It was the sort of winter day where the cold had only mostly been left outside the schoolhouse. Diamond felt that she understood winter (because she believed, with obvious accuracy, that she understood just about everything) and so recognized that when you got deep enough into the season, it became claustrophobic.
Snow was just something you had to push around, usually from the wrong end of the plow -- although given what happened to anypony unlucky enough to be blindsided by an active accumulation pusher who could no longer see where they were going, she wasn't entirely sure there was any such thing as the right end of a plow.
Ice? That wasn't something you skated on any more, because that would mean caring enough to deliberately seek it out. The ice, which wasn't happy about being ignored, would promptly relocate portions of itself to the road. Hooves didn't always do well with ice, and the thing about having four legs was that it became surprisingly easy to have two of them go out at once.
It was cold, bleak, and you could hide inside for a while -- but the cold was going to wait. Winter reached the point where it pushed you inside and dared you to come out. And that was a mistake, because winter didn't fight fair and most of the ice had used inside time for scouting your favorite paths.
To reach the end of winter's second moon was to stare at the calendar, note the date of the Wrap-Up, and will it to move. And it didn't, because calendars were really stupid that way. The more practical action was to take its paper, repurpose it into the base of a petition, and then go around collecting signatures because if enough ponies demanded it, the Weather Bureau would obviously have to change the date. This hadn't worked quite yet, but Diamond was convinced that it was mostly a matter of making the effort a little more national.
Winter, at somewhat past midseason, made you want to go somewhere in the hopes that it might not follow. Anywhere at all.
"So there's a problem with the Autarky field trip," Miss Cheerilee wearily told the class.
And if there was something which fillies and colts wanted to do, then there were going to be mares and stallions waiting to sabotage it.
"We can't go?" Snails worriedly asked: verbally, this came across as a sort of dulled franticness drifting forward from the back row, and it was just barely strong enough to penetrate the fast-rising murmur. "But it's been on the spring schedule for --"
The teacher sighed, and that was enough to silence them all.
She got off the bench. Slowly, as if legs and hips were aching in the cold, and then came around the desk to face them directly.
"It's the school board," the adult said. "They're second-guessing just about everything, and that includes the rest of our travel schedule. Because some of our previous outings have arguably led into --" and the pause went on a little too long "-- incidents..."
A trio of tightly-grouped fillies had the semi-grace to blush.
"...they're reluctant to let us out into the wide world again without certain assurances. And when it comes to the Autarky Magic Center, where ponies are encouraged to play with enchanted exhibits..."
Diamond, who'd almost been looking forward to activating a few old devices just to see how the aesthetic of the glow had changed over the centuries, braced herself.
"...they're insisting on a security deposit. Something which would cover a portion of any potential damages." The teacher wearily shook her head. "And if nothing happens, then that money gets rolled over into next year's outing fund." Paused. "It would be the fund. With a significant increase over previous years, which would potentially allow us to go places we'd never considered before -- possibly even if more security deposits got involved. But the board won't pay for the first one."
Everypony looked crestfallen. Snips' chin was steadily dipping towards his sternum, and wasn't going to need very much time to work through the intervening desk. Cotton appeared to be downright miserable, and Silver's eyes had closed.
Silver...
It was clearly time to be a Hero.
Or rather, a Heroine. Fillies were just better at doing the important stuff.
Diamond's right forehoof tapped her desktop. Cheerliee nodded.
"If it's just some bits," Diamond began, "I could ask my daddy." He never minded giving the school some support and anyway, this clearly had to count as a tax-deductible donation --
"-- you can't," the teacher evenly countered. "Not for this, Diamond. The school board told me that if this is going to happen at all, then the parents can't cover it. They want the money to come from the students."
"...why?" felt like a natural question.
"Something about 'maybe they'll be more careful if it's their problem'," Miss Cheerilee carefully failed to snort.
...okay, that was going to be harder. Diamond had bits: in fact, she had a decent number of coins in the saddlebags under her desk because she'd received her allowance that morning and had been planning to do some shopping with Silver after school. But a security deposit...
Scootaloo tapped her own desktop. "How much did they want?"
...well, if it was just her and Silver and maybe a couple of others, then that would be both less expense and a lot more fun. Plus the odds of not using the security deposit would clearly go way up. But this was supposed to be about the entire class...
Miss Cheerilee named a number and in doing so, proved the value of education. It was the sort of number which required a few years of schooling to truly appreciate.
"...oh," the pegasus softly said, and almost left it at that. "Um. I... I can't -- I don't know if anypony..."
Diamond couldn't either. Not with what she had on her, and not with what she received during a full allowance year. It was that bad.
"I wasn't expecting you to," the teacher quietly said. Without quite glancing at Diamond, "Or anypony else." Which was followed by a cross between open sigh and repressed groan. "However, the school board did offer us the traditional way out..."
The groan found multiple new, younger homes.
"Aw, horse apples --"
"Language, Snips," Cheerilee gently said.
"-- it's gonna be a fundraiser, isn't it?"
The teacher nodded. Snips' chin began to formally phase through the wood.
"Sponges?" Truffle asked. "I don't want to do sponges again --"
"No," the adult assured him. "For some reason, the school board didn't feel this was spongeworthy. So they reached out to a company in Canterlot, and... well, this is when our guests will tell you."
