On the observation of evil and the escapism of oneiromancy

— So what are we going to do? — Rarity looked around at everyone with a cold gaze. — I suggest we head to the hotel, grab a bite to eat on the way... — We'll be back! — No, Dash, we're not coming back here. Not anytime soon. — Until this story is forgotten, — Pinkie giggled. — Hey! They cheated! — Who? Or what? Those lever boxes where you squandered the money you gave us for food and accommodation? — The white unicorn wasn't even smiling. Just a tired irony. — They set them up on purpose so that they wouldn't win! Rainbow Dash, somewhat rumpled, still couldn't calm down. Well, of course! However, Las Pegasus is not the city where they will savor how the earth pony and the minotaur, with the magical support of the unicorn, threw the Keeper of the Element of Loyalty out of the institution. A lot got kicked out here. In some places, they could have asked the Princesses to come out, even knowing that they would have to close later (well, if they didn't close themselves), and already figuring out how to benefit from this story. — It's a casino, — Rarity sighed, — A place where the intemperate or the unlucky part with their money. That goes for me, too, though I've managed to keep my money. — Did you win something? — Applejack wondered. — One bit less than I spent. And I decided that the pleasure was received, and fate should not be tempted. By the way, who's got it in the end? — I'm up! Twenty bits! — Pinkie jumped up. — It was thirty, but... — But you stopped in time. I see. I'm jealous. Jackie? — Minus twenty. I can't say they're cheating on the cards, but something's wrong! — It'll do. At least you didn't pawn the hat. Twi? — Well, I lost a bit. Minus one hundred. And for some reason they laid out the floor with tiles with antimagic properties... I just couldn't concentrate. Rarity sighed, but didn't say anything. She knew perfectly well how to touch the ball with magic. And she also knew how free glasses of sparkling wine affected concentration. In general, it was a controversial idea to drag friends to a gambling establishment. But to be in Pegasus and not try? Her family and friends simply wouldn't understand. The moment when secret disapproving glances and whispers indirectly confirm your status. Yours and your kind's. And it was necessary to relax after the Somnambula. That pony took them to the zebra. The zebra, because of her age and long use of strange potions, hardly walked at all. But then she got up. And led them to the Pyramid. It turns out that there was a secret passage in this stone monster. At least one. The passage led to a small sanctuary, which was not identified by a magical search. No traps, no ancient maliciously grinning mummies, just a straight walk with walls tapering slightly to the ceiling and a floor falling into the distance... And a strange room with ventilation whistling inaudibly through thin cracks in the stone. There the zebra, who never gave her name, showed frescoes as ancient as Equus himself. Someone regularly updated the oil in teapot-like lamps, but who? Also in the shrine was a complex bronze mechanism that resembled a griffin astrolabe and a mechanical code lock at the same time. There was no place for images of alicorns moving the stars on the strange bronze-and-gold thing, but with the rotation of a special touch-polished wheel by the right number of divisions every day, from year to year and from century to century, it was possible to predict the birth of an alicorn by the coincidence of the icon groups. If, of course, to believe the survivor of the striped mind that muttered something about still Keepers, but no longer users. Twilight reacted coolly to the mechanical puzzle, since the mechanism did not contain magic, but Rarity was seriously scared. It. Contained. No. Magic. And at the same time, this thing was the epitome of the most secret and complex magic, the blackest sorcery. It was as if the sewing machine at Rar's home in Ponyville was spontaneously embroidering spontaneous spells with Kirin badges. The stone tablets on the walls carried crooked brown writing on their smooth surface. The same unknown person regularly or not very regularly repaired the embossed petroglyphs, filling the recesses with paint. Like smears of caked blood. Like crooked maggots that died because of birth defects. Like the marks of crushed mosquitoes drinking the blood of a fatally poisoned animal. Blood, shit and incense. There was a smell of burning wood resin from the lamps, and a stone prismatic void of unimaginable gravity stretched overhead, distorting natural electric and magnetic fields. Pyramid. — They have a good chance, — The zebra rasped, laughing softly and inaudibly. Hoof, old and full of cracks, weightlessly tapped the corner of the stone with squiggles. — Who's got it? Arimaspi's? — No, about the reborn. Not the One-Eyed Ones. Not them, no... Not for those whose lives will also be thrown into Dark Wells. But for those who wish to incarnate! — I don't understand. Incarnate where? How? — Twilight only believed in the magic of the School for Very-very Gifted Unicorns. Then there's the Magic of Friendship, but it's complicated. Until Twilight figured out exactly how Friendship Magic caused that sense of false guilt, invented duty, and over-importance of complicity in some stupidity that allowed the alicorn to twist people around without the expenditure of magical power. — Wrong questions, — The zebra corrected something in the mechanism, moving a pair of beads on gold wires. — It would be correct to ask in another way. — How? — Applejack grinned into her nose. The zebra looked at the earth pony. Her ears twitched, the gold rings of her earrings jingling. And she asked correctly: — Incarnate instead of who? — Rar! Are you all right? — Huh? I was thinking, — Rarity looked back at the doors of the temple of gambling and gambling. Gilding, glass, the blurred musical noise of melodies and the subtle tinkle of bits, of playing machines with their iron identical balls and pins, triple wheels and levers, and the clatter and rustle of chips. And of course the other ball running down the chute... Br-r-r-r... No, that's enough. — I think it's time we had a snack, — Twilight tried to command. — I remember seeing nearby... — You mean that restaurant over there? — Rarity nodded at a storefront half a hundred skips away. — Forget it. We don't have the funds for that. And some won't even be allowed in. — Hey! — Dash, nobody blames you, — Rarity sighed. — No, Pinkie, and don't jump, we're not going to eat any of that unidentifiable manure from the stall. Besides, that pony's already gone, so that means no more stomachaches and diarrhea. Come on. I know a nice, cheap place, if it's still open. — Dash, no one blames you, — Rarity sighed. — No, Pinkie, and don't jump, we won't eat strange manure from the tray. Moreover, that pony has already left, and, therefore, the pain in the stomach and diarrhea are canceled. Let's go. I know a nice, inexpensive place, if it hasn't closed for good yet. — Why would that be? — Jack asked. — Are they working poorly? — The right audience is not enough. That's one. They bring down the price of various freaks, which angers the latter. That's two. There is no extra money for bribing the fire inspection, for example. That's three. There are no dishes for griffins or vice versa. That's four. — Is there or isn't there? — Pinkie didn't understand the last one. — Pinkie, it's easy, — Rarity said as she walked. — If there are no dishes, you can file a complaint that the griffins are being bullied. — And if there is? What scares and offends ponies? Is that so? — Incredulously expressed the version in the questions of the Truth, while the Laughter was not very clear. — Exactly, my dear. And let's make it quick. There was a post office on the way, I also wanted to send letters. Everyone was silent. Some didn't want to know their relatives, some had forgotten... Some were almost forgotten by their relatives. Las Pegasus was noisy and sparkling. Magical lights and illusory panels in unnatural colors, newfangled (which is a decade old) electricity and mannered gas lamps. The time was nearing midnight. The post office was open late, as were the bank branches. All for the sake of money flowing from one account to another. Cool air blew from the sea onto faces heated with excitement and wine bubbles. The well-groomed white pegasus she met had a thin gold thread on her neck and a ring on her tail. And the smell. A strange perfume that Rarity recognized as an arousing scent. Well, yes, not without that. The pleasures should be varied. Just pay. — What's with the letters? — Pinkie jumped up as Rarity came out of the door of the post office. — Tell my family that everything is fine with me. And a little legal advice on correspondence. They have to answer it in Ponyville. — Yes! Let them look at it and tell them you can't make boxes like this that even I can't win! — Dash... Calm down. And by the way, we're in luck: our tavern is open. — How's the saloon? — Not really. — A pastry shop? A candy store? — No. It's such a saloon that it's almost a restaurant. But it's closer to a pastry shop, not a «drunken barn». — That... tavern? Isn't that a griffin word? — Twilight stopped at the edge of the smooth cement tiles of the avenue and the convex paving stones of the alley. The others didn't pay attention. — Maybe. I don't know. Twi, just don't order something unfamiliar and with a drawing of a bone next to the price.

