library, so there was no need to remain uninformed and panicked. A quick stroll over to the sparse reference bookshelf showed many gaps, including one where Twerp’s Peerage should be filed, and a few moments of further browsing did not reveal any other reference books on pony families, but the familiar order in which the few remaining books had been placed on the shelf started a trickle of sweat down his bare flanks.

No. It can’t be her. She moved to Ponyville Moons ago. She has friends there, and a tree home… that leaks, drips, and drafts. Besides, there are all these books.

Ever so slowly, Emerald opened the book on sociopaths to the front page and stared at the bookplate glued there.

While he was frozen in horror staring at the tidy bookplate, Emerald could hear voices outside on the balcony. He had a terrible suspicion it was not some elderly librarian from the school with a half-dozen young assistants to help her pack, but in fact the exact unmarried unicorn he had been dodging ever since his first trip to Ponyville.

“Twilight Sparkle,” he murmured to himself. “Twilight Sparkle!” he repeated with more panic. “Oh, stars. She’ll see me here and urk!”

Sheer terror blocked his voice, along with the spine of the sociopathic book which needed to be returned to the exact slot he had taken it from or she’d know and track him down and throw him all the way off the tower and back to Ponyville in one lob if she hadn’t brought one of the Princesses with her because this was Canterlot and she could do that if she wanted to and the room which seemed so huge and uncluttered before was throwing chairs and slick patches of floor in front of him as he dashed over to the bookshelf and jammed the book into one of the many empty spaces, then looked for a bookshelf hole of his own to hide in perhaps under ‘H’ for Hopeless.

The bathroom was the obvious choice for his non-bookshelf hiding spot since it actually had a door that closed, but there was a second door he had not opened yet, and in the sincere hope it concealed an elevator shaft into the sub-basement, he yanked the door open and vanished inside at about the same time the outside doors opened behind him.

It was dark in the closet. That was fine.

It was also filled with unpacked clothes, indicating his stay of execution was only temporary, and the duration measured in empty boxes.

24. Never Volunteer to Move a Piano

Substitute Archivist
Never Volunteer to Move a Piano

Emerald was seriously thinking about his future. When hiding in the closet of the Most Powerful Unicorn in Equestria, it was a better choice than watching his life flash before his eyes. Again.

Simply strolling out of the closet and back down the tower the way he had arrived was right out. Twilight Sparkle and her friends would have questions. Like why was he in the closet, how did he manage to be selected as a substitute librarian and still wound up here, and if he was married. In his current state of mind, questions were more dangerous than anything. His jaw got disconnected from his mind when mare-terror set in, and… No. Just no.

A panicked sprint out the front door was likewise a lost cause. He would have to out-run Rainbow Dash, the fastest pegasus in Equestria.

Hindsight being perfectly accurate, at the first sign of noise from the front door he should have made a rapid exit into the maze of bookshelves that made up the Archives, which were just a few steps away through the apartment back door. There were several low-level security spells to channel wandering students with the right keys along a narrow corridor connecting the two doors, but the brass token he received earlier seemed to override them quite nicely. In any event, trying to get out the back door and hide in the Archives was a lost cause now. Twilight Sparkle had held her position as Archivist for years, and would be able to track him down no matter where he shelved himself in the collection of dusty tomes.

Worse, if he had not panicked and just continued casually strolling out of the apartment in the direction of the Archives when the Element Bearers entered, he would at least have had a chance to be ignored. Emerald was good at being ignored when he tried. He could do seven different shades of boring when faced with adults he did not want to interact with. A few noncommittal grunts and a wave, possibly pointing at the stack of boxes to indicate his part in their transportation was over. Maybe a yawn. Or a scratch. A good scratch in the right place could deflect questioning better than a shield spell. None of those attention-diverting schemes had even a ghost of a chance if he came out of Twilight Sparkle’s closet in the middle of the packing process.

That left sitting in the Archivist’s closet very quietly, and hoping that Twilight Sparkle was going to forget she had ever worn clothes. It was a low probability, like going into a casino and expecting to leave with a few bits, but it was all he had. After all, Emerald’s fashion sense was blunted by his own dull green coat as well as warped perceptions about the importance of comfort over the style-of-the-moment, but even he was unimpressed by the petite pink and blue dress or the slim blouse with dramatic shoulder pads he was hiding behind.

What yard sale did Twilight pick this stuff up in, anyway? Or did she shop trash piles? My grandmother wouldn’t wear any of this, and she went blind at the end of her life.

Rather than consider Twilight’s fashion non-sense, he began to think. After all, as the balance of boredom and panic began to tilt in the direction of reflection, Emerald could not just sit and watch without thinking also. Traitorous ears picked up the happy chatter of the Bearers out in the apartment, which was terribly distracting because his mind kept considering just what matrimonial things would happen if/when Emerald was discovered hiding in the young mare’s closet. The Bearers sounded so… friendly, but that was expected for the kinds of ponies who would group around Twilight Sparkle and fight monsters. Friendship was supposedly the whole reason they became the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, after all.

When growing up, Emerald’s friends had mostly been rare or fictional. The excuse of ‘going over to a friend’s house to study’ was really a cover for vanishing into the cool canopy of a garden tree to read uninterrupted for a few hours. Being green was great cover. Nopony ever looked for a young earth pony in a green tree, particularly among a unicorn family who were likewise ground-bound. The idea of having five unrelated friends who would drop everything on a moment’s notice to help move was extremely hard to get his mind around. Bribing/leg-twisting his siblings into lugging stuff was far easier, but Twilight Sparkle’s brother was an officer in the Royal Guard according to Twerp’s Peerage, and probably immune to such family influence.

And since the Hearth’s Warming train trip where Emerald had seen both Shining Armor and Princess Mi Amore Cadenza extremely close together, the good captain was likely too busy to become a plebian mover even if asked by the Bearer of the Element of Magic on some official pretense. After all, from what little Emerald had seen, it would take a huge crowbar to separate the two of them for more than a few minutes. Then again, it could be worse. Twilight Sparkle could have talked Shining Armor and Princess Cadence into helping her move, possibly bringing along her whole family.

The idea of a noble Equestrian princess stuffing books into boxes or flying around the apartment with a dustrag relaxed the iron band of tension wrapped around Emerald’s chest ever so slightly. The best of a bad situation was still fairly poor, but a few long, slow breaths allowed him to recognize a few bright spots that were not on fire.

For starters, there was just enough of a crack in the closet door for him to watch most of the activity out in the apartment as the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony went about the relatively mundane task of packing stuff into boxes. It was a fairly unique opportunity to watch the famous ponies handle a much less dangerous task than most of their rumored missions for Princess Celestia, and far less likely to involve some terrifying monster. Although none of them were married…

Maybe Twilight is just bringing her friends by to visit the old apartment for a few hours. Or maybe she’s tracking me down for leaving sticky jellybeans in her bottom desk drawer and putting that sign on her bedroom door.

It helped his nerves that the group of mares did not seem as if they were engaged in a mission of vengeance, although aspiring brides could be tricky that way. There was always the possibility they could ambush him in the closet and drag him back to Ponyville stuffed into an empty box until he could be properly hitched. Even that was improbable, since all they really would need to do was pen a letter to the Royal Guard to have Emerald delivered gift-wrapped at the time and place of their choosing. And would it really be that bad to be married to one of them? Even Twilight Sparkle?

That made Emerald look harder through the crack between the closet doors at the way the mares were working together to pack. It was by nature an incomplete observation since the observation portal was also incomplete, but the apartment was large and fairly unobstructed, so he observed.

And observed.

Really, after an hour of mare watching through his narrow viewpoint, the smallest thread of temptation began to rise. How upset could they get if he came out of the closet to help? It would bring order to the chaotic process of packing, which was a good thing. It was taking forever, and Twilight Sparkle was only ‘packing’ in the technical sense of the word. If this went on too long, he half expected her to start putting books back on the shelves as fast as the rest of them were glacially packing them up. After all, there were only three general classes of remaining items to be packed: kitchen stuff, living room stuff, and books. That seemed to work out to one box, two boxes, and all the rest of the boxes.

If Emerald had been asked to help pack before this sluggish process started, he could have wrangled a half-dozen young stallions from his fraternity with a few well-placed words and they would have been done by noon, just in time to take the young mares out for lunch. Well, for them to take the Bearers out to lunch while Emerald faded into the background and slipped away. There was far too much ‘unmarried’ in the vicinity for Emerald to be comfortable, and they were entirely too proactive in the moving process. That is the moving-around process, not the actual process of moving.

The Bearers were certainly comfortable at their activities. That was one word that could be used. Inefficient might have been more accurate, but free help was free help, after all. It still irked Emerald and made him seriously question the stories behind the Element Bearers when compared against actual observation. Half of the workforce was not even working at their tasks, unless you counted playing with the boxes as work, and the meekest one of the group was in charge of Twilight’s boxing.

