[Fillydelphia] A descent into Madness (closed. Pm for info)

[Blueblood]

This was not the sort of thing that the clerk had signed up for.  This job was, more or less, something of a sinecure.  Records came in, and you stamped them.  Almost nobody asked for them, and if they did, it was the recent ones he had to hoof, not the centuries-old records in the basement.

 

And now, here was this... mare, stallion?  Anyhow, he was being loomed over, and nopony likes that.  And then, just to discombobulate him further, Stormstride made a sudden change of tack, from the stick to the carrot.  Clearing his throat to buy time, the clerk looked at the plank, and then at Storm, back at the plank, back at Storm.  "Hmph, harrumph!  Attitude, you say?  Well, I'll have you know... ma'am, that it is a punishable offense to threaten a member of the public service.  And as for bribery, well!  Practically proverbial!  Quite impossible, no doing.  Now-"

 

"Excuse me, Comrade."  Psmith's voice was not loud, but it was quite close.  The lavender unicorn had silently moved until he was looking over the clerk's shoulder, startling him immensely.  "I do not wish to interrupt your most enlightening lecture on the nature of public incorruptibility, but I had to inquire as to whether that is the St. Mareson's school tie that you were wearing.  I have an interest, you know, in old schoolfellows."

 

"Eh, what?  Oh!"  Startled, and put back on his chair, the clerk tried to collect his wits.  Looking over, he saw that, indeed, the two stallions were wearing matching ties.  "Ah, well.  Went to same old school, did we?  Don't know if I remember you...?"

 

"Psmith.  Loving but somewhat scatterbrained parents attached the handle 'Wordsworth' to the beginning of it, but I ask that you not remember that.  I believe I came after your time, but the dormitories remembered you.  That little business with the Prench teacher and the dead rat-"

 

"The rat was not dead when we put it there!"  He burst out, before clapping a hoof over his muzzle.

 

"Of course, of course.  But little accidents happen, don't they?"  Psmith smiled sweetly.  "In any case, all we are asking is for you to help keep the old bonds within our alma mater strong.  After all, they are worth... advantages.  It is only fair, you know, as you got the job, that you pay it forward.  Let a pal take a look at the papers.  We promise not to steal anything, schoolcolt's word."

 

As a point of fact, Psmith had only spent a year at the prestigious prep school in Manehattan, but he'd been there long enough to observe how the 'old-colt's' network formed, and to what ends it was usually put.  He felt no guilt whatsoever about leveraging those tenuous ties, particularly when applied to the rather fatuous pony before him.

 

"Oh, well... I suppose that's alright then.  I'll leave you to lock up, alright?"  And tossing Psmith the keys, he departed.

[BeGoneThots]

Once he was gone stormstride snickered. "Why did you stop me? I was enjoying his confusion." She said before picking up the plank. Moving to the door ans locking it she turned toward him and smiled. "Alright. Almost magic hour. Lets get to it then."

She was excited. The prospect of digging into old records was amazing. There was a gleam in her eye that was gleeful even. She could barely wait to begin investigating.

[Blueblood]

"I take my delight, Comrade Stormstride, in alleviating the suffering of my fellow-ponies, not facilitating it.  It is my philosophy that one should go through life like a honeybee.  That noble creature, you will recall, bestows upon the world honey and wax; which is to say, those two excellent things, sweetness and light."  Psmith trotted along behind his companion as they began their dive into the naval records bureau.

 

The papers and parchments were stored in the basement; a long room full of old wooden filing cabinets.  It smelled of dust, old books, and slightly-off citrus fruit.  That was probably from the ill-fated effort to re-polish the cabinets nearest the door.  The young stallion trotted up to one of these, and stared at the first drawer, as if defying the encoded filing system to decode itself.

 

"Have you any sort of notion as to where we are to begin?  I am as eager as you are, comrade, to kick off this investigation, but I haven't more than three years of my life to spare for it.  The rest are spoken for."

[BeGoneThots]

Stormstride walked straight to the back. Looking inside a drawer, she looked at the dates. Closing the drawer she motioned toward a much older secrion of cabinets. "Check those. These are too early. We need a date around mid summer, 200 years ago. Section startinf with 2. Dont bother with alphabetical order. We could find a thousand ships named Voyager and never see a 2. The numerical names on ships, such as the second and third always seem to fall after the name. So look not for rhe name but the number." She moved to another cabinet. Opening a drawer and sifting through papers.

