On the observation of evil and the escapism of oneiromancy

— Does the squirrel dog have the nature of a Buddha?

— Moo-oo-oo!

The upgraded koan

We were already approaching when I, once again setting aside the shovel and unwinding the rags from my paws, asked: — Charming, tell me about Applusa. What to wait for, where to go? Won't they attack me right away? Pony choked on his tea. A separate «boiler» for boiling water was mounted so as to use the lost heat of the boiler itself. By the way, the water from the boiler could also be drained through a special device, for example, to assess its hardness. They even wrote on our locomotives that the water was poisoned, but there are few morons among the ponies, they are executive, but they go crazy in a different way. It is said that you cannot drink from the cauldron. They won't. — What can I tell you? Well, they might chase you. They haven't moved away from that bull adventure yet. — What kind of bulls? — Local bison. They have some kind of ritual race going on there. And the locals planted apple trees on the route. Apples are the same. — Can't those guys move the track? — No. They have some kind of religion. It is directly and precisely through this place. Now, however, there is a passage left, such an apple alley, but the ponies are still somehow afraid. There were also attacks on trains... — Charming, that who's pulling my tongue? — And if I persuade the unicorn, will he be able to find me strategic deposits of bison bones under some hill? — You are this... Don't talk any unicorn into it, okay? — Does the school history program not cover some events? — You're an outsider. Yes, you're a good stallion, so good that you probably don't bargain much in the market, but... It's for ponies. Like that toilet at the station. Sorry. Don't touch on this topic, you won't make an investigator of the Celestian Order from antiquity. There should be a unicorn there. And they are too jealous of the right to insight. — Wouldn't they go to a certain organ? But I get you. — That's good, — Pony shook his head. Basically, I knew how he felt. But... there is no such thing as a good story. Necessarily blood, bestial abomination and fanaticism. But such sweeping of garbage under the carpet ponies will be even stronger than excessive revisionism and «revelations». Not right away, but spring will show who took a shit where. — So what about my question? — There's a saloon there, a building with a salt shaker on the sign... — Are these any special «salts»? — I wink. — What? No, camel and zebra powders are banned. And the salt... You see, when drinking some drinks, salt is poured on the edge of the glass. And it is impossible to directly report on the sign that not only cider is poured in the institution. The princess will kick her ass, and the ringing will be heard on the other side of Equestria. Like that. The forum nonsense about horses letting salt down their nostrils has not been confirmed. And why would that be? — So, behind this vomit room, — Charming said literally about the «vomit booth», — There is also a building of a private hotel for railway workers. Tell me what I advised you. It's fun here at the pony. — Charming, how did you deal with those bulls? — The official version says about apple pies. But... do you know what heated oil does to wool and skin? They riveted a homemade cannon with a nozzle instead of a barrel, in which this oil was heated until it smoked. Then water was supplied there. Can you imagine the result? — What does apples have to do with it? — And the design was invented by someone from Apple. They have it in the family, they even made joke guns for parties once. But it sold poorly. Foals were not allowed to buy, and there are not so many different jerks among adult ponies. It seems that in Canterlot, a couple or two left, and that's it. Well, they could have pushed another one in Ponyville, where, they say, half the population dropped the cuckoo from the clock. And as for the apples... In the ancient dialect, «apple» means apple. — And what about Celestia? — What about Celestia? The burned ones were cured, pies were treated, a race track was made, since all kinds of defective ponies do not jump on a cow without it. — Charming, — I say, — Are you telling me this for a reason? — Maybe in vain. But this is a common thing when you lead a team with a temporary partner. Sometimes you brag about something, then you cry to him in overalls. And I can tell you that, too. They won't listen to you anyway. And so, what if you tell me something? I paused. I didn't say much about who I was or where I was from. — That is, — I opened my squirrel dog mouth, — If some interspecific sillydog will talk about jerks, some of whom see nothing but their business, and others do not understand that the fight against desolation is more important than trampling rituals, then they will not believe the dog? — Yeah. And they'll stuff their faces. Do you know how to fight? Or are you just biting? — They didn't teach it somehow, — I answer. Well, I would have told him what I was taught! And that the developer and modeler of a group of techniques is not a person, but a neural network. Program. And I trained on a moving toy, being all in pads and special clothes to imitate the body features of an upright squirrel dog. — So don't say anything superfluous, — The pony didn't understand that they don't teach you to fight even when they teach you to kill. — I'm from far away. I can do a lot, but a little bit at a time. We have problems organizing there, and we think it's because of your magic. But we need to find out for sure. And we don't have our own magic. Yeah, let him calm down. In Equestria, as I understand it, all disasters are magical. Except for the railway, hehe. The stallion sighs. — You don't know how right you are, buddy, — The stallion sighs. — One of the unicorns once said that it would not be possible to control the weather in vast territories. They pointed out to him that they were already managing, and everything was going great. And the outskirts are full of croup. There is no way out to sea south of Horseshoe Bay, storms are constantly there, deserts are growing... San Palomino used to be agricultural land! A garden on the shore! And now it's like this... north of Canterlot, it's kind of creepy, no winter, no summer! In the center of the continent. I wanted to become a traveler, a land surveyor... With my eyes I show him to continue. — Oh, kill you, Celestia, I'm traveling! On a steam locomotive. Well, yes, and he describes the land directly on the embankment at the wheel of the locomotive, unbuttoning his overalls. But here these verbs are different, no pun intended. And if you don't sniff out different shit in the corners, then Equestria is an ordinary country, with a lively and bloody history, its own problems, some stagnation in development and without much nastiness, so that you just want to run away. Well, there's also magic. Then why is a certain caramel of being imposed by the Crown?