That focus on the pretty pegasus left Emerald speechless when the closet doors he was hiding behind swept open in Rarity’s pale blue magic, and he found himself face-to-face with a Bearer.

An unmarried Bearer.

She appeared as startled as he was, with wide eyes and a mouth drawn up into a tiny ‘o’ just barely wide enough for a squeak to emerge. All of the suave evasions Emerald had been considering fled in mortal terror, because Rarity was also a noted wedding designer, and all he could see in front of him was the entire resources of House Chrysanthimun put into one elaborate marriage ceremony designed to chain him down good and hard.

Then all he could see was her flouncing tail as Rarity fled, carrying the entire contents of Twilight Sparkle’s closet in a ball of cloth suspended above her. Well, almost the entire contents. Emerald had been left behind for some reason, and since any attentive eyes in the vicinity were watching Rarity’s rapid retreat, and he still was not able to find a clear path to reach the apartment back door and the safety of the Archives, he quietly closed the closet doors and remained inside.

The closet was still dark. It was empty now. And his head was cold. Probably because his brain was evaporating.

A careful exploration of his empty head revealed a certain lack of hat, which was a fair trade for continuing his bachelorhood for a few more hours. He was still puzzled about his narrow escape. Then again, he did have a rather unremarkable dull coat, and the lighting in the closet was not exactly the brightest. It made him just the smallest bit insulted, since Twilight Sparkle’s clothes collection was not that bad, or at least to his male perspective. Then again, he did have a male perspective, and some narrow escapes were best not examined too closely.

He peered through the closet door crack again, becoming slightly more relaxed with every moment of freedom. Upon further reflection, it only made sense that one of Twilight’s exceptional friends would be exceptionally distracted by her wardrobe and likewise unimpressed by the unremarkable idiot in close proximity. However, he was not unremarkable enough to hazard a naked dash for the nearby Archive entry door, because there were limits to such claims of anonymity, and Emerald had already used up his luck for the week.

So glad I wasn’t wearing my vest. She might have pulled off a limb.

It was the nature of packed clothes to stay packed for extended periods once moved, so all Emerald really needed to do to get his hat back was sign back up for library-sitting duties, and once the Ponyville librarian was out of town, go rummaging through all of her packed delicates and unmentionables…

Then again, despite his protests to the contrary, the hat was old and past due for replacing. Shopping for a replacement would be a pleasant reward for escaping the closet in an hour or so when the six young mares went home.

After another hour, the thought became a hope.

After several more hours, the hope became a silent prayer.

They’re not having a sleepover, they can’t have a sleepover, there’s not enough bedspace and only one bathroom.

To distract himself from the growing need for a toilet, Emerald devoted his spare time to figuring out just what exactly made the Elements of Harmony into such an effective team. Just because they looked like a bunch of disorganized goofballs and unattentive fashion nerds meant little when compared with the results of their known missions. Newspaper articles about their exploits varied widely, but if squinted at a bit and extrapolated for the Fourth Estate’s tendency to warp events to match an agenda, and given that the group was sent out again and again, meant they were incredibly effective together.

It was obvious to anypony who really paid attention to current events that the shy purple unicorn trudging around the apartment with a dustrag was the catalyst to their teamwork. Princess Luna’s presence in Canterlot gave solid testimony to that unmistakable fact, and his additional research conducted after her return from the moon only added to the evidence. Twilight Sparkle had always shown astonishing potential, from her recent reign as Princess Celestia’s personal student all the way back to youth when she had been foalsat by the only other known alicorn princess (at the time).

Princess Cadenza was love, in all aspects, and being exposed to that kind of power at a young age must have been a powerful catalyst to her growing power and influence. What else but love could explain how Twilight Sparkle had walked into Ponyville during Nightmare Moon’s return and managed to unite five ordinary residents of the town into bearing the legendary Elements of Harmony.

The ancients had four words for love, which is not to say those are the only aspects. There are undoubtedly far, far more, but it was a good starting point. For example, Emerald could think of few things that exemplified love more than the joy of a young unicorn when they discovered their special talent, a possession that would stay with them for the rest of their life. Perhaps friendship was another facet in the gemstone of love, a fifth kind of love that we never think about and that we often don’t think of as love at all. Similar to the art collector who discovers a painting that sings to their soul, or an art collector who sees a vase that they must possess no matter the price.

But there are things you cannot own, things far greater than mere objects. When the sun comes over the horizon and paints the sky with indescribable beauty, or you find a valley where a whole world of life exists that you had never experienced before. You can't take that home and hang it on the wall or put it in a vault. The only thing you can do is to go there and live with it, to place your home in the middle of the experience and watch as it grows around you, changing both the observer and the observed as time goes on. That deserves a word far more than mere love. That is what Twilight Sparkle found in Ponyville: Friendship.

A young unicorn, brought up in the prestigious House Twinkle, tutored in the ways of emotional power by the Princess of Love, brilliant enough to be Celestia’s private student, and undoubtedly knowledgeable in far more subjects than Emerald’s erratic trip through Equestria’s educational system had left him. If the Twinkle family piano in the other room were any indication, Princess Celestia had rounded out her student’s experiences by encouraging her talents into music, the arts, and culture as much as her magical education. After all, being in the shadow of the Crown made such cultural and social advancements inevitable, and once a student reaches a certain point in their learning process, it is time to graduate to the next level.

To give all that up, all the social power and intellectual resources, and move into the small town of Ponyville had to be an intentional step on the ladder of advancement, like field studies for a doctorate or a step outside Princess Celestia’s sphere of influence so Twilight could practice leading thousands instead of a mere few. Perhaps the quiet rumors of alicorn creation were less fables and more of an elusive secret, and someday Twilight Sparkle would emerge from her humble surroundings as a powerful alicorn. If so, Emerald’s move to avoid the town in the future was an incredibly good decision. No matter how talented Twilight Sparkle was, nothing as powerful as an alicorn could be created without immense risk.

That was all wild theory, of course, born of a bored mind trapped in a dark closet with nothing else to do. The real, practical, verifiable proof of Twilight Sparkle’s power was the inviolate bond she had with her friends. It bespoke of a confidence and maturity beyond what was sniped at by the newspapers or rumored from the common folk of Ponyville.

It made Emerald ashamed of his recent librarysitting trips to the small town, like an irritating flea attached to a guard dog. He was no friend, supporting a hero when she needed it most. He was just taking advantage of her momentary absences to cover for his own schemes, and contributing nothing to her noble goal of defending Equestria. Friends supported each other with unbreakable bonds of trust, like every one of the Bearers, while parasites merely fed off that friendship and produced nothing.

That was even more reason to avoid the small town in the future. There were many other small towns in the area that needed his skills at teaching young unicorns just as much, and where he would not be a burden to a hero by mis-shelving books and leaving her house a mess when she returned home with her heroic friends.

A strange noise jolted Emerald up from his near-doze, propped up against the corner of the closet and dreaming of a fourth bibliophilic alicorn. The noise was somewhat of a soft thump or a thud, which raised a momentary concern that one of the powerful enemies that the Bearers defeated had returned for a rematch, a concern that he quickly dismissed in favor of the more probable dropped box scenario.

There were some muffled feminine voices in the apartment, so the Bearers had not left while he slept, but try as much as he could, there was no way to see much more than a few rumps through the crack in the closet doors, and there was no way he was going to open them up to get a better view. One positive thing he noticed was a lack of books on the shelves he could see, so there was a fair chance the noise meant the Element of Magic and hero of Equestria, Twilight Sparkle was about to finally lead her powerful friends back to Ponyville, which his stressed bladder appreciated.

Then a voice rose up from the living room area, a terrible wail of anguish and pain that pierced Emerald to the heart. Packed with loss and regret in every word, Twilight Sparkle was practically crying in a desperate plea, one terrified confession of weakness and fragility that had been stressed to the breaking point and beyond.

"Because when I finally screw it up with everypony here, I won't have anywhere to go back to!"

All of the theories Emerald had spun out of glass, his view of the mythical magical unicorn leader who feared nothing and was destined to greatness, placed upon a pedestal of his own imagination and nurtured by hours of imaginative creativity…

Shattered.

Far from being a confident mare with a proud family and ardent followers for friends, Twilight Sparkle was… a wreck. A flaming wreck who was so terrified of failure in Ponyville that she had been keeping a home and job in Canterlot as an escape hatch. The leader of the fabled Bearers of the Elements of Harmony was a fraud. A frightened fraud who sounded like she could not lead an evacuation out of a burning building, which she had also set on fire.

Far worse was the implication that her failure on such an epic scale would not allow her to return home to her parents. Even if Emerald managed to screw up in the absolute worst possible way, his family would never abandon him. Yell at him, certainly. Make him sleep in his old room and criticize his weight, undoubtedly. But they would be there no matter what, no matter how much he fought against them, no matter what schemes he hatched to forge his own destiny.

