Chapter Three

Somewhere between midnight and three AM, Angel's movements became mechanical. She took orders with drooping eyelids and miraculously managed to fill the tankards, dodge around patrons, and bang the drinks on the table so that the froth slopped over the rim, all the while in a thoughtless haze.

In her more self-aware moments, she congratulated herself for achieving this level of detachment; it was almost like she wasn't working at all. Of course, her method had its drawbacks . . .

"Angel. Angel? . . . Hey Angel!"

"Wha . . . what?" The blue earth pony rose from her stupor with a jerk, knocking over the tankard she'd been filling. "Oh Spicy, look what you made me do!"

"Daydreaming again? Cooo-ey, your head's always in the clouds." Spicy didn't look perturbed in the least, grinning around the handle of a fresh tankard before tossing it to Angel. "You got a visitor."

"A visitor? Is he—" Angel bit her tongue.

"It ain't a he at all. You got a beau, dearie? We was all hoping so, what with . . ." She let the sentence trail expectantly and look mildly disappointed when Angel didn't answer. "Well, aaaanyways, it's a she and she's all gold, like."

"Oh no!" Angel put her hoof over her eyes in despair. "Not Crumpet!"

"Is she a bill collector? I had one of thems after me once; took all my jewelry, she did. But I got her back. Paid a gang of kids to throw fish heads at her. Every time she stepped outside, for a month!" Spicy sighed happily at the memory. "So don't fuddle your head about it, Angel, a word with Trunk will soon fix Little Miss Yellow."

"NO!" Angel swung her hindquarter around to block Spicy before she could go jaunting up to the bouncer. "No, no, she's my sister, you see."

"Ehhh . . ." The mare tossed her pink hair. "I wouldn't mind setting 'im on some of my relations and that's a fact. But whatever you want."

"Right. Well." Angel gulped. "I'll go talk to her."

"All right, then." Spicy shook her head as she watched Angel walk across the room.

Crumpet was sitting ramrod straight at a table in the most private corner of the room, which happened to be the one farthest from the bar. Angel slipped into the seat opposite without a word.

"So." Crumpet broke the silence with a frigid glare. "It appears you work in this . . . this . . . place." Her gold eyes leveled. "Not, as you told me, at a boutique."

"I didn't want you to worry." Angel's voice held both apology and anger. "And it was none of your business!"

"It IS my business, you're my sister! And worry I shall when you work in rundown bar with ponies like those." She pointed at a crew of Clydesdales, smudged with grease and dirt, singing a rowdy song.

"They look rough, but most of them are decent ponies, really," Angel argued, praying that Crumpet wouldn't be able to discern the sea shanty's bawdy lyrics. "And if anyone acts up, Trunk tosses them out on their tail."

"Trunk? You mean him?" Crumpet stared disapprovingly at the heavy-browed, muscle-bound Clydesdale standing by the door and staring into space. "That brute works here?"

"Crumpet! Be quiet, he'll hear you!" Angel hissed, cheeks flaming. "He's nice. A family pony."

"A family of what, rats?" Crumpet asked drily, staring at a devilish looking rat tattoo on Trunk's shoulder. "Angel, this is no place for you! Especially in your condition!"

"And what condition," Angel ground out, "might THAT be, sister?"

"She means 'cause you're preggers, dearie!"

"What the—" Angel whipped around to find a familiar purple pony scrubbing a table with a wet rag. "SPICY!"

"Oh my, how embarrassing! I couldn't help overhearing," Spicy said, not chagrined in the least. "So this is your sis, is it?"

"Angel, who is this pony?" Crumpet asked stonily.

The blue pony sighed. "Spicy, this is my sister Crumpet. Crumpet, this is my friend Spicy."

"Nice 'n Spicy's my full nom-en-cla-ture," she said, tossing her pink mane back, "but between you and me, I ain't always so nice."

Crumpet's golden eyes narrowed just a fraction. "Well, well."

Either Spicy didn't notice Crumpet's disapproval or she didn't care. In any case, she plopped down on a chair, crossing her forelegs on the table. "You don't have to worry about Angel here, we take care of our own. 'Sides, Cranberry stayed while she was in the family way. Thought she was going to have it right on the floor, I did."

"Really!" Crumpet gasped. Spicy apparently took this as an exclamation of disbelief rather than dismay because she nodded energetically.

"Oh yes! She looked just like a watermelon by the end of it. My, my."

"Spicy . . ." Angel said in a meaningful way.

"Ah, you're wanting some private talk with your sis. I get you. It's time I was serving up another round to that bunch by the tap anyway." She hurried away to tend to a group of ponies who'd emptied their cups.

Crumpet arched her eyebrow at her sister.

"I know she's . . . well . . . brash," Angel admitted. "But she's a nice pony, truly."

"Hmph. First 'Trunk' is nice, now 'Spicy' is nice." Crumpet's eyes widened as they flicked between Trunk and Angel. "Oh Angel, it's not him, is it?"

"What do you--? Crumpet! Of course not!"

Her sister's gold cheeks colored slightly. "Well, how am I supposed to know? You said he was . . ."

"A family pony, if you'll recall. With a mate and a little foal," Angel snapped. "And besides, he's—well, not that there's anything wrong with him, but he's not . . ."

"Not our kind of pony." Crumpet nodded briskly. "And I'm glad you realize it. But I do wish, dear," she hurried on as Angel's face darkened, "that you would just tell me . . . you know . . ."

"Who the father is?" Angel asked drily.

"Angel!" Crumpet leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper. "There's no need to say it like that."

Angel let her head thump forward onto the table. "Stress is bad for pregnant ponies, you know."

"I just worry about you. You could've had just a nice future, married Twist or Hippity—oh, stop making that face, they're nice boys—but instead you go gallivanting off who-knows-where doing who-knows-what for ages and ages. And there we were at home not knowing if you were alive or dead . . ."

"I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch, it's just . . ." Angel pushed her curly forelock out of her eyes. "There was no way to get messages back to the Waylands. Everywhere I went was too remote or too far away."

"You were too far away."

"Oh Crumpet." Angel sighed. "I wanted to live my own life. See things. Do things. There are islands where the lava flows like a river right into the sea, there are forest full of birds that talk, there are ponies with eyes like jewels—oh, what's the point? You'll never understand."

"I'm sure you saw things I never shall." Crumpet's chair scraped back as she stood. "For that I envy you. But look where you are now. Was it worth it, Angel?"

Angel waited until her sister left before whispering, "I don't know."