***

— Well, it's about to start, — Charming Coal muttered. Belkin looked out the side window, which was open because of the heat from the furnace. Pony. Is tending sheep. Yeah, she left her charges, saying something to them (Valentine kept forgetting that many animals here are semi-intelligent), and went to the locomotive. — Why did you leave here, huh? Can't you find another time? I'm actually here at this time seeing off the sheep! They have to go through the railway! And you're stopping the train here on purpose! — An earth pony of dark orange color in years and in some kind of cap, or whatever it is called, was shaking a long stick with a squiggle. — That's an infection! — Charming almost groaned as he moved deeper into the booth. — I have already explained to her a hundred times that if necessary, you need to avoid the train. And now the southwest train will proceed to Canterlot, and we will leave... A hole with ears! She doesn't understand hay! I've already argued with her... But she filed a complaint against me... I lost my money... — Charming, — Valentine thought about it. — Am I here as a one-time contract? Is there nowhere to write a complaint? — Well... there is a place, but you're not going to get a job at our depot later? Yeah. He's not going to. — What are you hiding for? I'm going to complain about you to Princess Celestia! That's how the day is set, and I'll write! They're completely insane! My sheep's wool smells like smoke! They are shedding ahead of time because of your train! Drive on! Fuck, we're going to drive straight to the arrow, fool! Valentin was also angry, but not really, but with the cheerful anger of a patient man distracted from work. Or a pony. He took a deep breath, made a downcast face and leaned out the window, almost falling out. — Eh! Daragaya, what's the fuss? Why are you swearing? The train is standing here, you can't shout! Out, your sheep rails run! Listen to the whistle, no? The train is coming. Hurry up, hurry up! Go pack a sheep before the train goes. And then the griffin and the diamond dog shish kebab from your sheep kyushai! Crack! The legs are here, but the horns are not here! — You! — Pony gasped with indignation and prospects and shook her stick. Hoof is not a hand, and the stick fell out. But there's nothing! Then there was a stream of threats to complain to both princesses. And even three! And the promise to break the road with the help of relatives. — Hey! Do you hear? You, Celestius, immediately write a letter about the road to break! She'll rip your ass off and put it on your head. Instead of your stupid hat! Get out of here nahuy with your yobany sheep! — At that moment, a passing train whistled, and a strange creature, leaning out of the window of the locomotive instead of the usual and almost familiar ponies, to the accompaniment of an answering whistle, stamped. — I'm your mouth cheburek with manure treat! Pidaraska! The train clanked and started, wheels clattering past the gasping pony.

***

After making a loop (bitch, were you all drunk there when the road was designed?), the train rolled up to the platform. The locomotive did not take off the steam, since the machine was in the place where a normal steam locomotive has a tender. Belkin jumped out onto a wooden platform, or rather, a deck laid on brick and stone bull columns. — Hey, colt, wait a minute... Valentine, who had already turned around to say goodbye, raised an eyebrow in disbelief. — Is something wrong? — Blyaha-muha, it's not like that, — Charming Coal grimaced, having already picked up a foreign expletive infection from squirrel dog. — Wait until I check the locomotive. — Do you need help? — No, I'm on my own. The pony checked the valves and the position of the levers, tapped the «nail» of the hoof on the glass of the pressure gauges and odometer, turned the key of the built-in clock. He twisted the parking brake handle. He thought about it and took hold of the injector valve. «What's he pulling for?» — Perplexed Valentine. Finally, the required amount of water was collected into the boiler. — Help me put some coal on, — Charming said. — What happened? — Belkin went back into the booth, already with a practiced movement he put on someone's (passing) driver's cap, removing it from one of the valves. He took a shovel. — See, here's the thing, — Pony grimaced again. — Don't stay here too long, okay? — Whatever you say. And what is the reason? — Squeezing past the machine, Valentine scooped up the coal, deciding that it was necessary to restore the feeder in any way. It's inconvenient, sho kapets. — We had several incidents not so long ago... Then some one-eyed dick with horns was jumping around Equestria, then something else… There are orders from the Princesses to report all strange strangers to the Moon Throne... — Are you going to report? Will you give me a head start? — The squirrel dog stiffened his face. When they tell you when and for how much you will be sold, it's friendly, isn't it, Valentine? — I won't tell them at all. But the local station master will run up to the device at the moment. And the sheriff will be persuaded, if not to detain, then to follow up. — And you won't be fired from your job for not informing? — No. You're familiar to all of us. But if I report it, then questions will arise. Like, why did you report it so late? — Well, damn, thanks, or something... — Belkin... no offense? — What kind of grievances are there? To Luna and Celestia? Or to those jerks who are frolicking here? — Valentine smiled mirthlessly. — Can't I pass for a diamond dog? — A year or two ago you would have passed for them. — And what has happened in these last year or two? — Some kind of squirrel dog, similar to you, went through the whole Equestria from south to north. Like a knife through butter. She didn't stay anywhere for a long time, she didn't burn or steal anything, but this trip was remembered for a long time... The guards were not on their ears, but generally stood on the tips of their horns. The Night Watch was prowling almost in the houses of the ponies. Complaints went out, the foals were scared. And Luna doesn't seem to be able to talk to the little ones at all. «Hearken, O child! Now We, Princess Luna of Equestria, Mistress of the Night and Dreams, are delivering you from your fears!» And the foal pissed himself... — No wonder. And what was the point of the campaign? Well, some character is traveling around the country... — Some kind of. The filly. I mean, bitch... — The pony got confused. — A female, — Belkin prompted. — A female, — Charming agreed. — And she was just asking too. About the same as you. She had already gone somewhere to the northeast, disappeared into the woods with the ends, but they continued to ask. Only the ponies themselves were asking now. In writing and to Celestia. Like, is that how the subjects of Her Sunny Highness understand the situation and the laws violated by this Highness? Pony somehow managed to convey in speech the capital letter forms of the written title. Not even the standard two letters in one, but whole letters with curlicues and in four colors. — Did you catch the troublemaker? — As if she had fallen into a wormwood. The forests are the same. — Did you live in the north? — Belkin clung to the turn of speech. He scooped up the coal closer to the furnace, but he didn't need more than that yet. He stuck the shovel into the clamps on the wall. — I've been there. I drove trains to Crystal too. — Okay, — Belkin hung up his cap back and extended his paw to the stallion. — I'll be careful and quick. And if that's the case... — What? — Charming, what kind of cutie mark do you have? The pony hesitated. He did not want to answer, and Belkin did not see the stallion without overalls. But he «gave birth»: — The brake shoe. Everyone was laughing, even those who were still unmarked. Yeah... especially empty... empty-sided. — The talent of not letting everything go downhill ko vsem huyam? And what's wrong? — Our teacher would have said so at the time... a fool... I was scared then, I thought, that's it, now the wagon will roll away and bang somewhere, I put a sleeper, which almost killed me... How could a foal know that empty freight cars are sometimes lowered down a hill? I don't understand how I didn't overdo it then... And these are standing and giggling. — You... I'll go, anyway, — Belkin was already not happy that he asked for an ass tag. — And thanks. Well, he has the remaining money for the transformer, including the amount saved on buying a ticket, and half of the «flight». Rent a room, poke around the neighborhood and find yourself a projection point. Ah! Another legend to come up with. The case was complicated by the possible enthusiasm of the local sheriff. Silverstar or something like that. Belkin did not see that Charming Coal, who was watching him go, beckoned to an earth pony on duty on the platform in a uniform jacket casually thrown on because of the heat. — Miss, what's your name?.. — Long Rail, — Replied a long-legged pony of dark gray color with a steel-like coat. The mane and tail were the color of rust, and there was a drawing on the ass in the form of a ladder laid on one side or a piece of railroad track. Pony could have told that, being still unable to walk as a newborn baby, when she heard the locomotive whistle and the distant clang of wagons, she was not afraid, but looked around, making a surprised pug and goggling, that's what they called her, but Charming somehow did not ask. His own special pony was waiting for him in Dodge City. — Miss Rail, — The pony hesitated, — Did you see that I have a diamond dog as my partner on the flight? — Well? Is something wrong? — Pony tensed. — No, except for the fact that the depot is losing a possible specialist... Just with this new law... Could you tell the station master that this is our dog, from Dodge City, and don't have to tell anyone anything. Well, until he gets drunk in your saloon and does something to make the whole of Applusa ashamed... — As soon as he gets drunk, let him explain to the sheriff, — Pony put on a stern look, but it's clear that she won't tell. To get involved with drunkenness... These machinists and mechanics with stokers and all sorts of stokers are skilled foals, but as soon as they see alcohol after work, that's it, call on Celestia herself. Then they will arrange horse races on chairs and benches, then they take turns farting at a candle. They also had a competition to see who would break a bottle on his head. Long Rail rolled her eyes and shook her head. She just felt that the new resident of the town would teach everyone the next bad thing.