“She’s more screwed up than I am,” he whispered to himself.

The famous Twilight Sparkle, Bearer of the Element of Magic and the mare who freed Princess Luna from Nightmare moon not only needed friends to fight whatever monsters Princess Celestia sent her against, but she needed friends just to survive her abnormal life.

And she had those friends, a family by any other name, and far closer than any real family he had ever known. What little he could see from the crack between the closet doors showed a tight pony-pile around Twilight, just exactly what she needed at the moment. It was good, but in the long term, five friends were still probably not enough, particularly since a certain substitute librarian kept springing little obnoxious surprises on her when they returned from a mission.

They helped heal her wounds and support her fragile psyche. He didn’t.

It hurt, worse than a knife to the heart. Far, far worse, because Twilight Sparkle really could have used all the help she could get, even his. If not for his cowardice, his unreasoning fear of commitment, and his own bloated ego, he could have been a positive influence in her life. Now it was too late. There was no way he could ever introduce himself as ‘that guy who has been lurking around in your library for most of the last year’ without sounding like a royal creep, mostly because it was absolutely true.

And yet, he had the terrifying realization that he cared.

Somehow, something in the very back of his mind must have recognized her need for support from the first trip to the library. Years spent dodging his parents’ matrimonial attempts had made Emerald reflexively dodge about anything female, so he had never done things for a mare just because he wanted to. Everything had been a game of give and take, scheming and maneuvering to keep his neck out of the shackles of wedded ‘bliss’ and grandfoal production.

Then came Ponyville.

Every day he had spent in Twilight Sparkle’s library had unconsciously bent his bachelor mind more in the direction of her. Fruit salad in the icebox, slogging away at mopping so she would not return to soggy floors, working to leave the library just messy enough to make her feel appreciated. It was not much to help Twilight feel wanted and safe as she so needed when returning from some sort of terrifying mission from Princess Celestia, but it was at least something positive out of all his negatives, and helped take some of the stabbing pain away from his heart.

Just because Twilight Sparkle was wallowing in pain did not mean she had to suffer alone. Her friends took an immense burden off her small frail back, but not all of it. He had a part, a small part to play in that regard. He was a square peg in a powerful puzzle made of round holes, and would never be able to fit anywhere into her life, but even a square peg could be useful. He could divert unwanted great and powerful guests. Fix broken things in her home. Clean up after the Cutie Mark Crusaders. Ensure the library did not catch on fire in her absence.

And maybe. Just maybe. No, that was planning too long-term. And creepy.

It was still a lot to think about, even in the short-term, and proved a good distraction from the critical importance of using the bathroom really soon. He needed the distraction, too. The Bearers still had not left, and from the low scratching noises, the reason for their slow departure was the Twinkle family piano. A big, heavy piano, that was going to take forever to move down the ramp one push at a time. It raised his hopes in the slightest that maybe Twilight’s perception of her family alienation was overblown if she was going through all this trouble to take the piano with her back to Ponyville.

Still, why in the world Twilight Sparkle, the most powerful unicorn in Equestria, did not just carry the blasted thing… Then again, if she was a fraud as a Bearer of the Elements of Harmony, maybe her magical power was likewise weak, much like Trixie. Two frauds, one working on a rock farm, one sent out with her friends to vanquish ancient evils and terrible monsters. The only difference was their friends.

Come to think of it, he had been a friend to Trixie when she needed it. Being a friend behind the scenes to Twilight Sparkle had to be easier and less dangerous. Really.

He peered out though the crack between the closet doors and gave a little sigh of relief, mixed with anticipation. The Bearers almost had the piano to the door, and all of Twilight Sparkle’s boxes were piled up ready for removal. Once they began to push Twilight’s family piano down the ramp, the way would be clear for a quick bathroom dash, then an exit into the Archives by way of the apartment back door.

The Archives elevator could take him to ground level before the Bearers could get half-way down, let alone get their musical monstrosity to the train station for return to Ponyville and subsequent wedging into the inadequate space available in the library. The best way Emerald could help the process would be to stay out of the way, or perhaps at worst visit the train station ahead of them and ensure there would be space on a freight car for the pokey piano pushers. It would be both helpful and unobtrusive, with little chance of being identified, caught, and questioned.

The heavy scrape-scrape-scrape sounds of impending freedom grew quieter once the piano got out onto the broad balcony, and Emerald hazarded the smallest opening of the closet doors to get a better look.

Six rumps. No eyes. Now.

The trick to moving quietly—to avoid parental observation or unmarried mares—was low, slow, and no mo. That is moving without sudden jerks or abrupt motions, keeping hooves close to the floor, and above all, not looking at the ponies you were trying to avoid. There were no sudden cries of alarm at his passage, and in less time than he expected, Emerald was into the apartment bathroom and seated on the toilet for long-delayed relief.

The noise of a moving piano had not stopped or stuttered during his swift journey, and Emerald was just beginning to relax when the noise…

…stopped.

26. First Ponyville Bank and Distrust

Substitute Officer
First Ponyville Bank and Distrust

“Helloooo!” Emerald poked his head into the back doorway of the Ponyville police station and continued to carol out his announcement in a voice that could probably be heard in Canterlot. “I have come in search of the most beautiful mare in all of the land, the lovely Miranda Rights whose radiance exceeds the sun, and beauty surpasses the night. Come hither, for thy handsome prince has arrived, eager to entice you away from the cold cruel chains of duty and weighty responsibilities of your position as Chief of Police, so that we might frolic in a delightful trip through your fair city. Will one of you kind officers hie forth and entice the shy maiden from her darkened cell so all might rejoice as they are blessed with her radiant countenance and inestimable grace?”

There was a relative silence inside the police station.

It lasted some time as several officers and one arrestee currently being processed stared at the unlikely and unexpected sight of a fairly hefty long-haired pony in the back doorway, obviously kept from coming the rest of the way into the building by the wagon harness on his back. The intruder stood there for a long moment in the doorway, looking at all of the stunned police officers, before adding in a more serious voice, “Can one of you please go get Chief Miranda Rights? It’s important, and if I have to get out of my harness—” he shook his shoulders, making the buckles and straps rattle “—we'll be late to our appointment and won't have time to get wedding cake.”

“YOU!” A nearby officer carrying a stack of papers nearly as tall as she was took a short step forward, trembling with rage to the point where she could barely speak. “You’re here! Back to the scene of the crime!” She stumbled forward regardless of the way her stack of paper tottered, began to slide in all directions over her back, then fell in a spray of paper-disgorging folders as she got nearer. “Every time you leave town, they do something worse than before! This time, we’re ready for you! I’m going to lock you up in the biggest cell we have, and watch you every minute, right here forever! They won’t be able to carry out one of their insane schemes this time. Isn’t that right!”

By the time Officer Brassie stopped with a frantic angry giggle, Emerald had managed to read her badge, identify the erratic violet sparking from her horn as an extreme form of Unicorn Stress Spikes, and determine that there was no way he could outrun her while pulling his wagon, or get out of the harness before the unicorn officer would have him in hoofcuffs. He was not quite as worried as he could have been because the mare was not carrying a wedding band or wearing white, but he was composing a brief list of therapeutic thaumic exercises to help with her stress-related magical instability, and possibly some heavy medication.

And as if thinking about stress-related instability triggered the entry of Ponyville’s best stress arrester, Officer Miranda Rights came scurrying into the police station room, making the rest of the officers suddenly remember the jobs they were supposed to be doing instead of watching the latest Ponyville entertainment. She headed straight to him, thankfully not horn-first, and snapped out a direct command just as if Emerald was an officer under her command.

“What do you think you are doing? Bobbi just finished dealing with the Crusader’s latest disaster.”

“It never ends,” breathed the angry truant officer, not letting her bloodshot gaze off him for a second. “They’re never going to get their Marks until the town burns to the ground, and—”

“That’s enough, Bobbi. Let’s take a break for a while.” Miranda was not exactly the largest of unicorns, but she brushed up against her slightly larger peer and directed her away from Emerald and in the direction of a back room, being bolstered by two other officers who took over the task as the police chief circled back and headed in Emerald’s direction again like a homing torpedo. With a few moments to prepare, he got the thick envelope out of his saddlebag and held it out in front of himself like a shield.

“Read this first,” said Emerald.

The envelope left his lips so rapidly it threatened to take a tooth with it, and Miranda Rights read through the thick sheaf of embossed papers with the same fierce energy. In short order, she folded the papers back up, stuffed them back in the envelope, and called over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”

There was very much a “Nothing better happen while I’m gone” hidden in those words.

