When you've only just moved to a new neighbourhood, aren't expecting any guests or deliveries and have my... chequered mental health history, someone hammering on the front door in the middle of the day is seldom a good thing. Best case, someone's looking for someone else on the property. Worst case...? Well, your imagination can and probably will fill in the blanks. Debt collectors, the police, your psycho ex; you name it. Instinctive, not-wholly-irrational fear closes its icy fingers around your heart and throat and make you want to either hide under your bedclothes or reach for the nearest available weapon.
On this particular day, a slate-grey and gloomy Thursday morning in February, I did neither of these things. I swore wholeheartedly, got up from my workstation and went downstairs to find out who the hell was bothering me while I was trying to debug a particularly stubborn module of an application we were supposed to be deploying in less than a month.
I didn't even glance at the heavy metal safe on the highest shelf in my bedroom/office, let alone open it. Did that mean I was becoming less paranoid or more complacent? Was there even a difference?
At any rate, by the time I got to the front door there was nobody there, just a card pushed through the letterbox. "Must be something for Becca," I said to myself, picking it up to put on the hall table... but then I took a second look at it and realised it wasn't a "sorry you weren't here" card from Canada Post or a private delivery firm. In fact, it appeared to be a gilt-edged card of the sort you might receive inviting you to a wedding or a christening. When I flipped it over, it turned out to have been written on with fancy, old-fashioned calligraphy... in green ink. All it said, once I'd taken a moment to figure it out, was:
"Look on the doorstep. Good luck!"
With a sneaking suspicion I'd regret doing so, I opened the front door and looked at the front step. There was a large, plain white cardboard box on it, tied with a bright green bow. It had airholes, and something was moving about inside it.
Very carefully refraining from thinking about anything at all, I picked up the box -which was surprisingly heavy- and carried it into the kitchen, then undid the ribbon. The box turned out to be sealed with tape, so I took a small paring knife from the nearest drawer and sliced it open.
I couldn't tell you exactly what I was expecting to happen when I opened the box, but I can assure you that what took place was not it. A mass of vaguely lilac-coloured hair with a white streak appeared over the edge of the box, followed by two sleepy green eyes in a bubblegum-pink face.
"Go 'way, Miz Debonnair. 's too... early... Bwuh?" She blinked. We stared at each other for an interminably long moment.
"Uh... hi?" I said, rather lamely.
"What the buck are you?" the little pink horse... no, pink earth pony demanded. "And where is my au pair? And my bathrobe? And my breakfast?"
Nice to meet you too, the small part of my brain not in mid kernel-panic observed sardonically. "Well, uh..." I forced myself to take several deep, calming breaths. "I'll go through the questions in order, okay? My name's Robert and I'm a human being. I don't know about your au pair or your dressing gown, but breakfast I can probably arrange."
"What's a human being?" she persisted, and despite myself I had to admire the fact that she'd gone from asleep to totally confused to imperious in less than a minute.
"That's a question that our greatest philosophers argue about on a daily basis, but from a purely biological point of view, human beings are a race of bipedal, primate-descended omnivores..." She made a strangled squeak and attempted to dive back into the box; oh, that was intelligent, wasn't it? "... who have very strict laws against the taking of sapient life except in self-defence or time of war, and do not under any circumstances eat sapient beings," I added hastily. "The only reason we're having this conversation in the kitchen is because I needed a knife to open the box. Would you like a cup of tea?"
What? I'm English. In any case, it was something reassuringly normal to occupy myself with as everything else around me spiralled rapidly out of control.
I'm one of those reluctant, vaguely embarrassed fans of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic who is deeply uncomfortable with the label of "brony". I've seen most of the episodes on YouTube, read a lot of the better fanfiction and regard it as something the world needs more of, namely children's television -especially children's television originally marketed at girls- that has strong and interesting characters and doesn't patronise its target audience. I do not however harbour perverse sexual lust for any of the cast or have any desire to emigrate to Equestria, and I especially did not have any particular longing to find an Equestrian filly in a box on my doorstep to raise in secret.
And even if I had, Diamond Tiara would not have been the one I picked. It was definitely her alright, the namesake marking on her flanks would have confirmed it even if her voice hadn't been immediately recognisable. This could be a problem.
Oh, for pity's sake, I had a cartoon character sitting in my sodding kitchen. Everything about this situation was a problem.
Anyway... "I don't have a lot in the way of breakfast foods, but I can manage some toast. That okay?"
"Uh... sure." She nodded, clearly too confused to be picky, and attempted to settle onto one of the stools around the kitchen table.
