#grumpy goat

He demanded, “Show yourself, Goat!”

I turned my head toward him, the bare bone, glowing snake-like eyes and fangs of the skull giving the impression of utter puzzlement. (Glamor spells are delightful and easily cast, if you know how!) “I am, Doctor. This is me. You know it too. Just because my body is invisible does not mean that I am not here.”

“You know what I mean!”

I drew myself up. “Yes. You want me to make you more comfortable with the situation. I saw your ad, endorsed by the whole Medical Association. Your request that I alter my appearance for your comfort is denied, unless you pay me to cast a glamor spell on my person to render myself visible. That will cost you 20 Golden Bits.”

“Not a copper for your bogus illusions!”

Batting the eyelashes that I don’t have in pure innocence, I retorted, “You mean the ones that YOU personally could not tell from reality in the open courtroom, in front of the judge and jury?”

The sound of his teeth grinding was pure music.

“Now, Doctor, why are you here at all?”

“YOU KNOW WHY I AM HERE!”

“No need to shout, Doctor, and no I do not.”

Crossly, the Doctor snapped, “You are practicing medicine without a license! You must stop it at once!”

“Now, Doctor Crossly, you know that is simply a lie! Your association already tried suing me on that claim. You lost. I counter-sued for defamation. I won.

“Where is the gold that I was awarded? It is four months late! Do you have it on you? Payment arrangements perhaps?” I asked eagerly. I was leaning forward with fascination. Gold and silver always interest me.

Doctor Crossly growled, “You will not get a copper bit from us!”

I noticed a lovely pure black ear over in my open vault-like doorway.

Glaring at my somewhat intimidating skull with its curled horns, glowing snake like eyes, fangs and the everburning candle between the horns, he demanded again, “Show yourself! Stop this ridiculous puppetry and foolish illusions!”

Delighted that I had got under his skin, I replied pedantically, “Now, Doctor Crossly, this is a Glamor Spell, not an illusion. You should remember the difference from your courtroom embarrassment. An Illusion has only an appearance but no substance. A Glamor, on the other hoof, has the both the appearance and effect of substance, even if there is none in reality.”

It was delightfully easy to shove his buttons! Dealing with Doctor Crossly in court had showed me a good many of them.

Unwisely, he took a swing at what he could see. My skull.

I am attached to my skull. Not, however, like most are. It is the last and only part of my old body from before I died/was killed. I can take it off like a hat if I want to. (For details on how Grumpy got this way, read A Bad Day For Grumpy Goat.)

I did not want to. I blocked his swing with my right, feeling the shock of it right up to the shoulder that I do not really have! My counter punch with my left hoof took Doctor Crossly in the ribs and did not stop for over six inches after impact.

The counter-punch slammed Doctor Crossly off his hooves. He lay curled around his pain and the embarrassment of a goat hoof shaped bruise. I could see it in his eyes. A Goat! How dare the creature strike a true pony! A unicorn and a doctor!

Just at that moment, as if the world was conspiring against him, a lovely pure black mare put her head out of my iron door, set into the sold iron work that blocked the cave entrance. Coalsmoke said brightly, “I was setting the library shelves into order, Grumpy. I can’t seem to find Daring Do, number 12, The Gryphon’s Quest. Any idea where it is?”

Glancing down she said dismissively , “Doctor Crossly! Why are you on the ground?”

Getting slowly to his hooves, the doctor snapped, “He struck me violently and without cause!”

Coalsmoke calmly replied, “That is false, Doctor. I watched the whole thing from the door, here. I saw you swing at Grumpy’s head. He simply defended himself. It is not his fault if you are a lousy fighter.

“Now, quit changing the subject every time that you are in the wrong, which seems to be most of the time! WHY are you here at all? I saw your Ponyville Medical Association full page ad in the Prancer. You know the one. “WHICH Doctor? Or WITCH doctor?” Have YOU chosen the Witch Doctor? That would be lovely.”