Taking that as his cue, Emerald held his tongue, reversed out of the police station doorway, and began trotting down the dusty streets in the direction of his appointment, allowing the police chief to easily catch up and trot beside him due to his cart trailing behind. She did not say anything at first. Or at second. But by third, Miranda blurted out, “Why did they pick you?”

Emerald shrugged in his harness. “I apparently have the security clearance as a bearer building baby sitter, and who would expect me to be involved in a Crown investigation? They want to catch the individuals behind this, and there have been a few cases before where they got away by leaks or luck, so they needed an unlikely courier, and that’s me. Didn’t you have a chance to catch them at that apple-thing they tried pulling here?”

Miranda’s lips thinned even further, but she did not comment directly.

“You know I’ve been making trips here every few weeks. Taking a break from studying, doing little tutoring on the side, and watching the library when your librarian is off saving the world,” continued Emerald. “Midterms are over, I’m considered a bit eccentric, and my father’s company controls the coin-counting widget enchantments, so it’s a natural assignment for whoever picked me. Besides, I started it by asking my father a question. He asked somepony else, who must have asked somepony else, and next thing I know…”

That earned him a sideways glance from the Chief of Police, who looked as if she were seriously considering a reversal of their present course and a short stay in the Ponyville prison for him. “I expected a visit this week since midterms at school are over. You started bringing things for the Crusaders. And if we ever catch you…”

“Would you rather the children have gotten the scuba tanks they ordered instead of the snorkels I brought last month?” he countered. “Explosive air tanks that have a thousand ways to go bad and far more dangerous than the alternative. Besides, this ‘crusading’ will all be over in a week or two when they get their Marks. Everypony gets them by now. With certain rare exceptions.”

That earned him another sharp glance. “Like you?”

“It was only two years past the median age and not quite up to the category of Late Onset Symbol Trauma,” he admitted. “But that’s not what I meant. I’ll explain it when we get there. And I’ve got a little surprise at the end that I think you’ll like.”

“A surprise,” said Miranda flatly. Her nearest eye twitched. “I don’t like surprises.”

“Surprises are the spice of life,” declared Emerald as he trotted along. “Better than wedding cake.”

* * *

Miranda Rights really did hate surprises. She also hated being left in the dark, even though it was late in the afternoon and Sun was unrelenting in how warm it was. She liked to be physically in the dark and mentally aware of everything rather than the inverse, like now. The thing was if she moved away from where she was standing outside of the bank’s shipping dock in order to watch what the green goober was doing inside, she would have to leave the contents of the wagon unattended.

It warranted a peek under the tarp, at least. As an officer of the law, she deserved to ensure she was not participating in any illegal activity, although a loosened patch of tarp near the front indicated a potential package had already been unloaded before his visit to the police station, and most probably was going to cause Truant Officer Brassi to have that one final epic mental breakdown before fleeing the town.

“And I’m back,” announced Emerald as he trotted out of the bank’s back door. “Just had to sign some loan papers for somepony before the bank closed and the vault was locked. Can you help me lift?”

“What were you doing?” Miranda got a good magical grip on the handle sticking out of her side of the covered device while Emerald flipped the tarp off and grabbed the other side.

“Oo it ign a ittle rk fer giner.” Since he had his mouth full of handle, Miranda could not really be angry at him, but simply simmered until they had maneuvered their burden through the bank’s back doorway, past Mister Croesus who was holding the door, and to the front office where the other coin counter was sitting innocently.

“And there,” said Emerald as the machine thumped onto the floor, a near exact duplicate of the nearby green-painted Coinmaster on its own squat platform with a convenient hoof-operated crank. “Sorry to bring this to you after-hours, Mister Croesus, but discretion was in order.”

“Discretion about what?” Croesus waved at the papers sitting on a nearby desk, next to a chained-down quill. “If it were not for the signatures on this document, I never would have let you in. A simple equipment delivery should not require a letter from the Equestrian Bureau of Investigation or our chief of police’s presence. Deliveries should be during business hours by regular couriers, not—”

“I’m not privy to the internals of the investigation,” said Emerald with similar quick waving motions as if he were chasing away smoke. “I can guess, of course, but I think a demonstration would be more informative. For example, here is a standard set of bits, in coin format.”

Emerald dug around in his saddlebag and produced a sealed metal can. “Coin counters are routinely calibrated with this kind of sample, like this.” He pulled down the reset lever over the counter display until it showed all zeroes, then poured the coins into the chute in a loud crash.

Further conversation was impossible while the crank was turned and the coins settled into paper sleeves, each twisted and dropped into a tray when full. It took a very short time until quiet once more filled the empty bank building.

“Sixty-four bits,” said Croesus. “Minus five percent for non-depositers as a standard fee. I fail to see—”

“Two rolls each of bits, half-bits, and tenth-bits,” continued Emerald as he scooped the rolls of coins into the metal tin again and twisted the lid closed. “Please note that nothing is in the trash bin, nothing unusual. Now, please examine the contents of this other tin.”

A pile of mismatched coins followed, spilling out across the machine’s sorting tray as Emerald put the empty metal tin to one side.

“Prancy Drew?” asked Miranda with her head cocked to one side in order to read the colorful label on the lunchbox.

“My sister’s,” explained Emerald. “I had to borrow something to put my coin collection into. Mister Croesus?”

“Eighty-seven bits of various ages, twenty-two tenths, and five smidgens,” said the old banker. “Plus five foreign coins we do not accept and this one.” He tapped on a small silver coin he had separated out from its metallic peers. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one of those before.”

“Long story.” Emerald cleared the counter, tilted the tray into the Coinmaster chute, and began turning the crank again. The growling crunch and jingle of coins followed again until the machine was empty and Croesus leaned over to examine the counter.

“Eighty-six bits, twenty-two tenths, and five smidgens,” he said quietly, then gave the crank an extra turn before looking in the trash bin under the machine. “And four rejected foreign coins.”

Emerald finished tamping down the paper caps on the ends of the coin rolls and put them on the table, along with the coins from the trash bin. Miranda watched him with cold serious eyes, eventually asking, “Didn’t you say your father manufactured the devices used inside this machine?”

“This particular model, no.” Emerald moved the four foreign coins into a line. “Father gave me a Coinmaster as a gift when I was small. That’s why I was curious when depositing the library’s collection of coins here on my first visit and the machine jammed. I have some related experience with metal detecting and odd coins that turn up in the process. Please note that I did not suggest a metal detector to the Cutie Mark Crusaders at any time, and it would be a good idea if none of you did either. I left most of the neighbor yards looking like some insane gopher had gone through them. Whenever I found a coin, I’d bring it back and watch it go through the machinery. You can take the side panel off, if you unfasten a few screws,” he added. “Didn’t get a cutie mark doing any of that, but I tried.”

Croesus nodded, seeming marginally impressed instead of his perpetual sour mood, most likely because he was thinking of his first smidgen tucked away into the building vault. “A very banker-like youth.”

“Anyway, if the counter could jam, it would jam, and Father would always help me un-jam it. A few weeks later, he’d install a new part and it would work better. I eventually outgrew the hobby, but Father was certain it meant I had a future at the family company. That’s probably why I gave it up.” Emerald patted the Coinmaster, then moved his hoof lower to tap a very small nameplate. “A polite pair of young unicorns brought this Coinmaster to your bank a year or two ago, correct? Along with an express notification system to inform their company when anything went wrong, and quarterly maintenance visits?”

“Charging half of what the previous company charged us.” Croesus had very narrow eyes naturally, and they narrowed into near slits as he verbalized the same thoughts that Miranda was obviously thinking. “A bit or two here might not be missed, but there are collectable coins, oddities that fetch a hefty price like the one you had in your collection. Where did it go?”

“For that, I must ask for the help of my lovely assistant.” Emerald produced a small key and a scroll. “Chief Rights, if you will please take this key and the spell that the EBI says should disable the alarm.”

If Croesus’s eyes narrowed any further, they would be closed. He and Emerald watched as Chief Rights used her magic on the scroll, then maneuvered the small key into the appropriate slot in the counter’s base, followed by a metallic clunk as she removed a panel.

“That’s the lubrication reservoir,” said Croesus, pointing into the nearly empty space under the coin counter. “The maintenance pony replaces it every time the machine is serviced.”

“Money is the lubricant of commerce,” said Emerald, digging into his saddlebag and producing a large cylinder with a screw-off top. “Chief, if you could please remove the canister and place it in this container. Just a moment while I get it open.”

“It’s far heavier than it should be,” said Miranda as she hefted the greasy metal device in her magic. “I suppose when it is full, any additional coins falling into it jam the mechanism, the bank uses the express notification service provided with the machine, and the criminal bags another full can of coins. How many moons has it been collecting since the last maintenance visit?”

“Moon and a half,” said Croesus, grimly watching the greasy cylinder go into the screw-top container along with bits that should have been going into his vault instead.

