Blim's two hour estimate had been overly optimistic. While the grundles had
managed to clean Chameleon's pelt with an abundance of hard scrubbing and harsh soap,
they were still struggling to work decades of snarls out of his mane and tail.
The unicorn lay on the cool tiles, listening to the grundles chattering back and forth
as they worked some viscous pink liquid (it smelled like strawberries) into his mane.
They were trying to brush it out from the ends up, using thin-toothed steel combs to
pull through the snarls. Each brushstroke caught at a new tangle of hair, painfully
jerking the unicorn's head down.
Chameleon sat quietly as his head was pulled this way and that. It was easy to be forgetten if you had the knack . . . easier still around grundles.
He had always liked the ugly little creatures. They had the run of the castle, from the kitchens to the baths to the private bedchambers and while they weren't exactly ignored, no pony gave them much thought except to order them to change the linens or scrub the crockery. For their part, the grundles scrubbed and swept and cleaned and cheerfully, unobtrusively kept the city from crumbling. But the only thing Chameleon cared about was that grundles loved to talk.
By the time Summerset managed (or remembered) to send someone back to the baths for Chameleon, the former prisoner had caught up on four and a half hours of stories, gossip, and news. He was smiling.
"There you are," Tidal said as he strode in. The blue unicorn walked around Chameleon with his head tilted in a critical manner. "You look better."
"Yes," Chameleon said simply. He flicked his tail, just to feel it swish freely.
"Well . . . It's almost seven."
"Oh?"
"Yes."
Given that Tidal seemed to have run out of things to say and Chameleon was all for letting the conversation die with what dignity it could muster, it was probably fortunate that Jabber suddenly trotted in.
"So are you guys ready or what?"
"Ready?"
"What, didn't Tidal tell you?" Jabber blinked. "You get to go to the fancy-schmancy groomer to get ready for the big night on the town. Or in the ballroom, as the case may be." Jabber made a face. "An exciting night of alternately being ignored and patronized. You have no idea how excited I am."
"Watch your tongue, Jabber!" Tidal snapped, heading for the door. "You should be grateful you were invited at all."
"The patronizing begins already. Oh joy!" Jabber sighed overdramatically as he followed Tidal, with Chameleon trailing behind him.
Cosmos was sitting beside the pool as they left, watching them with rock hard eyes. Tidal raised his head a little higher and pretended not to see him, but Jabber seemed to shy a little as they passed the black unicorn, with his flaps of wrinkled skin and his greying muzzle. Chameleon took one last glance as the black unicorn as he followed Jabber and Tidal into the hallway.
"This way." Tidal led them through several twists and turns, sighing impatiently when Chameleon's limp slowed them down. At last he paused in front of a wooden door engraved with long-tailed birds and long-stemmed lilies. A heavy ring of iron was attached to the center of the door. Tidal lifted it and banged it against the door. The trio of unicorns waited, shifting as they studied the hall and the door. After a minute or two Tidal used the knocker again, this time more forcefully. A tiny panel slid open about halfway up the door and a blue eye peered out. Before the unicorns could do more than blink in surprise, the eye pulled back and the panel slid shut with a snap. Chameleon noticed that the door had a strange rounded mechanism attached to it where the easy to manipulate door tassle would normally have been. As he looked at it, the smooth gold device turned and the door opened with a soft click.
The elderly grundle on the other side greeted them with a huge smile and bright blue eyes. He was dressed in a finely tailored suit, unusual for grundles who usually favored more practical clothes. "Greetings, greetings sirs!"
Chameleon nodded, Jabber bobbed his head amiably, and Tidal simply strode in. They were clearly in the grundle's private quarters, but the main room had been converted into something resembling a miniature tailor's shop. Three mirrors were set up side by side, each at a slightly different angle. To the left of them stood a small iron-legged stand with two fold-out shelves, one laid out with neat rows of brushes and combs, the other lined with tape measures, sewing pins, needles, and blue chalk. Two lounges (large enough for ponies) rested a ways behind the stand, one upholstered in blue velvet and one in green.
"He's a professional groomer," Jabber explained as he bounced onto the green lounge. Chameleon carefully pulled himself onto the other lounge to rest his leg. "You know what that means."
"Expensive?"
The pink-haired unicorn nodded. "Got it in one! We're only here because you're still a mess. No offense," he added, as if it had just occurred to him that the other unicorn might not take the remark well. "It's just . . . you're leaving hair everywhere, y'know?"
Chameleon looked at him levelly and said nothing. Jabber did have a point . . . Clean though he was, he had already deposited a generous coating of green hair on the lounge. Oh well. That's his problem. Chameleon's eyes drifted to the center of the room where Tidal was deep in conversation with the grundle. The blue unicorn broke away for a moment to move over to Jabber.
"How much did we have in the cookie jar again?"
"Not enough," Jabber answered promptly. "It's never enough."
"Yes, yes, we're all impressed by your sparkling wit," Tidal said drily. "How much? Did Summerset ever pick up those powders for Hypernion?"
"Nah, I think he was going to get them after--"
"Perfect. We'll find something cheaper to replace them."
"Oooo, Hype will loooove that!"
