“Then, you have no idea—” I trailed off.
Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash had shaken their heads as they took several steps back.
The latter shot a glance at the former and scoffed in disbelief.
“Dude, are you taking your meds?” said she. “Also, why in the world would she do that?”
“Yeah,” the pink mare concurred. “why WOULD I do that?”
“But you did!” I persisted.
But she shook her head.
“Nuh-uh, I didn’t!” said she as she glanced at the direction of Rainbow Dash. "We've been here since yesterday!"
Then she looked at me with a doubtful expression. “Is this some kind of joke? ‘Cause even it is, it sure isn’t funny!”
“BUT YOU DID!” I persisted with an even more aggressive tone.
The commotion I had inadvertently caused within the hallowed walls of the abbey was not lost upon the assembly. Heads turned in my direction, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and concern, as they pondered the presence of an eccentric amongst their number.
With a sense of urgency, I extricated myself from the scene, leaving behind a trail of bewilderment. In the solitude of the streets, I afforded myself the luxury of contemplation over the perplexing events that had unfolded.
The ignorance of those I had questioned was baffling. How could their accounts be so diametrically opposed to the information I had been furnished with? The enigma of Dash’s vanishment loomed large. If the innocence of the parties was genuine, then what of the case itself? Was there truly an element of malfeasance at play, or was it all an elaborate deception? The testimony of Ms. Derpy Hooves stood as the sole beacon of certainty in a sea of doubt. Yet, the possibility that it was all an intricately woven tapestry of falsehoods could not be dismissed.
The Changeling’s impersonation of Pinkie Pie had been executed with the intent to deceive, to cast aspersions of guilt where none existed. But to what end? And where, pray tell, was Ms. Hooves? Since our arrival, she had vanished as effectively as if the earth had swallowed her whole.
The questions multiplied. The whereabouts of the true Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash remained shrouded in mystery. Could they, in some unfathomable way, be complicit in this charade? It was a notion that demanded investigation, and I resolved to do so from the shadows, gathering intelligence unobserved.
In the aftermath of the Changelings’ expulsion, the castle had become a hive of activity, with preparations for the genuine nuptials of Captain Shining Armor and Princess Mi Amore Cadenza proceeding apace. I contributed to the efforts by tending to the wounded, establishing a makeshift infirmary within the castle’s confines.
It was through my interactions with the patients, primarily composed of the Royal Guard, that I gleaned the information I sought.
Though it may be a matter of common knowledge to my readers, I shall reiterate for the sake of clarity—
On the eve of the wedding, Twilight Sparkle and her companions had been entrusted with various responsibilities. Twilight was to serve as the bestmare, Fluttershy to orchestrate the music with her avian ensemble, Pinkie Pie to oversee the reception, Applejack to manage the catering, Rainbow Dash to perform the illustrious Sonic Rainboom at the culmination of the ceremony, and Rarity to fashion the attire.
According to the steadfast testimony of the Guards, all had remained steadfast in their duties, never once departing the city. This stood in stark contrast to my own observations, for but a day prior, Pones and I had encountered Pinkie Pie in Ponyville. The possibility of her being in two places simultaneously was conceivable only with the involvement of a Changeling. Yet, the rationale behind her inclusion in this affair, alongside Rainbow Dash and Ms. Hooves, remained an enigma. The ultimate objective of this elaborate ruse was as elusive as ever.
Despite my best efforts, the answers to these quandaries eluded me throughout the day.
I had the honour of attending the wedding, an invitation extended as a token of gratitude for my modest services. I bore witness to the solemn exchange of vows, the astonishing spectacle of Ms. Dash's Sonic Rainboom, and the commendations bestowed by Her Majesty, Princess Celestia, upon Twilight Sparkle and her companions. The Princess urged the assembly to heed one's instincts—a counsel I found myself reflecting upon deeply.
As twilight embraced the courtyard, an evening reception unfolded. The newlyweds glided in a waltz, their movements echoed by the cascading fireworks above. Seated at a table adorned with the finest Equestrian fare, I endeavoured to piece together the enigmatic puzzle before me. The spurious case, the Changeling intrigue, the Queen's audacious assault, the exploits of Rainbow Dash and Pinkie, and the whispered allusions to 'the Professor'—all danced tantalisingly just beyond my grasp.
In a moment of frustration, my hoof struck the table, sending silverware scattering in a metallic protest. My outburst drew curious glances; amidst the revelry, I alone seemed a figure of discontent.
"Why?" I implored, clutching at my mane in vexation. "Why does the solution elude me?"
I felt utterly adrift, pondering where in all of Equestria the one stallion capable of unravelling this conundrum might be. Surely, he would illuminate the matter. Yet, what occupied him at such a critical juncture?
As if summoned by my inner turmoil, the familiar cadence of hooves approached.
"A thousand apologies, my dear Watcolt," intoned a voice steeped in fatigue. "I regret having kept you ensconced in such shadows."
Whirling around, I beheld the gaunt silhouette of Sherclop Pones. His customary sartorial elegance had given way to dishevelment, his mane unkempt and his countenance weary.
"Pones!" I exclaimed, my consternation supplanted by relief. "By Celestia's grace, your presence is a balm to my troubled spirit!"
With a nod, Pones gestured towards an empty chair, seeking permission to join me.
"Please, do," I urged, my mind teeming with questions.
As he settled into the seat, a shadow of resentment flickered across his eyes—not directed at me, but seemingly inward. His lips were drawn tight, his brow furrowed, yet his composure remained as icy as ever. He acknowledged me with a slight tilt of the head and an arch of his brow.
"Pones," I ventured, eager to bridge the silence. "Where have you been?"
A sombre cloud passed over Pones' visage.
"At Buck Mall, with my brother," he replied, his voice tinged with reluctance.
"Myclop?" I queried. "But to what end?"
A flush of emotion coloured Pones' cheeks.
"I was chastised," he confessed, "for my indiscretion..."
His admission left me bewildered.
"Indiscretion? In what regard?" I pressed.
Pones' gesture encompassed the air with a flourish of frustration.
"Not the wedding," he clarified, his voice heavy with gravity. "The assault upon the capital."