She trotted over to the door. Got it open, and two new adults entered in a blast of cold. The smaller was towing a scaled-down cart.
Diamond watched them shed winter garments, most of which wound up on the floor. (Kids were supposed to put stuff away, but reaching a certain birthday apparently gave you the right to just kick stuff anywhere.) The cart was unhitched, and the newcomers turned to face the class.
One mare, one stallion. Both brown, but it was the sort of hue which reminded Diamond of a much better source for brown, mostly in self-defense.
They smiled at the class. They never really stopped smiling, which gave Diamond plenty of time to consider how their teeth sort of looked like rough toffee. Or nougat. She'd never really gotten the hang of nougat.
"I'm Hawk!" the stallion merrily declared.
"And I'm Gritrude!" the mare far too happily exclaimed.
"And we," they chorused, "are from Horsesheys!"
Most of the class winced.
Horsesheys could be described as a chocolate company, but the determination wasn't made so much on weight of evidence as balance of technicality. They served as a sort of baseline for the mass-produced stuff: if you wanted to have a chance at selling anything, you couldn't do any worse than this. Their products were generally kept next to the cash registers, because that seemed to be the place where consumers decided that they wanted a little chocolate while simultaneously forgetting what that was supposed to be. The tongue was presumed to be suffering an equal degree of amnesia, and was about to receive the one-bite cure.
Their product was brown, had some hard bits, and came in a wrapper. Diamond was completely certain that she could replicate most of the experience with foil, dirt, and a touch of optional wax. The wax had most of the flavor.
...maybe that was what felt so wrong with the visitors' smiles. Fixed and waxy.
"So here's how this works!" the mare enthused. "Horsesheys is going to sell your class boxes of chocolate bars at a discount rate!"
"Forty bars to a box!" declared the stallion.
"And you sell them for a predetermined price of two bits each!" the mare alternated.
"Keep careful count of your boxes, now!" the stallion merrily cautioned. "Because anything you buy from us, you keep! There's no returns!"
Well, that was just basic inventory management. But -- two bits for a Horsesheys bar? It took an exceptionally hungry and forgetful pony to nose over a half-bit --
"And when you've sold enough," the mare cheered them on, "you'll have your trip!"
The class, just about all of whom possessed Horsesheys experience and had gotten a tooth grip on the scope of the obstacle, was silent.
"But --" and the stallion's volume temporarily dropped "-- it's a lot of work, isn't it? Selling chocolate."
"Fun work!" the mare added at the previous decibel level. "We do it every day! Through going to schools all over Equestria and talking to kids exactly like you!"
Diamond was instantly insulted. Nopony was exactly like her.
"But it's still work," the stallion decided. "And ponies should be paid for working! More than they usually are."
"So for every full box sold," the mare joyously informed them as her eyes began to brighten, "the students who sold it get to keep five whole bits! For your very own! We'll pay you on the spot when we come back again, taken out of the final total!"
The class was starting to murmur again.
Diamond was silent. Five bits was... well, it was something, but it was also the kind of something which was hardly anything. And yet...
Her father had once told her that a single bit could feel like all the money in the world. The most special amount of all. And all that was required for feeling that way was not having any.
What was it like, to possess so little that the prospect of five bits made somepony seem so enthralled? Because the murmur was rising on a tide of -- well, call it dubious excitement. Because it was a chance at five bits, but it was also very much Horsesheys.
Still... it was definitely inspiring the workforce.
There were a few more words. About how their first boxes were in the cart, and Diamond decided that she hadn't scented the chocolate because it had been outside in the cold. (Also because it was Horsesheys and when it came to scents, chocolate wasn't reasonably expected.) The process for ordering more: they could do that without immediate payment, but it all had to come out of their sales money at the end -- which included paying for unsold product, because nothing could go back.
The sales period came up, and Diamond managed to keep the groan internal: it was barely any time at all, and all of it would be winter. This was naturally followed by the deadline. The day, hour, and minute when the Horsesheys' duo would return to settle accounts.
They wished the students luck. (Diamond, looking back on it from the aftermath, would bitterly decide that part had been slightly sincere.) Said something indistinct about making the numbers work, put their garments back on, and left. The cold used the opportunity to surge back in, then started investigating the bookshelves.
Cheerilee reclosed the door, looked at her students, and then did something incredibly rare for an adult. She made exactly the right decision.
"Diamond?"
Pink ears instantly perked up.
"You're in charge," the teacher told her.
Yes!
It wasn't that she really wanted to do it. She could think of at least a dozen better things to do, and one of those would have been coming up with a hundred activities over the initial dozen.
But if it had to be done, then at least it was now going to be done properly.
Technically, telling the class that she'd have their assignments ready on the next morning (well before classes started) cost them part of one sales day, but Diamond considered that to be an investment of hours. You couldn't just leap into this sort of thing with all four legs and expect it to actually work.
She contemplated her plan across the whole of the long trot home. And as soon as she reached the dinner table, she kicked the first part into action and brought in an expert consultant. For free.
"They're asking you to fetch considerably more than it's worth," the expert consultant immediately decided: his right forehoof pushed the salad bowl over to a Hold position for the duration. "It's reasonable to expect some degree of price increase when it's a fundraising product, but this is fourfold."