It was an hour later she held up a small stack of papers. "Found it. Registered to a fiahing family. Captain's name was Shipwright. last seen sailing up the coast in search of... hmmm its faded. He was supposed to return after a month. But never did.

[Blueblood]

Even while pulling out drawers and examining files, Psmith never let up in his string of commentary.  "And here I thought that the numbers were meant to avoid the duplication of names.  Or perhaps, simultanaity is the test; that there be no ship with the same name on the waters with another.  In which case, if the records were organized by date, which I admit, comrade, is a big if..."

 

And so he went on, like a faucet Stormstride's daughter forgot to turn off.  For an hour.  If one wanted to be around the loquacious unicorn for any length of time, one learned to treat his babbling as white noise.  At the end of it, however, Storm spoke up with something actually worth saying, and to his credit, Psmith shut up and listened for the duration.

 

"Fantastic!  We now have official confirmation to support that the Voyager II did indeed, exist!  The physical remains of its wreckage, of course, being mere circumstantial evidence.  Now, comrade Storm, what further information have we gained to the ultimate goal of our search, the location of the lost love of the last Shipwright?"

[BeGoneThots]

"None losted... just a port of call, and some mapping coordinates i cant read. His plotted course. How ofen he came back. The date he was reported missing... hmmm a month long search and they never found his ship. The sailed up and down the coast."

Sifting through the papers Stormy held up a single page. "His ship was a small dingy. Barely a seafaring craft. It was meant for river and shallow coastal sailing. Not the ocean.." as stoem spoke the urn began to glow softly. She didnt notice.

[Blueblood]

"Hm..."  Psmith was no navigator, though he could read a map as well as anypony.  The meaning of these particular coordinates eluded him, but he suspected that his boss might have been able to decipher them.  "Best copy that out, comrade.  Even if we can't make mane or tail of them, it is bound to happen that a pony of our acquaintance may-"

 

Few things in this world could make the mouth of Psmith stop in its tracks.  Therefore, otherworldly manifestations had an advantage in this respect.  "Comrade... I believe our third party member wishes to come out of his jar of clay.  It is only fair, as he had already lost the dust to whence he has returned." He was showing a remarkable degree of nonchalance for a pony seeing his first ghost.  If indeed it was his first ghost.  Wordsworth had kept a great variety of company as a foal...

[BeGoneThots]

Storm looked at the urn and gently levitated the lid off. The blue energy of the spirit drifted out slowly. Forming a transparent image. Shipwright stood a moment. He looked around. He seeked confused. "T..this is... where are we? It feels familiar. But i dont recognize..." he looked at the ponies. "Who are you?"

Storm spoke softly. "Its ok. Its me... Stormstride." The ghost seemed skeptical but nodded softly. "And this is?" "My friend... Psmith. He is a very intelligent pony. Hes helping me find your home." Nodding the shade of a pony sat. "How long has it been?" "Just a day or so. You can read navigation charts yes?"

The pony snorted. "What captain cant? My ship may be small but i can read the charts of any shipping vessel." Storm nodded. "No offense meant sir. I just.. things have changed..." she held out the chart. The pony looked them over. Reading the coordinates. "Thats my manefest. My choosen route and reports... but ntothing else. And.... wait.. they.. they sent out a search vessel? They didnt follow the currents." He seemed angry. "That blasted storm blew me off course and into a sand bar!! And thry didnt think to look out at sea!?!" A couple of the drawers popped open hard. One coming completely out.

[Blueblood]

Hm... it seemed that the ghost had not been informed as to Stormstride's recent change of self-representation.  Fair enough.  Psmith kept his amused smile politely concealed as he bowed to the shade of Shipwright.  "It is good to meet you at last; I had always found skeptics of the spiritual most annoying.  When one lives in a world with magic as an everyday fact, the phrases 'no such thing' and 'impossible' have a gratingly false ring."

 

Ever apropos of nothing, the unicorn lad found himself left babbling behind the conversation, the ghost being too busy using his existence for him to stop and prove that he had it.  In fact, he seemed quite upset.  "Well, comrade, depending on how well your ship could be stocked or provisioned, there may have been only a few places where one could look and expect to find a living sailor.  Having not found you there..."  It was thin, and he knew it.  Therefore, Psmith tapered off, caught in one of the rare instances where a profusion of words would not dampen high emotion.

