2.
Equestrian Pomp
(You may want to play this: /watch?v=w098rz-rdiQ)
... in an airplane.
The humming of the engines revertebrated in his ears, his head was slumped against the ugly beige leatherette backrest of his seat. His white shirt, the cheap blue blazer he wore over it and his jeans were glued to his skin, sticky with freezing cold sweat. To his left, the round porthole window was closed with a plastic flap, and yet some strings of bright white light were shining through. To his right, he saw rows upon rows of other airplane seats, all of them empty. In front of him, an outdated issue of the Kvällposten was stuck into the net of the front seat.
Oh, and his phone was ringing too.
'Bloody nightmares.' he hissed as he picket it up.
"Uh... Wallander here."
"Kurt. How are you?"
It was his ever-so faithful partner.
"Magnus. I... hello."
"Hi, I just wanted to make sure you landed well."
Kurt groaned as he stretched his lethargic, tensed-up limbs and looked around again.
"I... uhm... I don't think I'm... I think we're still flying."
"You were scheduled to land half an hour ago. What's keeping you?"
Wallander sighed, then he turned back and pulled open his window cover.
"I have no..."
What he saw got the words stuck in his throat.
They had landed.
He saw lush green grass, red fields of poppies, yellow patches of daisies and dandelions, seas of bluebell-like flowers, bountiful olive-green forests and acres making up the horizon. He could see a part of the tarmac under the grounded aircraft's wings. It was made of clean, brown sand. The sky was bright and blue almost void of any clouds, set against the setting sun shining in his face from high above.
"Oh God, we've landed already." Wallander said aghast and stretched himself again.
"You mean you didn't notice, Kurt?" Magnus asked skeptically.
"Were you asleep again?"
"Yes?" Wallander responded unsurely and unbuckled himself.
"No one woke me. Maybe we are still taxiing..."
He slowly peeped over the seats.
The entire plane was deserted. But not that was strange - it had already been void of any other passengers when he had entered it - but none of the air stewards were there either, and the door to the cockpit was half open. He saw light coming in from around the corner, roughly where the front exit of the plane.
"They're all gone..."
"Oh Kurt." Magnus said, barely hiding a snigger.
"If I were you, I'd find someone quickly, or else they'll fly the whole way back with you."
Kurt suddenly found his breath shortening with nervousness.
"Alright alright, Magnus, bye."
"Call me when you- *click*"
Kurt made his way to the front of the plane. Indeed, it lay completely empty save for himself.
Or at least he thought that before he spotted a pair of big, perfectly round eyes scrutinising him from the open exit hatch.
"Oh, uhm... excuse me?" Wallander said forlornly.
"Can you..."
The onlooker quickly pulled his head away from behind the corner and seemingly dashed out of the plane.
"Hey!?"
He squeezed through the aisle and came to a halt in front of the open plug door. Shielding his tired eyes from the impending sunrays, he move out onto a gangway that been positioned by the plane.
"Ten... shun!" an authoritative voice suddenly rang out.
And the band started playing with much pomp and circumstance.
Wallander froze with shock on the gangway like a elk in front of an oncoming headlight.
Below him on the airfield, two whole platoons of assembled armour-clad soldiers had begun blasting a (Norwegian, as far as he recalled) march out of a dozen trumpets and a dozen horns, accompanied by seemingly a hundred heavy drums, their polished armour glistening in the intense afternoon sun.
Now, they didn't play very well, which was to say, their performance was audibly awful. They seemingly tried more of a strength-in-numbers apparoach for their music, rather than actual precision.
Even with the threat of the imminent rupture of his eardrums, he courageously descended down towards the cacophonic onslaught, trying to guess what was going on. And as he descended, he made one very exciting discovery.
None of the musicians was human.
It was more of a medieval cavalry detachment, sans cavalrymen.
They were all equines. Ponies.
Ponies packed in heavy golden armourplates, but all ponies nevertheless.
Kurt quite didn't know what to do.
He had, of course, expected this...
He knew that this was going to happen. That there would be creatures waiting for him that weren't human.
But he had certainly hoped that more humans would be present to prepare him for what was about to come.
In his dazed state, he had trouble thinking back to how this all had come to be.