"I know," Diamond groused. "And when I got the first boxes --" there were two in her saddlebags "-- I wanted to put them in the store, right next to the registers."
"Where I keep the current stock for that brand," her father nodded. "For now, anyway."
It didn't feel like he was referring to letting her have that space. (Not that it mattered.) "For now?"
"Their quality keeps going downhill," he told her. "If they don't straighten out their haul path, they're going to be the next Worthy's."
She felt as if her frown had been a pretty one. "Who?"
"Another chocolatier," he calmly educated. "The oldest such business on the continent -- until they went out of business. And my having to tell you that should provide a clue as to why they're no longer around, Diamond." He took a slow breath. "They were an object lesson, in the end. Mostly about the things we need to avoid. And as it is, I think Barnyard Bargains may be a significant percentage of the remaining Horseshey sales. They didn't always push their product line at me with this much force..."
She gave him a moment to think. It was the least of what she could offer him.
Eventually, he nodded to himself, then resumed. "So when it comes to counter space near the registers, we'll obviously need to put up a sign explaining the fundraiser. The price will still be a problem. But for square hoofwidths, I may be able to let you have --"
"-- I can't," Diamond moped.
Weary blue eyes blinked at her. "Can't?"
"I checked the packaging. All of it." Because you always had to know exactly what you were selling. "That's one of the reasons why I got home so late. And it says 'Not For Sale In Stores'."
"...really?"
"Once you get the really big magnifying glass over it. But I was at the library anyway and Miss Twilight loaned me something strong enough to stop the squinting." The filly very nearly sighed. "But you can't put it in a store. I checked that against the contract copy which Miss Cheerilee gave me -- that was two lenses on top of each other -- and it's in there too. Plus the school board already signed."
Her father was frowning. "Possibly something about not competing against themselves, but... odd. " Thoughtfully, "You said you were at the library anyway. Schoolwork?"
"I wanted to start on a sales pitch," Diamond said. "Because it's four times more expensive and ponies need a reason to buy it. So I asked for a book about the nutritional value of chocolate."
"Practical," he approved, and her heart warmed. "So what did you come up with?"
"Nothing."
Quizzically, "I know chocolate has some nutritional value..."
With open frustration, "And now I do too. But then I put three lenses on top of each other, so I could read the ingredients list. And none of the good stuff applies to this! It sure doesn't have the iron. Maybe the magnesium is there, but I think that's mostly to try and make it self-heating."
"Self-heating --" he tried.
"-- if you take the wrapper off, the bar might catch fire." With a snort, "Which would have helped. I tried a bar, Daddy, because you always have to know exactly what you're selling." And she'd paid for it out of her allowance, then claimed a blank double-entry ledger out of her father's study and officially opened the books. "I could do better with dirt, wax, and nutshells. Or better nutshells than what they already used. If it was a fire right in front of your snout, then at least your snout would be warm!"
He was smiling. Just a little.
"And I can't donate in," he reminded her. "Not beyond potentially buying a bar, and... Diamond, I appreciate your telling me the truth about this, but it doesn't exactly make me a willing customer."
"I don't want you eating this," Diamond firmly told him. Because she had a daddy, she loved him very much, and she didn't want to ever see him get sick. "But I don't understand why the school board won't let you help..."
"They probably think it's a lesson in responsibility for your class," her father decided, and followed that with a roll of those blue eyes. "Not that they remember how it actually works. I swear the central requirement for getting on the board is to completely forget what it was like to be in school..."
His tail lashed, just once. And then he looked her over.
"I'll want to see your contract," he requested. "Paying the students is an interesting twist. Incentivizing. You'll have to keep careful track, of course: you can hardly expect everypony to sell in full units. But they think you can get eighty bits per box, and -- it's still Horsesheys, Diamond." With the fully sincere honesty which was so rare to receive from any adult, "This might be the board setting your class up to fail. Make sure there aren't any more field trips."
Her head dipped. "...I know." And the disaster trio had actually been getting better...
"So what are you going to do?"
"Make the board work for it."
She commandeered the trio's clubhouse. Everypony knew where it was. There were very few adults who would voluntarily go near it, Just In Case. And it was normally a little too well-ventilated, but this was winter. The class just needed a temporary base of operations, along with secure storage. (Diamond had brought her own lock.) Keeping the chocolate cold probably wouldn't hurt. Besides, if they needed to warm up a little, they just had to expose multiple bars to air and then hope for the best.
...or they could start a normal fire. Every bar used had to be paid for, and two bits each was way too high for fuel.
She stressed that to the class during the first formal meeting. They had to keep exacting books. If a bar was unwrapped in the name of providing sample bites, then that bar was going to cost the unwrapping party two bits. Also, Diamond had already tried some and when it came to sales tactics, offering samples was clearly the wrong way to go.
"So how are we doing this?" Cotton asked. "Because there isn't a lot of time. And there's too many boxes."
Snips groaned. "We've just got the first group and there's already too many."
They all looked at the back wall. The stacked boxes were covering too much of it.
"I know," Diamond reluctantly agreed. "But I've got a plan." Her head tilted back towards saddlebags, and nimble teeth quickly extracted the needed item. A quick drop allowed her hooves to spread it across the floor.
Everypony looked at that.
"Y'made a map," Apple Bloom unnecessarily observed.
