A Horse Named Smith
Chapter 1
Ponyville, Equestria. Anno Caelestiae 1001.
Granny Smith yawned as she slowly slid out of her nap into the Spring sunshine. She could hear Applejack talking to someone in the kitchen; it sounded like Pinkie Pie, and why did ... oh yes. Granny Smith smiled indulgently and wondered how much Pinkie knew. She wouldn't be surprised if the younger mare knew the whole story, come to think of it. Granny herself hadn't really thought about it in ages.
She could see that Big Macintosh was tending the seedlings in the west orchard. Running the old story through her aged mind, reminding herself of details she'd thought she'd forgotten, it occurred to her how much of his great-grandfather had come out in Big Macintosh. Not the colour, of course: Mister Smith had been a pale brown stallion, with a dark mane and tail until old age turned them white; and of course Big Macintosh cut his mane and tail differently. But in every other respect, Big Macintosh was the spitting image of old Mister Smith ... though not quite as big. Close, very close, but not quite as big...
Granny Smith closed her eyes and drifted back into sleep.
Barchester, England. Anno Domini 1862.
Adam Pye whistled as he brushed down the strawberry-blonde mane of his horse. "All right, Strawberry, that's your mane as smooth as silk. I'd show you a mirror if we kept that sort of thing in a stable, but I guess you couldn't care less, could you?" He patted the horse and grinned. He normally gave Strawberry a good brush down every morning, but he rarely lavished more attention than that on the horse's appearance. No, he only cared about absolute perfection on those days when he knew the saddle would be filled with the delectable form of pretty Miss Diana Conrad, who was fonder of horses than was strictly ladylike. She was only a poor clergyman's daughter—hence the reason she was coming to him rather than he going to her—but a clergyman was a gentleman, as Adam himself was not, and that made all the difference. On the other hand, how many young ladies were there in the county who shared his fondness for the great equine beasts? She pretended to still need the riding lessons, though Adam knew she could ride better than half the county if they let her sit astride her horse like a man; he wasn't sure if she kept coming back for him or for Strawberry, and he wasn't sure which would please him more.
Strawberry snorted gently and looked over at Adam, all his patient docility evident in his great brown eyes. Adam took a step back to inspect his handiwork and, satisfied, turned his attention to the sadlery.
He was just done fastening the bridle when he heard the paddock gate creak open. Glancing out, he was pleased to see Miss Conrad there, already in her riding habit. He was also a little surprised to see that she was leading another horse by the reins. Leaving Strawberry, Adam went out to meet his student.
"Miss Conrad, good morning. This is a surprise: you've brought your own horse this time." The new horse looked docile enough, though a little skittish.
"Good morning, Adam. Yes, this is Mister Smith. Although, I must tell you that there is some bad news as well. You see..." Miss Conrad paused and glanced back at the horse behind her. Then it all came out in a rush. "Adam, it was quite dreadful! Father and I were passing by the inn, and we saw this man beating his horse—Mr Smith here—quite cruelly! The poor thing was already foaming with sweat from having been ridden all the way from London, and ... I said right then and there that Father had to buy him off the other man. Father said that the man had every right to do what he wanted with his own horse and that in any case the average London cab-horse had worse treatment than that, but I insisted that we couldn't just let it be. The long and the short of it is that Father finally did agree to buy the horse for me, but he said that if he did it, he would not be able to afford any more riding lessons, and that it was my choice."
Adam felt his heart sink. "So, this is the end of the lessons, then?"
Miss Conrad nodded. Then she continued, thoughtfully"Well, Mister Smith is fully my responsibility. Father said so. And I will have to exercise him regularly. And we haven't got a lady's saddle..."
"You can borrow Strawberry's."
Miss Conrad smiled. "Thank you so very much. Father is concerned, too, that Mister Smith might not be a suitable steed for a lady..."
"I'll ride with you this first time and see that nothing happens. Or, if you would prefer, you can take Strawberry one last time while I put Mister Smith through his paces."
"That would suit me very well. Thank you."
They set out a few minutes later, Miss Conrad on Strawberry and Adam Pye on Mister Smith. Adam knew perfectly well that much of this was merely a pretext, and he dared to hope that Miss Conrad was just as anxious as he was to maintain their acquaintanceship. That did not stop him from conscientiously monitoring Mister Smith's behaviour. It was only a matter of time before Algernon Conrad purchased a lady's saddle for his daughter's horse; Miss Conrad would be taking Mister Smith out all over the county within five minutes of that event. Adam had to ensure that Mister Smith was as reliable as could be, and that any bad habits be known to his mistress.
Fortunately, Mister Smith seemed to respond well, and did not seem to be quite as skittish as Adam had first thought. It was probably just unease at new ownership, Adam thought, something that would fade in time. "We should ride over to your Uncle Hector's," Adam said. "If Mister Smith can ride through Hector Conrad's property without shying in alarm at anything, you should be able to ride him anywhere."