Ever since Holgersson had lured him out from behind his desk, squeezed his hand and made all the other guys in the station clap for him - ever since she gave him the one-way plane ticket to UN-Development Area 12, also known as 'the Principlaity of Equestria', he knew he would meet such strange, sentient ponies... and that any attempt to interact with them will culminate in some kind of embarrassing or awkward situation... usually on his behalf.
As if it wasn't already bad enough when Kurt had to meet new people...
What, Kurt thought, was he thinking when he accepted the commission to go to Equestria, to represent the Swedish Police Service in the world's very first non-human nation?
He, who had wounded, killed others on duty, he who had blamed himself with the deaths of so many others, and he who had been suspended from his job and cited out of sight by his superiors so often.
He, a homicide investigator, who could not simply swallow his horror and sorrow over yet another murder like the others... He, who broke down in tears where others would just wrinkle their noses... was now supposed to be the model of a Swedish police inspector? How was he a good model of anything? When it came down to it, he wasn't even a good model of a human being.
Provided, of course, the reason his boss had 'volunteered' him for the training commission in Equestria, was actually because of his investigative prowess, and not simply because the others had grown tired and weary of his constant 'scenes'.
"Equestria is a peaceful country, Kurt." she had told him. "They don't know how to cope with crime, even if they had some." What did she mean by that? Merely that Equestria needed Wallander? Or that Wallander needed Equestria?
He knew that at least the first part was true. Equestria was one of those strange, strange phenomenons that had simply appeared on earth out of thin air.
It wasn't entirely clear if Equestria had always been hidden on earth, and had not been found until two years or so ago, or if it ended up appearing on the planet (in form of a very isolated pacific island) due to some kind of abstract, obscure inter-dimensional rift. Science hadn't caught up with that incident yet, but in any case, Equestria at least showed itself to be an open and studious nation, willing to embrace humanity, if only the humans were to embrace them as fellow equals as well.
As Kurt finally reached the bottom of the stairs, the marching music came to a slow, ill-paced halt. In the few seconds between him stopping right in front of the playing ponies, as he found himself surrounded by two dozen glaring sets of eyes hidden under shining helmets, Kurt suddenly felt like he stood trial for something. A military trial perhaps. For what, cowardice, maybe? Was it through cowardice that he was now standing there and not in his home country, with his daughter and his late father? Or at least with Baiba Liepa, the grieving widow from Riga?
He nervously calmed himself with the fact that he was here merely in the line of duty - selflessly working for the benefit of inter-species relationships. And not on some kind of escapist, government-sanctioned mandatory leave.
He was ripped out of his thoughts as one of the pony soldiers marched forward. Left fore-hoof, right back-hoof, right fore-hoof, left back-hoof... in coordinated steps, the small equine cantered up to the Swedish inspector, its armour clanking and jingling, like on National Day in Stockholm.
The military equine halted, and locked eye contact with him. Then it started shouting. In impeccable English.
"Captain Curd Wall-ender! In the name of my Princesses, Celestia of the Sun and Luna of the Moon, I sincerely wish to welcome you on the soil of the sceptered nation of Equestria, the land of the three Equine tribes of magic, earth and air!"
Then the creature's mouth flapped shut again, shaping in a pout that would have made Mussolini red with envy.
Kurt looked for an appropriate, dignified response.
"..."
He couldn't think of one. A pony had just yelled at him in English. What could he possibly counter that?
The pony suddenly looked just as forlorn.
"Uh..."
With a hoof, he lifted his helmet of his rather sizeable head, and retrieved something small from the inside with his teeth. Then he put it back on and harrumphed as he looked at his hoof.
"Ehm... I navnet... uh... til mine to prinsesser-"
"Oh no please..." Wallander interrupted him.
"I... I speak English."
"Oh." the equine went.
"I apologise, Sir. I hope you had a peaceful... plentiful sleep."
"Ugh." Wallander sighed unwittingly.
"Thank... thank you."
"Company... de-camp!" The pony shouted, and the two dozen soldiers immediately broke into a trot and abandoned their ceremonial posts, seemingly with much glee after having to wait for Wallander to wake up for God-knows how long.