"No," Diamond primly corrected. "I acquired a map. And then I made it into a sales plan. We're going to have coverage districts. This is to make sure there's no overlap. Also, there's going to be working hours." She glanced at the junior farmer. "You've got chores to worry about, even when there aren't as many in winter. So I made sure your shifts are mostly on the weekend." The one and only weekend they'd been granted during the too-short sales drive. "Snips, none of this is going to conflict with the bookbinding --"
"Working hours," Truffle snorted. "Outside in winter, with this stuff."
"The Center trip is in the first part of spring," Diamond pointed out. "It's now or never --"
Expertise claimed the controls. "-- I don't even eat this stuff," declared the future gourmand. "There's ponies who would want to be paid for eating it."
"They don't have to eat it," their leader indicated. "That's not what we're selling."
...they were all looking at her.
"We're selling chocolate," Sweetie carefully said, "so ponies won't eat it?"
"That's not what I said," Diamond immediately corrected. "The chocolate is just what they get for their bits. It's not the product."
"So what do they get?" Cotton forced herself to ask.
She told them.
The collective staring went on for a while. Diamond quickly decided it was a sign of respect.
"Exacting books," she told them. "Every bar has to be accounted for, every time. No discounts for bulk purchases." Not that she expected anypony to offer, but... "We can't afford those. Every sale into the ledger. Every bar gets tracked -- Silver?" Whose glasses had just slipped, because any expression of visible thought always made them slip.
"We should bring the empty boxes back here," her best friend proposed. "So they can be counted. It's another way to track. And if we're doing really well, we can just watch the empties pile up against that wall."
And that was why it was good to be friends with somepony who could think. "Do that. Everypony brings their boxes back here. And remember, we're doing this for the Center trip. So we can touch coronas, and that glass ball with the lightning in it, and put together basic unfinished devices..."
Not that she was very interested in any of that. (Except maybe for touching lightning stored inside glass, because that just sounded like something worth doing.) And if she was, then her father would be willing to take her at just about any time. For that matter, Diamond had some freedom to travel without adult supervision, just as long as somepony knew where she was going and when she'd return. She could readily pay her own admission, along with Silver's: the adult preference was for her to travel with company.
"I don't know about the rest of you," Scootaloo firmly stated, "but I'm doing this for five bits. And as many multipliers as I can get."
Diamond could pay her own way, via allowance. Other ponies... couldn't.
It was an odd thought.
They're my employees.
That was how it worked. She was in charge. They would be acting under her direction, which naturally meant that as long as they followed instructions, they would be acting properly. Her job was to get them to the goal.
"It won't all be multipliers," she told them.
"And why not?" Scootaloo instantly demanded.
"Because a whole multiplier means an extra whole box," Diamond explained, "and bits are divisible. We'll keep the books straight, work out the exact numbers for everypony and then bring in some smidgens. But right now, I want everypony around the map. Here's the assignments..."
And in this case, that also included making sure they got paid.
They were going into Canterlot on the first day of that weekend, because her daddy needed to do some things in that store and he usually took Diamond along. He said it was a good learning experience, and he always arranged for them to do something which wasn't Store before they came home.
And they were also taking the train. They didn't always, especially in summer: a private air carriage was just faster. But if it was spring or fall, and time wasn't pressing against his tail... there were times when her father took the trot, following the old road to the base of the mountain. But if it was winter, then it was going to be the train.
Air carriages, as creations of pegasus magic, had enchantments which diverted most of the wind around the passenger area. And the built-in wonders kept that space relatively warm, but -- her daddy said that it was always just a little too chill in winter. Besides, normal ponies took the train a lot more than they ever used private air carriages, and... he also said it was important to remember what being a normal pony felt like. To move among them, and be normal. Because wealth could separate you from the herd, and... you couldn't allow that to happen. Not for long.
Diamond didn't really understand that part. But her father had said it, so there had to be some wisdom there. Maybe she'd work it out.
He'd bundled up in a thick coat: something which completely hid the tie while covering his mark. The addition of a lined hood rendered him anonymous. Diamond, who had somewhat less objection to being spotted in a crowd, made sure she had ornate saddlebags and as a planned measure for later, fully loaded them.
They trotted together, and they took the long way to the station.
He'd asked her how the fundraiser was going. She'd offered to show him.
"So individual sales districts."
"Yes," she proudly stated while dodging a patch of dark ice: the trick was to look for that telltale glint of reflected winter light from the hollow between cobblestones. "Nopony crosses a border. They can go door-to-door, but only one visit to each house. And if they see a customer in the street later, after they've made a decision, we leave them alone for a while. There's exceptions for other places, but... if they bought, then their name gets written down. And if they sell to somepony in the street and then find their house, apologize and leave. That way, nopony can really say they're being pestered."
He thoughtfully nodded: something which almost got lost within the thick hood. "And the sales pitch?"
"They're a little customized," she admitted. "Because the same thing doesn't work for everypony -- wait. I think I see orange..."
Scootaloo was standing patiently in front of the open door. It was a good position to be in, because all of the heat was getting out and most of it had to go past her before it escaped.
Roseluck, who was technically still inside the house, had just heard the first part of the sales pitch. And, in trying to work out what it all meant, was encountering Issues.
"So you didn't make this," the earth pony triple-checked.
"No," Scootaloo calmly stated. "You can see the Horsesheys logo."
