Loose Pages

“Spike, deary, would you be so kind as to grab my pincushion from the bottom drawer of the armoire?”

Spike nodded, “Sure thing, Rarity.” He practically floated over to the mahogany cabinet, reached inside, and pulled out a purple pincushion before floating back over. “Here you go.”

She looked up, the glasses she was wearing slipping down her snout an inch or two. “Ah, thank you.” She grabbed a dozen pins in her telekinesis and strategically poked them into the mannequin in front of her. Her horn sputtered for a second, causing her to frown and glance over at the table next to her with her sewing equipment on it.

The frown deepened. “Spike, darling, could you go over to the encoignure and fetch me a pair of number 3 scissors?”

He nodded again. Even when frowning, she was beautiful. “Sure thing, Rarity.” He started walking, but the corner of the room seemed to lengthen, causing him to break into a run. Just as he approached the white corner cabinet, Opal suddenly sprinted at him and slammed into his side, knocking him to the lush carpet.

He sat up, shaking his head. “What?”

Opal was now holding a long metal rod in between her front paws. She was wearing an ornate white and gold landsknecht uniform. Despite being a good ten feet away, the rod was right next to him. The rod gently bent and bobbed in the air.

He stared. “…What?”

Opal thrust the rod forward, gently poking Spike in his side.

“Ah!” He jumped back, but the rod had grown in length and was again right next to him. Opal poked again.

“Ah! Stop it!”

Another poke.

“Stop!”

Another poke.

“C’mon!”

Twilight smirked when Spike finally shifted out from under his blanket and opened his eyes. She levitated the pencil back to its spot on the desk by the bed. “Good, you’re awake.” She ignored his glare. “Up and at ’em, Spike.” She could hardly contain her excitement. It had been circled on the calendar for weeks.

“It’s reshelving day!” she squealed out.

Spike groaned, throwing the blanket back over his head. “Great.”

Twilight swallowed the last of the tea, the cup carefully levitating back to the saucer, and greedily looked from the kitchen to Golden Oaks’ “Reading Room,” where most of its collection sat. This would be the first official reshelving of the library. Sure, the books had been sorted before due to some monster attack or when one of Rainbow’s stunts went wrong and upended the whole building, but those had always been ad hoc affairs. Now, it was time to do it right. Nice and formal, just like the Canterlot Archives required. Speaking of.

She floated over the book. Four hundred pages. Beige cover. Title in fourteen point Times New Romane font. Its menacing, bureaucratic aura could be felt from a mile away, threatening to swallow any unlucky or prideful fool in subparagraphs, tables, and codices. The Standards and Practices for Equestria’s Libraries and Book Depositories, XXVI Edition.

The bookmark had already been placed in the relevant subsection: Libraries are to conduct a formal audit and reshelving of their contents no less than once per year. This audit shall be done for the following reasons:

• To ensure all items are accounted for
• To assess potential damage from patron wear and tear and gauge possible remedies
• To keep items neat and organized for easy access by patrons
• To rotate out unpopular or unused items

She hadn’t done any of that since they got here. Any of the “reshuffles” that had been done were quick, messy affairs. There was no precision or organization to them. And definitely no standards that were followed. A small part of her mind worried what the Princess might think of her slouching her librarian duties. She’d been living for free in a government building and hadn’t done a thing to follow the rules—No! She shook her head. She wouldn’t turn this into another freakout.

She glanced toward the sink, where Spike was scrubbing the last few dishes from breakfast. He’d never let her forget it if she had a meltdown now. He was still bringing up the crayon incident. No, she’d take this nice and calm. It was just a regular part of being Ponyville’s librarian.

The teacup and saucer floated to the sink, causing Spike to grumble something under his breath she didn’t quite catch, while she walked into the Reading Room to begin the process. According to the book, every item in the building had to be removed from the shelves and checked for damage. It was a tedious and mind-numbing process that would fill thousands of words of narration.

If it had been done by a non-unicorn. But luckily for Twilight, unicorns were huge nerds and long ago had created dozens of spells for libraries, bookshelves, and bookcases. And luckily for Spike, Twilight could also be counted among the ranks of said huge nerds and knew nearly all of the spells by heart. She took a deep breath as her horn began to glow.

Spike walked in a few minutes later. “You know, Twilight, we really have to have a talk about the dish washing sche—” He stopped as the middle seven volumes of The Equestrian Linguistical Reference Encyclopedia floated by in a magenta glow. He looked up. Hundreds of books fluttered around in the air, all in a neat row that wrapped its way around Golden Oaks Library. Every once in a while, a book would break formation and float down to its spot on a bookshelf.

Twilight sat in the middle of the room. Next to her was a stack of ragged and disheveled books. A few had bent or worn-down spines. One had crayon drawings all over it. Just as he started wondering why, he got his answer as another book broke from the parade above and drifted down onto the pile, this one having crumpled and stained pages from water damage.

He started walking toward her, looking back up at the literature that danced above. “Wow, Twilight. This is really impressive. I thought we’d be here for hours getting paper cuts. Twilight?”

She seemingly hadn’t heard a word he said. She was mumbling to herself, staring intently at a book in her hooves. “Why you? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Spike tried again, “Twilight?”