***

— To begin with, our sister, you should calm your thoughts and feelings! Recognize that not everything goes your way, especially if unworthy deeds are done secretly, unseen by the Guard! — Luna! Unheard of things have happened out there, and you're lecturing me in Old Equestrian! — Celestia was nervous. It was that rare occasion when the Sun Princess came running to the Night Princess. — Tia, come to your senses, — Luna lit the horn and looked at her sister questioningly. — And then we'll think together... — What's there to think about! — Tia! Don't jump yet! Celestia stopped in a senseless toss with irregular standing on her hind legs and wringing her forelegs. She nodded irritably. Luna sighed and completed the spell, illuminating the room in blue tones with a magical glow. — That's it? Have you calmed down? Now let's have some tea and think about what happened. — There's been a murder! Cruel and... and... — Neigh! Don't look at me like that. And don't do that «my little ponies!» and stuff. There's a zebra, a griffin, and such ponies that... Did the Guard provide you with a certificate? Oh, there's nothing? Well, well... Sis, listen, policing or dispersing a madding crowd is important, as is protecting our persons, but some things are usually done in the dark. You should know. And how about you start trusting the information of the Night Guard? — I do, — The white alicorn poked the ottoman with his hoof before sitting down, which would have looked strange, but Luna had seen it many times before. — It's obvious. So, what do we have? The Guard and representatives of the Guard under the Legion found several bodies near the Defenders. They all have severe gunshot wounds, which led to their deaths. So? Celestia nodded. She wanted to jump up and fly to Defenders, leaving everything behind... No, she should listen to Luna. — Also found a somewhat sanded flying carriage, a rather expensive crystal in place, — The night princess tinkled her horn, and the maidservant who appeared only nodded and disappeared again. — Lu, I've read this document. — I'm sure you have. But let's move on. A certain frightened pegasus, a resident of New Haven, has been apprehended. On mental interrogation, it turned out that this «courier», as he said, was neither a courier nor a longtime resident of New Haven. And that he worked for a certain unicorn nicknamed Daddy Horney. This «father» was found a couple or three dozen leaps from the Bastion where it all happened. That's the Bastion near Defenders. — I know this place. — But you've tried to forget. The found body has grains of sand in the right eye and holes in the base of the neck, the side of the chest and near the hip joint. The guards determined that the wounds were inflicted by bullets, which was confirmed. The magical background is distorted, and it is no longer possible to determine what was conjured there. By the way, the unicorn has been identified once again. Crooked Track, convicted, suspected of organizing an illegal business, was wanted in Las Pegasus and Vanhoover. The Mark has been magically changed. Was. — Lu, I repeat: I read the report, — Celestia was distracted for a moment and leaned back so that a cup was placed in front of her on a low carved stone table. — Yeah. And you've also read about a zebra without a name, but with the nickname Klasp, — Luna continued, barely waiting for her Mist to disappear through the door. — Although it's hard to tell if it's her or not. There were no «talking» decorations on it, and the zebra markings were very abstract. — Mm-hmm. And you read about the zebra with no name but Clasp, — Luna continued, barely waiting for her Mist to disappear out the door. — Though, it's hard to tell there if it's her or not. She wasn't wearing any «talking» jewelry, and zebras' Marks are very abstract. Luna didn't mention that the zebra didn't have a head either, but there was something very abstract. Her sister is already shaking and tossing. — What about the griffin? — Celestia didn't so much accept as accept with her mind that something monstrous had happened. Something irreparable. Now it was up to her to look into the causes and details so that it would not happen again. — A wound to the abdomen. Fatal. Shot through the wooden lid of the upstairs climb. She died long and badly. Next. The earth pony. The stallion was shot from above. Unskillful, but diligent. Four hits and magically detected bullets in the sand. And shell casings. They're all over the place. The earth pony has been identified as one Handsome Kettlebell. No real name yet. — Is that it? — No. Unicorn Starlight Shade. Both lungs fractured. Found on the first floor of the Bastion. — A relative of Starlight Glimmer?! — If I understand correctly, so related that Glimmer could be his mare. A second cousin to the sawmill on our fence. There was a rumor that this Shade was dealing in some Zebric herbs. But the Guardians are still working. And we're gonna need to get those of yours involved. — Zebras want us to call their country Zebrabwe... Who else? A pegasus was mentioned. Floating Drop, I think? — Celestia had heard that someone from the Guard had to be singled out again, but didn't mention it. That's a familiar case. Just like with these arimaspi. — Pegasus. That's Floating and that's Drop. She was a wanted fugitive. Took some kind of powder to keep her from dreaming. I haven't looked into it yet, but the Night Guard told me. She was found in possession of a wallet with paper envelopes in it. Single doses. And a sawed-off shotgun with a buckshot chasseur cartridge. A gun was fired. — Is she? — Most likely. But it didn't help her. She got hit in the base of the wing and in the back of the head from the side. Found in the same tower. And what an interesting point... — What? — Celestia asked in a low voice. The villainy didn't make sense. — Traces of blood. — Yeah! No wonder! — It's not just pony blood, it's from some other strange creature. The festrals couldn't identify it. They're kind of experts at this sort of thing. Some bandages, a cloth swab... The cloth had been doused with kerosene for some reason, and the smell was still there. And a nearly empty flashlight. — Someone unknown shot my ponies and got away? — Leaving everything behind, including a rare design semi-automatic weapon banned for sale under the cartridge for a revolver pegasus gun, money, gold... Only water was taken. — Wait! There's a gun out there? — There's two dozen cases of those guns! Four in each! And cartridges! All unmarked except for caliber! By the way, these things are sometimes used by the Night's Guard on the border with the griffins. I'm just letting you know so you don't get the wrong idea. — I wasn't going to. — Uh-huh. By the way, my webbed feet tell me these guns were invented in Stalliongrad. — Those again?! Are you still gonna say I was hard on them? — You've treated them meanly, I'm sorry to be so frank. Now, don't be surprised. Let's wait for the specialist with the samples, though. I told you the guns are similar, not the same. — Who could have been shooting in there? A changeling? A minotaur? A witrang? Or even a diamond dog? — Unknown. I'm confused by the different «handwriting». A skillful ambush on a griffin but badly hit, a unicorn killed as a dangerous beast in Everfree, and something unbelievable in the tower itself... Okay, I'll stop. — Could there be more than one villain? — There was more than one. Some were just found lying around, and some were gone. One pegasus got away in time, but was caught by a pegasus patrol. Give your guys a bonus, don't forget. And an airship. — What? There's an airship, too? Which airship? Are you sure it's a airship? — No, it's not what your rabid wearers of magical jewelry discovered in the Badlands. It's just that the festrals on patrol saw a regular flying ship heading towards Klugetown at an untimely time. — Could have been late. — Either way, he would have been going high. And the report was about climbing. — How did they determine that? — Celestia asked incredulously. — An experienced pegasus or batpony would tell by the change in visible size and angle above the horizon. Experienced. Skilled at navigating the night. Luna could have said that Celestia had done too much magic in a thousand years, but she didn't. Painful memories. And hadn't she herself been involved in this endeavor, so that all sorts of things could no longer hold a course over the lands of Equestria by luminaries without the will and permission of the Princesses within the locus? It seemed like an elegant military stratagem at the time. Now... You could write out griffin astronomy textbooks. The navy, however, had its own methods, both water and air... Yeah, well, they had to be outside the locus of the Sun's ass. A locus that covers almost all of Equestria. Realistically, what little her sister has is bigger than her croup. What about her, though? — I think we should visit this little town, — Celestia set her cup down. She used her magic to keep from knocking the trembling bottom on the table. — You mean Defenders or Klugetown? We'll see. I'm not sure we're gonna find anything there. Vaughn, send your crazy ones. Under the guise of inspecting airship production and enforcing some kind of safety regulations. — I think you're wrong to take your dislike of the Elements of Harmony out on their Keepers. Luna was silent in response. She wanted to remind him of the Alicorn Amulet and the result