"What would you like on it?" I continued. "I normally only have butter on mine, but my sister keeps some jam for her kids to have on theirs and... Ah!" I pulled an oval-shaped brown jar with a bright yellow lid. "This is a traditional condiment and food additive from my home country. It's called Marmite. Would you like to try some?" That's it. Just act like she's new to the neighbourhood and got lost on her way back from the sweetshop, I told myself; it's happened once or twice before, actually, this housing estate is a bloody maze. Think about the species thing later.
"What is it?" she asked nervously. "It doesn't have m-meat in it, right?"
"Nope, fully vegetarian; a by-product of brewing beer of all things. It tastes... well, unique, frankly." The toaster popped. "I'll put a little on one of these corners so you can try it, it's kind of a love it or hate it thing." With the efficiency born of long practice, I buttered two rounds of toast and sliced them into eight quarters, then added a small amount of Marmite to one of them. "Here you are, miss."
"Thank you," she replied automatically, staring at her toast with a sort of bemused expression. "Have I been foalnapped?" she asked softly.
"That's a good question," I admitted. "I just got a knock on the door and found this card, then you." I handed it over. "Recognise the writing?"
She shook her head. "My daddy says using green ink means you're a crazy pony," she said, then paused. "He says I'm not s'posed to talk to strange ponies either."
"Well, I'm not a pony, so technically you're not breaking any rules," I pointed out. "Did your mum or dad ever tell you what to do if you got lost and couldn't see anyone you knew?"
"Yeah. Look for somepony with foals, 'cause they're probably a mommy or a daddy and they won't try to take me away and keep me," she replied, with the air of a child who's been asked to memorise something.
"That's what my mum told me when I was your age too," I replied. "And I'm not a dad, but I'm an uncle. And my nephew and niece aren't here right now because they're at school, but I've got a picture of them. Would you like to see?"
"Yeah."
I took the picture out of my wallet and passed it over. "The tallest one on the right is Josephine, but she likes being called Joey. She's eight. Isaac is the other one and he's five. Their mum, my big sister Rebecca, she took that of all three of us at last year's carnival."
"Hey, that's a pony!" Diamond exclaimed. "Who is it?"
Oh, sod. "That's not a real pony, I'm afraid. It's a wooden model of a pony. It's part of a carousel."
"Oh." She deflated visibly, and I really wanted to reach out and give her a hug, but I restrained myself for fear that it might frighten her. "When can I go home, mister?"
"I... I'm not sure."
"You said I'm not being foalnapped. Does that mean I can go?"
I sighed. "There's not really a good answer to that, is there? Miss, if you aren't comfortable here then we can both go straight to a police station and I'm sure the people there will do everything they can to find your mum and dad. But I'm not going to let you walk out the door and into a strange city all by yourself, without even some warm clothes; it must be below freezing out there right now. And... Well, I'm going to have to tell you, and show you, some things that are going to seem very strange and probably scary. Things like how I know your name is Diamond Tiara..." She looked up at me in absolute shock. "... that you live in Ponyville, and you are the arch-nemesis of an earth pony called Apple Bloom."
That last part earned me a reluctant sort of smile. "Arch nemesis, huh?" She nodded thoughtfully. "I could get used to that."
"Somehow I was afraid you'd say that," I said resignedly.
This must be Thursday. I could never get the hang of Thursdays.
She liked Marmite, which gave me a certain amount of satisfaction. She attempted to spread about half the jar on the rest of her toast, which did not. "Here, steady on, please!" I interjected. "That stuff's hard to get this far from home, and in any case a little of it goes a long way."
"Sorry, Mister Robert."
"It's alright. And just 'Robert' is fine. The tea should be ready soon, would you mind going through to the sitting room? It's just through that door on the right."
"'kay." She got down from the table and started to the door. I decided not to press the issue of the dirty plate she'd abandoned on the tabletop just yet; I could hardly be said to be in loco parentis, and house rules about cleaning up after oneself could be addressed if and when she turned out to be here for the long haul.
And how the hell was that going to work? I could hardly keep her in the house forever even if there really was no way to...
Arrrgh. I was doing it again. The counsellor I'd been seeing on and off since moving out here kept telling me off for over-thinking everything until I started to self-sabotage, but there didn't seem to be any middle-ground for me between that and forging blindly ahead, making it up as I went along and running into some glaringly obvious pitfall like... Double arrrgh. I bloody hate my brain some days.
I took several more deep, calming breaths and dug a couple of clean mugs out of the dishwasher. "Do you take milk or sugar in your tea?"
"D'you have any lemon?" she asked, then added "please" as an afterthought. I found a small bottle of pre-squeezed lemon juice at the back of the fridge and placed it on a tray with the sugar bowl.
"I'm afraid it's not very fancy," I said as I entered the sitting room. "I wasn't really expecting guests."
"S'okay," she replied non-committally, adding a tint of lemon and quite a lot of sugar to her tea.