"Because I've eaten things which the three of you made," Roseluck continued. (The streaked tail was starting to twitch.) "A few times. I'm still tasting at least two of them."
"This wasn't us."
"And this is for a field trip," the adult said. "Even if this is real, even if the Crusade isn't back and nothing is going to break or burn or explode --"
"We're not sure about burn," Scootaloo honestly said. "The magnesium content is really high. Diamond said to eat it quickly. Or store it somewhere that's airtight."
"-- then why would I ever give you money? Especially at two bits for one bar of chocolate, when it's this chocolate, when it's barely chocolate at all --"
"-- because," the supposedly-retired Crusader informed her, "if we meet the total sales goal, then it'll put me out of Ponyville. Along with my friends. For hours."
The mare, as evidenced by a new pattern of twitches, seemed to be thinking that over.
"...and?"
"And if we're all in Canterlot," Scootaloo placidly asked, "then what can happen here?"
Roseluck's mouth fell very slightly open.
"...what's the sales goal?"
The full number required a little time to recite.
"Got it," the earth pony stated. "I'll take five."
"So there's nopony selling at the outdoor market?"
"No." Diamond felt free to snort. "There aren't as many booths in winter, so there aren't that many ponies shopping either. And she'd just say we were soliciting." Because Ms. Colwood felt that anypony selling within her territory was either going to pay for a space rental or GET OUT.
Diamond fully understood that there were times when you had to spend money to make money -- but the only return received would be the five bits per box, and that was for the class. There was no way to recoup any investment. So going into the market area was out.
(She'd stationed Cotton and Truffle on opposite sides of the square, well across the street from the entrances and therefore, completely out of Colwood territory. It was much more practical.)
Similarly, those whose parents had shops couldn't sell within them: the stupid wrapper warning held sway. That meant going out on sales patrol. And there were other forbidden zones. For example, trying to sell candy near Bon-Bon's shop mostly let you discover exactly how quickly an angry earth pony could move: the total on that math typically worked out to Too Late.
And you couldn't sell in the cinema. The owner would take natural objection to anypony selling chocolate at two bits per bar, because that was too much of an undercut on his own prices. But there was a shadowed area within rough sight of the entrance. It was fully possible to set up there with a 'Psst! Want some chocolate before you go in?' and when it came to the cinema's policy regarding snacks from the outside, Diamond had just gotten around to wondering if they had one.
Door-to-door. Select portions of the streets: obviously you needed somepony in the restaurant district, offering a form of dessert -- although Diamond had paid careful attention to dining hours and made sure nopony was going to be outside in the chill after Moon was raised: those classmates would mostly be working the tail end of the lunch rush.
"Soliciting is one of the big problems," Diamond admitted as they passed Featherweight's assigned post: the skinny colt was using short bursts of flight to make sure the adults noticed him. "Can't work in a store, can't work too close to a store. A lot of this was always going to be home visit sales. But it's not the majority source."
"So what is?"
Diamond smiled.
Silver had the westbound platform. Cotton had been assigned the east, and Diamond almost wound up questioning her own decision on that. Giving Silver the eastbound would have allowed fully checking in on her friend and as it was, all she could do was nod and try to see how empty the neck-slung box was.
"Chocolate!" Cotton called out -- and because a pegasus who was just entering adolescence wasn't quite sure what to do with it, every repetition of the word to a colt her own age was given a new kind of pitch. Diamond quickly decided it was meant to be flirty, followed by even more quickly deciding that it wasn't. "Selling chocolate for Ponyville East! Genuine nut pieces!"
(Diamond had thought long and hard before deciding it was safe to let ponies say that much. False advertising was a thing.)
"Commuter traffic," her father deduced. "Clever."
"They're hungry," she said. "Usually. And they have change, because they just paid for a ticket. Plus there's a few who aren't commuters. They come in off the trains, they don't know Ponyville, and we're the first thing they see. We try to make a good impression." As opposed to overcoming a number of bad ones...
Cotton made a sale. The white-furred filly thanked her customer, then picked up a quill in her teeth and made a mark on the right edge of the box.
"Tallying," Diamond softly said. "I'll transfer that to a ledger later. We're keeping the empty boxes in the clubhouse, though. For achievement. And records backup. Do we have a minute before the train comes? I should check on her."
He nodded. She went over, had a few words, managed not to say anything about the hastily-jotted address for the Ponyville North colt, and then came back.
They waited for the train. (It was something which normal ponies did, and Diamond found it boring.)
Eventually, the steamstack puffs began to appear on the horizon. They got on in the company of so many others, claimed a padded bench, and waited for the vibrations to start up.
"Do you feel it's going well?" her daddy asked as the train began to shift.
"There's some empties," she admitted. "But there could be more. And we don't have a lot of time."
She glanced at the aisle. The conductor was coming. Tickets were extracted from saddlebags.
"Did you need to make a return at a Canterlot store?"
"No." Which was all she could say, because the uniformed stallion was nearly on top of them --
-- tickets were collected, and she watched him work his way to the car's exit. The door slid closed behind him.
"Then what are you carrying?"
You had to spend money to make money. Diamond fully understood that. It was just that they were kids, there was no way to recoup the costs, and nopony had very much to spend.
But her father had paid for the train ticket.