of wearing it, but didn't. The night princess suddenly realized that evil could arise out of nowhere. Luna hoof-kinesis stuck a candy from the vase to the hoof. Sugar, flour, dried and grated lemon peels. What could be more harmless than that? Unless, of course, you're covered in spots and blisters from lemons and oranges, scratching yourself bloody and sneezing. And if you don't fall unconscious when you eat a lot of sweets. Evil in everything? Do we just have to watch carefully? — So what are we going to do? — The nurse broke the silence. — We wait for the specialists. Then we'll look for the killers. In the meantime, tell me what you were going to do about the cults. — Which cults? — The various ones, which else? — Lu, as an object of worship, you yourself must realize that ponies believe things! Sometimes completely ridiculous. — Tia! — Luna looked at her sister angrily. — Don't tell me fairy tales! In the middle of the night... — I... I don't know what it is. It hasn't manifested in a bad way yet. Maybe we should just leave it alone? — I observe it in Dreamspace. And I have to tell you, there's not much to observe. All blurred. Only shadows and residual dream colors. Bits and pieces. But this... If dreams had an odor, I'd say it's the same odor as the arimaspi's not-enough-dreams. A distinctive odor. I realize your mind is on what happened at Defenders, on the edge of Bone Dry, but we'll come back to this conversation later. — Should we? I'd ask you to stay out of it for now. — We're about to run into some weird «your pony» games. It's not like they're playing and we're all losing. Luna said this and thought about it too. Judging by the supply of sacks of hay, Bastion was going to be settled for a long time. And a bed and food for emergencies. And these guns. Contraband? Like to the ever-troubled Sedelnaya Arabia? Or Zebrica? Whoever's willing to pay, gets the goods. But Night Guard has not noted a similarly valuable flow of illegal cargo through griffin territories. Except for crystals. But those are scarce. It would take them a century to build a new battleship. And if only there were someone to do it for them. There were few unicorns in Stalliongrad, and the earth ponies... Luna didn't believe in them. The griffins themselves? They could. There was some coal in the mountains, and the birdcats had steam machines, too. Not rotary ones, but ordinary ones.

***

— Well? — Nothing, — The new «psychonaut» was shaking. — She's crying, she's hurt and sad. That's all. — Her? — Yeah, her. Give me something to cover myself with, — Agent Frost tried to peel off one of the sensors. She wasn't particularly embarrassed, since she didn't see the employees of this monstrous office as having a gender. Or didn't think of them as human at all. But standing practically naked was unpleasant. And cold. — Now you'll get dressed in something, and take a shower... It's just that it hasn't weathered out yet, — A certain Sergey Petrovich waved his hand indefinitely, — You should remember. — I'm telling you, nothing. It's dark as an ass. And emotion. Although... — What? — The ruins were coming into view. A sense of walls hidden in the darkness. Everything's old. And smells like woods. Not ours. — All right, go get checked out, then shower and... Are you shaking? — I'm giving that Sterch... — Don't mention it! — Okay, — Frost accepted and immediately put on a robe, by some miracle at the same time giving the plastic «underpants» with threaded connections of the sanitary system. Home? No, she'll spend the night at Belkin's since she's on sick leave. And gently twist someone's balls for this «I made a deal»... But here's the interesting thing: the fainting stopped. Did the drugs here help? Frost exhaled sharply, not knowing whether she wanted to cough or not. What did the beyond want to see through her eyes? Nothing?

***

The squirrel dog was cleaning the weapon. He disassembled one gun, wiped the mechanism. Thinly oiled the spring hammer wheel with machine oil, since there was no gun oil, wiped off the excess, reassembled it, and clicked it off six times. Chrysalis watched the movements of his fingers mesmerized. — Disgusting, — The stranger said neutrally. — What? The mechanism? — The black bettlepony took her eyes off the chefango's paws. — Motor skills, — Belkin stretched his fingers, leaning them on the table. He intertwined them with a crunch, making the alicorn sitting a little to the side flinch and wince. — What do you mean? — In terms of precision of movements and sensitivity, — Valentine grimaced, showing his fangs in a kind of smile, — As if everything were not his own. — You know, many earth ponies would consider your dexterity a blessing, and they've been without telekinesis all their lives, — Chrysalis was interested in sticking a rag through the trunks with a pencil, leaning over and turning her head as if she were watching something natural but inappropriate, like snails mating, — And they're trained in ways a unicorn couldn't do with a horn. And you're disgusted... By the way, what kind of metal is it? — Titanium. — The name doesn't ring a bell to me, — The hole horse was now looking at its limbs, but it had no normal holes, all slathered in strange coverings that resembled finely porous and soft black chitin. — Look in Badlands, there should be. — There are ponies swarming in the Badlands now. You won't, — Chrysalis crouched down again, now imitating a big cat seeing something tasty on the table. Valentine finished cleaning the barrel channels and joined the two parts. He checked the operation of the extractors, because there was something about them he didn't like, and closed the barrels again. He pushed the «pistol» across the table, not sparing the light polished wood. The shifter queen catlike swatted the gun with a hoof. She lifted the weapon as if it were glued, turned it around, and hovered it over the pads of her «hoof». The hoof kinesis in action, so to speak. Grabbed it again and put it on the table. She shook her limb finely, trying to get rid of the traces of oil. — Try with your horn, — Belkin advised in a tone as if he wanted to say: «Try with your dick». Alicorns, it turns out, can cast sorcery without looking, and glare their eyes unhappily. The proximity of an antimagic creature is not a critical obstacle. — If she's played with it, I'd charge it. And then you'll be asked to keep the charged ones. — Yeah, sure. Can I have one? — The lever on the side. — Which one? — Any one. Uh-huh. Now shove the bullets in and close it. And no magic, please. — All right. That's a funny thing. Can you make one of these out of iron? — Steel? It's possible. But not necessary. You have revolvers, don't you? — This thing's simpler. — It's more metal-intensive. It's gonna be a heavy pothole. Earth ponies? — This is an option. Or try bronze. Are weapons like that privileged? — Where? In another world? Or do you? — Belkin chuckled. — No, but the sketches are probably already walking around Equestria somewhere. So, hurry up. — This matter is not too fast... — Then take a picture of it disassembled and finished and start illegal production right away. — Why? — Well, you're going to mess with Celestia. And at the same time, that horny smartass who wants to get his hands on something he didn't invent. — H... Hands? — Did I say that in Russian? — You mean in Stalliongrad? Yes. They were silent. Belkin was already finishing with the second pistol, he could have taken up the rifle, but the rifle was in the possession of one of the changelings. She couldn't get it out of her. Chris growled, hissed, and said he had enough. — Chrysalis... — Hmm? — If it weren't for the realization that «predatory» behavior was characteristic of this black dragonfly mare, Belkin would have thought Chris was flirting with him. — You screamed in your sleep. — I? — Hardly does not believe, rather, does not want to admit. — Little pistols? That's an interesting word, — The queen winked, clearly thinking of the lewdness. — I don't want to remember. — Isn't that Luna's work? No? — We're out of her locus. And she should be in Canterlot by now... — Chrysalis. — What?! — You're the queen, you have a duty to the changelings... And you... — That's it! I'm not telling you this! I can handle it. I'm not a little filly. And you... — Yeah? — Thank you for caring, — The queen of almost all bugponies looks at me with her weird cartoon mantis eyes. — But there's nothing you can do about it. And let's change the subject. — All right, — Belkin loaded the second gun. The torn pack of cartridges, having thought about it, put it in the desk drawer. There's no need to carry it around with you yet. Chrysalis was silent. Valentine looked out the window and asked: — How come you ended up in Stalliongrad? — Did I tell you there was a war in Hive? — Yes. On the deck. — Uh-huh. Let's start at the beginning. You see, contrary to rumors, a queen of changelings is not a queen of bees or ants, although the analogy is there. It's just a queen. Yes, we live long lives, but we are not immortal, and age brings a certain weariness of life, which for a changeling is irreversibly manifested by signs of aging. And what is that life? The life of a thief and a parasite? But the young are full of ideas and hopes... And so, young Chrysalis, not yet an alicorn, showing organizational and teamwork skills, runs in an alien guise on Casaflank, collecting emotions for the Hive, and then gets through the