"It's either that or make an appearance with this . . . this scarecrow." Tidal looked at Chameleon. "No offense."
They're quite the outspoken lot for ponies who don't want to give offense . . .
"What about me? Don't I don't get a brushing?" Jabber smiled winningly.
"Not even if we had all the treasure in the city."
"Awww, Tide . . . Noooobody loves me, everybody hates meeee . . ." Jabber melodramatically rolled onto his back and dangled his hooves in the air.
"Maybe if you showed some ability to stay presentable for more than ten minutes at a time--" Tidal began, but he cut himself off when he noticed that the grundle hovering on the fringes of the conversation. "Excuse me a moment." He stepped aside once more.
Jabber watched the negotiations in silence for about ten seconds before righting himself and looking at the dark green unicorn. "Soooo . . . What's your name again?"
"Chameleon."
"And you came from the dungeons, right?" Jabber rested his head on his hooves. "What's it like down there?"
"Different."
"It must be pretty scary down there, huh?" the mint unicorn said.
There is nothing left to be frightened of down there. You can't sink lower than Hell. But as Chameleon met Jabber's strange yellow eyes, he only said, "It's darker down there."
"Sir?" The finely dressed grundle approached, hands clasped neatly together. Apparently Tidal had finally made an acceptable offer. "You ready?"
Chameleon nodded as he got up, following the grundle over to the mirrors as Tidal took over the blue lounge.
"Hmm . . . sir hasn't taken care of his coat," the grundle said with mild reproach as he ran his hand over Chameleon's side. "Well, could be worse . . ." He moved over to his workstand, picked up a curry comb, and started brushing Chameleon's shoulder. The metal comb, formed in concentric circles, dug deep enough to scrape out the last vestiges of dirt and dead hair, but not hard enough to hurt. It actually felt pleasant, with the grundle currying away with expert motions timed to match the clock ticking in the corner. The little creature had to pull up a little stool to finish the unicorn's neck and the top of his back.
The grundle left the stool up when he put away the curry comb and selected a hairbrush. Blim and Griddle had done their task well; the soft bristled brush slid slickly through the strands of dark green hair. The wizened grundle smoothed Chameleon's mane, his hands expertly arranging the hair so that it fell neatly on one side of the unicorn's neck. The tail needed less work; a simple brushing took care of it.
"Almost done," the grundle assured the unicorn. "One moment." He disappeared to a back corner and began rummaging.
Chameleon watched him for a few seconds before turning back to the mirrors. He stared, and a dark green unicorn tinted with just a suggestion of granite stared back at him with emerald eyes. His symbol, a roughly shaped lizard formed out of thin, uneven lines, was barely visible in the dim light, especially since the interior of the beast matched his regular coloring. Chameleon moved a little and watched the lights catch the shine of his coat. He was still somewhat scruffy with his uneven coat and close examination revealed a few gaps in his mane where Blim and Griddle had been forced to cut the stubbornest snarls out of his hair, but overall he looked passably formal. Hopefully no one would noticed the hairless ring around his right foreleg, the leg that made him limp. Appropriate. All those years should leave some mark. His eyes narrowed a bit. And not just on me.
"Found something for you, sir." The grundle was smiling as he gently cradled something in his arms. "Something extra. For your time." From beneath his craggy brows, the blue eyes dipped towards Chameleon's right leg.
Chameleon stared at him in suspicion, but the grundle didn't seem to mind. The little creature smiled in reassurance as he slowly drew his hands apart to reveal a length of thick white ribbon trimmed with gold embroidery.
From the side of the room came a gasp (from Jabber) and a disbelieving gurgle (from Tidal) and Chameleon himself raised his eyebrows. The traditional tail ribbon had always been a symbol of luxury (the original implication being that any pony who wore a ribbon was wealthy enough to have a servant to tie it) and a ribbon with this kind of workmanship was extraordinary indeed.
"We don't have any more money," Tidal said, approaching.
"No, no, no money . . . a gift." The grundle lifted it so that it was just below Chameleon's nose. When the grey-green unicorn didn't move, the groomer pulled over his little stool and secured the ornate ribbon around the base of Chameleon's tail with three simple movements and a sharp tug.
"Well . . ." Tidal looked lost. "Ummmm . . . yes. Ah . . . we'd better be on our way now, but of course we're most appreciative . . ." He trailed off.
"Better to go now, sirs," the grundle said respectfully. "You'll be late."
"Late. Yes," Tidal said distractedly, drifting out the door. Jabber followed him, but continued staring wide-eyed over his shoulder at the grundle and Chameleon (resulting in a collision with Tidal just outside the door.
Chameleon looked sharply at the ugly little creature smiling in his unusually dapper suit. Chameleon had always listened to grundles, but he had never seen any point in knowing them. But maybe . . . "Do I know you?"
"No. No, sir. You'd better go with your friends now." The grundle made sweeping gestures towards the door (where the sounds of an argument between Tidal and Jabber were crescendoing.)
Chameleon's eyes tightened. "They aren't my friends."
The grundle smiled and nodded as he peered up at the unicorn with clear blue eyes. "That is why you may yet survive."