***

Belkin tried the door. It's not locked. Well, that's great. He managed to get to the hotel without any problems, he met only one pony hurrying to the saloon. — Yeah! — The squirrel dog-misunderstanding answered the unspoken question. — They used kerosene regularly after harvesting, and then it's time to prepare for winter, they stopped drinking, right? Withdrawal syndrome, therefore, alcoholic delirium! At first you see all sorts of squirrels dogs, then you kill parasprites on the walls with a hoarding, and in the end you see yoban“ at all! — No, that's not it! We didn't drink to death! — The pony was scared. The drooping moustache and sideburns gave the stallion a comical look. — Maybe you are, it's... — What «it's»? — Well, will you get divorced somehow? — I don't think so. But you should have asked for cider. A weak one. And only one mug. I won't be able to get divorced, but I definitely won't bother you, — Belkin promised. He really wasn't going to bother the ponies. The pony nodded shallowly and trotted off to the saloon. You should be ashamed of yourself, Valentine. Fuck it... barely noon has passed, and this one is already «refueling», not getting off yesterday's «poker». What followed was a matter of technique. He walked around a few houses behind the saloon (they have the whole «city» along one street here) and found a sign. — Eh! Is there anyone? — He yelled deep into the house. — Do you rent rooms? There was a counter, but somehow not seriously. A piece of bookcase. The bell, which he beat. Then he picked up the toy and beat it against the surface of the counter. — Eh? Who's breaking the bell there? Oh, Celestia! — A dark pink pony with a straw mane pulled into a bun on her head came out of some storeroom and wanted to go back there. A mop clattered over the bucket. — Miss, do you rent rooms? — First of all, Missis, — Pony came to her senses. — Secondly, the hotel is a service hotel, only for ponies working on the railway... — Thirdly, figure out for yourself why Charming Coal put me on the flight, and fourthly, — The incomprehensible creature in overalls grinned, — If you refuse, I will not give you greetings from him and I will complain to Dodge City! — How dare you! I mean, — Pony darkened through her fur, — I don't need his greetings! And you can at least complain to Canterlot! — As you say, — Belkin looked with interest at the freckles on the pony's face. Does the wool darken in patches like this? Okay, it's time to know the honor... — Where are you going? — Pony has completely lost her fear. — To look for other ponies, — Replied the squirrel dog, somewhat surprised, who had already taken hold of the door handle, — Who has an extra room, but no bits. — You... you are it! — What?! — Valentine began to examine himself in fright. — You have to stop here! I have it! — So there are no places... Even for railway workers... — Well, I'll find one room. «She's lying incredibly, — Belkin thought. — She has guests here once a week and no more than two. If she does not rent rooms for an hour or two to concerned residents. But they can get laid in a barn on a bale of hay». — Good. I have practically no belongings. Therefore, — The squirrel dog smiled, — Where is the shop here to buy all sorts of small things? I'm particularly interested in toothbrushes! — I'll sell it. Inexpensive, — Pony darted between the pantry and the counter, not knowing whether to register a rare tenant, or look for personal items for him. — Well, just fine! Where can I sign? — Right here! — Pony opened an ordinary notebook, handwritten... with columns drawn from the hoof. — What do we have today? — Cold, the twenty-ninth. — Yeah, — Belkin entered the name, surname and date. He signed, almost blurting out a blot. After chatting with the pen in the inkwell, he thought that fountain pens would be very useful. Are they here? There should be. That's about what he asked. — The fountain pen stands like... like the whole room! — Pony snorted and read the alien's scribble. — Va... Vale... — Valentine Belkin, — Said the character tensed up. Whenever he introduces himself, some kind of bull... palmistry happens. — I'm Orange Gash. Okay, Va-le-n-tine, twenty bits and come on, I'll show you your room. — Just Belkin, — the stranger waved his paw, noting to himself that the transcription of the name could have been more successful, but the rules of Equestrian required exactly this spelling, which is why the analog «n» stuck out in the name like a crooked nail in a board. — Okay — Belkin counted out the coins, zipped up his pocket and went after the pony. — Uh... Mrs... order of the Gash? — Orange Gash. — Sorry, I'm relatively new to Equestria... — But you can speak! — Pony snorted. — Yes, but the spell is a spell, but by ear... — Then ask the unicorn to give you the head again... — Head — what? — Belkin stopped. He was smiling a little and just stood there, and the pony turned around and almost jumped away. — N-n-nothing! — Pony hastened to assure squirrel dog. — Nothing, so nothing. I was already starting to think bad things. Well, that personality spell disfigures... It's not like that, is it, Mrs. — Belkin paused slightly, — Gash? — No, not at all! They say that it corrects a little... character. Makes the animal friendlier to the pony... — The beast… — I'm sorry! — The pony's hind legs parted in sudden fear. — How do you know about the features of the spell? — Belkin asked quietly and with some sadness. Pony shook her head and backed away from the squirrel. — Okay, never mind... Show me the room.