territory of elk to Equestria itself and begins to understand something... — What's that? — That if you interact with a lot of ponies or whatever, you don't need to steal love for yourself. The background is enough. And willingly given emotions are so saturating that the «victim» sometimes has to be stopped. But young Chrysalis doesn't want to be heard. Instead, they want to realize their long-standing plan to get at their disposal an alicorn, who will be brought up in the right way. — And you have a question, who needs this image? — Not me, — Chrysalis says absentmindedly. — They chose a young and somewhat naive filly to be their fake, controlled queen. Her name was Chrysalis. Yes, yes, that's right. Like me. Tricked into testing her magical abilities... The rite of alicornization kills the original. The copy, if it's done right, won't remember the original is dead. Or she'll think she died and resurrected herself, changed. But can guess... No one can cancel logic. I guessed. — What happened next? — Next? I was a diligent young queen. And I delved into the plans of those who made me into that Chrysalis. Smarted by years and even centuries of thievery and spying, the parasites couldn't see what I saw. They thought they could secretly rule first Casaflanka and then the cities of Equestria, getting everything from ponies, from emotions to everything else, from food to luxuries. Producing nothing but grief and madness. Not learning what the ponies started out learning. You know, they would have made it. Probably. And then the clever and secretive ponies would come to Celestia, supposedly with some nonsense. And tell her what they found. And the changelings would disappear. We'd be hunted down and hunted down and mistakenly spilled rivers of blood and become angry... The shifters would go on a killing spree to confuse and intimidate the Equestrians... — Terrorism? A thing that's almost impossible to defeat completely, but which usually doesn't accomplish its goals either. Unless, of course, the goal is war itself. Chrysalis looked at the squirrel dog carefully and nodded slowly. She continued: — I realized that by then we'd start to decay as a society, and we'd also lose the ability to track dangerous directions. Pretty cool, right? Spies who can get in anywhere but can't figure out what they've discovered... We would have gone so far that... I don't want to talk about it. Well, you've seen them in the Badlands. And we both know how that ended, — Chrysalis nodded at Belkin. At the pistols. — How'd you get out of it? — Not with friendship magic! I found smart and talented, organized a conspiracy... — Did I hear you say that? A monarch organizes a conspiracy? — Of course! Any ruler would have someone who should be deprived of unreasonable privileges, or even completely this or that... And most often you have to deal with entire gangs and criminal communities, which for some reason are called great houses, families, clans... — And what's next? — What's next? The rebellion. I was very angry about the fate of my original. You see, it could have been explained to me... I mean, they could have explained to her that this kind of thing, sacrifice was necessary... There would have been a hundred suicide volunteers! But they thought they could fuck Heaven itself. That everything would come off with water, even the blood of a tribeswoman! Belkin stared silently and questioningly. — I was not spared. The result was horrible. Victims? Naturally. Many. But more fear. Then I struggled to rebuild a peaceful life, crushing uncut aristocrats and the insane. Prevented starvation. For once, changelings began working not only to settle the Hive, but also to exchange goods and services for pony emotions. Yes, I prohibited slavery. I didn't let all those ponies go, but I allowed them to be ransomed with the condition of memory erasure. Some agreed and went to ponies and some stayed with us. They found a mate, started families... Still, either a changeling or a half-breed with specialties is born. In Equestria, you can't just walk around like that... It was hard, and some of the people had to be let go anyway. I got to see how the ponies reacted. But we managed, even increased in numbers... — What about the wedding? — Oh, you mean that... One way or another, I had to interact with the ponies somehow. And preferably on my terms, not Celestia's. Otherwise, it would have quickly turned out to be another festral from the time of Luna's exile. In fact, Thorax, who thought he was the most cunning, had gotten it. But that was later. And then I thought that I should show my strength, but very carefully, so that the Princesses would not think that I should be gotten rid of at any cost. Naive... Keep in mind that Equestria was the trendsetter in technology back then, we didn't know how to build steam trains and enchant crystals at the level of unicorns. We had nothing but innate shape-shifting magic. But wanted to. So, I moved a certain pony in line for an audience. Intimidation with a demonstration and the subsequent handing over of a tight purse worked a miracle, although financially expensive. And then... It almost worked, Cadenza still growls when I'm remembered nearby. I still managed not to fuck her fiancé, although I had thoughts... — It's a good thing you stopped. That's the kind of thing they'd never forgive you for. — Oh, really? She wouldn't have known. But back to the wedding. Or rather, what it turned into. — You were discovered, defeated, and kicked out? — More like run away. To use your expressions, Twilight turned out to be quite yobnutaia, — The transition to Stalliongradian caused some funny dissonance in the squirrel dog's head, and Chrysalis continued without a smile, — She was molding right and left with deadly spells, as it should be. Celestia hadn't taught her any real killing magic yet, like blood clotting, air pressure jokes... Or alchemical transformations inside the victim's body... Although, maybe Celestia herself doesn't know how to do everything? Why would she? — Might makes right? — Sort of, — Chrysalis frowned. — No, she should know. And the little white girl had plenty of brains. It's just that, as it turns out now, she didn't trust her apprentice. — She trusted them with the Elements, but she didn't teach them military sorcery? — Yeah, that's odd, — Chrysalis smiled at the «military sorcery» part. — But here's the interesting thing: somehow, Celestia, if she didn't control the use of the Elements directly, she gave the sanction. And it often happened somewhere... — V yebeniakh? — Almost, — The black insect alicorn let out a chuckle. — I should translate it into Equestrian sometime. Funny and surprisingly accurate. — Okay, the wedding was a bit of a mixed bag. What's next? — I had a couple more secret meetings with Sunny-ass... Like, bargaining, trying to hint at a second chance... And I was already sending infiltrators to Stalliongrad. I gotta be honest, it was hard. — The speech? — Belkin remembered the «language». — Yeah. And more. Behavioral... patterns? — Chrysalis nodded gratefully at the «patterns» suggested by the squirrel dog. — It got to the point where I started recruiting ponies in Stalliongrad itself. And sticking half-breeds in there. Like they're being abused in Equestria. Some of them fell for it. Bribed some of them. Then she'd flag them as corrupt. Some I intimidated or beat their brains in with magic. Some I had to kill, and don't look at me like that! — What was going on in there? — They were beginning to recover from what had happened. They started trading between their lands again, rebuilding the railroads. They bought a couple of airships from Klugetown. But they resigned to it, you know? Resigned! — Chrysalis shouted the last word angrily. — And? — I couldn't forgive their humility. I couldn't forgive myself. Therefore, the fate of those who took me as an opportunity to make a fortune and run away, was as a result sad, although not very eventful. And I, as I had prepared the infiltration, began the seizure. Repeated the trick from the wedding followed by the sudden exposure. I showed up at their council meeting in Graymorne, glued everyone to the walls and ceiling, and began the mental interrogation. One at a time. You know, it shocked them even more than the captivity itself... Here was a certain pony screaming with fear and disgust when I was conjuring, and here was already crying when the scary Chrysalis opened her mind for some reason and made her look. And then the mare or stallion is released and seated at the table... — And what do you want, your majesty? — The pony's voice trembles, and the creature seems to savor the emotion. Fright. Bewilderment. Confusion. Disbelief at the offer. — I want to live with you. In Stalliongrad. — Stalliongrad no longer exists. Why can't you all leave us alone?! What have we done to you?! — What did we do to who? Celestia? — The queen of the changelings is grinning. — Oh, you've done a lot of things: railroads, your own airships, steel bridges and power plants without magic... And most importantly, you've made your own country, going your own way. Right or wrong, I don't know. But its own way, not the way that one white dolt with a sunshine on her ass is leading his herd. And along the way, you began to gain strength. Which, from the Sisters' point of view, is unforgivable. And they will not leave you alone. — So you're going to loot the ruins? Or do you think that