[BeGoneThots]

Shipwright sighed and nodded. "I know. I know.... It is just that.... Marryweather... My sweet. I promised her I would always find her if she ever got lost. And in our community we took promises very seriously. Breaking a promise...meant your word was worthless and your boat would sink." He looked at his hooves. Then around again. "So much is different.....This place... It feels so familiar. But I dont know it." "Manehattan.... it grew and grew. it swallowed up the nearby towns. Making them part of itself." Storm said softly. 

 

She reached out but her hoof passed right through his back. She retracted it slowly. "I promise you... I wont rest until I find your beloved... or her resting place at the least. And reunite you..." The ghost pony nodded. "Alright then... She was a beautiful mare. If she was seen, any pony would know her. A blue coat with a silver mane and tail... Like yours. She was gentle and kind. So loving. She wanted to see the world. And I wanted to take her around it. I was planning on selling my ship. To fund our adventures." He chuckled. "Seems so pointless now.... Knowing I was never there to show her all the places she wanted to see." 

 

Storm nodded softly. "I can understand. Knowing there are so many opportunities you missed. But there is one you wont miss...you can still find her. And prove how much you loved her." "How..." "You said you followed her course... what other things can you tell us?" "Well... she couldnt swim well. Pegasus wings and all. As well, she was afraid of small boats. They could tip over easily."

 

Nodding softly, storm turned back to the records. "Can you give us the date she fled?" The ghost seemed startled. But he spouted off a date. "Psmith... Lets find the ships that made port here in Manehattan at that time. If she fled, she would have been on one of those ships. Something no pony would notice... like a passenger vessel. Can you give us any names of boats Shipwright?" "The Maretonia, a ferry vessel was in dock for repairs. She was leaving for the open sea again that day. The Capuracus, Cargo and passenger ship. The Celestian... A luxury vessel. Only a few passengers. But they were all rich folk. And The WaveBreaker. Fastest vessel in the waters. Shallow bottom. Could run a river as easily as the ocean. Always running up and down the coasts taking passengers between the ends of Equestria. She was a beauty. I helped build her. Double mast, Triple sails on both masts. As well she was crewed by twenty. Her captain was a well seasoned colt. He knew the seas and rivers by heart and better than the back of his hoof." 

 

Storm nodded. "Ok. Psmith... You heard him. Lets find passenger manifests of those ships from that day. Maybe we can get a lucky break and find where she got off. After that we can make for that port."

[Blueblood]

There was little Psmith could say to comfort the shade, though if Shipwright was receptive to such things, he might have been amused by the unicorn's babbling.  "Comrade Shipwright, I echo Comrade Stormstride's reassurances, with volume multiplied.  The cry goes 'round the castle walls, 'The Lovers shall not be separated forever!  Psmith is on the job, and shall see it through!'  It is right, that voiceless cry, as it usually is in such matters.  Clairvoyant, practically."

 

To his credit, his hooves were opening the drawers even as he spoke.  "We shall not bother with the luxury cruise; one goes on to such ships to be seen.  The Wave Breaker, I believe, will be the prime suspect.  Sleek ships of speed are known to capture the wandering pony and whisk them off to lands unknown... also, as you are no doubt aware, W is close to V in the alphabet.  We shan't have to travel far to find the manifest.  Ah, and here it is.... hm?"

 

The foxed pages of the folder were relatively thin for so fine a vessel, and the contents soon revealed why.  The registration was bound with six passenger manifests, and a newspaper clipping.  The clipping was from one of the earliest issues of the Manehattan Times, the front page headline screaming WAVE BREAKER WRECKS OFF FILLYDELPHIA SHORE.  Accompanying it was an etching of a reporter's sketch of the wreckage, with the coast guard pulling ponies to shore.  The living ones, anyhow.  The article included a list of the dead, though one of the entries was without a name.  It simply read: "Mare, Pegasus.  Blue Coat, Silver Mane.  No identification."

[BeGoneThots]

Stoem came close and read it over. Her face softened as she saw it. "Shipwright... i think we found what became of her...."

Stormstride sighed softly before looking at Psmith. "Does it give a better location? How close to shore?"

Shipwright sat silently. He knew now he was already dead. And if she had died... at least there was a chance they could be together.