"Anyway," I continued, rifling through an untidy stack of DVDs by the television, "there's something you should probably see in here... somewhere... damn it all you two I've told you a hundred times to put the blasted things back in the right boxes when you're- oh, here we go." I shoved the disc in the machine and waited for the menu to come up, then selected Play All and sat down at one end of the big old leather sofa.
"Friendship is Magic?" Diamond enquired scornfully from the other end, picking up her tea with one hoof in a way thast I attempted not to think on too deeply. "Pffft. Lame."
"Bear with it," I replied mildly. "It takes a while to really get going."
We bore with it, and I learned that she considered Twilight Sparkle to be "an egghead, and a total dweeb" and that Pinkie Pie was "like, totally wacko". "You're not going to win friends and influence people with a tongue like that," I reproved mildly. And yes, I'd be the first to agree that she had a point about Pinkie, but that's no excuse for rudeness.
"I don't have friends," Diamond retorted haughtily, "I have minions." I couldn't tell if she was kidding or not, and wasn't entirely sure I wanted to know. "And when do I show up on here anyway?"
"Not until the second season, I think. I'm sorry, would you excuse me for a little while? I need to make a telephone call, and I also really ought to get back to work. There's more tea in the pot in the kitchen if you'd like some, please feel free to help yourself, and if you need the bathroom it's the other door off the kitchen." Joey could be trusted to pour hot liquids and not hurt herself by now, and I figured Diamond was at about the same stage of maturity whatever her actual age was.
It was time to call the police. Well, one of them, anyway.
I'd first met Trevor Green when my company were deploying some Point-of-Sale software to the police station canteen, and we'd hit it off immediately. He wasn't the kind of guy you'd imagine joining the police force, being an enthusiastic ufologist and a quite good harmonica player as well as a die-hard brony -he was the one who convinced me to give the show a try, in fact- but by all accounts he's a good cop.
He also wasn't answering his phone. "Hi Trev. Sorry to bother you when you're on leave, but I need some help with something. Not quite cop stuff, but... well, it's hard to explain over the phone. Can you stop by soon as you get this? Thanks. Bye." I hoped I'd sounded cryptic and mysterious enough to arouse his curiosity but not worried enough to make him call the station about me. Either way, there was nothing else for it but to keep calm and carry on.
Though given what I had to carry on with, keeping calm presented its own unique challenges. We'd outsourced to the low bidder again, one of the many fly-by-night outfits in the Far East who'd decided to apply the traditional "sweatshop" business model to a non-traditional product. Unfortunately, unlike more tangible goods like consumer electronics, there's no incentive to stop doing this when you realise what utterly abysmal workmanship it results in; you don't have to throw your quality-control failures out, you can just get someone to "debug" them. On the other hand, it was a welcome and much-needed distraction from the problem of what the hell I was supposed to about the talking, pastel-coloured magic pony in my living room- Triple arrrgh.
At this point I gave up and snuck back downstairs to snag a bottle of Rebel Yell and a shotglass from the drinks cabinet in the dining room. I love working from home.
I think about five lines of the original developer's work remained by the time I finally wrapped up and turned it in to source-control. Two shots of bourbon had left me somewhat more relaxed but still -I hoped- in full command of my wits. It was nearly midday, which meant that even Trevor should have bothered to wake up by now-
The doorbell rang, and when I glanced out of my window I saw a familiar black Golf GTI parked outside. It was time to make someone else's day as weird as mine had been.
Trev's a scrappy little guy with naturally spiky hair and an air of constant, nervous energy that put me in mind of a farm terrier. He immediately pulled me in for one of his trademark handshake/not-quite-hug gestures that he seemed to think were a manly way of saying he was pleased to see you. "Hey there buddy. What's up? You sounded really worried. You find a filly in a box on your doorstep or-?"
I all but dragged him inside and slammed the door behind me. "Are you saying this has happened to other people?" I exclaimed.
"Wait, what? I was kidding!"
I sighed. "You'd better come through to the living room. Did you bring your warrant card?"
Diamond must have got bored with the Magic of Friendship, because the TV was now showing one of the Fireman Sam videos I'd retrieved from Mum's garage and painstakingly transferred to DVD for Joey, the original stop-motion episodes that I used to watch when I was a kid. "Hi Mister Robert," she said politely, then went back to watching.
"Jesus sufferin' Christ," Trev breathed. "There's a pony in your living room. A real goddamn Equestrian pony!"
"Fully aware of that, thank you," I sighed.
"But how...? Where...?"
"I was hoping you could help me figure that out. Look," I added in a low voice, "I know this whole situation is straight out of some brony's creepy wish-fulfilment fanfiction, but she's still a lost child. We can deal with the paranormal implications after we start working on reuniting her with her parents, okay?"