power was just another spell book from some bearded, demented unicorn? — No, my brave pony, — Chrysalis approaches, and the magical slime-covered earth pony mare begins to twitch. — I have seen that power. The power of machines. The power of engineering. The power that should be mine! — It won't. Even if you suck every emotion out of the Stalliongradians except fear, it won't work, — A unicorn on the other side of the conference room said. — You think so? — The insect alicorn turns around. — We've had pony slaves for a looong time... And they all did what they were told to do. Or die in a disgusting way. — Everything will fall apart, — The unicorn said with conviction, though her voice was clearly fear on the verge of panic. — The power you dream of is in our path, and the shifters will not pass through it! — Why? — Chrysalis takes a few steps towards the unicorn, ready to burst into tears of terror. Magical sparks fall stupidly from the horn. — Because you'll never want to go our way, — The stallion earth pony in years inserts. — Not you and your werewolves, not the Sisters. Because there you have to distribute the power you find to everyone. — We've already taken the first step, — Chrysalis says calmly. — I'm not the only one. There's us. — So what do you really want? — I told you, — Chrysalis lifts the heavy overturned chair with magic and sits down. — I want power and authority. — Over us? — Over the probability of events. I want to gain new possibilities. And I will not stop. — Chrysalis, — The stallion grinned nervously, — Tell me, does the fact that you are not the only one who can take on another's appearance, but all changelings, give you new powers and opportunities? — Naturally. What's your point? — How do you continuously control everyone's transformation? — Nothing. And why. The swarm's capabilities are my capabilities too. There is enough opportunity to use, but the control is excessive. — Our power is of a similar nature, only without magic. That's how we were strong. Strong shoes help one warrior, but they will help a hundredfold when they are on everyone's back hoofs. A gun will win a fight, but a thousand guns is the way to win a war. You can't control it. Others will acquire dangerous abilities for you. Not just you. — What's wrong? — You're different. You're used to only taking, — The unicorn says again. — This is about giving. — Shut your mouth, — Said Chrysalis. — You know a lot! — And how do you see your path? — The stallion continues bitterly. — It's not like learning a spell once, it's an ongoing process... — Settling with you. Same rights and similar duties, but with reservations. We learn your speech, choose our own activities as needed. The changelings will abide by your laws. But they will prioritize my orders. You lose nothing much, but you gain an alicorn. The aforementioned alicorn, — Chrysalis bowed jokingly, sitting upright in her chair, — Gains Stalliongrad's capabilities. Though not all unconditionally and not immediately... — Stalliongrad no longer exists, — The earth pony mare sighed, glancing over at the stallion and the unicorn. — Then it will be! — Chrysalis hisses angrily. — Better! Stronger! And without your foolishness with your contrived rules! — So you see yourself as the queen of a reviving country? — The unicorn goes to «you». She's scared. — No, — Chrysalis calmed down again. — I wish I could, but I can't. We're not very technical. And this will be almost the most important thing. But I won't be limited to citizenship either. I need a certain level of power to keep you from screwing up the country again. — And we can trust you? — The unicorn won't let up. — You are the very essence of deception! — You can, — Chrysalis gets up, lights the horn on the way to the unicorn. — I think it would be easier to show. The pony screams. It's high-pitched and incredibly pitiful. — Stop it! — Screams the stallion. — She's in pain! — Not really, — The sorcerous alicorn's voice is barely audible. — She's more scared and disgusted. So am I. But I bear it. The torture stops abruptly. Another flash, a thin ringing sound, and the unicorn tumbles out of the slimy cocoon of dust and onto the queen who picks her up. — Did you see it? Did you see it? Tell them! Tell them all! She only nods through her sobs. She has seen. Queen Chrysalis does not lie. The changelings that appear take away the first victim of mind magic. To wash my face and generally tidy myself up. And victim number zero turns to the others. — Next? After an hour or two, she starts calling out names and positions, since she has «reacquainted» herself with everyone through «mental sex». She stops. Everyone is named, except for those who were taken away by the changelings as a result of brainwashing. Let them stay locked up and think. We'll figure it out later. The returned unicorn sobs. Chrysalis understands her well: she is dizzy from magic and consequences. — Wasn't it just a simple deal? — Asks, through a groan, Heavy Stump, the earth pony stallion. — She came in, made a mess, scared everyone, offended White Chocolate... — You'd have been at it for a month, — Chrysalis muttered, adjusting the wet towel she'd brought for her on her head, — Like yaks with cheese. Whether to sell, or to eat, or to raid... Who have I offended... I think it's tolerable, and the process is mutual... And I'm much worse off than you are. It's like a platoon of Guards abused my head... — It doesn't matter! — That earth pony Bitter Plum can't calm down. — What should call you after that? — Counselor Sworm? — Startled at his own bravery, someone says. A nervous joke that's part of the joke. — It's a title and the name of a family I don't have, — The alicorn turns around. — And the place of employment? — Ministry of Migration. Who is there and where to migrate to is not specified. It's clear enough. Espionage, exporting the disgruntled in both directions... Chrysalis nods. — A proposal! — Comes from across the table. — To appoint Counselor Sworm as Chancellor for the next three years. — You're being fierce with them, — Belkin and Chrysalis descend the stairs. The changelings join in with black rustling shadows. — It's fine. You'll see the medics after lunch. — Stitches? — Stitches too. The shifters cast apprehensive glances at Valentine. But on the way, the doors of the dining room are already hospitably open, and the changelings are divided into pairs and threes, showing room keys dangling from their necks. «Like in a supermarket», — Thinks Valentine. But every hefty triangle keychain, in addition to the apartment number, also has a number circled in a cartouche. The number of beds. The minotaur sniffs at the entrance, flaring his nostrils, and fluently counts off the black dragonfly-like ponies. The hotel coat on this bull is bulging and generally sits like it's on a log. The pants of dark purple hue are also as if taken off a clown. Minotaurs already have short legs, and then there are breeches like these... Bitch, the hooves are also covered with black wax varnish and diligently, though clumsily, what's more, they are dressed up with a cloth or something similar. — He's with me, — Chrysalis explained. The minotaur nods through his displeasure. But he doesn't say anything, because the queen has rented almost the entire floor, and now at least bring a platoon with you, but the price already covers everything. The squirrel dog sniffs the smells of food in surprise. Is there some revival of changelings... really? — Chrysalis? — A? — Is that a chicken? — Local breed. Surprisingly stupid. Aren't you a carnivore? — I guess I'm an omnivore, like you. — Then eat it and don't mind it. The smart birds lay eggs and live to their ripe old age, and the dumb ones are made into food. — And all the ponies? — No, not all ponies. But this isn't Equestria. The nook with the sinks reminded me of a school cafeteria. Valentine grinned, seeing the soap dangling on a string as he washed his paws. The soap was scented, but of coarse texture. The mineral-scented water flowed badly from the bronze, creaky taps. They're economizing? — Give me your paw, — Chris demanded, also washing her front hoofs and not wanting to lower her limbs to the floor. Some of them walked on their hind legs, and most of them stuck rough cardboard rounds to their clean limbs with hoof-kinesis. The stacks lay there as well. «And I thought they had such harsh toilet paper», — Belkin joked mentally. — Listen, for some reason I was expecting water for your hooves to be served to your table. And here we have washbasins and disposable slippers! — Valentine grinned and wagged his tail toward the row of sinks behind the partition wall. — The owners of the guest house are what? Minotaurs. Two-legged. So the rooms are for everyone, but here are some points... Chrysalis says it in such a way that Belkin has a strong feeling that he is leading a mannered but clever bimbo under his arm. It was work-related. Informal part of the negotiations in a little-known restaurant on the subject of a seemingly legal set of scripts ... There the details of the terms of reference in the official paper well did not fit, because the directors still at liberty wanted to walk. Lynx later laughed that «Valik is moonlighting as an escort». But here, rather, leads under the foot. And not a bimbo, but an incomprehensible practically immortal creature. Although, the feeling is exactly Moscow. — Are they silent louder? — Exactly! But there's