Kurt asked the pony commander, trying to sound as humorous and un-reproachful as possible.
"Sir... why didn't anyone wake me? When I was in the plane after it landed?"
"Her Royal Highnesses gave me strict orders to treat you with the comfort and dignity a human of your position is due!"
"The... Princesses?" Wallander repeated nervously.
"Of course, Captain! You are a state guest!"
Wallander raised his arms modestly.
"Oh no no, commander. I... I am with the delegation for the National Swedish Police Board. There must be a misunderstanding..."
"So humble of you, Captain!"
"It's Inspector. Inspector Wallander."
"Well... Inspector..." the commander continued, unfazed.
"Does that mean you do not wish the coach we have specially brought in for you?"
"You brought a coach?" Wallander asked non-plussed.
He felt reminded of that one time he had travelled to Lithuania, albeit on a far less happy occasion. All that waited for him there was a corrupt cop with a dirty name tag, a smelly car and a funeral in the rain. And Wallander hadn't even asked for as much as that.
"We are a few leaps away from the hamlet of Ponyville, Inspector. We can take a smooth trot there... if you insist."
The commander, a grey earth pony with a red made under his helmet, was probably a young equine, somewhere at the end of his late equine teens - however many human years this would amount to; an ensign who was trying really hard to make a really good first impression.
As Wallander and the commander boarded the opulently ornamented Rennaisance-esque stagecoach, the latter was dutifully quick to explain that the Royal Guard, the country's national defence force, which seemingly also doubled as a police force, was awaiting him for a loosely arranged series of lectures in things homicidal. Kurt wisely chose not to ask why they had decided to send in a Swedish lecturer for a theme such as murder, but he also knew that he could tell them a lot about death, so he figured it was approriate after all.
The pony also explained to him that, although it was arranged that he be accomodated in Canterlot, the royal city of residence and the nation's capital, he was to spend this night in the nearby hamlet of Ponyville, a medium-size provincial backwater, and, in the wondrous words of the young stallion, an 'enchanting enclave in the middle of nature'. Apparently, the Equestrian government thought that a night trip to the far-away capital was too much to ask of their dear human guest.
Honestly, Wallander liked the sound of that, he had already preferred the untouched nature to the urban sprawl of Ystad or Malmö any day. But he still silently hoped that there would be the possibility to take a bath or a shower in the inn they were bound to.
He looked out of the window of the elegantly carpented coach, watching the red sun disc set over the nearby mountains.
"Beautiful at this time of the year, isn't it?" the red-maned guard commander inquired with a kind smile.
"Oh yes. It's very pretty." Wallander agreed. Even though he had never particulalry liked the sunset. For him, it was a symbol for things final and irreversable.
"Where you come from, Captain... do you also have such a brilliant sundown?"
"At this time of year? No, we don't have a sunset at all."
The commander repsonded with mildly shocked gasp.
"Really? No sunset? But... but doesn't it mean that it never turns night? No stars and no moon?"
Wallander shook his head. He could not help but smile at the equine's surprise a this natural phenomenon. He had probably never as much as heard of something like that in his whole life.
"Where we come from, we call is 'midsommar'. It's the middle of summer, and the brightest time of the year. The night is more like... twelve hours of twilight."
"That's..."
The pony was lost for words.
"No night... gosh, I had no idea it was possible. Does Princess Luna never grace your lands then?"
"Who?"
"Luna. The Princess of the Night."
"Oh. Well, not at this time of year, at least." Wallander shrugged.
Were the commander's words a metaphor or more of a religious statement? Kurt hoped he hadn't offended him.
"No worries, Captain. I will pass word of this to my Princess as soon as possible."
"Alright. You do that."
Outside, Kurt spotted the first houses on the roadside. They were houses, cottages, with thatched roofs and beams worked into the white walls. Yellow and orange banners were hanging on every street corner, decorating all the nicely crafted street lanterns. It felt strangely homely for Kurt, even thought such towns seemed to be more typical for the England or France of olden days.
While the streets swere mostly abandoned, there were some other equines running to and fro, small ones playing and horsing around, old ones cleaning up stalls and booths and generally being on their way home. A few of them waved at the coach and its escorts as they passed through in a regal manner, whirling up roadside dust as they did.