Diamond jumped down from her bench. A single smooth move extracted the full box from her left saddlebag, the followup head toss put the carrier rope behind her neck, and then she proudly began to trot down the aisle.
Her head was held high. The tail flicked a little, because that was a way to draw attention. And she smiled.
"Hello, everypony!" the enterprise's assigned leader called out. "My name is Diamond, and I'm a student at Ponyville East! I'm sorry for calling your attention away from newspapers and scenery and whatever's in that very interesting-looking book, but I promise that I'll only do this once. Because my school is having a fundraiser to pay for a field trip to the Autarky. It's an interactive thaumatology museum for kids! And everypony says it's the sort of thing you appreciate most when you're young. But this is the only year we've been able to go, there's a security deposit involved, and..."
In Diamond's opinion, the little quaver she'd just added to her lower lip was the purest of Art.
"...maybe there won't be another chance. Maybe by the time there is, we'll be too old to really enjoy it. And I'm sorry for interrupting you. I wish I had something better to sell, or a price which wasn't so stupid -- it's Horsesheys chocolate, at two bits a bar, and that's because the school board said it had to be. Because this isn't spongeworthy. I wish I didn't have to take up your time. But I'll just ask once on the ride out and if I see any of you again on the way back, please know I'm sorry..."
Her voice was quavering now. She'd told it to.
"...and if you buy, I'll write your name down. I won't ask anypony twice and if one of my classmates sold to you already, you can just say so. Unless you want to help again, and... we need that. Because we're young, and almost nopony has money. And our parents can't help. We asked." With a little sigh, "I won't ask if anypony would like a bar. I tried one. Liking them is hard."
Somepony giggled.
"But.." She looked at the aisle floor for a moment, carefully forced her head up again. "...would anypony like to help?"
She waited. Watched. And with every careful, damp-eyed check of the travelers -- she wasn't sure where the dampness had come from, but she accepted it as an ally -- Diamond did exactly as she'd instructed her classmates.
She didn't sell chocolate.
She sold her youth and need and desperate hope.
...well, she used those qualities. They weren't really being sold, because she kept all of them. They were hers. But for two bits a bar, ponies were welcome to have the chocolate in their stead.
It took a while to cover the entire car, and she reminded herself to stop at the till in the Canterlot store. She was going to need more change.
Her father watched.
And he smiled.
It took a lot of empty boxes to fully cover a clubhouse wall. A lot of boxes. But it was a little like saving up a thousand bits. It was a tremendous number, almost terrifying... but you found one bit. Or a quarter-bit, or even a smidgen. Then you put it aside. And you kept doing that, over and over.
One empty box didn't mean much.
Neither did three.
Six just showed where a row could be.
But everything was cumulative.
Everything.
The first cart was emptied.
More chocolate arrived, and that was the tricky part. They couldn't order too much, because they were going to be stuck with whatever was left over.
More chocolate departed.
Collected funds went into her father's safe, for protection.
Boxes climbed the wall.
And all the while, Diamond kept the books.
The two adults came into the classroom at five minutes before recess.
"We're here to settle up!" the stallion jovially declared.
"Now, I feel like you may have overordered," the mare genially chided them. "Because I've got those totals right here and let me tell you..." With a smile and a slow head shake, "Well, I'm sure you did your best."
They had. Diamond was sure that everypony had, because she'd been in charge and so the effort had been entirely proper.
But it hadn't been perfect. And the mare was right. Diamond had overordered.
She hadn't told anypony what the final total had been, not even Miss Cheerilee. She wanted it to be a surprise. But she'd deliberately stopped ordering two days before the cutoff, then directly supervised some of the final sales herself. And...
...it hadn't been perfect. Even with the train in play, they'd effectively reached the point of market saturation. And that meant Diamond had screwed up.
They'd overordered, and were accordingly stuck with a whole four bars.
(She wasn't entirely sure what to do with them. Donating them to the cottage had felt like an option, but some animals got sick from chocolate and when it came to the ones which didn't, the bars were still Horsesheys.)
Four bars left over. She had to be more careful with inventory management. That was basic.
"So what's your total?" the stallion asked. "Just bring up the bits. We'll compare that number to what we've got here from the order forms. And then we can settle!"
Diamond nodded to Snips and Snails. The colts trotted over to the garment closet, ignited their horns, and twinned glow brought out two locked saddlebags.
Then they brought out two more.
Multiple trips were involved. You didn't want to overwhelm a corona.
...the adults were staring. The pair from Horsesheys and Miss Cheerilee. It felt oddly like applause.
"We... need to count this," the mare shakily said as her partner's jaw struggled with the first bag: it took a significant head tilt to make the first cascade of metal spread across the floor. "It'll take a few minutes..."
It took considerably longer. Recess started. The class went outside to play, while Miss Cheerilee stayed behind to supervise the counting. Colts and fillies talked about what they were going to do at the Autarky, along with how they planned to spend their bits. For a few, it was the first money they'd truly earned in their lives, and... it had made them oddly happy.
Diamond mostly watched. It wasn't her money. She'd just directed them. But the lightning inside glass was probably going to be interesting.
Recess ended. Miss Cheerliee called them back in, and Diamond trotted past the last stage of counting. She wasn't impressed. Her daddy had accountants who could process bits much faster than that.
The class settled down at their desks. Waited, with so many eyes directed towards the stacked coins.