another point: the psychology of changelings. Parents quickly lose their attachment to adult children. In short, don't expect revenge, but they won't thank you either. And for the first question, I'll say this: I was looking for something. Yes, at random, but... I found it. By the way, the Keepers found it, too, and I'm thinking about it... Valentine, how do you defend against air attacks? — Chrysalis nodded to a chair, Belkin helped the queen to sit down. Chrysalis refused to tie a napkin, threw it on her «lap», but handed the squirrel dog a hair band removed from her front leg. Fabric folded bagel with a thin rubber ring in the middle, not a braid. — It depends on which ones. Previously, anti-aircraft guns were used. Now more attention is being paid to guided missiles and small-caliber artillery. — The squirrel dog looked at Chrysalis questioningly. — Vot gadstvo... We don't have it so far. And putting a suicide bomber in a missile is not a solution at all, — Chrysalis had not heard about remote control and all sorts of things like radio-command guidance, based on the signal reflected from the target, heat signature or whatever. — What's the matter? The airship is vulnerable, like different pegasi, — The squirrel dog tied the alicorn's mane into his tail. He noticed a funny thing: the hair grew straight, then after a certain length it curled, and then started growing normally again. As a result, the mane had a few jams and whole passages through it, as if Chris had mishandled the curling iron. — Remember about the levitation crystals? — The shifter queen pointed to the seat across the hall. She disposed naturally, as if she were an older sister. She seemed to be in command, but she knew the measure and spat on various royal fancies. Knight Spirit and Night Scope sat down at the table, bowing briefly beforehand. Squinting. Scope was next to Belkin. — I remember. By the way, can I get you anything? Spirit and Scope look at each other. Spirit has had her brown mane cut into a bob by some unknown «stylist», and now the stiff «insect» hair is poking out among the soft hair. Scope just flaunts a «hedgehog» on her head and a brush along her neck. Again, the cartoon has as much in common with this strange reality as a poster of fascist Europe has in common with real Red Army soldiers. — They had grilled veggies flashing around... Spirit, baby, what do you want, a mushroom omelet and local bread? Scope? You want to get your own? — The black alicorn wrinkles his nose thoughtfully. — Belkin, did you hear that? I'll have the vegetables and some kind of sauce. Well, he went with a tray, picked up some stuff that resembled what he had ordered. He got himself some kind of cereal porridge with milk. Scope got stuck at a can of some kind of mushroom soup. It smelled good, but Valentine was afraid to try the local mushrooms. He looked at Scope and nodded at the queen's table. — So, — Chrysalis barely waited for the squirrel dog and the changelings to sort through what had been brought from the communal tables and racks, because the only things served on the individual tables beforehand were chicken limbs under a lid and a strange herbal infusion with citrus in a jug, — About the crystals... If the Sisters find the means and time, and they can, Equestria will have a flying armored steamer with cannons. Yes, the armor will be thin and there won't be many cannons, but even in this form it's a problem on the verge of being an ultimatum weapon. And I'd like to know what humans have come up with for such a problem. And if unicorns can spoil our crystals, we have difficulties with it: there are not enough unicorns. Scope and Spirit look at each other again. But they remain silent. — Do something to prevent eavesdropping, — Belkin wrinkled his nose and stirred his milk porridge with a spoon. It's tasty, though the milk should have been cow's milk, not goat's. But the candied fruit masks the odor. Chrysalis tinkles her horn, causing pressure in her ears. She herself croaks, as if she's witching through her strength. Well, expected. — So... — Anti-aircraft guns. Medium caliber, long barrel, gunpowder on compounds... lifeless gas? I forgot, an air base that can't be breathed in its purest form? — Nitrogen? — Yes, — Valentine recalls the named Equestrian analog. Doctor! Fucking ignoramus! — What about gunpowder? — Some kind of vegetable raw material is treated with nitric acid in the presence of sulfuric acid. Do you have such a thing? — Acid? Or do you mean that shit we put in gunpowder? That's what they used to make expensive camera film out of? — Maybe. I didn't work in a gunpowder factory, you know. By the way, shells should be made with remote detonation before firing. Also, need a rangefinder, cassette loading... — Hold on. You can sketch or write it down later. But the battleship will have a height advantage, no? And it'll be able to shoot farther? — But it's visible. Do you have a radio without magic? — It's being tried. But not very successful. We're actually buying illegal crystals for the radio. — Have you mastered picture transmission? — Are you kidding me? — All right, let's start at the beginning... What do you have for electricity? There's gotta be generators, electric motors... I've seen lamps. — Electromagnetic valve elements. Copper rectifiers. There's bound to be some kind of plaque, too... Coils. Multiple layers of paper and mica storage devices with deposited metal. What else you need? — Uh-huh. Not much. Amplifier tubes? — I've heard of something, but the technology is considered lost. Maybe it'll turn up in Equestria, a lot of it went there when they looted Stalliongrad, but it hasn't shown up yet. — All right, I'll keep thinking. By the way, how do you want to send me home? Chrysalis sighed. — Scope, Spirit, take a walk for dessert. The changelings synchronously put down their fork, some of them chewed a chicken wing (Belkin had suspicions that the chicken's anatomy here had minor differences from its earthly counterpart, and he didn't even want to think about genetics) and got up from the table. — Can I get you something, my queen? — Look for yourself, honey, — Chrysalis's gesture comes from the category of «please the heretic», as if she blesses a half-eaten chicken thigh during lent. Belkin looked after the departing shifters. They were lost against the background of brown velvet and dark wood. The winter sun was beating through the tall windows, but not hollow. Instruments clinked, changelings making a strange bilingual noise. Naturally, the magic dome came off. — Your home is in Stalliongrad now. I just can't bring you back. No one can. — Is this about the arimaspi? — What about them? — Remember that pony? Melting Candle? I watched it too... — Belkin, most of Hunters watched it... I still can't get over it. Are you suggesting that... Hmm. Maybe I am. But then... — What made you think I'd be better off with you? — Belkin decided not to return to the patient. — Speech. A way of thinking. The absence of dangerous magic in the hoofs... — The ones with dissected brain tissue, amputated conscience and highly selective sympathy on the background of malicious enthusiasm? — Exactly! — Chris smiled mischievously, looking at the squirrel dog through the tines of the fork, as if aiming. — But it's better to hide the authorship... — And what will I do with you? Weeding the beds? I can also be an electrician. — We'll find one. You'll like it. — You'll find a job in your specialty? Well, well... Isn't it the case that if you study and train all your life, there's bound to be a pony with the appropriate cutiemark who'll be able to do it all better? — Talent is not skill. Did one of mine tell you that? — The queen frowned. — No. It was in Dodge City. A pegasus. Clay Cup, I think. And then the railroad confirmed it to me. Like, that's the life. — You know, — Chrysalis glanced in the direction of Spirit and Scoop picking out goodies, — It's a good thing Equestria thinks that way. It's just great. For us. So don't worry, we'll get you a job. And a mare. — Oh, no, you won't. I doubt I'd even respond to a female of my current species, and you're giving me a pony. — Well, it's something can try, right? You want me to ask someone? Knight Spirit, hmm? — No. Please, just forget about it. And as a formal disclaimer, isn't she with Night Scope? — No. We have a pretty sophisticated mechanism for determining attractiveness... — My queen? — The aforementioned Spirit held the plate with telekinesis and was afraid to approach. Belkin was even grateful to this bugpony for getting rid of an unpleasant topic. — Aha! — Chrysalis turned around in her chair and picked up what the hoofs had brought. — Great! I was just about to... Silent Spark? — A message for the queen, — Another shifter approached, squinting at the table. Obviously, he was on watch at the receiver while everyone ate. — Come on. All own. — Airship. Came to Canterlot from the west, only had a brief service on the ground. Heading south. Not our way. — Who's at the machine now? — Daisy Cutter, she's experienced. Chrysalis glanced unhappily at the squirrel dog who exhaled sharply. — What's so funny? — I'll tell you later. And it's not funny, I assure you. Chrysalis was silent. She sipped from a cup of that hybrid of tea and compote that was in the jug. — It's likely Sun-asshole has decided to pay us a visit... Okay, Spark, fall down somewhere and chew while it's lunchtime, I'll think about it.