Indeed, Hector Conrad was regarded as something of an eccentric by the general population. Until his acquaintance with Miss Conrad, Adam had belonged to that subset who believed him to be a dangerous maniac. Hector Conrad was an inventor, his niece had explained, and completely harmless if one were only careful to avoid touching anything. Adam agreed but reluctantly. He had little interest in the what Hector Conrad called "technologically progress" and "scientific advancement" beyond the fact that the gadgets littering the property were worth any amount of curiosity. And of course, he was always careful to keep his distance.
The two arrived to find Hector Conrad working on a large machine that appeared to be a cross between a pipe organ and a cannon. Copious amounts of steam and smoke poured out from an immense boiler behind it, and Adam could smell ozone. To their credit, both Strawberry and Mister Smith, though clearly unnerved by all of this, managed to maintain their composure. Miss Conrad's young brother, Arthur, waved to them as they approached. "Diana! Mr Pye! You're just in time! Uncle Hector's just finished this thing that's going to make horses and carriages and maybe even trains and ships completely unnecessary!"
"I wouldn't say completely," said the older Conrad from the depths of the machine, "I daresay it will be many years before the Transporter can be fully universal. We'll need a far more efficient fuel source, for one thing, and..."
"Well, one day, one day! But you have to see this, it's the most incredible thing in the world!"
Adam dismounted and helped Miss Conrad down from Mister Smith. He held the reins of both horses while Miss Conrad went forward to give her brother and uncle a more proper greeting. "I'm sure it's quite incredible, Arthur," said Adam warily. The machine looked more like a weapon of mass destruction than anything else.
"We do need to test it on a live subject at some point," said Hector. Adam's grip tightened on the reins as the inventor's gaze fastened on the two horses. There was no way he was going to let Strawberry and Mister Smith be part of what was clearly a dangerous experiment in things that man was never meant to do.
It was Miss Conrad who gave voice to Adam's thoughts on the matter, however. "You are not using the horses. I mean it, Uncle Hector." She walked back to Mister Smith and placed an arm protectively around his neck.
"Of course," Hector Conrad looked a little disappointed. "Of course, I'd have to test it more."
"But it worked with the apples and the stuffed badger and the armchair," cried Arthur, with the sort of enthusiasm that came with a few too many sugar lumps, "you know it's perfectly safe. Look, I'll show you..."
Hector Conrad jerked up in alarm, a wrench in one hand and what was probably a vital part of the machine in the other. "Arthur! Don't touch..."
It was too late. The smell of ozone intensified, and something inside the machine exploded. The cannon-like front of the machine collapsed at Arthur Conrad's feet, and the boy was enveloped in a strange, blue glow. Miss Conrad screamed and made to push her brother out of the way. Instinctively, Adam let go of both horses and dove after her, catching her before she could be caught in whatever it was that had her brother in its grip. Mister Smith and Strawberry whinnied in panic, rearing up on their hind legs, and turned to bolt. At that instant, Arthur Conrad disappeared from sight, and a beam of unnatural blue light shot from the cannon mouth and hit both horses. There was another explosion, and then the horses were gone as well.
Miss Conrad fainted into Adam's arms, and Adam's only thought was to get her out of this dangerous place and away from her lunatic uncle as quickly as humanly possible.
Hector Conrad was ruined by the events thus described, and died not long after. The transporter machine was dismantled and locked away in the basement. It was 150 years before a descendant of the Conrad family discovered Hector's old notes and reassembled the machine.
Arthur Conrad was transported into a savage land where he was adopted by a tribe of barbarian warriors. By some mysterious quirk of transdimensional physics, he aged at only a tenth the normal rate while in that new land. He was, physically, only in his mid 20s when he was finally summoned back to Earth by the reassembled machine, though 150 years had passed in both worlds. He proceeded to use the 150 years' worth of fighting experience to righteously kick butt in the name of justice, as a costumed superhero. But that is another story, for another time.
Diana Conrad did not, as might have been otherwise expected, marry Adam Pye, despite their mutual admiration. She married instead another gentleman friend who indulged her fondness for riding and matched her social class, and the two settled into a relatively happy married life. Adam Pye turned to drink after Diana Conrad's marriage, and spent the next three years in an alcoholic stupor. He did, fortunately, eventually extricate himself from the evils of the devil drink—as his future wife put it—and married the good woman who'd stood by him through those dark times. He returned to the business of caring for horses, and attained a certain measure of success and respectability over the course of his career. It is entirely possible that Adam and Diana might have been happier together than with the spouses they eventually married, but that is mere conjecture; it is, at least, safe to say that they were happy enough in their respective lives, and had no need for anyone's pity.
Strawberry and Mister Smith, meanwhile, were never seen on Earth again...
The Great Whinnysconsin Woods, Equestria. Anno Caelestiae 906.
Mister Smith's first thought as he regained consciousness was that the experience was not so terrible as he might have expected. His second thought was to marvel at the clarity of that first thought. Now that he thought about it—third thought—he didn't recall ever actively thinking about things before. Not like this, anyway.