“And there we go,” said Emerald as he screwed the lid closed. “Chief Rights, if you would apply your magic to the evidence seal here, and over here. One for the front panel of the coin sorter. That’s good. And both of you please sign this document from the Equestrian Bureau of Investigation witnessing that the contents were removed from the device in question intact, and immediately sealed for the criminal investigators in Canterlot.”

Several signatures and hoof-stamps later, Emerald slid the thick paper into a large envelope and had the witnesses repeat the same sealing and signing on it before pulling out a stamp of his own.

“A notary,” said Miranda flatly. “You’re a notary public also?”

“Saves a lot of time,” said Emerald, getting both the stamped envelope and sealed cylinder situated in his saddlebag and tying the flap closed. “I want to make sure all of the paperwork is in order so I can get my coins back after the investigation is over.”

It was an optimistic view from a hopeless optimist, but Miranda withheld her comments while they got the two coin sorting machines swapped and the evidence secured in Emerald’s wagon. Croesus locked up the bank once they had all departed, and kept a beady eye on them as Emerald began to cheerfully pull the wagon away under her close supervision.

“Thank you for a positively frustrating afternoon that only vaguely relates to my job,” said Miranda once they got a fair distance away. “Will you need my assistance any more, or may I return to my police station and see about correcting the few thousand misconceptions that you’ve triggered?”

“I thought we could stop and get cake.” Emerald slowed to a halt and coughed into one hoof. “Actually, I brought you a present. Not cake.”

“A present.” There were so many ways to interpret that line, none of them good.

“I realize that my periodic presence causes inconsiderable inconvenience to the civil constabulary,” continued Emerald. “I had at one time considered renting a small house here as a retreat when academics became too stressful. The property values are far lower than Canterlot, it’s within easy commuting distance, and it would make librarysitting on short notice a far easier prospect.”

“The town is flammable,” said Miranda as the suspect… that is subject returned to walking down the Ponyville street with his cart jingling along behind him.

“But there was a chance I wouldn’t get placed here after graduation,” continued Emerald. “In fact, I might need to cover several small towns in the vicinity. So I invested my money in a custom caravan instead. There are camping spots in each of the towns I might cover, and once it is ready to pick up, it will allow me to shift my teaching position as needed.”

“Sensible.” Miranda found herself agreeing despite her best efforts, mostly because a caravan would make it easier to track his movements.

“Anyway, I found a buyer for the home I had a down-payment on. Signed the loan agreement as a witness this afternoon at the bank since her parents weren’t available at the moment. In return… Well, I have to confess to a theft, Officer.”

“You stole a pen from the bank?” asked Miranda.

“Couldn’t break their chains,” countered Emerald. “Anyway, on my last trip to town, I walked past your house and could not help but notice the terrible state of your picket fence. So I stole a paint chip.”

“You could breathe on that fence and get as many chips as you wanted,” said Miranda, feeling just slightly put out that the home improvement project she had been delaying for so long was being noticed in this way.

“I know the feeling,” continued Emerald. “You get all busy with things and some stuff gets pushed to the back, and keeps getting pushed to the back, when it doesn’t take that much effort to just buckle down and get it done in the first place. Well, I feel a little guilty about being so much of a bother to you when I’m in town that I thought I’d make it up to you.”

Miranda felt a faint wave of dread sweep up from her hooves, ending in a cold shiver across her back despite the warmth of the afternoon.

“You aren’t going to spend a few hours in front of my house with a paintbrush today. There’s a chain of custody to the machine you’re towing, and I’m sure the EBI will want it back in Canterlot promptly.” Miranda gave the tarp-covered contents of the wagon a longer look. “You brought something before you stopped by the office, didn’t you? I can see the slack in the tarp.”

“A present,” said Emerald. “Something that you’ll like, and that will keep the Crusaders out of trouble for a few hours as they do the job I’m avoiding. After all, painting fences for somepony else is a literary classic, and they volunteered for it of their own free will. And a bit of quid pro quo. Also, have you ever heard of a pressure washer?”

“Yes,” ventured Miranda cautiously. “Aren’t they dangerous for children?”

“Not with the correct safeguards and features, and a safety lecture before they got their hooves on it. Father’s been working on improving a model, and I tested several of the prototypes in our carriage house. The nozzle only works when activated, and cuts off immediately if pointed directly at a pony. The enchantments are practically foolproof, and should allow the children to clean the fence for painting in record time. Plus—” Emerald coughed into one hoof “—it’s a lot of fun. If you ask nicely, they might let you use it for a while.”

Ponyville was certainly the place to test that theory, and Miranda edged into the balloon of fancy with a few pointed questions.

“No abrasives, chemicals, nothing that can explode, burn, or explode and burn?”

“Not at all,” said Emerald proudly with a bit of a strut to his step. “Just fill the reservoir up with water, point the sprayer, and blast away. It’s fun, and useful. Should take a little under an hour to wash all the old paint off your pickets, and then once they dry, I brought some paint and brushes for them to finish up the job. The finest water-soluble latex I could find at the paint store, so any mess the Crusaders make can just be washed away before it sets. The fine fellow at the paint store matched colors with the paint chip, and I bought enough that there should be leftovers, in case you have anything else around the house you want to have painted also. It’s not exactly my shade of green—” Emerald shrugged his dark-green shoulders “—but nopony’s perfect.”

It was an interesting theory, but Miranda was aware of how Ponyville turned theory into explosions far too often, with or without the Bearers. Still, having the Crusaders engaged in something constructive instead of destructive would be a nice change of pace. If it were possible.

No, it was impossible. Something always went wrong with the Crusaders’ plans. True, she shuddered to think of what the three disasters would have done with the compressed air tanks of an underwater breathing system, and her approach would have been to stop them instead of diverting them into a less-destructive path like snorkeling. On longer-term reflection, the Crusaders did not stop well, and bounced instead in the unexpected direction of a more destructive device so the green goober might have reduced the Ponyville insurance rates slightly with his actions.

Still, two successes in a row would be pushing it.

She considered possibilities as they approached her house, which contrary to her expectations was not on fire, spread out over a large section of town, or dripping with tree sap. If there were one single reason most Crusader-disasters occurred, they would have been easier to deal with. Since they had erratic unicorn magic, monomaniac pegasus magic, and a propensity to broken trees most likely due to earth pony magic, it was like trying to control a young alicorn, which thankfully was not a problem that Ponyville would ever endure. But the ancillary issues that multiplied the magical malfunctions could be picked through due to experience, which she had in abundance.

“This pressure washer. It’s a charged device that does not use the magic of the user, correct?”

“Correct. It’s charged by a unicorn adult before use, and keyed to a specific charging spell. One charge lasts all day,” said Emerald, obviously quite proud of himself. “That’s why I could use it. Three times the market, and the possibility of setting them up as rentals with an adult unicorn who can charge them up when they’re returned.”

That marks off Sweetie Belle.

“And the contents of the paint. Does it have any tree sap involved in the chemical formulation?”

That slowed Emerald down, or at least made him look thoughtful. “Normal paint uses turpentine for a solvent, which is a pine tree derivative. That’s why I specified latex paint. It’s about as nontoxic as it gets, so that’s a good thing.”

Generally, marks off Applebloom. That only leaves…

“And it doesn’t use pegasus magic?”

“Not at all.” Emerald shrugged. “Father’s working on a paint sprayer that does, but it’s nowhere near ready for testing.”

Which marks off Scootaloo, the most impatient one. Oh, wait.

“The paint doesn’t go into the pressure washer, right?”

“No, of course not. You’re only supposed to fill it with water. Anything else would—”

There was a noise, somewhat muffled, and an accompanying green cloud that began to grow in front of Miranda’s house. True to Emerald’s word, it was very close to the shade of her peeling green fence. It was a very short chain⁽*⁾ of supposition to go from the Crusaders to a power washer to a few cans of paint to very impatient little ponies who could easily try to skip a step between washing the fence with water and applying paint with a brush.
(*) One nearby link, in fact.
—

By the look on Emerald’s face, he was thinking the same thing.

By the look on the face of the small green pegasus holding onto the pressure washer wand as it thrashed around, carrying two other screaming green ponies during the device’s rapid flight around the sky in a trail of paint, Scootaloo was coming to the same conclusion, although a bit late.

“My house,” growled Miranda.

“My washer,” said Emerald.

“My house,” snarled Miranda.

“It’s… um…” said Emerald, obviously grasping for a word. “Painted?”

It was the wrong word.

Fortunately for Emerald, it corresponded with the power washer and riders vanishing behind the roofline of a nearby house and the sound of landing, with enough subsequent shouting in three-part harmony that ensured the Crusaders were at least physically unharmed.

Unfortunately for Emerald, it was followed by a battered power washer launching itself back into the sky, only with greater vigor and a larger cloud of associated green paint. It was… impressive in a way, particularly in a way that made Miranda somewhat hesitant to turn her back on it to arrest the source of the chaos for fear of getting a flying piece of magical hardware in the back of the head.