***

I lay down for twenty minutes after I took a shower and brushed my teeth with a normal brush instead of a finger. Yeah, normal… I don't even want to think whose stubble it is, and from where it was cut. What am I doing on the brushes? And what should I cycle on? On the number of rounds? By the way, it is not accepted to supply rooms with tooth powder or paste in this wilderness. But I didn't buy it either. This Orange brought it as an apology. And she has a hunted look in her eyes. As if the whole world had suddenly decided not to hunt down one pony? Just for fun. Light Sand had the same eyes while walking from the famous desert. And it all ended badly. And this one doesn't seem to have any program running in her head. As I lay there, I thought about what to do next. Go west? Through the gardens all the way to the prairies? Or is there sand to the horizon again? I'm being stupid, though. I can walk to the station without hurrying and whistling, look at the schedule, talk to the staff. Then follow the rails and find a point where you can jump on a train going south. After a couple of refueling stations with coal and water, the train will turn west along the desert. But not far from the town it would be necessary to bury your skull. Where exactly? The ideal place would be a city dump. Should I go look for it? Okay, I rest a little more and go. And somehow we need to get in touch with the locals, otherwise there is no progress with the task.

***

The strange guest quietly went downstairs and, not finding the pony in place, looked into the living room. She's a kitchen. Ponka was mopping the floor with a device resembling a clothes rack with a rag wrapped around the crossbar. A mop leaned against the wall like a prostitute. It's clear why these ponies need her. If you wrap a lot of soft, fluffy and lint-free stuff on it, then it is convenient to wash high windows with such a thing. And if you use an ordinary rag, you will not have to climb under the tables with this hoof brush. The pony backed up and almost drove into Belkin with an ass with drawings in the form of stylistic spirals of orange peel and a tail raised to the verge of decency. — Oh! Is that you? — Yeah, — Squirrel dog replied, stepping back and suspecting that it was too early for such a relationship. — You scared me! — You touched me with your ass! A different kind! Pony choked and shook her head again, just like last time. — Two questions, — The squirrel dog switched the receptionist, the cleaner and, at least, the co-owner of the hotel to another topic. — The first one. Is there a job for a mechanic, because it's a little expensive here? Second. Where is the dump here, otherwise, with my specialty, I feel you will need it? — There will be gardens immediately behind the rails. Ask someone about the tractor. They will tell you everything and show you, — Pony, if the alien correctly understood the expression of her muzzle, conceived some kind of not very good joke with the help of a guest. Again, it easily switches from a polite form of address to a vernacular one. — And they won't try to kill me for your jokes, Mrs. Gash? — Valentine squatted down to be on the same level with the pony's heads. Yes. They will rush in a bunch, trample for a long time, and then scratch their heads, looking at the moribund. They'll panic. Someone will offer to take the stranger to the hospital, if he does not die on the way, and then apologize to the irreversibly mutilated. Fuck, they'll bake another pie as a gift with their own fucking apples! Immediately, the smartest ass will figure out that for the reason of such «apologies», even in relation to a disenfranchised stranger, the whole code will be rattled for magical «behavior correction» and hard labor. For fuck's sake. First you did this to a stranger, and then you'll switch to a pony. Someone is going to get an axe. Then his limbs will shake, and the cowardly bastard will rush to exchange an axe for a local pistol. Probably flint from his great-grandfather. But by that time, the stranger will have died himself. They'll run again, this time to get a shovel. They'll take a terrible oath not to tell anyone, get drunk on nervous grounds, and the whole town will know in a day. Someone, out of fear of punishment, will begin to suffer from nightmares, scream in their sleep... Luna, if they don't lie about she, will find a fool, but... But it wasn't a pony. It's just a diamond dog, a bull, a donkey, a griffin. Jew, Black, Russian… Substitute the right one, brush off the fallen bangs and smooth the brush mustache. The marker is a long way from here. And I don't want to explain why I suddenly went to Applusa, and you come back from Badlands to Dodge City. But I'll have to visit the freaks quietly. If you do not repay, wait for the repetition of the «number». Or, if you don't give a shit about the fact of your murder, if you reappear, it will be... And what will happen? Will they start chasing the «living dead»? Will they panic so much that they will hand themselves over to the Guards? And there are extra actors, up to the crowned ones, these Guardians are still… That's it? Has the mission failed? — Are... are you okay, Mr. Belkin? — Orange Gash tried to smile, but fear got in the way. There was something about the expressionless dark eyes of a not-quite-diamond dog. It seems to be just a peat pool, but here they tell you that the bodies of the secretly executed were thrown there, and even the accusation was false. And heavy peat water is an infusion of pain, hatred and understanding of all the abomination of another motives. And you will also understand that such a world cannot be saved. Your world. — So far it's okay, — Belkin got up, the pony backed away. — I haven't reached it yet and haven't asked... What if they had this tractor run over two ponies before it broke down? And I'm like, «I'm going to fix it!» Let him run over the third one! — No, no! No one was run over! They just wanted to sort out the car in it, but it sputtered and won't start anymore! Well, they might have got something else mixed up... And they have one such tractor... I mean, the Apples have four of these tractors, no less, but this one never leaks, it's small, convenient... ahhh! — Mrs. Gash, is that why you're crying manticore? — Valentine even took a step back. The door slammed. — Someone's here, — Belkin twitched his ear. — What if there's a client? — Mom? — Did it come from... the hallway? The lobby? At the reception, this corridor just didn't pull. — Oh! — Pony switched abruptly. It is not known what she had time to think, but the terrible stranger stepped back and aside, letting the pony pass. The confused expression on the creature's face (Belkin was waiting for some dirty trick again) helped Orange Gash to start acting. She rushed to the door, but not in panic, but hurriedly, with a small lame three-legged gallop, managing to smear tears on her face. A stranger exhaled inaudibly from behind, unclenching a sweaty paw on the handle of an almost extracted pistol. Pony didn't see him. For the better? — Mom? — A young filly with a strange saddlebag on her back stopped abruptly. — Have you been crying? It's because of dad, isn't it? — Has something happened? — Valentine got in when he came up. A newly arrived pony with funny ponytails on her head and the rest of her mane cut rather short squealed and jumped up. The bag slid sideways, the «sneakers» in the horse version fell out on the floor. Such a tight sock with lacing and a rubber-looking sole. Judging by the scuffs, it's not really rubber, but in half with non-vulcanized rubber. It smelled like a school locker room and a gym. The sensitive nose of the squirrel dog pulled tricks, sometimes working no better than a human, then clearly highlighting weak «aromas». — Clementine, go to the kitchen. I need to talk to our new guest. A small (damn, she's already adult enough, just plain bad as all teenagers) pony snorted and stomped past Belkin. — So? — The squirrel dog was looking at Orange. — Maybe you can come with me to these gardens? Your... daughter? Your daughter will keep an eye on the hotel. Pony winced. — Clementine! Go somewhere... Clement... — No. A teenager should not walk with a stranger, — Belkin interrupted the hostess. Pony looked at the dog strangely. It's strange for a strange dog. He stood quietly, only his ears and the tip of a completely non-dog tail twitched. — Do you care so much about someone else's foal? Or about your reputation? — Safety, — The guest replied. Whose safety, he did not specify. Are you such a bad mother that you want to get rid of a child by sending him for a walk with some creature of indistinct species? Or do you know your daughter too well? Let the stranger «light up» with her, and half of this fucking town will start their usual entertainment called «why are you walking with our girls?» and «hit him, guys». And you can also immediately run to the sheriff and yell about your «stolen» cunt... mandarin... Clementine. A great reason for the town to arrange a «holiday». They'll probably garland the gallows. Fighting in agony in a capsule again?

