The Substitute Librarian

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!”