Trevor nodded slowly, then stood up rather straighter and took a spiral notepad and a biro from the inner pocket of his coat. "Miss Tiara?" he said in the special talking-to-kids voice that every cop must learn in training. "My name's Trevor, and I'm a police officer. You're a little far from home, aren't you?"
"No, I live just around the corner," she drawled sarcastically.
"Hey!" I said sharply. "You mind your manners, young lady. Trevor's come here on his day off as a favour to me so we can help you get home, there's no need to be giving him lip like that."
"Sorry," Diamond said meekly, and she did actually sound contrite.
Trevor snorted. "Don't worry, buddy, I get worse all the time. Would you give us a few minutes?"
I went and made a large pot of coffee, and then wondered if Diamond would be getting hungry yet. At least we weren't short of stuff that I was fairly sure she could eat; Becca's vegetable garden had been so successful this year that we'd had to buy a new chest freezer for the basement to store it all. We probably had some tinned vegetable soup as well, that'd do for the rest of today...
"No luck," Trev said as he entered the kitchen. "She doesn't remember anything between being put to bed for the night and waking up in a box on your kitchen table. How about you? I mean, was there a vehicle, footsteps on the path outside?"
"No idea," I replied. "I was in my office working when I heard the bell. I found that card on the doormat, opened the door and there was the box. And I cleared the path first thing so there was no snow to leave tracks in."
"I should bag these, maybe they'll have prints. Immigration took yours, right? I'll need to take Diamond's... well, hoofprints I guess. I'll need some stuff from my car."
I gave him a sidelong look. "You have evidence-collecting kit in your own car?"
"Dude, we live in Windsor. You think I'm ever really off duty?"
"Point taken. And do I want to know how you're going to get Forensics to look at those without telling them why?"
Trevor sighed. "I'm going to have to bring this to Inspector Haywood, you do realise that, right?"
"And she's going to believe you?"
"Yes. Because you're both coming with me to tell her."
"Trev, there is a reason I called your cellphone instead of 911..."
"Were you planning on keeping her or something? Look, you did the smart thing by not just walking into the police department with her but I still have to play by the rules here. I've got to account for every search I make on the police database and I won't get jack from Forensics unless I get a senior officer's signature on the paperwork, and it makes you and me look way less guilty this way. And don't worry about Haywood, she's cool. Twenty percent cooler, in fact," he added meaningfully.
"Good Lord, you people are everywhere."
"Yep. We are Brononymous, and we are legion!"
It wasn't much of a joke, but after the morning I'd had I think my brain was inclined to seize on anything to laugh at, and I nearly fell out of my chair. A small pink head appeared around the door to the living room. "What's so funny?" she asked.
"Long story," Trevor replied awkwardly.
"Well, I got plenty of free time right now," she replied haughtily. I decided to leave the task of explaining the concept of bronies to Trevor, and made a discreet exit with my coffee.
There were several empty DVD cases on the coffee table, as well as her empty mug. I was starting to have second thoughts about my stance on the need for some ground rules on the subject of putting things away when you were finished with them, and if she was anything like her on-screen self we'd have to establish them about a few other things as well. She did certainly give the overall impression of a child who'd been given too many treats when she was good and not enough scoldings when she was bad, though she seemed to know enough not to play up too much around adults.
Introducing her to the kids should be interesting. Joey was an absolute fanatic about the series, to the point of owning more merchandise than her mother really thought was healthy. Isaac was somewhat more ambivalent, but he had a fascination for animals of any kind, especially horses. That was a situation that would require delicate and careful handling and a degree of forethought-
The front door opened, and I could hear two small excited voices in the hallway. Oh, come on, it couldn't be three-thirty already...! Nope, a glance at the clock confirmed that it was just gone 12:15.
"Hi Bob!" Becca called out, obviously thinking I was upstairs. "School's closed, something about a burst water main. I'll try and get Helen to come by, but you might be..." She trailed off. I began to regret leaving the bourbon upstairs.
"Uh, hi Becca," Trevor said slowly. "This... might take a while to explain."
"Robert," Becca called again, and it's never a good sign when she addresses me by my full name, "why is there a horse that's been painted pink in the kitchen?"
"I'm not a horse, I'm a pony!" Diamond piped up. I debated the relative merits of hiding behind the sofa versus climbing out of a window and making a run for it.
My therapist, in the hopefully unlikely event of her ever finding out about any of this, would doubtless have been very pleased with me for taking a third option and sprinting into the kitchen just in time to clamp my hand over Becca's mouth before she could scream. "I'm sure you have lots of questions," I said in as level and measured a tone of voice as I could manage, "but I can really do without the whole street being able to hear you asking them. Can you manage that?"