***

After lunch, he had to go to have his stitches removed. The stitches were healing well, without festering, but the scars were a little swollen and sore. The shaved skin around the wounds reacted to any touch. Some strange sensations of hot and cold. Medic Sharp Skinner said everything was normal. Touched it, looked at the drip of blood he'd removed with a tampon. He tried a little extra magic and failed miserably, just like your brother. He'd tried it on himself, and it had more or less worked, but on the squirrel dog, you'd have to be an alicorn... Valentine didn't mention that some unicorns could do magic in the presence of a squirrel dog. Skinner was a changeling, after all, and this guys were unicorns, but only a little. No more than pegasi. Having received and hidden in his pocket a slightly narcotic and very strengthening (according to the doctor) powder in a waxed paper envelope, Belkin went to his room. He had to find Chrysalis and ask her to help with the maintenance of the sandwalker. Chrysalis was found on the roof of the guest house. There was a balcony with a railing made of old bronze water pipes and hemp rope, painted with something repeatedly. And a swooping alicorn on the edge of the roof. Like a gargoyle on a cathedral. Belkin strode across the roof and sat down beside it. Two steps away. — Is something wrong? — What do you think? — Chrysalis glanced at the squirrel dog. — Have you been to the doctor? — I have. It's almost normal. The inflammation is subsiding, there are no abscesses, and I can bear the pain. What's wrong with you? — With us. No contact, no traces, only observation from afar... Tvoyu mat`, we are already a little better in the same technical equipment! — Chrysalis ran her tongue over something in her mouth and spit down in a non-royal manner. — No leaks or betrayals, I got into everyone's head before the mission, checked myself, and it feels like we're telling that sun-asshole everything ourselves! — You mean the airship? — You are sometimes very guessing! — Chris looked angrily at Belkin. — Sit closer. — Could the ship be going to Applusa for some apples, for example? — No. Celestia's not that out of touch. She always has everything planned out. Luna could, if there was a sudden embassy or something, take a steamship for shrimp or an armored train to the Crystal Empire for new dishes, but like this? This is clearly after your «concert» at the Bastion. — Do you think it's been reported? — Otherwise, I'd be disappointed. Until now, Celestia hasn't disappointed. — You know, we weren't careful there, but we didn't try to make a mess. And I didn't draw on the wall, «Here was Doggy Belkin». We didn't leave any wounded, and the pegasus that got away couldn't see me. — Corpses don't count, do they? — Chris hummed. — Then I have a theory, — Valentine shuddered as Chrysalis winged the squirrel dog toward him. — Some scoundrels killed the poor unfortunate ponies and one birdcat, dragged in a pile of bags of poppy straw, made guns out of tin cans and their own dung, and, laughing terribly, left it all behind and took off into the desert in an airship. To Klugetown, no less! — It's not funny. She probably thought so. It would never occur to her that such a load was not being abandoned. Celestia is smart, but it takes a specific experience... — She doesn't intersect with the grime of the Night Watch's lower-level work? — Exactly. Things happened in Equestria, and the Guard wasn't just there to flash their cuirasses and make statues at parades... But every time, egregious cases, which, by the way, were solved with the participation of the Guard, made our Tia jump out of her seat and fly somewhere. Then still in a carriage or by herself. The fact that such things should come to her in the form of a report on a completed investigation or as a summary from a court of law does not even occur to her. — The system isn't resistant to this kind of thing? — It's more like the ponies have gotten used to it happening. And it never went away, it's just been pushed to the fringes of Equestria. Just like in your case, by the way. — What does she want to find here? How? Imagine if she took the train to Manehattan, got on the platform and yelled: «I want all the crooks and swindlers here!» And who was she going to push out of the stunned crowd? A hustler who didn't give a few beats to his buddies or in a bar? — Valentine, your reasoning is correct, but look a little further! — Chrysalis sighed. — Celestia comes here, forbids airships to leave without her permission, the Guards go snooping around the warehouses, checking cargo documents, questioning everyone... And then someone foolishly tells her that there are changelings in town. Not colored ones, like in Equestria, but the classic kind, so to speak! By the way, those changelings have a sand truck with a disassembled engine. And the special strip is still under construction, but it can already receive interesting airships! — Which strip? The runway? — Valentine... Your tongue... Yes, we had an opportunity to bring something flying without crystals. You're not afraid of flying, by the way? — No. That makes sense. They put me and someone else in a samolyot, and the rest of us take a sand truck through the woods to Southstock. There they bury the transport in a dry and inconspicuous place, having carried out some conservation, and themselves, having changed their appearance, stupidly get on the steamer. — Something like that. Or take a train to Foaledo and then hop on an airship to Kirin Grove. And then take the next one or the same one to Trotsylvania and take a steamboat home. And now everyone will have to go into the woods, under the cloud layer, — Chrysalis shivered. — Belkin, this isn't the kind of trek that sensible ponies should be going on. There are... — Predators? — If only. There's some kind of... I don't know how to say it. An invisible presence. No expedition sent to South Central has ever returned in full and sane. The reports are buried in the archives of Canterlot Castle. — I beg your pardon, an expedition sent to where??? — South Central Peak. And what? — No, no, nothing. But there were some other forests on the map? — Evil Forests. Wicked Woods. Also a strange place with almost no animals, but lots of strange infections and parasites. What are they eating, each other? — It's... — It's from the shore. And not far. Ponies and griffins came into the Badlands at one time. They don't go back. Pine Needle Barrens. They even tried to set up some kind of fort or something, but they gave up. — And we're going there? An abandoned fort? Like we can't do with Bastion? — No, — Chrysalis grinned, — That can be guaranteed. No strangers roam there. — Yeah, we don't need any more of them... And from the shore? — Far away. And in the south, Basalt Beach is a hundred miles from the sea in some places. — What did those explorers in Wicked Woods forget? — A tree. There's some kind of light and strong wood growing here. For airships. — Chris... — What? — What if we distract Celestia with something? — What would that do? — Time. We'll rebuild the engine and take off for Southstock by night, along your scary woods. Is there any way to get out there to collect fuel? — Maybe. We'll dry it in the engine room, in batches. All right, that's enough sitting around, — Chrysalis said, rising with a tiger-like elasticity. — You can help me with the sandwalker. If we get to Southstoke, it'll be easier there; it's a harbor town, after all. — All right, — Valentine got up, too, and looked down. — If we leave aside the question of who's considered scum, then there's only one question: what are we going to do to distract Celestia if she's the one who's coming to us? — Who else would it be? — Chrysalis tilted her head. — Fuck your princesses... Belkin, what if those fools are there? All six of them? They're even more dangerous because of the unpredictable urine in their brains. How are you supposed to distract them? The squirrel dog sighed and looked out over the horizon as longingly as he could among the mushroom-shaped and rust-colored architecture of Klugetown. Crumpling up, he asked: — Chris, do you really need them alive and healthy?