Standing in one place turned out to have an unexpected advantage as three small green ponies came galloping in her direction, leaving a long trail of paint drippings in their wake. By coincidence or intent, they were headed directly for her.

Then they swerved in unpredictable directions, pelting past her as fast as they could gallop.

Really, Miranda did not think she had been scowling that hard, but she certainly was by the time she noticed there were four green miscreants running as fast as they could away from her. Although the largest one was pulling a cart and would be easier to apprehend if she wanted.

Her first instinct was pursuit and capture, but there was enough time to consider the consequences of any decision. Emerald had said the latex paint could be washed off before it dried, and there was a certain poetic justice if the Crusaders were to remain as green as their unindicted co-conspirator for a few days, or even a week. Catching Emerald…would do no good, and would damage whatever criminal investigation the EBI had unwisely decided to involve her professed suitor against. Or for.

The flying pressure-washer picked that moment to splutter at the top of its arc, spitting out one last spray of green paint and plummeting to the ground somewhere behind her house. It was her responsibility ex post facto to make sure there were no injuries, organize some of the weather patrol to rinse paint from buildings, and any other surprises that might spring up unexpectedly.

The Crusaders would face the consequences of their actions. Emerald would not. Unless…

“It’s been almost a year,” she mused to herself while trotting in the direction of the huge dripping green blotch of paint that covered most of her immediate neighborhood. “I think it’s time I wrote Officer Grace in Canterlot again.”

She suppressed a most unofficial giggle. “Wedding cake, indeed. Surprise!”

1. Moving Targets

Author's Note

Many of you have followed Estee for years. I certainly have. We have considerably different writing styles, although both of us seem to enjoy ripping out a reader’s heart and salting the bloody wound. There have been more than one story I’ve been working on where I’ve considered the idea, “How would Estee have written this?” Well, the answer is most certainly different than the way I wind up writing, but I’ve wondered what it would be like for me to at least try to be true to the style at least once. What you see below is the answer to the question, or at least how I personally would have written The Traveling Tutor and the Librarian in Estee’s world. Quite unlike my story, this one is not a romance, or at least anything resembling such at first glance. After all, the protagonists never even see each other, since he is using an assumed name while substituting for the town’s librarian when she goes out on various Bearer of the Elements of Harmony tasks. And it most certainly is not canon with Estee’s world, except maybe at the fringes where we borrow from others. (as all authors do)

But if you look carefully, you may be able to see pieces moving on the chessboard in the shadows. And they might have knives.

1. Moving Targets

The Substitute Librarian
Moving Targets

“Now listen up.” The stodgy unicorn at the front of the group consulted his clipboard, then looked out into the train car where a dozen ponies were paying him varied amounts of attention. Two young seamstresses were displaying relative obliviousness by chatting eagerly to each other, the small group of student bakers stopped exchanging cooking tips, and Emerald maintained an alert stance in the front row with his own notebook and a graphite hoof-scriber. Even though it was early, he had attended far earlier classes during his college years so far, and this was one potential educational experience he was determined not to fail. Or at least not unless it became necessary.

Despite the early hour, the other temporary employees were all fairly alert, most likely because of the phrase ‘Guaranteed Three-Day Minimum.’ The employment packet that had been passed out when they boarded the train made no secret of the erratic nature of their jobs. Several of the deployments had been terminated by the return of the Bearers while the substitutes were still en route to their job sites, allowing the employees to enjoy a pleasant day trip to the small town with extra spending money for shopping.

Still, there was a faint undercurrent of tension through the train because of the possibility that the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony might not return from whatever task they had been assigned, and nopony really wanted to think about what kind of world-wide disaster that might entail. It was far easier to pay attention to the sharp voice of the impeccably dressed unicorn standing at the front of the train compartment as he ran through a few last instructions.

“My name is Papercut, and I’ll be responsible for this deployment. This is a scheduled full Bearer deployment with all of them on a mission for the Princess. Depending on the difficulty of their situation, it could be a week until they return, or more. The six teams filling in for them have each received their own briefing, so I’ll keep this short.”

“Too late,” called out one of the gardeners, although just enough under his breath that the natural noise of the moving train nearly smothered his words.

“Carousel Boutique,” continued Papercut as if he had not heard the slight, although one of his ears twitched. “We’re past most of the Fall fashion season, so all you have to do is watch the store and keep the Bearer’s daughter—”

“Sister,” corrected Emerald automatically without looking up from his notes, although he silently chided his mouth for drawing attention to himself afterward.

“Ah, yes.” Papercut made a correction on his clipboard. “Keep her sister out of trouble around the store. You have your list of behavioral rules, so try to stick with them. Sugarcube Corner?”

“Oui,” said one of the three slightly chubby fillies, all baking students from the school in Canterlot. “We have friends who have been here before, Monsieur Papercut. They say it is always a pleasure.”

Emerald smiled as he made the shorthoof notation on his notebook. He enjoyed the way the young Prench would-be chef pronounced ‘Mon-Sewer Pah-PUR-cuute’ in a way that irked their nominal leader like a hoof-edge along a blackboard. When he wrote it down, the graphite lines made a peculiar image on the paper in the shorthoof notation, much like the pinched lips and beady eyes of its owner.

“Sweet Apple Acres,” said Papercut, his eyes rising just enough off the clipboard to look at the four Canterlot gardeners turned temporary farmers gathered into a tight knot and discussing things among themselves. Papercut’s eyes rested for a moment on the ‘odd one out’ among the group, a greying brown burro who returned his suspicious gaze with a calm patience that Emerald had seen him use a lot in the mountain city. The other three earth ponies were all paying their smaller peer considerable respect. Emerald knew exactly why, and made a note to drop by the apple farm later to find out the exact circumstances surrounding Baron Chrysanthemum’s decision to send the senior manager of his estate’s landscapers on a simple apple-picking task.

“Si,” responded the burro in a tone of absolute and total respect for his superior. “Eet will be right in the middle of harvest, so wee will be working very hard. You are welcome to come out and assist eef you want, Senior Papercut.”

Continuing as if he had not heard a word, Papercut marked off his checklist and said, “The weather pegasi have already flown to the site, which leaves the veterinarian.”

“Present,” said a much older mare with a silver mane. She patted the unicorn foal at her side, who looked up with sleepy eyes. “I brought along my granddaughter this time. She’s really looking forward to playing with the birds.”

The steady progress of Papercut’s pencil down the checklist paused. “You were not supposed to bring along any extraneous relatives.”

“Do you want to spend a few days taking care of Fluttershy’s creatures?” asked the sweet old mare with a smile.

There was a long pause, then Papercut completed his checkmark.

“And our librarian this visit will be—” Papercut squinted at his clipboard, then looked up at Emerald with a frown.

“Emerald City,” said ‘Emerald’ a little louder than he expected. He exchanged a bland look with Papercut, who eventually looked back down and completed his checklist, although with a set to the unicorn’s jaw that did not bode well for Emerald’s present attempt at relative anonymity.

“Very well, we should be arriving at the town’s train station in a few minutes. The mayor will coordinate any requests you have for the Crown during your stay and answer any questions you might have about your assignment. Dismissed.”

“I do have one question,” said Emerald, hoping to head off the inevitable curious prying from Papercut. “It’s really nothing serious. I’ll explain over a glass of wake-up juice in the dining car.”

High prices, low quality, and wake-up juice that was both translucent and lukewarm. The dining car was everything Emerald expected, right up to the cramped seating and the sticky tabletop. He settled down in the uncomfortable seat and fixed Papercut with his most serious glower, matched by the placid servant’s returned innocent expression which rated somewhere around the level of I Have No Idea How The Prostitute Got Into The Fraternity, House Mother.

This was going to be difficult.

“Spill it,” said Emerald. “This library gig is a plum position. The Archivists should have slipped one of their own pet students into it, if nothing else.”

“And you’re here.” Papercut made one brief motion to sip from the paper cup before he wrinkled up his nose and put the untouched cup back down on the table with a sharp grimace. “M’lord.”

“My father did not pull strings to get me this assignment,” said Emerald, trying to keep his anger under control, as well as not begin yet another journey into guessing about exactly what strings had been pulled by who. He crooked a foreleg around his paper cup and took a long drink out of the vile fluid, which helped keep his thoughts under control as he continued.

“Or at least I wouldn’t think so,” he added with a terse frown that was intended to gain sympathy from his opponent even if the subject was too close to his own skin for comfort. “Baron Chrysanthum wants his obedient son in Canterlot, after all. Under his hoof, so I can be the good son he wants. Somepony to enter into the family business, marry whatever unicorn mare he picks out for me, and father a line of happy horned grandfoals for him.” Emerald broke off and quietly tapped the rim of the wake-up juice cup with the tip of one hoof.