Kurt was pleased to see what a friendly, warm climate resided in this particular country. No rush-hour hustle, no bored, frowning faces on the passers-by, no teens or bums sitting on street corners and drinking vodka straight out of the bottle. It was harmonius, content, well off.
A rare beauty.
"Don't get fooled. It's the calm before the storm." the commander commented giddily.
"What do you mean?"
"You see those booths and those banners?" he asked, with a happy grin on his face.
"In a couple of days, those folks will do a Summer Sun Celebration. It's going to a feast in the honour of Princess Celestia, who, as you know, is in charge of the sun."
'They even have their own Midsommar celebration.' Kurt thought. This place was even more homely than he suspected.
The coach halted in front of one of the taller houses in the village. Wallander was in awe when he noticed that the entire roof had been painted white and accented with thick white edges, as if to give it an chocolate-like, edible impression, and out of that roof additonally stuck a completely pink oriel, which in return was crowned by three torches, shaped and decorated like birthday candles. This building was probably as close to witche's gingerbread house as a building could get. Whoever proprieted this patrticular house had chanelled a lot of effort and detail into it.
"Am I in Cockaigne?" Wallander humoured.
"No, that's Sugarcube Corner." the commander corrected him, oblivious to the Swede's reference.
"I say, why don't you go to the front desk already, while my colts will unload your luggage for you?"
The inside of the place was just as opulently and lovingly, if also slightly over-decorated as its exterior. It was obviously some kind of cafe or sweets store, and the theming of the decor was impeccable.
Now, Wallander mused, he just had to wait for the depressed, old lady of the house with the glasses, the excessively painted lips and the dull polyester sweater to man the counter and show him his room with a monotone voice and a subtly contemptful expression. Wallander had gone through this procedure way too often, every time he was over the bridge in Denmark or up in Norway and had to find himself an affordable B&B or hostel. The world really seemed to have a dispensable amount of grumpy, disillusioned widows with a taste for the flavourless who earned their retirement by renting out their basements, attics and other furnished crawlspaces. Wallander began to wonder; what did equine widows look like, anyway?
"Helloooo, is somepony out there?" a melodical voice roung out from behind the curtain and freed Wallander from his grim fantasies.
"Yes. I... I believe I have a room reserved for me here? On the name Wallander?"
"Wallander... what a crazy name." the voice muttered. Seconds later, a blue-furred pony head popped out, with a pink-ish beehive haircut that bounced around as she moved. Her eyes began to shine when she spotted the human.
"By Celestia... you must be the special guest! The human! Honeybud!"
"Sorry?" Wallander muttered.
"Yes, cuppycake?" another voice shouted from upstairs.
"Our royal visitor! He's heeeere!"
"Oh!"
Within a few moments, a thinner, lankier pony stormed into the room, breathing heavily and squeakily, but kept up a happy grin the entire time.
"You must be Card, good sir."
"Kurt Wallander, yes."
"Card the Wall-Ender." the female pony said with a smile.
"You must be a great bricklayer if the Princess herself has requested a room for you in our modest home."
"Oh, I'm not..." Wallander stammered. Was she joking or...
"Oh, you're in the demolition business then! A thousand pardons." the male interrupted him.
"My name is Carrot Cake." He stretched his lanky hoof around the female pony's head and pulled her over to him.
"And this is my dear wife, Mrs Cake."
"Oh, you!" Mrs Cake remarked cheekily.
"I am Cup Cake. And I want to welcome you to our modest business. We do not usually take in guests, but we are always glad and happy to share what we have with friends of the Princesses. All five of us do"
"Oh... I thank you." Kurt answered, a bit overwhelmed.
All five of them? 'They must be a big, happy family then.'
"Would you like a little tour through our... culinary menagerie, or would you like to go to your room first?"
"I am a little tired." Wallander tried to justify himself. "I was flying for twelve hours straight."
"So, it's straight to bed for you, young colt!" Carrot Cake chided him.
"No offence, Sir."
"None taken, Mr... Cake."
"Please, call me Carrot Cake." the yellow pony persisted adamantly.
"Friends of the royal family are our friends as well."