Indium trailed behind his father.

He eyed the half-filled cart of carrots that his father dragged along the dirt path to Sunhaven. A worn, ground sheet covered their early harvest to protect them from the sun and insects, though nothing could protect them from the unrelenting summer heat. The few carrots that peeked out of the sheet already appeared dry and flaccid. He hoped the wholesalers down the road in Sunhaven’s market wouldn’t mind.

It was his first time on the trip with his father to Sunhaven. From a young age, he had always wondered what the town was like; his mother barred him from joining his father to the marketplace until he was of age. She spoke of rebellious elements that were only interested in abducting ponies to their cause, never to be seen in Diarchy lands again. She spoke of vices that ran deep that served only to pollute his little immature mind. She spoke of things that he didn’t really understand then nor remembered now; whatever they were, they were dangerous.

Today was the day Indium would get his answers. As he and his father trotted further along the path, a wide expanse of yellowing wheat fields on either side coating their vision, he began to make out a faint, but observable, silhouette of a cluster of structures down the far end of the path. It almost seemed out of place, like a mirage in an unyielding sea of yellow.

“Sunhaven,” his father said simply, cocking his head towards it. “Make sure you stay close to me when we’re there.”

Indium could only nod at his father’s request as he continued following him. He could feel the air getting warmer as they approached Sunhaven as the silhouette resolved itself into a bustling town. The town was filled with irregular, nearly haphazard, wooden structures that seemed to cascade on top of each other. Despite the distance, Indium could make out a large clock tower in white marble reflecting the sun. That must be where the town centre was, he reasoned.

As they entered the town proper, ponies of all walks of life started to peer into Indium’s lenses, as did stalls of vibrant fruits, colourful fabrics, and diverse wares by the cobbled streets. Some stood behind the counter, lightly dressed but sweating from the humidity, touting their goods to anyone who passed by. Others stood cowering by the back alley corners, lying next to heaps of piled trash, their heads bowing to any for the prospect of copper coins gracing worn mugs by their side. Still others were just like Indium and his father, pushing carts of produce into the wholesalers’ market ahead.

Indium huddled close to his father as ponies brushed against him to pass through the bottlenecks in the crowd. The mixed, acidic stenches of perspiration, discarded rotting fruit, dirt and grime began permeating deeply into his muzzle, forcing him to hold his breath intermittently. He turned to check on his father, who seemed to be completely apathetic to the environment. He supposed that he was already used to it.

Before too long, the two found themselves at the entrance of a huge, red tentage erected by the clock tower. Under the tentage were perhaps hundreds of ponies crowded around in many circular pockets. Ponies shouted numbers and names of vegetables in a constant rattle, flooding his ears with a flat baseline of continuous noise.

His father prodded him towards the right. “Here.”

His voice was barely discernible, but Indium managed to follow and turn towards a makeshift wooden counter. He could see similar ponies depositing their produce to another on the opposite side, where earth ponies carried them towards the many circular congregations. They brought themselves to a vacant counter, where a mare and her notepad attended to them.

“What do you have today?” she asked gruffly. She tapped her hoof onto the notepad impatiently.

“Carrots,” his father replied. “Ten bushels. All bundled.”

“Load them up quick. The auction is about to end.” She pointed her hoof onto the counter sharply.

“I’ll bring the cart over to the other side,” his father offered. “Just tag and unload as required.”

“Fine!” she hollered, then she began scribbling on her notepad. “Your bushels are 121 to 130. Auction is at B5. Your receipt.” She tore a piece of paper and passed it hastily over to Indium. He cautiously took it.

“Keep it safe,” his father hissed into his ear, before he pulled the cart towards the rear.

Indium eyed the note, revealing it as some kind of proof of ownership and redemption. He clasped onto it tightly, shoving it into his saddlebag as he rushed over to his father.

“Alright, to the back, fifth from the left.” His father deposited the cart at the back of the counter, removing its strap from his barrel. Indium could see its imprint on his father’s back.

He made no comment, deciding to shuffle over to the group of ponies gathered around a circle at the stipulated location together.

“Sold! To the green stallion on the right for twenty bits! Payment at the counter!”

The auctioneer, a yellow Earth pony, shoved the carrots in the centre to the stallion, who gestured for another to carry the freshly won bushel out of the marketplace. Another pony recorded the price on a scrap piece of paper on the floor. The auctioneer then threw his grimy hoof into his mouth and whistled loudly, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Next lot! Bushel 120!”

Another bushel was brought to the circle from the counter. He poured the entire lot into the centre of the circle and spread them out with his forehooves.

“Asking ten! Asking ten! Yes, I have ten. Now looking for fifteen! Fifteen? Twenty! Twenty to the mare on the left. Twenty-five! Yes, sir. It’s still yours at the moment. Yes, you. Asking thirty now!”

Indium was in awe. How could anypony speak that fast? The auctioneer’s words seemed to flow right out of his mouth like a cascading waterfall, yet they were coherent.

“Thirty, thirty, anyone? No one? I’m selling this! Fair warning…fair warning! Last call!” The auctioneer paused for a moment. “Sold to the same green stallion on the right for twenty-five bits! Payment at the counter later, good sir.” He threw his hoof forward, pointing at the stallion, who remained impassive, simply tilting his head, signalling for the bushel to be taken away for payment.

Indium blinked. Twenty-five bits? That’s it? He couldn’t even buy half the amount for that price. He turned to his father expectedly, whose face remained blank and stoic. He must be hiding his disappointment underneath his emotionless expression, Indium reasoned, or he must have been sick and tired of watching all of these auctions over the many years—Indium didn’t know. But Indium prayed that their bushels would go for much more than that.