***

— Hey, Brayburn! You got your Discord wagon on its feet, didn't you? — Naturally switching to the three-legged step that so amazed Belkin, Orange Gash waved her front leg at some stallion in a leather vest, hat and magically painted apple on half-ass. — Her, hay in her mouth, is the only thing left to put on her feet! He doesn't want to move on wheels at all! — The questionable Brayburn waved his limb. Either he greeted the pony and the squirrel dog, or he said goodbye to the hopes of reviving the insidious machinery. — Here! — Hoof Orange rested on the alien's thigh. Yeah. Practically into a cannon. Valentine even held his breath. — What «here»? — A specialist. He drove the train with a Koala. Maybe he'll look at your wreck? Also a steam engine, isn't it? — How many times have I already said that?! Not steam! He's hot! Hot! — The stallion made a face. — I'd like to take a look, — The stranger said neutrally. He still had the intonation «I would blow it», but the ponies of these Internet sites of yours did not have analogies and did not sculpt. — Can you handle it? — The prognosis and diagnosis will be after the examination, — Medical terms have come out of the squirrel dog. «Doctor Recepi, you're an asshole! Fucking warlock», — Valentine thought. — Oh, I thought you were an specialist! — The stallion sniffed. — Is there an instruction? — The alien ignored the joke. Hoof farming, hehe! — Do you also need a piece of paper? — Brayburn was genuinely surprised. — Everyone is a fool with a piece of paper... — Mrs. Gash? — Belkin, still with the same indifferent face, turned to the pony that had brought him. — Unfortunately, nothing worked out, I apologize for the lost time. Shall we go back? Orange stared at the stallion, then at the male squirrel dog in disbelief. — They can handle themselves here, — The alien reassured the pony. — Moreover, they have instructions. — There is! — Brayburn confirmed angrily. — But even the letter forms are unfamiliar in it! — Did the zebras write? — You... ah! — The stallion turned around with a nervous leap and ran somewhere. — I don't understand anything... — He's good! — She came to the defense of a familiar pony. — It's just that they have this tractor... well, they are already used to it, but there is no place to serve it here... It's clear. They've been messing around for a couple of seasons without maintenance, and then they're surprised. Brayburn turned out to be the city's champion in high-speed document retrieval, no less. — Here! — This runner wasn't out of breath at all, but he was running on all his limbs, and he put the «document» in his vest. — Well, what is there to understand? «TP4I<TOP Co TEP^OBbI ΔBNG4TE^b». — It's a tractor. With a heat engine, — Belkin said and turned the page, seeing pony's disbelief. The crap printed on filthy wrapping paper with drawings and diagrams from... the leg caused defocusing of vision and strange sensations in the head. Some kind of cross between Bulgarian and Russian pre-revolutionary spelling and various squiggles from Greek and almost Hebrew. — So what are the symptoms? — Valentine asked, digging out a sign with typical faults among the pages and hoping for a miracle. — It doesn't spin at all! It's just warming up! And you twist the hoof, it barely turns over... Yeah. A typical malfunction. And does the esteemed Dunyushka want to repeat the order? — Let's go watch, — Belkin grimaced. — Just don't cheat with the payment. — So... you didn't say anything about paying! — Did Mrs. Gash tell you? — The squirrel dog turned around, but the said pony had already disappeared, as if sensing an inconvenient financial issue with her ass. — Well... Does you that... As if... Actually, I have to give her the money... and with the apples there... — Pizdets... — Eh? — No, nothing. Let's go look at the tractor. By the way, I'm Belkin. — Brayburn.

***

They rolled the tractor out from under the awning. Belkin was seriously afraid that the day would not be enough for him. Regular assistance to his father in the garage gave him some minimal experience, but restoring some particularly rare model of the «big-eared» «Zaporozhets» and picking at the tillers is not the level when you can open your own car service. Valentine did not even strive, which led his father into an irritated state. You see, pushing buttons wasn't considered a job. And the method of quick sorting in the garage was useful only for once laying out nuts and bolts in cans of cheap instant coffee. And the principles and methods of broadcasting... It added degrees and «what kind of programmer are you if you can't hack an on-board computer without equipment», which is regularly heard in various variations. — We'll need a lamp, — Belkin grimaced, opening the engine casing, — And a tool. So, here they have a pair of healthy ribbed «pots», with a collapse, like a «Harley», sticking out of the engine. No candles. One cylinder, all in radiators, literally rests against the cabin, while the second, surrounded by a spiral tube of the fuel system, is immersed in some kind of «snail» ending in a lopsided almost locomotive pipe. — Here, — The pony brought the lamp, Valentine did not even notice that the stallion was leaving, he was so carried away by the tractor. — Did you rely on any parts and spare parts? — The bipedal creature easily kicked the cracked rubber of the rear wheel with its hoof. Or a lapel, since Brayburn did not delve into shoe details. It looks like a shoe in general, one of those used by ponies, who are often forced by their kind of work to stand on their hind legs or pull something heavy. — Yes, I'm the only one uncomfortable. Inconvenient. It's like they put a spare transmission in there. The whole box, starting with cones for the roller variator and ending with the flywheel from this fucking stirling. If the Equestrian service is a piece of paper for free maintenance, then the Stalliongrad service is a box of spare parts that will be enough for half the car. And dig yourself. On the other hand, why seal a cartridge from a copier or printer when you can post instructions online, sell powder and regularly take equipment for repair from another miner? Belkin chuckled. — What? Is something wrong? — The stallion, along the way, really needed this tractor. And to drive, and not stand as a monument to himself. — There is hope. And now we're going to do the strangest thing, — The squirrel dog grinned and explained, — Read a book.