She nodded mutely. I removed my hand. "Bob," she said in tones of terrified bewilderment, "is there really a talking horse in my kitchen, or am I just going mad?"
"I already told you! I'm not a horse," Diamond insisted, "I'm a pony!"
"Will you please shut up for a minute?" I suggested wearily. "Becca, I realise this is a hundred kinds of screwed up, but yes. She's real, she can talk, and she's got a name; it's Diamond Tiara, if you were wondering. We don't know how or why, but she was literally dumped on the doorstep this morning and Trev's here to try and figure out what the hell goes on."
Becca sat down heavily. "You'd better start from the beginning."
Trevor condensed this morning's events into a few terse sentences while I started going through the kitchen cupboards. "You feel like some lunch yet?" I asked Diamond.
"Sure," she replied. "Can I have hay fries?"
"I'm afraid that might be a bit tricky," I admitted. "Humans can't eat hay, you see, and I'm not honestly sure where I'd get hold of some... Hmmm. Tell you what, though, I can probably manage our nearest equivalent. You can eat potatoes, right?"
"I... think so," she replied slowly.
"We can give it a try. If they don't agree with you, there's plenty of fresh greens in the freezer and Becca here makes a mean salad."
Diamond opened her mouth to make some response, but never got an opportunity to speak, because Joey chose this exact moment to come back downstairs after changing out of her school clothes. She made a noise that I can only describe as "Squeee!" and literally pounced on Diamond. "Ohmygodohmygodpony! You're real! You're really really real!" she squeaked, hugging her fit to burst. Diamond was frantically flailing her forelegs and making alarming choking noises.
"Joey! Joey, let her breathe!" I exclaimed. Guiltily, she let go, and immediately had to duck as Diamond tried to give her a hoof upside the head.
"The hay?" she demanded. "That is like so rude! I don't even know you, you little-!"
"Knock it off!" I barked. "Okay, you two, listen up. Joey, Diamond Tiara here is not a toy or a pet, so keep your hands to yourself when they're not wanted in future. Diamond, even if you were arguably provoked this time, you are not to take a swing at her again or you will be in more trouble than you've ever previously experienced. Those hooves of yours are hard and humans are a bit more fragile than you're apparently used to, you could have done her serious injury if you'd connected. Now, I'd like you two to apologise to each other, and then we can start from the top. Can you manage that?"
Joey nodded. "Sorry, Diamond. I got... carried away."
Diamond pouted, but ground out a very reluctant "sorry" in a small voice. It would just have to do.
"Good girls," I said in a voice I hoped was less reminiscent of my dad. "Now, who's up for fish and chips?"
The presence of an authentic English-style fish and chip shop in Windsor hadn't been the only reason I chose to stay in the city when I got my Canadian citizenship, but it had certainly helped. I go there whenever I feel like a taste of the old country, even though the guy can't quite manage authentic chip shop chips without access to the right kind of potato. It was a thirty-minute drive, and a welcome opportunity to clear my head.
"I suggest we let the kids eat theirs in front of the telly," I said to Becca, putting two large carrier bags down on the worktop. "We need to start talking logistics."
"How long do you think she's going to be here, then?" Becca sighed, sounding less than enthusiastic. I suspected that she and Diamond hadn't hit it off.
I looked to Trevor, who shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine," he said. "Absolute best case, my boss passes this up the chain and the Equestrian Consulate in Toronto sends someone out to pick her up. Worst case... she could be stuck here permanently."
"Terrific," Becca groaned.
"If you don't think you can handle this..." I began cautiously.
"Oh, come off it, I'm not going to turn her out. It's just... I've got a cartoon character in my living room!" she groaned. "And I can't even have a bloody drink because I'm supposed to be back at work in twenty minutes!" If you ask Becca what her career is, she's an artist; watercolour landscapes and still-lifes, rather good ones in my admittedly biased opinion, which have been exhibited across the region and reproduced on several greetings cards. The money is quite good but rather intermittent, so if you ask her what she does for a living, she drives a cab.
"Take a personal day," Trevor suggested. "No, better yet. Tell them you got a suspicious package in the mail and you need to talk to the cops. I can back you up on that, and it's even true."
"No, no, I need the money. Bob, I guess you're in charge until this evening. We'll clear out the spare room for her and turn the bed down, and... Well, I don't know. I'm sorry, I'm going to have to go; which one of these is mine?"
Joey and Diamond had evidently settled their differences for the moment, and Diamond was having her hair brushed whilst half-listening to Isaac as he described the differences between Equestrian ponies and terrestrial horses. "I like your sister's children," she declared. "They will make excellent minions." Joey caught my eye and shrugged expressively; apparently she'd decided to just go along with it.