[Blueblood]

"Hm..."  Psmith levitated his monocle from a jacket pocket, perusing the printed words through it.  The ink was faded, and the pages yellow, so this was by no means the simple operation that it seemed.  "North of harbor, a few miles?  I don't know if they are referring to the nautical or terrestrial variety.  In any case, the wreckage seems to have been spread over a fairly wide area... hm, I'm not sure what could have caused that.  One would be tempted to say 'explosion,' but such things are almost unheard of onboard civilian vessels."

 

He returned the page to the file and the lens to it's pocket.  "In any case comrades, our course is clear set.  We set off for Fillydelphia!  By train, if you don't mind.  I have for obvious reasons dampened confidence in sea travel."

[BeGoneThots]

Stormstride nodded softly. "By train it is then. The sea and I have a...misunderstanding as it were." Turning to Shipwright she paused a moment. "I know it is difficult for you. But You have to trust us. This isn't the first time either of us has worked an investigation together." The shade nodded softly. "Alright. But.... may I ask... who are you? You seem so familiar.... Your name... I think I heard it before." Stormstride hid her unease with a smile. "I am not the first to bare this name within my family... Nor will I be the last I hope."  

 

 

It was a full day and night later that Stromstride sat upon the seat in the train. It was relatively unoccupied. As was how she liked it. She had taken the time to spend a few bits on something to wear. A simple cloak and hat. Her saddlebags traded in for a smaller, newer set. She had copies of all the papers in them. Quill, ink, and spare parchment in the other. Her ticket had taken the last of her money. And she had made sure she paid for it herself, despite anything Psmith would have tried. As the train rolled along, the mare looked out the window. 

 

Suddenly her long silence was broken. She spoke for the first time in many hours. "Is it possible that.... family lines rise and fall like the tides. That a family that had once been great, can become great again? Or are they forever out of reach of that last grasp of sunshine they so long sought? Can the spirits of the lond dead be walking the world again, seeking the reverence they once had in a former life, now made anew?" Not the first time the mare had hinted at family past. But certainly more open than the last few times. She looked at her companion and smiled. "Forgive me. I ramble my thoughts at times. I was merely thinking on the old family history.... what we once were and may someday be again."

 

The gentle clack of wheel on rail kept a simple tempo in the background. "We were once a clan of weather mages. Before the weather teams were formed, and the pegasi kept a more harnessed control of the skies. We were often called upon to wrest storms under control. Often it was not a pleasant affair. My name sake, Stormstride Cloud the first... She was a powerful mare. Her magic was her undoing however. She challenged a Windigo. And was never seen again after the battle was over. She chased it away. Saving a small farm in Maretonia. Her son carried on, but things were never the same. A steady decline began. Our powers grew weaker. Our presence was needed less. My parents... they were reduced to weather researchers helping the pegasi of Cloudsdale understand the effects of Magic upon the weather they created." Looking at Psmith she smirked. "You think Me a fool dont you?"

[Blueblood]

Either Psmith was in the habit of traveling light, or he had stashes stowed away in various cities in case he had to travel to them in a moment's notice.  He never let on either way, but there was a suspicious crispness in the suit he wore the morning he and Stormstride took the train down to Fillydelphia.

 

It had taken numerous protestations for Psmith to accept that his companion would not put her ticket on his, or rather, his employer's bill.  Even now, the unicorn was plotting to slip a surreptitious bank note in the Storm's brand new saddlebags. 

 

Said plotting kept his brain occupied and his mouth shut, allowing his traveling companion the silence to think through things herself, and to emerge from her thoughts with a question.  That, of course, opened the floodgates... "Well, Comrade Stormstride, that is a fascinating question, with many socioeconomic variables, contingencies, and implications.  In my experience and observation of life, the attainment of prominence is as a product of chance combined with some especial factor.  In many cases, it is simply wealth and opulence.  Such families as base their pre-eminence upon their fortune rarely fall, but the fall, if it comes, is generally final.  Others make a tradition of public service.  Generally, the more generations they bank up of good service, the more generations they can stand of slackers and general chumps.  The Guard, you will note, is full of such, but it is the same in civil bureaucracy and academia.

"In any case, my friend and famed pillar of wisdom, Might Batsman, summed up the situation thusly: Do good at something, and with a little luck, you might get rich and famous.  If you're not lucky, at least you did good."