***

Everything turned out to be not so terrible in terms of mechanics, if do not look at the implementation in the style of «the bigger the piece of iron, the stronger». I was amused that a tractor with a continuously variable gearbox on a terrible roller between the conical shafts has all three pedals. It turns out that one accelerator is not enough, you need to screw in a full-fledged clutch for some reason. As I understood from pony's explanation, the clutch «instantly» uncoupled the engine from the box. But with the pedal down, the tractor one fuck did not go anywhere. It was necessary to «gas up», moreover, the reaction was not even tractor, but... can you imagine the speed control in the Stirling engine? And I have no idea. Because it's almost gone. I did not climb into the box, only cleaned and lubricated the centrifugal regulator, which does not allow the «pedal stomper» to stop the engine. It took me a long time to figure out why an air pump was needed. I've sorted it out. I changed the seals. I found a couple of spare valves and also changed one on the air line. In short, there was such crap: for not only normal power, but at least some, almost ship's volume of cylinders was frankly small. The gas pressure in them was required. Do you understand? Gas. In cylinders with pistons. And so that it does not leak out when working. Yes, it's funny to me too. Unknown ponies solved the problem with the help of an engine-driven pump, which was barely enough to compensate for losses at normal pressure. But the gaskets that worked together did their dirty work: the engine did not have enough power to turn the tractor. When I unscrewed the valve, it didn't even fart, damn it. The atmosphere inside and the atmosphere outside. Okay, with the help of the stallion, the universal mother, including the mother of the tractor, and a bottle of kerosene, we managed to unscrew the connecting rod from the flywheel, glad that there was no pressure inside. I was seriously afraid that we would blow the bolt's head off. But the kerosene helped. Somehow they pulled out the piston. Almost the same sealing tricks as on a steam locomotive. It was already getting dark when I forced this Brayburn to pump up the entire dashing volume of two «pots» with a terrible pedal pump. I do not know what the pressure gauge on the «dashboard» showed there, but the arrow reached the beginning of the green zone from the gray one. The battery that ignites the fuel in the burner, this «horse tractor driver» also ran out. He didn't even sit down, but died altogether. We set fire to the fuel with a splinter ignited from a kerosene lamp. It looks fabulous: the tractor has a smoky flame burning somewhere in front, where normal cars have a radiator. Then the pipe was «punched», the smoke went up in a stream and became almost transparent. And then it hissed in the holes of this «coil». I looked in from the side. Well, the flame. It's kind of blue, with sparse yellow petals. Brayburn pulled a lever with an effort (I missed this place in the book) and the engine reluctantly spun. — Wait, — I say, — Let the pressure catch up. — Eh? — This figure was seriously going to start right away. Well, on a brand-new tractor, it would work in every sense, but not in our case. By the time the pressure gauge, being ritually clicked on the glass, showed the middle of the green zone, and the stallion on the tractor confirmed the words of my driving instructor that you can teach a horse to drive, it was completely dark. The tractor was puffing and hissing (no growling, a soothing sound), Brayburn was trying to pretend that he was unhappy with my work, and then this tractor driver was called out. — Mr. Brayburn, are you all there? — Pony asked softly as she approached. This is the same Clementine. I jerked my ear, but I didn't grab the gun. Fuck, what's to be done here? Even a very good hearing of a squirrel dog may not work when there are multiple noises around. The brain, it seems to me, is tuned in a human way. That's the real brain that the sick guy in the capsule has. By the way, I never got my license. I studied, but I didn't even pass. I had other adventures then. My father was very upset by all this. I think he even gave up on me as a result of depression, like, and it was so clear that nothing would work out. My mother was rushing around, almost looking for some kind of healers, and I... Everything seemed dirty gray. The whole world. I hated myself. I agreed to test the new «witch» on myself. She fucked me in the head with a ray. For a week I lay in a semi-conscious state, did not think anything and saw only some spots. Oh, I was still twitching so much that anticonvulsants were injected. They told me that later. But I remember well how I stood at the tram stop and thought that I had to be ready for any dirty trick. Even to a completely impossible one. And no matter how you prepare, this fucking thing is inevitable. It's just a matter of time. And so it is now. What is the use of my hasty preparation if it is not able to help protect myself, for example, from a sudden attack in the market. And in the local Ponyland, it seems to me, they can attack in the library. — Are the headlights working? — I'm asking. — Otherwise you'll run over a girl in the dark. And the fur on the back of my neck is moving. The headlights were working. One. And only from the front. No brake lights or parking lights. The stallion drove the tractor crookedly under the canopy and cut off the fuel supply. The tractor stood and continued to chug at idle. And they don't differ from the workers. Until all the heat from the furnace is distilled into the radiator, it will continue to spin. Brayburn didn't spin around. He just came up. It's worth it, and it's not like I'm bothering them to fuck with this Clementine here, or something else he wants to hide. — Well, it's like... We worked together, right? And I already understand where this Brayburn is going. I waved my hand and turned around. The main thing is that he doesn't come up with something that I also owe him. Bitch. So that he blows up and fucks up your whole farm, this tractor... — Clementine, — I make an inviting gesture towards the «tractor driver». Fuck them all. I would like to get to the hotel without any adventures now. Some bastard will shoot at the back from the window...«I was scared! He was walking down the street so menacingly! And paws in your pockets!» And the sheriff is like: «Yes, can expect anything from these dogs! Explicit protection of life and property!»