She jumped up slightly and looked over. “Oh, Spike. Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing.” She held up the book. It had a white cover with purple accents around the title. “The Princess’s autobiography, My Golden Daylight, wasn’t affected by my book spell. It just sat tucked away, hidden in the back of a bookshelf.” She looked back down at it. “I don’t know why, though. Maybe she put some kind of enchantment on them or something.”

Spike walked over to get a better look at the title. “Wait, My Golden Daylight?”

She nodded. “Yeah. The dust jacket calls it her ‘quintessential biography.’ I can’t wait to read it. I didn’t even know she wrote one! But first, I have to figure out why it’s not reshelving correctly.”

He looked at the title. “That title’s not My Golden Daylight. It’s How to Sweep a Unicorn Off Her Hooves: A Romance Guide.”

Twilight glanced down at the book in her hooves, then back to Spike. She looked at him like he had grown a second head. “What are you talking about, Spike? This is the Princess’s autobiography.”

“Lemme see that!” He grabbed it from her and flipped open the dust jacket to read the synopsis. His voice took on a monotone as he read. “Ever wonder what goes on behind that horn? Want to see her smile cutely when you talk? Scared she’ll vaporize you if you say the wrong thing? Well, wonder no more. In this immersive, step-by-step guide, you’ll finally be able to say all the right things to impress, amaze, and dazzle the love of your life and finally get the mare of your dreams.”

Twilight yanked the book back with a flare of telekinesis. She looked at the dust jacket again, then the back cover, then the title page. None of them said anything like that. “Hmm. Spike, go get the library’s reference catalog.”

“But, Twiilight,” he whined like a baby dragon. “Don’t you have a spell for that?”

“Sorry, Spike, but I’m not too trusting of magic at the moment,” she mumbled, her eyes still glued to the title page. It was definitely the Princess’s autobiography. It had to be. The words were staring her in the face. But why didn’t she ever mention writing one? Why hadn’t Twilight ever heard of it before? And why hadn’t her book spell detected it? It was all leading her down a worrisome road.

Spike tapped her withers and handed her the small ledger. Golden Oaks Library was tiny compared to those in the cities. Its catalog was comparatively small. She set it down and flipped it open. It only took her a few seconds to get to the relevant page. She frowned and turned a few more pages. “They’re not in Golden Oaks’ catalog.”

Spike shrugged. “So? Maybe somepony left it here or it’s part of some local ‘leave a book, take a book’ lending thing?”

Worry gleamed in her eyes. “No, I don’t think it is. And that doesn’t explain why we’re seeing two different books.” She looked at him. “Get me the Canterlot Archives catalog.”

“What!? You’ve got to be kidding me, Twilight. You know how big that thing is?”

She nodded. “I do, now go get it. Quick.”

He crossed his arms. “Don’t you have a spell that can do this? It’s all the way in the basement for pony’s sake.”

“No, I told you, I don’t tru—”

He threw a hand dismissively at her as he walked away, toward the basement door. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t trust magic. But you sure trust me to do all the work.” He grumbled out the last part.

Twilight shook her head in annoyance. Couldn’t he see what was happening here? The worry was building with each passing minute. She hadn’t realized it, but she’d slowly edged away from where the white book sat on the floor. It was no longer glistening with the temptation to read like it had been only minutes earlier, or maybe it was and she was just doing a far better job of ignoring it.

The basement door slammed open, making her ears perk up. Spike huffed and groaned as he shakily stepped out. The fifteen-hundred-page brown catalog book was slightly larger than he was. He struggled to hold it in his grasp. “A—A little help?” he wheezed out. “Whoa!” The book suddenly lifted from his grasp, suspended in a telekinetic glow. He glared at her. “Not too trusting, huh?”

She ignored him. The book settled to the wood floor in front of her with a loud thump. The Canterlot Archives was Equestria’s “Lender of Last Resort.” If a library didn’t have a book to loan, and no other libraries in the region did either, a librarian could contact the Archives, and ask for the book, using the Archives’ catalog number. This massive brown tome contained every item available for checkout from the Archives. If it didn’t have it, either it didn’t exist, or the Archives wouldn’t allow it to leave the premises. Neither alternative was good.

She opened it and began flipping through the pages. It was clear Golden Oaks hadn’t needed the Lender of Last Resort in quite some time. A small cloud of dust wafted into the air. Despite Spike’s hacking, she paid it no mind. Her focus was on the catalog.

Her eyes narrowed when she found the page she was looking for. She flipped a dozen more pages and winced. “They’re not here, either.”

Spike leaned over to look down at the catalog, a handkerchief over his snout. “What?”

She slammed the book closed and stood up. “They’re not in the Canterlot Archives. Neither My Golden Daylight nor How to Woo a Unicorn exist!”

“How to Sweep a Unicorn—”

“Whatever!” she huffed. “They don’t exist, Spike. They’re not real books.”

Spike looked down at the white book that still lay on the floor. “If they’re not real, then what’s that book?”

Twilight looked down at it as well. The white cover looked so inviting, like the perfect thing to read, but who really knew what words were written on its pages? “I don’t know, Spike. But we’re going to find out.”