 

Having delivered this miniature lecture on the Equestrian work ethic, Psmith settled back to listen to Stormstride detail her family's situation.  "Not a fool, but a figure equally tragic.  You bear upon you a legacy greater than you can fathom, and yet no material reality confirms it.  I am merely assuming here, but I think parental pressure was all the greater because your greatness, as it were, existed only within your heads.  No outward symbol or Eustachian could be pointed to with which to say, 'We were here, and we were great.'  Am I correct?"

[BeGoneThots]

"Just their personal journals, passed down the family line. Here..." she levitated the book out. Laying its blank pages before him. As she looked at it, she spoke. "The writings of Stormstride Cloud the greater." The worss formed on the page.

These were not self glorifying memos. But detailed work involving how to shore up buildings against the weather. How to properly harness lightning by magic, and the list went on with experiments and incidents where she had been called to help when the local pegasi fell. "Her last entry details the sighting of a windigo. And she felt the need to interviene on behalf of the local ponies. The nothing is known about her after that. It is assumed she died or was spirited away and frozen in some forgotten cave in Maretonia's backward mountains."

Lwaning back in her seat she spoke again. "I just dont understand. After her disappearance, it was all down hill. Times changed and modern techniques took over the old ways. Im glad for it. But i have to wonder... is there something else? Or is there nothing more than just my parents shattered and broken dreams? I just dont know."

[Blueblood]

Psmith had never really very much interest in technical writing; his own favored style was rather more florid.  Violet-studded prose, you might say.  The journal, therefore, told him very little, much less than Stormstride the Younger, as she might be called now.  He flipped to the back, studying the account of the Windigo.  "I see, comrade, that she decided to face the beast alone.  Now, if I correctly recall my crypto-zoology, that is exactly the sort of attitude that allows that beast the greatest strength."

 

He closed the book and settled back, returning to his favorite pastime of speaking his thoughts.  "It would seem that your family's greatness was initially based upon them being able to do more with the weather than anypony else around them.  Once the monopoly was broken, they had to find a new role in society.  And they, apparently, did not.  There might have been a future in inventing new types of weather, for instance.  True, Chocolate Milk Rain carries echoes of Discord, but I can see its introduction being popular.  In fact,"  He saet up, eyes shining as he was captivated with his own idea, "Novelty weather still remains a largely unexploited field, Comrade Stormstride.  Think about it!  Room temperature snow, air thick enough to swim in, musical wind... the possibilties, they are endless!"

[BeGoneThots]

Stormy smirked. She chuckled lightly as she shook het head. "I think there is already a ban on such things. Though he prospect of making a renewable source of readily available things like that may be an option."

As she looked toward the window she smiled. "Im.. honestly glad i cant live up to that legacy. It justifies my last words to them." she closed the book. "Years of being told i wasnt good enough.. when it came to a head i told them the only reason i wasnt good enough was because they were worthless and unable to achieve theor own dreams themselves. The four years of silence afterword must have been painful. I dont mean to gloat about such... its not pleasant. But my parents were not pleasabt either."

Opening the book to another page she calles up notes about more familiar things. Common place study for pegasi on a weather team. As she read she spoke. "You look to alleviate the ailing of other ponies. But the question is... if they caused their own pain... why does it deserve help?"

[Blueblood]

"You would be surprised at what is technically legal.  Or not, depending upon your imagination and knowledge of regulations.  Granted, once holes of a more irritating sort are discovered, they tend to be patched.  For example, before I enrolled in St. Mareson's, it was allowable to juggle eggs in the Headmaster's office, race desk chairs down the hallway, and claim study rooms for personal use by means of clever tactics pitted against brute force.  They are not any longer."

 

Such piffle was was the bread and butter of the unicorn's discourse.  Most ponies paid it little mind once they got used to it, though very often if they listened, they might hear something shocking delivered in such smooth and rippling speech that they would never have suspected it.  That was one of the reasons talking was his favorite pastime, and also why the speech bubble on his flank was empty.

 

But now, the conversation was shifting to more meatier subjects.  Even Psmith's face grew serious as he contemplated Stormstride, and her question.  "To cure self-inflicted pain is to treat the problem at the source, which is often much more difficult, comrade.  And as it is rarely just themselves to which they cause pain, we multiply our effectiveness.  Hence, our undaunted efforts upon your behalf."  And there it was, the shocker.  If she wasn't paying attention, she might miss it...