“Next! Bushel 121! We start again at ten! Yes, ten! Thank you, madam. Fifteen! Fifteen at the front right here. I have fifteen bits. Now looking for twenty, twenty bits. Would you like to go twenty? Okay, twenty bits on the right! Any further advance on twenty? Twenty-five? Twenty-five? No? Fair warning! And…sold again to the stallion on the right for twenty-five!”

Indium heard an audible sigh from his right. It was his father. He placed a hoof by the side of his father’s barrel, stroked it against his weathered fur. “It’s okay, dad…we have nine more to go.”

His father didn’t seem to react, but Indium guessed that it was the least he could do, especially since his father brought him here with him.

“Thank you—now next up we have Bushel 122! Ten again is the start as always, and now—yes! Ten I have, looking for fifteen! Fifteen, I have from the right! Looking for—”

Indium felt something bump into him. Panicking, he jolted and shifted even closer to his father’s side, before eyeing the suspect. It was a cerulean red coated pegasus, dressed in a purple robe—one that symbolised Saint Twilight’s colours. An intricate sword stood by his side, the gold inlay on its hilt capturing Indium’s attention.

Indium tensed. He made way for the mysterious stallion to watch the proceedings by crushing against his father’s ribcage.

His father noticed too. He nudged Indium out of the way, respectfully bowing his head in the direction of the interloper. Indium flapped his wings and landed on his father’s back, hugging his neck.

“Twenty-five from the right on the stallion again. Thir—” The auctioneer paused. He must have noticed the purple-cloaked pony. He cleared his throat. “Only twenty-five bits right now! What a bargain—looking for thirty! Madam, thirty? Thirty bits I have! Anyone else—”

“Forty!” somepony shouted from the left. Indium blinked. What was going on? Why did the price just jump so much? He squinted his eyes and gazed around, trying to locate the source of the voice.

“Thank you! Forty bits from the stallion right at the back! Forty-five? Still a very reasonable price for this fresh bushel! Going once…!”

“Forty-five,” a croaky, low voice rang from the left.

“Yes, forty-five! I have forty-five on my left. Are we all done here? Fifty might take it. Looking for fifty bits now!”

Indium turned to check on the mysterious pony in purple. He didn’t seem to be bidding, or doing anything for the matter, but simply observing. He appeared content with the hive of activity around him, despite the heat and humidity.

“Fifty-five! Thank you! This premium bushel is going once…twice, sold to the same stallion on the right for fifty-five bits. Thank you!”

Indium’s wings fluttered as his heart soared at the elevated price. Then it hit him—what caused this? It couldn’t be the Saint Twilight pony, right? He did nothing; he just watched everything. How could he be responsible?

The remaining lots flew past in a matter of minutes. Indium’s heart continued to jump for joy as the prices remained firmly in the green with a flurry of competitive bidding, though he constantly kept an eye out for that purple-robed pegasus in the front. His father seemed to have perked up at the sale, as he craned his neck to watch the proceedings; yet he appeared stiff and rigid, his legs rooted to the ground. Indium chose not to make too much out of it. He was already fantasizing about a new toy.

Soon enough, the auction ended. As ponies started to disperse towards the counter to transact, the pegasus clad in purple remained, thoughtful and contemplating as he espied his surroundings. Indium watched as he trotted towards the auctioneer, opening a conversation. The auctioneer seemed nervous, but after a moment, he was excused with a subtle bow before slinking out of the scene.

“Indium!” his father called out from behind. “We have to go to the counter.”

“One minute!” Indium then turned, cautiously heading towards the pegasus in purple. “Excuse me, sir.”

The pegasus spun towards him. “Yes?” he asked, his tone measured and mellow.

“Thank you sir,” Indium blurted out. “I don’t know what happened, but when you came by, ponies started to bid more on our produce…it helps a lot, sir.”

“Oh.” He raised an eyebrow, thinking, replying after a pause. “I see. It’s nothing, little one. I’m glad to have helped. What’s your name?”

“Indium Indigo,” Indium introduced, “I help my fami—”

Indium felt something drag him backwards.

“Sorry, Inquisitor, if my son is troubling you,” Indium heard his father say, “I’ll deal with him when he gets back home.”

The inquisitor let out a laugh. “Not at all. In fact, he has done me a massive favour.” He gave a subtle smile. “Your son has some potential.”

His father bowed, “We’re glad to be of service to you, Inquisitor.”

“Indium,” the inquisitor turned to Indium, “do let me know if I can return the favour in time. I will be stationed here for the foreseeable future at the garrison building.”

“No problem, sir—” Indium paused. “I mean, Inquisitor—”

“Red Remark,” the inquisitor finished for him. “Again, thank you. I wish you a good harvest and may the Saints keep you.”

“Thank you, inquisitor,” Indium’s father returned. “May the Saints keep you.”

Subconsciously, Indium echoed his father, prompting the inquisitor to leave. It didn’t take long for the inquisitor to disappear into the bustling crowd of the marketplace.

“What were you doing?!” his father whispered sharply at Indium. “That’s an inquisitor. Do you know what trouble you could have been in?!”

“...no,” Indium groaned, crestfallen.

“We are going to have a talk at home about this,” his father hissed, “do you still have that receipt on you?”

Indium rummaged his pockets on his saddlebag. Fishing out a crumpled scrap of scribbled paper, he let out a sigh of relief, passing it to his father.

His father snatched it off his grip.

“Let’s go.”

Author's Note

As usual, my update schedule is nonexistent. Fortunately, I recently had a burst of inspiration to write. I hope I can continue the momentum.