“You expect me to believe that, M’lord?” asked Papercut, who contrary to his words, was beginning to show small signs of doubt in his face.

After another distasteful sip of wake-up juice, Emerald continued with as much honesty as he could. “I suspect this is as much a surprise to him as it was to me this morning when the messenger showed up at my frat house and escorted me to the train station. Although somepony managed to get Dawn onto the roster, I suppose. The burro,” added Emerald at Papercut’s quizzical expression. “He’s the head landscaper at my father’s estate.”

“Ah.” Papercut floated his clipboard out and reviewed his notes. “A last minute selection. As you were, sir.”

“Which brings us back to just how my name popped up,” said Emerald. “I’m in Education. There is exactly one Library Studies class in my transcript.”

Let unsaid was the excellent score he had managed while holding down a grueling class load that semester. The experience he had managing his father’s library substituted for several missed lectures, and some minor proactive buttering with some ‘discovered’ first editions for the teacher’s own library did the rest.

He viewed it as less a bribe and more of a tip. The professor had been extremely helpful in the family’s academic endeavors, after all. And the gift had very carefully been delivered after final grade submission.

“Anyway,” mused Emerald, “I only signed up for this task to spite my father. The castle is crawling with qualified Archivists and school library science students who should have all been ahead of me.”

“There are no students on the list, M’lord. They all withdrew their applications, presumably at the urging of their instructors.” Papercut flipped back a few pages. “Several of whom requested cancellations, two candidates are out of town at the moment, and it appears your name just came up. Quite fortunate. Hm…”

“Uh-huh.” Emerald slugged back the rest of the instant wake-up juice with a scowl, made only worse by the gritty taste of undissolved powder at the bottom of the cup. “This is not a cyclical position. What happened to the previous substitute librarian?”

“Librarians,” corrected Papercut, who was still reading his sheet. “None of the substitute librarians made it through their assignment to serve a second time. Out of the Bearer missions involving Twilight Sparkle in the last several months, there were two substitutes who withdrew in the middle of their terms due to mental issues. Three others were issued Letters of Reprimand and Restraining Orders from the Crown upon their return to Canterlot and completion of their evaluation. One—” Papercut gave a tense frown “—defenestrated himself on the job. Thankfully, the assignee library is only two floors in height, but he jumped out of the window twice, the second time with a number of bee stings on his cutie mark.”

“It’s a librarian job,” muttered Emerald almost under his breath. “Check the books out, put the books back. An orangutan could do the job. A degreed orangutan,” he corrected at Papercut’s sharp glance. “One who has attended the university and learned the deep mysteries of the library science program, of course. Wouldn’t want any ordinary pony to think our jobs were easy. Right, Papercut?”

“Of course, m’lord.” The trim servant matched gazes with the new substitute librarian. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“For starters, you can stop calling me sir.” Emerald crushed his fedora down firmer on his head and slumped in the sticky train bench. “I’m only doing this to get out from under my father’s hoof for a few days. Every time you say ‘sir’ to me, it’s like he’s pushing down on top of my head.”

“Terribly sorry, sir.” Papercut was staring back nonplussed when Emerald looked up, and they matched gazes for a long time before Emerald let out his breath.

“Wheaton college, correct? Home of the Wheat Shocks, the best college buckball team in the league? Rock, Shock, Block, Shockers!”

“Why… Yes, sir.” The mention of his alumni status made Papercut’s spine straighten and his solemn expression gained the slightest hint of a smile at the very corner of his thin lips.

“Not the top of your class, I presume. Self-conscious about your looks, so you buy the best quality suits you can afford on a government salary in Canterlot. Attempting to fit in at court with your peers from more prestigious schools while carrying the anvil of a cowtown college around your neck means you have to look perfect, dress perfect, act perfect, even though you don’t have their diversity of usable spells. Sending money home to your mother, I presume?”

Papercut’s expression darkened, but he gave a short nod.

“Single parent household, then. Your mother always parted your mane on that side so you’ve never changed. Your tie is tied the same way, so you learned that from your mother too. She’s left-fielded, correct? Living in the lower-income Manehattan suburbs next to Wheaton, most likely employed in something blue collar. Nursing, perhaps.”

“She’s… a mortician’s assistant.” Papercut seemed to chew his next words before spitting them out. “Why did you read my file?”

Emerald shrugged and looked back at his own cutie mark, a child’s stubby unicorn horn with a few sparks spitting out of it. “No, I didn’t have to. Your cutie mark is a stack of paper cut in half, so your skill would seem to be in reducing the difficulty of getting through papers, a strange talent for somepony who works at the palace, although…” He took a breath, then stole Papercut’s untouched cup of wake-up juice and took an unsatisfying drink.

“Princess Celestia put you here. She doesn’t want anything interfering with the Elements of Harmony’s lives while they’re out on missions. That means she trusts you, and in all the years I attended the university, I’ve never known her to trust the wrong ponies. And that means she went through the long list of posers and fluffheads to find somepony who could buckle down and get things done regardless of their impressive credentials and fancy resumes. Somepony who had to take responsibility in their family after a parent left. Somepony who struggled through school, couldn’t make it to the elite institutions but still persevered, not somepony who coasted through on their family name. And above all, somepony not so comfortable in their position as to accept bribes, like your predecessor has been accused of doing. Quite a nasty little fuss in the newspapers, not totally swept under the rug, and a scandal which my respected father considers to be unwarranted, so I will also.”

“That’s… impressive, sir,” said Papercut as Emerald finished off the wake-up juice and crumpled the two empty paper cups in his forehooves. “I still want to know how you got access to read my file.”

“I didn’t. I read between the lines in the newspapers. Also, when your position was announced in the papers, I checked for your name in Twerp’s Peerage and the alumni records from my Canterlot Prep, both of which came up empty. For the rest, it’s written all over you.” Emerald reached out with one hoof and adjusted Papercut’s tie. “The way you hoof-launder your school tie instead of sending it out for professional cleaning, the little frayed spot on the tips of the collar, the way you fight to keep from coming down hard on the ‘sh’ sound when you speak. Just why you’re so resentful of somebody from the minor peerage who only wants to be treated like an ordinary pony. Is that so wrong, after all?”

“It… is not,” conceded Papercut, and although it looked as if he wanted to add another word, he stopped.

“Great.” Emerald City stood up with the crumpled cups pinned in one fetlock. He tossed them one at a time over his shoulder and kicked them into the corner trash bin before making a face. “I’ll try my best to keep the library intact if you’ll keep the wolves off my tail. If I look good, you’ll look good. Will that be acceptable, sir?”

Papercut nodded while getting to his hooves. “It is indeed. Are you certain you will be able to do the job of a proper librarian in Ponyville?”

Emerald City checked the packet he had been given when they boarded the train, including the spellkey to disable the wards on the library door and a stout envelope full of library procedures, which he had not opened yet.

“No problem. This’ll be a piece of cake.”

13. Snakes in a Library

The Substitute Librarian
Snakes in a Library

“Mares are not permitted in the fraternity!” snapped the familiar voice of Housemother Flamersham, penetrating through Emerald’s thick head and pulling back the fog of sleep enough for him to stumble out of his comfortable bed. The ‘Flam Alert’ was one of his responsibilities, because when one of his frat brothers got caught sneaking a mare into their bedroom, it was normally only Emerald’s diplomatic skills—and big blue eyes, he suspected—that could calm the indignant mare.

“Oh!” sounded her voice again, much less aggravated. “The Royal Guard! Right this way. Beg pardon, sir. I didn’t realize—”

Officer Grace came through Emerald’s half-open bedroom door with brisk strides, leaving the gold-armored unicorn out in the hallway. Both of them looked less than happy at their current location, and Grace produced a rolled-up scroll with a flourish of her magic, holding it directly in front of his nose and speaking in short, sharp words.

“Your mail, sir.”

Ever so slowly, Emerald turned his head to look at the window and the darkness beyond, then back to look at Grace’s stern expression. “Can it wait until breakfast? Ouch!” He rubbed his nose and cringed away from where the policemare was raising the rolled-up message in her magic to hit him again. “Okay, I get it. You don’t have to—”

With the message in-hoof, Emerald took a moment to really look at the fussy policemare and the stern Royal Guard standing right outside his door, from tiny flecks of food decorating both of their muzzles to a certain amount of mussed hairs on each of their coats.

Plus, Grace was not wearing her uniform, which Emerald thought might have been a second skin for her. And she was wearing a string of pearls, quite formal for a midnight visit to…

“Oh,” he said before continuing much slower and casting a longer look at the stern stallion. “I’m sorry for interrupting your date, Mister…?”

“Lieutenant Kudzu,” snapped Grace. “And it wasn’t a date. We were merely… Open your letter,” she finished with a threatening growl.