[BeGoneThots]

She paused and looked up from the book. Setting it back in her saddle bags she stared at him. Not hard. But the gaze was that of a trained investigator studying their subject. After a moment she spoke.

"I have long suspected it of you and Star Breezer working behind the scenes to try and help things for me. But i confess... why do you try so hard for a pony that has told you thrice now... no."

[Blueblood]

Stormstride's hard look hit Psmith like a blow upon a padded wall.  There was about the young stallion the sort of softness that luxury can breed, but the unicorn could use it to stifle impacts from the exterior.  It was one of the things that marked him ultimately as a member of the noble class, the ability to completely ignore the opinions of others.

 

"It seems, comrade, that you have not been paying sufficient attention to our words and actions, if our transparent motivations appear so obscure.  I will sum up my own reasons thusly: The philosopher considers not only the individual, but the world as a whole.  One discordant note has an effect disproportionate to size or number."  The statement was somewhat elliptical, but before Psmith launched into the three paragraphs he'd prepared in explanation, the conductor announced:

 

"Fillydelphia Union Station!"

 

"Ah, we have arrived.  Let us table our disagreements for the common weal, like the good little socialists we are."

[BeGoneThots]

As they left the train, the mare walked slowly. She looked quietly about before taking a turn and heading away from the bay. She walked toward the city. "This was where the crash happened. We need the records office. So we can find where the bodies were laid to rest. After that a hotel room and then a meal."

She said softly. As she came to a street she paused. She knew the city. At least well enough to know where things were. But there was nothing here she wanted to venture into again. Waiting for Psmith to determine what he wanted to do about transportation, she looked toward the wearhouse district. Her apartment was there. Still available for her to sleep in. But she loathed it.

[Blueblood]

Cities had their character, given to them by something other than the mere sum total of all the ponies in them.  They were distinct, molding some characters, attracting others, and repelling them, too.  Psmith could see that Fillydelphia bore no attraction for Stormstride, quite the opposite in fact, but also that the reasons were intensely personal, rather than geographical.  She was simply not engaging with the place at all, just her own bad memories of it.  

 

The phrase, "stranger in a strange land" came to the stallion's mind, only this was an alienation deeper than mere exile.  There was for Storm no home; for where can you place a broken heart?  Such would doom her to constant wandering, unless something was done.

 

These were the thoughts that pre-occupied the unicorn, precluding speech and letting Stormstride lead the way.  "You are more familiar with the local territory than I am.  I do hope that your methods of engagement are polished, as it is rather less likely that I shall be able to trade upon old school connections for the compliance of the locals."

[BeGoneThots]

"That wont be an issue. A few ponoes owe me favors." She said but nothing more. Starting toward the street she walked slowly.but with a purpose. As she reached the cross roads to head into town she turned toward the docks.

"First. We stop at the naval records office. Get the list of where the dead were buried and find her body. After that we check and see if the cemetary is still up on its upkeeping. If they are not we have to sewrch the graves by date."

[Blueblood]

"Well, let us hope your acquaintances greet the appearance of creditors with smiles to rival the noonday sun!  My father always did so, and they seldom bother us anymore.  Most ponies, in fact, have learned not to attempt to irritate the Senior Psmith.  It is one of those tasks for which the word 'impossible' is not inappropriate.  Of course, an irritated Psmith is not a contradiction in terms, but long experience has taught Science not to hold its breath while searching for such a phenomenon."

 

The lavender unicorn was once again in his element, trailing behind Stormstride and taking in the scene.  The docks here were... rather a lot like the docks in Manehattan, actually.  Most of the buildings were built in the same style from the same sturdy brick; the same ships would sail between the ports; and the same sort of ponies would work them.  Of course, it made sense that this part of the city would most resemble others; in a way, it was closer than any other part of Fillydelphia to the rest of Equestria.

 

The trained eye could detect certain differences of style, however.  There was a singular lack of stateliness in the naval records office that made Manehattan's resemble a town hall by comparison.  Partly this was due to the utilitarian nature of the construction, but also was partly due to the fact that the pair were arriving there well within office hours.  There was a general bustle about the place that tended to obscure everything else, and line had already formed outside of the clerk's office.

 

"Well, we seem to be in for a bit of delay.  What say you save us a place in line, while I secure some of the local delicacies to tide us over?  Rumor has it they do wonderful things with pretzels."