Five bits per whole box. To Diamond, even with the grand total to be distributed known, it didn't feel like a lot. She had more than that just from having her latest allowance allotment in her own saddlebags again. But for some ponies...
"As I expected," the stallion finally said.
"You did overorder," the mare carefully told them. More quickly, "It's okay. Really, it is. This happens with every class we visit. You shouldn't feel bad."
"You did the best you could."
"Like everypony else."
It felt like an odd amount of fuss to be making over four bars --
The mare took a deep breath.
"But the amount you still have... well, that wholesale cost completely takes out what you would have earned from the sold portion." She shrugged. "And you owe us about twenty bits beyond that, but -- given that it was for a fundraiser, the company is willing to forgive."
The class wasn't moving. Miss Cheerilee's tail lashed with enough force to jolt her desk.
"We'll call it even," the stallion told them. "But at least you reached your field trip goal, right? We'll just pack up our share of the bits and go --"
Diamond was standing.
She didn't remember having gotten up. She also didn't care.
"I kept ledgers," she said.
Miss Cheerilee didn't interrupt. None of the other students were getting involved, because she had been the leader. And the adults were just staring at her.
"So do we," the stallion said. "We have copies for your order forms, and for what we shipped. You have overage."
"Our overage is four bars," Diamond stated, and felt her left forehoof scrape at the floor. "That's all, everything we sold and four bars is all that's left, I was off by four bars --"
"You lost track," the mare insisted.
"I have the empty boxes," the filly half-hissed. "Every last one. We kept them. I can show them to you. Show you the boxes and my ledgers. The ledgers are in my saddlebags. We can compare numbers. Show me your copies of the order forms, how many boxes you think I'm supposed to have --"
The stallion took up a sheaf of paper in his mouth. This was followed by immediately stuffing it into a saddlebag.
"Our numbers," the mare steadily said, "are the official ones. Because they came from the company. Children lose track of numbers all the time. Of bits, and of whole boxes. They write down the wrong things. Eat multiple bars and give some out to their friends. Boxes vanish. Empties get tossed or torn up. Full ones are misplaced, and you can't prove you didn't lose something. Everypony knows that. Some of our schools have managed to just about lose carts. And we're willing to forgive you what's still owed -- right now --" and her head executed a perfectly friendly and utterly false tilt to the right, doing so at the same instant when the waxy smile came back "-- unless you want to keep arguing?"
Five bits per box.
Five bits was... well, it was something, but it was also the kind of something which was hardly anything. And it could remain so even after you'd put what now felt like a significant multiplier on it. And yet...
Her father had once told her that a single bit could feel like all the money in the world. The most special amount of all. And what one look at the adults told Diamond was that for the mare and stallion, all that was required for feeling that way was to have kept the coin away from somepony else.
They would call her a liar. An idiot. A kid. And they would do so over and over, for just as many times as was required for the getaway to be complete.
"Get out," she told them, and her stomping forehoof nearly splintered the floor. "Just get out."
They stared at her.
"WELL!" the mare snorted. "Such rudeness!"
"A small-town filly who thinks she can give orders?" the stallion huffed. "Who do you think you are? What's your name? Because when I tell the company to never let this school have fundraiser chocolate again, I'll be giving them the mane-streaked reason --"
Miss Cheerilee put a hoof down.
Half the class jumped. The desk was jolted eight tail strands to the right. Splinters flew in all directions, and the intruders pulled back.
"Take your share of the bits," the teacher softly said, "and get out of my classroom. Feel free to give the company my name. Never come back."
It could have been said that the two packed up with indecent haste, except that Diamond wasn't sure they understood what indecency was. Coins were slammed into saddlebags. Some of them missed the opening, rolled into corners, and every last one was retrieved. They didn't miss a smidgen.
The door opened. The door closed. And then they were gone. Only the cold remained.
Miss Cheerilee slowly exhaled. Closed her eyes, and a lowered head failed to stare at the floor.
"I'm sorry, everypony," their teacher wearily said. "I know we're still going, and you all did so much better than I'd ever hoped for, but... I am so sorry..."
Scootaloo had turned to face a wall: all the better to hide her eyes. Snips' hind legs kicked backwards. Cotton was sniffling, Silver's glasses had fallen completely off...
Diamond was shaking. Shivering, because she needed to kick something. To do anything...
...there was one thing she could do.
Only one.
She forced her body to go still. Waited until her breath was back under the owner's control, then slowly went back to her desk.
Her head went down. Saddlebags came up. After some tooth work, the left one spilled its jingling contents out onto the floor.
It was the sound which got everypony's attention. That, and watching her chase down a few rolling strays.
It took her two silent minutes to get the pile together, plus a few more seconds for fetching the ledgers from the right saddlebag. Diamond nosed the first one open, then checked the total.
She didn't really need to. She knew what it said. But it was best to verify.
"Truffle," she stated. "Twelve bits, fifteen smidgens."
Nopony moved.
"Twelve bits," Diamond repeated, "and fifteen smidgens. Come up. And if anypony has change, take it out. I... probably don't have enough smidgens."
After a few breaths, he got up. Slowly approached, as the rest of the class watched and Miss Cheerliee, with reopened eyes oddly wet, said nothing at all.
She had been their leader. In turn, the class had been her employees.