***

— Mr... What was it? — There is also a hurried patter from behind. Valentine turned around quickly and smoothly, at the same time shifting to the side. That's the pony. Squirrel dog silently and questioningly looked at the schoolgirl. — Mom asked me to run after you... — Why? — The stranger's voice is a little muffled. Pony was confused. — Why run after me? — She's... I don't know. — I wish you weren't wandering around in the dark. — I'm not afraid, — Pony looked at Valentine as if he was going to lecture her on proper behavior. It's just that you don't sell organs yet, so that you can transplant rich and decrepit unicorns, so ponies like you are not afraid. Squirrel dog remained silent. Clementine saw that he wanted to say something, but did not. The life of a teenager is fun and full of wonderful discoveries, from hasty masturbation in bed or in the shower after kissing behind the barn and to alcoholic almost detective adventures. An abandoned «haunted» house scares much more than banditry, dealers in human goods, body parts and drugs... And any war at all seems to be a heroic nevernever somewhere on the outskirts of the inhabited world. And it is not necessary at all to die in this war from a hundred percent body burn or to expectorate your own lungs smelling of rotten hay. — It's good that you don't have to be afraid. Then, — The stranger grimaced, — You should go alone. It will not be very good if some pony, whose imagination has replaced the mind, sees a young filly accompanied by an incomprehensible creature. Your sheriff, I suspect, will listen to the pony's words, not the bison's. And certainly not to the words of the diamond dog. — Are you sure you're a diamond dog? — Clementine chuckled, and Belkin understood that he was not destined to stay here. — Go home. Please. — Mr, I was just asking! — Clementine Gash! Go home, young miss! Your trick with jealous friends didn't work out. Cunning ass is no substitute for intelligence and survival experience. I have something that you won't eat! — What other friends? Mister, are you all right? — Clementine was scared. Only she needed a psycho! And mother also put him in the house. And she was also going to cook an scrambled egg for dinner, although she always claimed that at night can only eat light dishes of vegetables and fruits! — Not friends? So there was a plan to yell something when we passed near the saloon. A local drunk «accidentally» kills a foreigner who dared to molest a pony, and things can be cleaned up... That's just there's nothing to take from me, and there aren't many ponies who want to run into a bullet, — Squirrel dog retreated, but so fluidly that she didn't want to chase. — Mr, you're a sick freak! — Pony said angrily, turned around and walked away, wagging her tail a couple of times in disgust. Belkin didn't get a gun in his pocket the first time. He was standing slightly sideways to the pony, and she did not see the multi-barreled monster being dragged by the stranger. It seems to be. When did he manage to pull it out? The training was not in vain? The squirrel dog wiggled his nose and ears. He rushed to the tracks to get to the station. It was dangerous to walk through the town. And so... He'll spend the night on the platform or see that someone else is grazing there. The train, bitch, is waiting for the nearest one.

***

Is it difficult to get lost near the railway? Difficult. But to miss and get to the rails is not the shortest way, it will be quite possible not only at night. Well, almost at night. I stomped along the rails of their Equestrian narrow-gauge railway and looked around. I stumbled and started looking at my feet. Then I would get scared by the night rustle and start turning my head around again. I got to the point where I saw a certain orange glow behind a small sand hill. I decided to go. I was a little worried that I had offended this Clementine, and Orange didn't mean any harm... no. It can’t be. Banditry always tries to exploit the best in its victims. There are also those who play on weaknesses, like various «rollers», «pyramid builders» and other organizers of «scams», and there, as they say, the fool himself. But there are others. And these others practice extortion, hostage-taking, robbery... and you won't understand when it turns from things on the other side of the law into a family business. There is probably one sign: this is when the state begins to take a tax on the robbery of the «inferior». Pulled ten gold crowns from the teeth of the corpses? Give us one. Did you steal a bag of gold chains? Welcome to the appraiser, who will impartially tell you how much and what to hand over to the treasury. Is there something like this already? What is there about «Russe», which are «mus sterben» to «vir leben»? You fuckers don't just live like that... Surely someone must die. No, I did everything right. I just left. They have no reason to rush the whole town on a night hunt. I am alive, the authorities are not interested in what is happening… A typical situation is that if a phenomenon has no signs, then there is no phenomenon. Was there a boy? Squirrel boy... While I was thinking, I reached the place. It was a bonfire. At the same time, I found a dump. It smelled. By the fire, which was fueled by some rotten pieces of wood, including from the floors in the sheds, pieces of furniture and rags, sat... Fuck, is this really a cow? I came over. — I ask permission to sit by your fire. My name is Belkin, — Honestly, I feel like a fool. — Come and sit down, stranger. Maybe the flame will light up your black soul. — Do you see my soul? — I see you. I see that you have recently found signs of evil, like a skilled tracker, you are saddened, but not surprised. Your soul has been burned for a long time and no longer hurts. And you're not a pony. They don't have souls.

In the soul of the limescale, and in the heart

Not a drop. I can not grow.

Pray for death in void.

And for the snow to fall...