"Well, your minions are now on their lunch break," I said firmly, almost certain that I ought to be doing something about this but not at all sure what. "Here. Fish and chips for Joey, sausage and chips for Isaac and and extra-large chips for Diamond. I'll put the salt and vinegar on the table." Diamond eyed the battered fish that Joey was happily tucking into with some disquiet; she didn't seem afraid as such, just slightly put off by the concept, but after a long moment she shrugged and picked up her knife and fork.
I left them to it and retreated to the kitchen, where Trev was examining his own portion with deep suspicion. "The hell did they do to this fish, batter it to death?" he quipped, doing a passable impression of Samuel L. Jackson in The 51st State.
"Try it before you knock it," I replied amiably, pulling up a chair.
"Alright, alright... But something occured to me while you were out. I didn't want to say this to Becca while she was freaking out, but..." he paused. "I think there might be a motive besides just fucking with your head."
"How do you mean?"
"Couple weeks back, we got briefed on something big that went down south of the river. An old lady from Dominica or someplace found a two year-old girl on her doorstep just like you did... well, 'cept for being human, anyhow. She never thought of going to the cops or anything 'cause back home they'd just sell the kid to the highest bidder or dump her in some shithole of an orphanage, and in all fairness to the lady I don't reckon they'd do much better in Detroit, so she took the kid in and looked after her. Only it turns out there's an Amber Alert out for the girl 'cause she was snatched from Ohio or someplace and her parents got a ransom note. The lady's next-door neighbour sees the kid and calls 911, the G-Men pull her in for questioning... and the kidnappers miss their scheduled phone contact and vanish into thin air."
He paused, as if unsure of how to say this. "But, thing is... There was a local cop there acting as a translator, and he remembered something about a homicide in the same city the previous month. An eighty year-old Chinese woman got gunned down in what they thought was a home-invasion robbery, and when they traced her last movements they found out she'd bought Pampers and baby formula with a debit card before coming home, and nobody could figure out why. None of her neighbours had had a baby recently, all her grandkids were in middle school, her church food bank can't take donations in kind for some dumbass insurance reason; total mystery. Until they figured out why that Dominican lady got a doorstep baby."
"A decoy," I realised. "And you think whoever pulled this stunt with Diamond has hit on the same MO?"
"It's possible. Makes as much sense as 'Discord did it', anyway. And if her parents pay up..."
"They'll want to dispose of the evidence. And witnesses." I scowled. "I see why you didn't want to tell Becca yet. And you're right, we do need to take this to your boss."
Author's Note
This got started after someone on SpaceBattles pointed out that "My Little Dashie" (which I'd not at that time actually read) was actually a really rather disturbing story when you thought about it for a bit. He was right: No matter how good your intentions, attempting to raise a child in complete seclusion with no social contact with anyone but yourself will not end well.
"Do we have to take your car?"
"Yes."
"It's not like she can't just lay down on the back seat or something."
"Too risky."
"We can put a blanket over her."
"Who says I was talking about the risk of Diamond being seen?"
"Are you still mad at me over that road-trip to Niagara? Seriously?"
"No, I'm not mad at you... Well, maybe a little bit. But it's more that I have a limited tolerance for stress, and dealing with the doorstep filly situation, this clusterfuck of a deployment at work and your driving all in one day is a bit much."
Trevor sighed. "Fine. But you owe me for this, dude, you owe me big. This thing's fuckin' embarrassing."
"Will you stop calling me 'dude' already? You're too old and in the wrong job to talk like a bloody stoner all the time. And my car is not embarrassing, it is exceedingly practical and very, very cool."
"Yeah, if you're an English redneck."
The car in question was a Land Rover Defender formerly belonging to the British Army, still in Arctic camouflage colours from its last deployment in Norway. Shipping it to Canada and getting it registered had entailed a quite staggering amount of paperwork and cost no small amount of money, but to my mind it was worth every cent.
Why? Because Landies are awesome, that's why.
Once we were sure the coast was clear, Diamond trotted out of the front door. To Trevor's undisguised amusement, she regarded the Landy with her best not-impressed face. "Just get in the back, will you?" I grumbled. "There's a rug on the floor if you can't fit on the seats."
It was a five-minute drive to the police station, most of which Diamond spent complaining about how grubby and uncomfortable the inside of the Landy was. I reminded myself for the nth time that I was not her legal guardian and her manners were not yet any of my business and drove in silence.
Trevor directed me to park at the rear of the building, and back right up to the entrance to the underground car park. A short, vaguely pear-shaped woman in her early fifties with steel-grey hair and an expression of grave suspicion was waiting nearby; Inspector Haywood, I presumed. She was't in the usual "brony" demographic, but then again talking about My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic and the expected demographic is a pointless exercise anyway, so...