Employees needed to be paid.
She finished telling her father about the important parts. The hardest thing had been waiting to do it until dinner, but he'd been late coming back from the store, had looked oddly exhausted when he'd finally gotten home, and... her appetite had been ruined anyway.
He'd been exerting visible control over his breathing throughout. Several impulses to kick backwards had been aborted.
Finally, "It's not their first time." His face looked a little odd. Maybe it was from seeing the place where the smile wasn't. "Inventory number manipulation for profit... that's a scam as old as sales. They've probably claimed the numbers didn't quite match before this. Shorted out the student share, but -- possibly not completely. They kept it low enough that the previous students decided there might have been a mistake, or that it wasn't worth fighting over. And when they saw how much you'd all sold... they got greedy." With the softest of sighs, "I've had ponies try it with the franchise, Diamond. But I have safeguards up, and staff to check the books. Those aren't ponies who work for me any more."
"These aren't ponies who work for you," she quietly reminded him.
"No," he readily admitted. "I don't have any direct authority."
They were both silent for a while. Diamond's head dipped --
"I'll replace your allowance."
-- and shot up again.
"I didn't tell you about --" It hadn't been important.
"Miss Cheerilee," the father said, "sends very detailed notes." And now there was a smile: tiny and wry, but -- a smile. "Part of why I was so late. I was reading."
"I don't want it back," she fiercely said, and would only wonder where the words had come from at about four in the morning. "Not unless it's from them --"
"-- I'm proud of you," her father said.
All sound died. Thoughts stopped. Her heartbeat kept going, and she decided to be proud of the organ for having its priorities straight.
"I am, Diamond," he softly added. "And... it feels very good to say that. But I wanted to wait until I had your side of it. So I'm going to ask you for a favor. Show me your books. Because I already started something, and... I'd like to have the numbers to back it up. For when they come calling."
"...who?" eventually drifted out of her mouth, mostly under its own power.
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "Somepony from Horsesheys, I imagine. Because Barnyard Bargain may be one of their last major buyers. And when the overnight courier gets to their officers, and they learn that every last store has put a hold on future orders..."
He looked at her expression, and the smile widened.
"I don't intend to keep this up for long," he admitted. "There's good ponies working at just about every company, and too much pressure over too much time... they could get hurt. But I still feel like this is going to take more than a casual request, because those can get misplaced. Like theoretically lost boxes of chocolate. So I'm basically just waiting for somepony important to come in and directly ask why I've stopped ordering. And then I'm going to offer them a loan of sorts."
"...money?" was the first thing she thought of.
"Personnel. From Accounting and Inventory Management. Because I've had ponies try and do this to me, Diamond. That's why I know all the tricks -- and I know them because my staff had to teach me a few. If they're playing numbers games... if they've done this before, and other schools are willing to talk..." His right foreleg came up, and the hoof gently rubbed at her mane. "There's going to be contradictory entries somewhere. There always are. And once those are found... we wait. So. I'll understand if you don't want to eat just yet, because you're upset. But I was pulling inventory out of the register area for hours. Are you going to be okay if I have something?"
She sometimes stopped in at the store on her way home from school, especially if her daddy was on shift. It was a good idea to peek in on him every so often and make sure he was okay. And clearly somepony needed to make sure the store was running properly.
Like today, because it was a beautiful example of early spring (which didn't forgive the Weather Bureau for winter) and Diamond just wanted to get some snacks for the upcoming Autarky field trip. At the employee discount. And as long as she was there, it was perfectly natural to go into the back and check on her father.
But hearing came before sight. That was easy, when his office door was always open.
And she heard him second.
"We weren't expecting to have our job interview with the owner," a stallion said.
Diamond froze. Three body lengths away from the doorway, plus a minor infinity.
"I usually don't get ponies applying in pairs," her father politely responded.
"Well, it was two positions with your inventory team," a mare brightly chirped. "And we just work well together! As a team. Learning all the ins and outs of a new system goes faster that way!"
She heard papers being shuffled. Forced one foreleg into motion, and then a hind.
"There's a bit of a blank in your employment history," her father noted. "The most recent segment."
"We were taking some time for travel," the stallion casually explained.
"Seeing the world," the mare happily added.
One body length crossed. Two, and the infinity seemed to be dwindling.
"Yes," said the owner of every Barnyard Bargains. "Such as that part of the world which represents Canterlot. To be more specific, the corner of Friesian and Percheron. Which is where the regional headquarters for Horsesheys is located --"
The half-whispered "...what?" was twinned.
"-- and you know that little piece of the planet very well, because you used to work there. I did get your full names from the company, as that was part of what I asked for. I had the given ones somewhat earlier, from a closer source." He paused. "I got your full names a few days ago. The actual refund voucher, however, should be coming in next week. And when it comes to the question of your ever being employed here or at any other store in the franchise, all of which will soon be receiving your full descriptions and copies of the photos I'm about to take, I think my answer has to be --"
Diamond reached the doorway. Looked in at a two-thirds-frozen tableau.
"No," the future franchise owner decided.
A pair of shoddy brown heads slowly, slowly turned to look at her. Jaws tried to drop, and found every muscle locked.
Her father smiled.
"What she said," he told them. "Keep smiling for the upcoming camera, filly and gentlecolt. And then get out."