— I think some of them have a soul. The world is big. — The cow grinned. Young... Should I call her a heifer? She looked a little shrunken, stooped, like some kind of moose. — Are your hopes still alive? — Half grins, half sighs. — Call me Little Strongheart. — What are you doing here, Little Strongheart? In the cemetery of things? — The cemetery is a place of spirits. Here, the past touches the present and can reveal the future. A place of spirits. That's what you noticed, cow. Take a couple of steps to the side, and the spirit is worth it. — Then why this particular unclean place? Why not the cemetery where the ashes of your ancestors lie? — Not dust. Ash. But you asked the right question, stranger Belkin, although it's a shame. And I'll have to answer. I'm not a shaman. Maybe I'll step on this path later, but... it's too early for me. My heart speaks too loudly, not my mind. — I have some water in my canteen. I have nothing more to offer for the fire. — Pay with conversation, stranger Belkin. — I'm not a good storyteller. But I'm ready to listen. — Then listen, — The cow threw something into the fire that was clearly a chair leg. — Long ago, when the sand had not yet replaced the grass around, the spirits of winter ruled far to the north. Someone says that winter was because of a huge firestone that fell where the Bad Lands are now. Someone says that the gods were asleep then... But winter was here too. It's hard to believe, but at that time you could not only see your breathing, like now at night, but also play with frozen water. I have not seen this. In spring, the crisp white water became water again and nourished the herbs. There were a lot of us. Every autumn we ran along the former bed of the Sacred River to trample it deeper. And if the river had returned, the gods would have opened a path to the Heavenly Steppes for us. And back again. And death would not be terrible… But the river did not come. The ponies came. They didn't look too much like horses from wild tribes… But they came and stayed to endlessly fight first with us, then with themselves. We bison don't blame them. We ourselves have known too few months of peaceful life. But the pony had tenacity, and there was no honor. And all that remains of my people is a bunch of jerks who continue to run along the former riverbed, not realizing that they are trampling on the already scarce grass. Previously, we couldn't be stopped by all the tribes at once, but now a dozen ponies, not even horned ones, are stopping us. We disappear, but we cling to the old. But what's the point of standing with all your hooves on the devastated land? — How did this happen? Why did you start disappearing? — The ponies couldn't come to an agreement with each other, and we drove them out of our lands over and over again... — Let me guess. Then the princesses appeared? — No. Then the One-eyed Ones came. They taught ponies not to pray to the spirits of their ancestors or to the spirits of nature, or even to the sun. They... — Did they offer «help»? — They said that it is necessary to pray to those who were before everyone else. Those who do not distinguish life from death. Those who do not have a permanent form. And the unicorns began to pray. Then the One-eyed Ones taught them how to torture a lot of ordinary ponies so that their new magic would work. And magic came to our lands. We began to disappear. Some tribes were struck by infertility, some simply died out in one spring from strange ailments... The rest decided to flee these lands, but the ponies did not want to let us through. And the bison gathered for the last campaign. And they lost. Many warriors were killed, and the old bisons, cows and calves were taken by the One-eyed Ones. No one else saw them. — And the One-eyed Ones? — No one else saw them either. They are hiding in their mountains. All the memory of the past is huge piles of horns and bones that the pony princess who came shyly ordered to be buried under a whole hill. We didn't bury it. We walked and watched. To remember. — But do your races continue? — They are continuing. It helps us deceive ourselves that we mean something. That we are powerful. Some even tried to unhook a carriage or two from the train, remembering old marches and capturing foreign totems. — A slippery path. Then you'll want to do it all the time. And after a while you will start grabbing ponies and demanding food and things for their lives. And it's good if the Princesses come by themselves to bring down all their magic on you, — I feel like I'm talking in the same cow-like style, only I'm missing a feather behind my ear. — Otherwise, they may simply not notice how the ponies are going to solve your question definitively. There will be another bone mound... However, you have the opportunity to regain, if not your former greatness, then your importance. — And what do you propose, stranger Belkin? A new unprecedented magic? The grass plains beyond the ten lands? — No. I would suggest friendship with a pony. — With a pony? With those who turned us into a laughing stock? Who killed our future? — And you didn't have it anyway, this future. But you can start being friends with ponies, — I grin, — So that they have no doubt that this is friendship... ask them. — About what? — Ask, is it friendly not to give a school accessible to all ponies for your calves? — And what will they teach our children? Be like a pony? — Know how ponies think. But what you teach your calves after school is up to you. And then you ask, is it against friendship that you don't have schools where your language is spoken? — We have almost lost our speech, the cunning stranger Belkin... But keep going. — Keep the traditions, but do not look only at the past. Feathers, — I nodded at the decoration of the cow, — Embroidery, words… But not the behavior. Settle down among the ponies, but remember your relatives. Learn. Do something that ponies are wary of. Get power in Equestria. Gain influence on their decisions and thoughts. Get knowledge. And then leave. — Many bison will not want to leave then. — They won't want to. And they will stay to help ponies avoid another thought of coming to your new land and forcing you to bow down before the Solar Throne. — You forgot about the Moon Throne, stranger. — The fullness of power is understood by Princesses in different ways. No matter how power-hungry Luna is, it only needs confirmation of its ability to command. And Celestia may want new subjects. — You are cunning, stranger Belkin. I'll tell the bison what you said. But it will be in vain. Your efforts to help us are in vain. It's too late. Nevertheless, thank you. I thought you were going to offer revenge. — Why? Why invent something and give your life for the sake of the past, which you did not save yourself? You can just step aside and watch. You know, when there are too many crocodiles in the river, they start eating each other. And in the river named Equestria, they definitely do not decrease. — That's right. Well, now you ask. — What do you bison know about magic?

***

«Children of nature, damn it!» — Thought Belkin. The cow, when it was time to disperse in the morning, extinguished the fire «in a pioneer way», simply lifting up her tail and pouring coals. Horseradish will sort it out with these traditions, when it is necessary to respect the spirits of fire, and when it is possible to piss on them. But the squirrel dog had his own worries besides observing the life and customs of wild tribes. Valentine went deeper into the dump. He hadn't eaten anything since morning, except for the sandwich that Charming Coal had given him. That Brayburn, the son of a bitch, at least gave him an apple. No wonder he has such a mark in the form of an apple on his ass. It's like he's saying, «I'll even burn one fucking apple in the whole fucking apple forest!» And fuck him. Belkin found a more private place, dragged some unidentifiable drawer from a bureau or desk. With difficulty, wincing at the smells, he found a rag stained in some oily stuff. Wrapped a knife and a gun. He took off his shoes, took off his overalls, put everything in a drawer and threw junk. He looked up at the sky turning gray in the morning. He was already reeling from hunger and lack of sleep. I'm going to die. I hope you die too... He stared for a long time, trying to see how the moon, having extricated itself from the viscous time, would suddenly change its apparent position. Finally, the sky parted under the stranger's gaze into transparent ethereal rings and vortices. «Sterch lost a seed», — Whispered the squirrel dog and looked at the hands emanating from fractals of patterns on the wool and an infinitely branching network of capillaries under the skin. And the red inscription shone from the sky only for him. The blaze that broke out caused a sluggish fire at the landfill, but Valentine Belkin did not see this, he winced and covered his hand from the bright light of an ordinary LED lamp. In the distant nowhere, ponies were crying quietly. Orange Gash and a Light Sand she didn't know.

***

— Sergey Petrovich? — What, Valentine? Something important? — During the interrogations, I think I'll tell you everything. I'm wondering, what's the name of that shit I'm running around in? — What do you think? Belkin was thinking. And he didn't think for long. — Shefango. Shefango of the Dog Pits. All that remains is to start spontaneously changing the floor and waving a sword. — You haven't reached the original source. Oh, the youth! You can change the floor at home, for example, for laminate flooring. And instead of a sword, you're supposed to have a cloak and a rusty sickle.