He opened his eyes and struggled to his feet. He felt as unsteady on his legs as a newborn foal, though a few paces up and down soon eased the jelly out of his joints. He shook his head and looked around. Strawberry was visible, just beginning to stir, in the shadow of a spreading oak tree. He could see that they were in a forest glen of some sort, a good deal greener than the pastures of England. Mister Smith snorted to clear his nostrils and approached the other horse. "Strawberry?"
"Adam?"
Two pairs of equine eyes widened, and Mister Smith skittered nervously away while Strawberry scrambled to his feet. They could talk! Just like their masters, but where were the humans now? Mister Smith tapped his hoof on a rock and started counting. One, two, three, four, five, six—he'd never made it beyond four before, and how did he suddenly understand how that really worked and why it was useful? Or even how this could be a measure of intelligence?
Strawberry was on his feet now, stumbling slightly. The two horses approached each other cautiously.
"You can talk?"
"So can you."
"What did that machine do to us, and where is everyone? More precisely, where are we?"
Strawberry looked around the glen nervously. "We have to find Adam. He'll know what to do."
Mister Smith felt a sudden surge of resentment. The Conrads had been kind enough, certainly, and he had nothing to complain about in the treatment he had received from Strawberry's master, but most of his life had been spent in the "care" of people whose better natures stopped short at the paddock gates. He still associated humans with thoughtless cruelty. He therefore had little desire to return to them, especially now: with his newfound intelligence had come a sense of power and independence that he had never felt before, and it was exhilirating.
"I think we can make our way out of this on our own," he said, turning about and sniffing the air.
"But what if Adam is hurt? What about Miss Conrad? Miss Conrad's your mistress, so where's your sense of loyalty?"
"She was my mistress for all of two days. I don't know if she's earned my loyalty."
Strawberry spluttered, flabbergasted. Newfound intelligence or no, Mister Smith's apparent lack of any feeling for their human masters was perhaps more alien to him than Hector Conrad's machine had been. Mister Smith, glancing back at Strawberry, sighed and said, "look, I'm sure I saw your Adam Pye pull Diana out of harm's way just before the light hit us. They're probably fine. And if they're fine, then they're probably not here. This doesn't smell like Barchester. It doesn't even smell like England."
"What about Arthur Conrad?"
Mister Smith hesitated. "I don't know."
"Then we'd better start looking for him." Strawberry trotted around the perimeter of the clearing, swishing at the bushes with his tail. "Arthur? Arthur! Are you out there?"
"Hello? Who's there?"
The two horses stopped. There was someone out there! It sounded like a woman, but it wasn't Miss Conrad or any of the other ladies either horse knew. Strawberry called out again, "we're lost! Can you help us?"
Mister Smith moved to the centre of the clearing, and Strawberry joined him. A moment later, the bushes rustled and parted, and a mare cautiously stepped into view. She was quite a bit smaller than either Strawberry or Mister Smith was used to—Mister Smith thought that she might more properly be called a pony than a horse—and she was a rather improbable shade of green; but what really caught their attention was the horn that graced her forehead.
Mister Smith had only ever seen unicorns as part of the British coat of arms, and Strawberry had only ever heard of unicorns as mythical creatures described by some of his master's students. In either case, the two horses recognised—or thought they recognised—that they were in the presence of equine royalty. They both dropped to their knees and bowed their heads, and waited to be addressed by their social superior, as they thought proper.
Malachite Dream, who was the daughter of a woodcutter and whose closest connection to royalty was a pet dog named Rex, took a step back in surprise. Two of the largest ponies she had ever seen, kneeling to her? Well, they must be really be lost, and more grateful than anything to be found. She was about to say something about the nearest town, when something about these ponies caught her eye; or rather, something that should have, didn't.
"Where are your cutie marks?" she blurted out, and immediately blushed at her own rudeness.
The strawberry-blonde one looked up, puzzled, and it was his dark-maned companion who spoke. "Beg pardon?"
Goodness, did they not even know what a cutie mark was? Exactly how lost were these ponies?
"I'll explain later. Now, please get up. You're making me nervous. My name is Malachite Dream, and I'm from Haymarket, just a short distance that way." She pointed with her hoof, and the two large ponies looked with interest not in the direction in which she was pointing, but at her extended foreleg. She quickly brought her hoof down again and cleared her throat. "So, what are your names?"
"I'm Mister Smith," said the dark-maned pony, bobbing his head respectfully. How strangely formal, Malachite thought.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr Smith." She turned to the strawberry-blonde pony. "And you are Mr...?"
"Pye. Strawberry ... Pye." His companion shot him a strange look, but Mr Pie only shrugged; Mr Smith seemed even more surprised at this, but said nothing.
"I'm pleased to meet you too, Mr Pie," said Malachite politely. "If you'll follow me, we should be able to get back to town in time for dinner."