"Green, if this is some kind of half-witted practical joke that you've cooked up with your English friend here you'll be giving road-safety talks in elementary schools until you're forty," she warned, revealing a noticeable Quebecois French accent. I winced inwardly. For historical reasons too long and complicated to go into here, people from Quebec hate the English almost as much as the Irish do.
Without making any comment to his boss, Trevor opened the Landy's rear door. "Come say hi, Diamond."
"Well it's about damn time!" she grumped, jumping down with obvious relief.
"Tabernac!" Haywood breathed. I didn't know what that meant but recalled vaguely from one of Harry Turtledove's books that it wasn't suited to polite company.
Diamond sighed theatrically. "This reaction is getting way old."
"Can't really help you there, lady," I replied.
Haywood pinched the bridge of her nose and counted to ten under her breath. "Interview Room 3, all of you. Right now." She turned to another officer who was standing nearby with his mouth hanging open. "You! I want the tapes and CCTV footage sealed and on my desk immediately after we finish up there, this is not just criminal evidence but a matter of national security!"
Haywood and a man by the name of Masters, who was apparently something senior in the RCMP, questioned Trev and I in turn whilst a couple of female officers from the Youth Policing Team -or whatever Canadians call it- dealt with Diamond. There wasn't much more to tell than I'd already related to Trevor: I'd woken up at about seven, made breakfast, taken a snow-shovel and a stiff broom to the path outside whilst Becca got the kids ready for school and then come back in to start work by about 8:30. About two hours later, the knock on the door had come and I'd found the box.
"We'll have to interview your sister as well," Haywood concluded, "and I'm afraid I must ask you to remain within the Windsor area until our investigaton is complete. CSIS will also have questions for you."
"C-what..?" I took a moment to parse the acronym; the 'C' wasn't hard to guess, but it took a bit of thought before I remembered what 'SIS' stands for in the UK. Here's a hint: A guy called Ian Fleming used to work for them, back when they were called something else, and wrote some very famous books based on his experiences there. "I didn't even know we had one of those."
"It's fairly new," Masters replied. "Used to be our job." He looked rather put out as he said so, and I made a mental note to look up the story behind this later. (Unusually for me, I actually remembered to do this; I won't go into it here, but suffice it to say that a lot of Mounties were caught pulling some very illegal stunts to hurt the Quebec separatists at the tail end of the Seventies, and some major house-cleaning took place when Parliament got to hear of it. It's not a pretty story and the RCMP are really embarrassed about it these days.)
"At any rate," Haywood continued, "they will have many questions for our visitor as well, and probably want to perform a medical examination. I think it would be advisable for you to tell your employer you'll be otherwise occupied for the rest of today."
Trevor's "suspicious package" story was as good as anything else I could think of to tell my boss. He immediately attributed it to the unpleasantness that spurred me to leave the UK in the first place, which I'd rather not go into just now, and I chose not to disabuse him of the notion.
I ended up sitting on an uncomfortable chair outside the interview rooms, waiting for I didn't really know what. For lack of anything else to do, I dug my MP3 player out of my jacket pocket and zoned out for a bit. Six tracks later, Trevor tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a mug of coffee.
"You lifesaver." I drank it gratefully. "Any news?"
"The MIBs get here in about an hour, with an Army medic. They want you to sit in with Diamond for the exam; apparently, and I quote, the two of you have built a rapport. I think Haywood was actually kinda impressed."
"All I did was make her breakfast and let her watch cartoons," I pointed out, vaguely embarrassed.
"And handled the 'humans are omnivores' thing. And the 'your world is a cartoon' thing. And stopped her beating up Joey."
I groaned. "Trust you to take Becca's side." There's an ongoing debate in our household about whether or not I'm good at looking after small children. Becca swears I am, I disagree rather vehemently, Joey and Isaac are on the fence.
"I just call 'em how I see 'em, dude."
I sighed heavily, and wondered idly if the bars were open yet. Then I realised that this would mean letting Trevor drive my car and thought better of it.
The arrival of the Men in Black turned out to be a bit of an anti-climax. Only one of them was a man, neither of them wore ominous black suits and they arrived in a gold Mazda hatchback rather than a sinister black SUV. They introduced themselves as Mr White and Ms Green (which I sincerely doubted were their real names) from CSIS and Captain Hawthorne of the Canadian Forces Medical Service.
After a brief exchange of introductions and -yet again- describing the events that led up to this point, we were ushered into a sort of family-friendly interrogation room, brightly painted and containing a couple of couches and a few battered children's toys. Diamond was idly flipping through a magazine with Disney's latest teen idol on the cover, wearing an expression of bored disdain, and didn't bother looking up as we entered the room. I cleared my throat gently.