He did. Then Emerald looked at the single line of writing inside, which had been inscribed so hard there were scratch lines in the paper, and the thick letters smudged.

WHERE IS THE SNAKE!

He wanted to laugh.

After due consideration, it did not seem like a very wise reaction.

He got out his quill and settled down at the desk instead. In his opinion, he wound up writing quite a thoughtful, clear, obvious letter, describing the circumstances behind the sign he had accidentally left on Twilight Sparkle’s door—without Trixie, of course—and ending with the most sincere apology and promise that there had been no snake, was no snake, and would never be a snake inside the library, ever, because he was afraid of snakes too.

Grace took the letter from him when complete, made a few tiny corrections, then rolled it up and took it with her when she strode away, back down the frat house stairs, and out into the night, followed by the impassive Royal Guard.

And Emerald went back to sleep with a smile.

25. Never Volunteer to Move a Piano Downstairs in a Hurry

Substitute Archivist
Never Volunteer to Move a Piano Downstairs in a Hurry

Sitting on the toilet seems to entice the universe into perversity. You can spend hours sitting around reading a book with nobody in the vicinity, but get comfortable on the pot and something always interrupts the process. Traveling salesponies, visiting neighbors, or even old friends who never thought to send a warning letter about their sudden arrival, they all seemed drawn to a residence where the occupant was doing what one does in a bathroom.

Emerald had only given the matter a passing thought before he was seated on the apartment bathroom’s toilet. Twilight Sparkle’s empty apartment seemed to be the perfect spot to avoid interruption, until about halfway through a very serious relief of bladder pressure when his hindbrain started popping up scenarios. After all, the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony might just get Twilight Sparkle’s family piano out onto the balcony before returning inside for their own quick bathroom break prior to their long push/drag of their weighty burden over to the train station. And if any of them came running in through the bathroom door with the expectation of finding the room empty…

It would have been quite impossible to stop doing what he was doing, so Emerald concentrated on listening to the loud scrape-scrape-scrape of six mares shoving the piano. As long as the noise continued, he was safe. For practical purposes, since all of Twilight’s friends were paying piano attention at the moment, as soon as he finished his potty break Emerald intended on slipping back out into the empty apartment and vanishing into the Archives by way of the apartment back door.

And then… the noise stopped.

It was a rather peculiar way of stopping. If the Bearers had simply stopped pushing, the scrape-scrape-scrape would have turned into silence, possibly broken by some serious panting for breath and a few choice curse words. Instead, the noise went scrape-scraaape—

And then nothing but a faint movement of air.

He wasn’t about to go look.

He wanted to.

After all, if the Bearers all left and he didn’t look, he would never know what they did with the piano.

And then he found out. Audibly. Extremely so.

He had never heard the noise a piano made when dropped from a rather tall tower, but as sounds went, it could not be mistaken for anything else. It also made him quite glad not to have come out to help Twilight Sparkle move, because if that was the way she dealt with annoyances…

There was no way Emerald was going to leave the bathroom now.

He waited.

When the rustling and chatter of the Bearers picking up the boxes out in the main apartment faded and he heard the sound of the outer door thumping closed, he continued to wait.

After several minutes of waiting, he emerged out of the bathroom, ever so slowly, one limb at a time. The lighting devices were off, but there was sufficient late-afternoon Sun coming through the windows to illuminate the empty apartment quite well.

Well, not quite empty. There were the plants, of course, which probably stayed with the apartment much like the furniture. And the empty shelves, the rugs, and the cushions, likewise. But that was it. There were no boxes, no books, no dust, no bits and pieces of Twilight Sparkle’s life remaining. No dishes, no clothes. Even the bed had been stripped of its linen and left naked for the next resident.

And, of course, no piano. No Twinkle family piano. An ancient link tying generations of House Twinkle together in a chain of steel that ended with…

After due consideration for several minutes, and several hesitant steps to the back door Archives exit of the apartment for a belated getaway, Emerald ever so carefully opened the front door and peered out. There was no sign of the Bearers other than a faint chattering of mares coming from below as Twilight and her friends headed down the long spiral ramp in the direction of their home, but for good measure, Emerald waited until even that noise drifted away on the evening breeze. Only then did he follow the scent of burnt cloth to the wastebin next to the balcony bench, but it was far, far too late. Only crispy scraps and pieces of his familiar hat survived, with a thick section of headband where he had tucked the brass token with the unlocking spell for the Archivist apartment.

“R.L. would have tossed me off the balcony if I lost this,” he muttered, trying not to look over the edge of the balcony.

After all, there had been a murder of sorts, and looking to see what happened was practically manditory. Well, at least for him. Most normal ponies would flee at top speed from a gruesome death, even of a piano, but he had more curiosity than common sense. He occupied his mind for a moment by tucking away the door-unlocking token for its return to the Archives Administration Desk, then considering just how many other ponies would have been attracted by the noise. Curiosity eventually won out over caution, but only by very narrow margins. In due time, with considerable lying on his belly and scooting forward on the cold balcony floor by microscopic measures, Emerald managed to get as-good-a-look-as-he-wanted at the shattered remains of the fallen family piano far below, the sole remaining connection Twilight Sparkle had to her old family, now broken as much as its owner.

“Symbolic, I suppose,” he murmured under his breath. “Still, not taking the blame for that. No way, no how. Alibi time.”

Working his way backward just as carefully as he had before, Emerald took his leave of the crime scene, taking the casual route of the Archives elevator and a little premeditated book-browsing to ensure he would not bump into Equestria’s greatest heroes and their flawed leader when he eventually departed. And maybe, this evening when everything was behind him, he could stop by his family home and give his mother an unexplained hug.

But first, he had something to do.

* * *

“If it isn’t my favorite Archivist intern. You’re working late, R.L.” Emerald strolled casually into the office an hour after it should have closed, dropping the brass token on the shining oak surface of the Archives Administration desk and sliding it over to the pinch-faced mare.

“Stating the obvious will not help you evade your responsibilities,” she said. “There were several other tasks which came up while you were gone, so do not expect full credit for your volunteering today. Even simple delivery seems to be above your level of expertise. I don’t suppose you had anything to do with the incident outside of the tower this afternoon?”

“Something interesting happened?” asked Emerald with all the innocent curiosity he could muster. “I guess I lost track of time. On my way back, I found a section in the Archives on Shaow Lin and his theories about thaumic channel development back three centuries ago, and I just couldn’t leave until I was done. Admittedly, it’s horribly obsolete theory and completely replaced by now, but it may give me some insight on my teaching career when I graduate at the end of this semester.”

“If you graduate,” said R.L. with a sniff. “You have no business being in unicorn education, and even less business in the Archive tower. If it were not for your father’s money, you would be with the accountants where you belong.” She swept the brass spelltag off the desk and placed it carefully in a lockbox, then pushed the clipboard over to Emerald with another sniff. “Sign, and note your late return of Archive property.”

After a few dips and twists of the quill pen, Emerald regarded his messy signature. “While that dries, can you get out the volunteer sheet for the Ponyville library signup?”

“Why?” R.L. looked down her sharp nose at him from across the polished desk.

“Because I asked?” said Emerald.

“No.”

Emerald let the word hang in the air for a while before shrugging. No doubt the stiff mare had a list of excuses several pages long detailing just why he did not deserve to have his name back on the sheet, mostly because he had noticed R.L’s name there several weeks ago when he had taken his off. There had been quite a few names added to the list over time, most of which had been marked through without comment, although he could still vividly remember his first visit and the cautionary words from the bureaucrat in charge of their mismatched crew. All of the rest of the Bearers seemed to be fairly low-drama with the temporary substitutes holding down their jobs, but when he talked about Twilight Sparkle…

None of the substitute librarians made it through their assignment to serve a second time.

Fighting about getting his name back on the list would only make R.L. dig in for a long battle, much like his father would, so a diversion would accomplish the task much more effectively. Besides, he had already planned for this, provided none of the other Archivists still in the building had found his staged scene yet.

“No biggie. I’ll find another way to earn extra credit.” He turned for the office door with a brisk trot, pausing only to call over his shoulder, “By the way, you might want to avoid the section of the stacks up on the second floor by the irrational integrals papers. There’s a young couple up there who seem to be more into multiplication than calculus.”

Nostrils flaring, R.L. took off from behind her desk like an arrow and skidded sideways on the smooth granite to make a turn onto the stairs, which she took two at a time. Despite a brisk and efficient search, she did not find the reported couple and their indiscretions, but there was evidence of such in disturbed books spread across several messy piles that needed to be reshelved properly. After one additional quick check, the Archivist returned to her desk, relishing the quiet and making plans on how the whole place could be made more efficient when she progressed from intern to full Archivist.

She did not notice the closed folder in the bottom desk drawer where the Ponyville Substitute Librarian Volunteer Sheet had gained one more slightly damp name.