***

The problem was that reality had simply cracked. Not specifically the reality of Bon Voyage, but the entire reality in which Equestria was placed. Such an interesting adventure through life. And fuck that kind of self-paced adventure literature, according to that squirrel dog. But bursting reality had its own opinion on types of hygiene products. As a result, the unicorn was holed up in a relatively inexpensive motel, trying to forget the panic-filled escape from Irvind, when only a miracle (no, but fear has great eyes) and the weather had allowed him to miss the steam frigate of the Equestrian Navy. Bon Voyage didn't suffer from seasickness, but he was still seasick. The fresh winter weather had not been kind to the travelers, though it had helped them get to Las Pegasus. The slanted sail of their boat was just bending out, the machine was working almost just like that, «for smell». He got there, but he remembered the technical dock only vaguely. After almost twenty-four hours the unicorn forced himself to leave the room, and about a week later he was ripe for a trip to the bank. He had to withdraw some from the deposit, for the bonus for the showdown with the supposed shrimp pest had waved goodbye. Actually, that's when he saw them. — Is something wrong, Mr. Voyage? — I was going to ask you something about interest charges, but it completely slipped my mind... — You have a spending account? No guaranteed deposit period? — Yes, you see... — Then you're entitled to half a percent a year, — The unicorn pony who introduced herself as Little Coin allowed herself a hint of a smile. — A deposit with a guaranteed term would yield one percent. He got Golden Coin! Voyage flinched, suddenly remembering. He thanked her curtly and walked out of the bank. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, glad of the winter cold. It was cold, though, if the snow changed to rain and the puddles only sometimes froze in the morning. There were no Six. With his mind, the unicorn knew that none of those crazy mares knew him, that all his former clients would prefer to keep quiet about how they managed to get rodents out of the field, get rid of birds eating the gardens, solve the problem with parasprites and so on... But behind the mind was fear. The fear of a schoolboy who was almost raped by high school students, the fear of a princess who really wanted the ponies to learn how to defend themselves... Or did she? But what did she want then? Private schools have been practiced by noble unicorns for centuries, ever since the Nightmare Moon Rebellion... Or does it linger on through the millennium, like the echoes of the screams of those tortured in dungeons and killed on the battlefield, like the lingering smell of stale blood that the earth won't accept? And what is it that Voyage himself does? What is this game of keeping the appearance of friendliness by killing various animals? It's not like killing insects! Sooner or later, Voyage is going to get it. In a city where gambling was allowed, that thought was a medium-sized stage joke. But there was a danger of gambling. Just take orders from chatty ponies who had someone from the Six in distant relatives or just suspicious neighbors, and you'd have to flee the country. If you could make it. There was only one way to outplay the crowned alicorns, and that was to die before they found out about you and... got interested. Going to the train station, Bon Voyage learned that the trains were running again and the break was due to railroad work. Yeah, right. There was a thought of asking for a calculated departure day to supposedly meet relatives from Hunters on time, but it was frankly scary. Tickets are registered on the route to Canterlot, he may be asked to introduce himself. Lie? Refuse and walk away? No, let's just not take any chances. It's bad enough that Bon Voyage itself knows what happened. A strange dog, raising his weapon unusually. The roar of the arimaspi, felt in the gut, not the ears. The ringing of the horn, the chemically foul-smelling sweat of this dog with the strange name of Valentine. And the blood spatter on the wall and window in the service compartment. And Belkin splattered with the same stinking blood. And the pony, the same pony who'd demanded to kill her because something was eating her soul. «Gotta take care of the foal» — The unicorn whispered. The wind from the sea had died down, and a light dusting of snow sprinkled down. Snow powder. As a result, the unicorn stayed in Las Pegasus for a couple or three more days. He ate whatever he could, choosing the cheapest. He slept. Moreover, he slept during the day, at night going out for a walk under electric and gas light closer to the center, where everything was spinning. He visited a cinematograph, where he watched monstrously made models of airships and a criminal comedy with a love line, supposedly unfolding on board (they could have made better scenery). During the session, the tape, wound from one reel the size of a trolley wheel to another, did not even break. And the sound was intelligible against the loud chattering of the machine. There was nothing else to see. The only other places he went to were to listen to music. There's an abundance of it here. The night rang, rattled and trumpeted in every way. The night was noisy with the voices of ponies and something else. Night let the phrase «sleeping master of the sea» be heard casually. The unicorn didn't remember how he got to the motel. Locked the door. And jammed it with the enchanted crystal. Then he wrapped himself in a blanket and sat shaking for an indeterminate time. And the night continued to murmur in the distance with an absurdly strained merriment. A carnival under duress. The only thing worse is the Grand Galoping Gala. A sense of disaster flooded the mind. The train to Canterlot departed the next evening. «Stalls», as they were called, of fenced-off sleepers, sniveling ponies and restless foals, apparently from the outskirts of Las Pegasus, since the center was completely occupied by gambling establishments and those things that cater to gambling. Someone was snoring. The dim electric lights changed brightness according to the speed of the train. Bon Voyage stared out the nearly black window. They passed the barely recognizable sign «Applewood», which was illuminated by a crescent moon through smoky high clouds. On the other side lay the plains of suburbia. Magical clouds poured snow over fields and orchards. Las Pegasus' agricultural sector had to provide not only for the residents, but also for the visitors. These ones especially. The road went north to White Tale Woods before the railroad turned east to Canterlot, but it didn't go straight through, instead diving through the mountains and into Ponyville. Crazy little town. It would have been nice to get off there, but it would have been a hundred miles of fucking through Rambling Rock Ridge to the branch line to Phillidelphia and Balltimare. And over the edge of Everfree. «That way the ponies don't need steam omnibuses!» — Mentally mocked Bon Voyage to some high-ranking jerk printed in the newspaper. Yeah, well, that family over there would only need a flying carriage, if anything. And little foals in this weather to ride on that sled through the air. Or walk. How did that crazy Lulamun get all over Equestria? Okay, hay with her, that magician. Gotta get there calmly... Don't look them in the eye! ...to Canterlot, don't leave Central Station, take your train and just come home. Let it be a little respite, a time of realization. After all, his war was not yet lost. Bon Voyage caught himself in a strange thought. What war? Against whom? The answers loomed somewhere on the edge of consciousness with the dark shadows of predatory ocean fish. And he really wanted to go home.