"Diamond, there's some people here who need to talk to you."
The CSIS agents shared a solemn look but didn't otherwise react, whilst Hawthorne was visibly surprised but kept his composure well enough that his exclamation of "Holy shit!" was barely audible.
"So," Green said in measured tones, "you'd be Diamond Tiara, I take it?"
"Yep," she said absently, still glued to the magazine.
"Put the magazine down, please," I said firmly. "These people need to ask you some questions, and Dr Hawthorne needs to give you a check-up to make sure you're not sick or hurt."
With noticeable reluctance, she dropped the magazine and trotted over. "So, whadda ya wanna know?"
"Well, let's start with some basic stuff. Is Diamond Tiara your full name?"
"Nope, full name's Diamanda Christine Richford."
"Nickname comes from your cutie mark, huh?"
"Something like that." She shrugged. "Been called it long as I can remember, just kinda happened I guess."
White scribbled something down in a spiral notepad, but said nothing. "And your date of birth?" Green persisted.
"Louvember twelth, 2105."
"Uh..."
"I'm thirteen in three weeks," Diamond added.
"I guess we'll come back to that."
They continued in a similar vein for about a quarter of an hour. Father, Filmore Richford, occupation venture capitalist and apparently very good at it. (No prizes for guessing where he got his nickname.) Mother's name, Christine Richford. Parents divorced, father has custody; mother's status uncertain, no contact for some years. No siblings.
Hawthorne took her into another room for an examination, accompanied by a female police officer and leaving me with Green and White. "So, Mr Ellis... Can I call you Bob?" White began, a little awkwardly. I nodded. "Bob, we're going to have to tell you some things that are very, very definitely not for public consumption..."
I snorted. "Do you think I have anything to gain by this being plastered all over tomorrow's Windsor Star? Or Equestria Daily for that matter?"
"Sorry, I had to ask. Anyway, to make a long story short... You aren't the only person who found a filly in a box today."
"‽" I replied, eloquently.
"Yeah, that's pretty much how one of our agents reacted when he found a nine year-old unicorn called Symphonia trying to kick her way out of his mailbox. We suspect there'll be more, but so far you're the only one who decided to call the cops."
"No prizes for guessing why," Green muttered, in obvious reference to that fanfic.
"We won't pretend to know how or why this is happening," White continued, "but we have some guesses. There's aspects to this that I can't talk about in a lot of detail, but I take it you're aware of the concept of parallel universes?" I nodded mutely. "Well, I don't know all the details and wouldn't be allowed to tell you if I did, but a number of governments have taken passes at going beyond pure theory."
"At any rate," Green interjected, "all we can tell you right now is that we've got people working on the problem of getting this kid home. Unfortunately, it's anyone's guess when or indeed if they'll get any useful results. Which leaves us with a problem..."
Diamond was back in the interview room, reading the same magazine as before and sucking a sugar-free lollipop she must've got from Hawthorne. "So," I said slowly. "Did they tell you what happened?"
"Some," she replied tonelessly. "Am I staying here?"
"Here as in on Earth, or here as in with us?"
"Both, I guess."
"Well, as far as staying on Earth goes, the scientists are working on it. There was a way to send you here, so there's got to be a way to send you back, right? As for staying here with us... Well, I suppose that's really up to you. If you really don't want to stay with me, Becca and the kids then there's always that other guy who got a pony in the mail."
Diamond shrugged.
I sat down beside her, and very tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder. "You alright?"
Diamond looked up, glaring at me. "The hell do you think?" Despite the ferocious scowl, I could see unshed tears in her eyes, and I made an abrupt decision. To hell with whether or not I had the right to do this to someone else's kid. I put both arms around her and pulled her into my lap for a hug. She sat stiffly for a fraction of a second, but then something gave way and she curled up against me and started to sob. I held her for a long moment, stroking her hair (mane? Whatever) until she cried herself out.
"I wanna go home," she said miserably. "I wanna see Daddy again, and Sylvie, and Miz Debonnair an' Bonnie from the candy store and..." She sighed heavily. "This never happened, 'kay?"
I snorted. "Kid, if anyone's earned the right to a good cry right now..."
"I'm serious! I've got a reputation to maintain here!" she protested, with such utter seriousness and conviction that I burst out laughing. Diamond made an inarticulate growling noise, yanked the lollipop she'd been sucking out of her mouth and stuck it into my hair.
"Gah! Oi! You brat!" I yelped.
"And don't you forget it!" she retorted, and then she started laughing.
I sighed. "This relationship is clearly something we're both going to have to work at."
Author's Note
Yes, I'm still alive. Yes, I'm still working on this.