Doctor Crossly snapped, “I am here to demand that he stop treating medical conditions! Only Qualified Doctors can do that!”

I snickered and replied, “Why didn’t you just say so and leave? You know that the courts ruled on the matter when you sued me. Not one of my registered contracts that you entered into evidence, made any statements about TREATMENT. They specified desired results. They also offered a better than money back guarantee if the result failed to happen. They all did happen through a concatenation of natural events, not some form of treatment.”

The doctor paced back and forth on my ledge as he growled, “All of those patients quit necessary medical treatments and medications!”

Coalsmoke batted her perfect eyelashes at him as she rammed a stick through his spokes. “They all quit because they got well and did not need you anymore. Your real objection is that it stopped you from doing a vital operation on all of them.”

“What operation do you mean?”

Giggling in delight, she retorted, “CASHECTOMY of the WALLET!”

Doctor Crossly was furious! He was going to need a dentist if he kept grinding his teeth together like that! I cheerfully told Doctor Crossly, “Wait just a bit, will you? I have something that you, as head of the Medical Society, need!”

I popped inside the cave to my front chamber living quarters and took up a sheet of my letterhead. I am a licensed practitioner of non-equine magic, after all. A Professional.

I sat and pulled the writing kit close. Dipping the pen, I started to write.

Outside, Coalsmoke was sitting comfortably in the sun. She is a vision of loveliness, even to a goat. Truly a beautiful pony. The pure blackness of her glossy coat disturbed only by the orange hourglass like mark on each flank. It was just like the one seen on the abdomen of a black widow spider.

Doctor Crossly glared at her. “Have you no shame? Being seen here with a Goat? This vile beast of so-called non-equine magic?”

Coalsmoke looked at him brightly, as if examining a really fascinating and very ugly bug. “I would be far more ashamed to be seen with YOU, Doctor. At least Grumpy is honest.”

“What do you mean by that, you husband murdering hussy!”

Instead of reacting to the insult, Coalsmoke smiled. A hungry Eastern Tiger seeing easy prey would have turned quietly away if its prey had smiled at him like that. “Oh, dear. Doctor Crossly, I will have to file charges of incompetence against you. It is YOUR signature on TWO of the six death certificates of my dear late husbands. You totally missed the true cause of death both times, if what you just said is true.”

She innocently batted her perfect eyelashes at him and suggested, “Prove your assertion. You personally attend three of the deaths of my six husbands so far. You did two of the autopsies and and assisted on a third.

“The first died of a tree limb falling on his head after lightning hit the tree. You certified accident of nature.”

“The second was playing chess at his club. He suffered a sudden heart seizure and passed in seconds surrounded by witnesses. You certified S node heart failure.

“The third one that you were involved in died of an antibiotic allergy while in Ponyville General Horsepital for observation of a lung complaint. The antibiotic in the bag was the right one. You administered the antibiotic that killed him. It was in the injection site swab.

“Would you care to comment on your degree of incompetence? You just said that they were murders. Since YOU caused one of those deaths, why not put murder on the death certificate?”

Absolutely embarrassed, Doctor Crossly tried his favorite tactic. Changing the topic. “How else do you account for all of your husbands dying?

Utterly nonplussed, Coalsmoke replied, “Why, usually with the help of the Medical Society, I pick them for a prognosis of a short lifespan. Usually due to a chronic or terminal condition.

“If the Medical Society can’t help me, I come up here and get Grumpy to call up the Litch King. He can usually tell me pretty exactly how long a pony will live if nothing interferes.”

At that point, I came cheerfully out of the cave. I handed Doctor Crossly a folded paper. “This is your Medical Society’s formal notice of my intent to sue. The cause is slander and libel for the ad in the Prancer.”

He was about to wad it up. Coalsmoke said, “Feel free. The Intent will be registered. I am a witness to service.” She cheerfully hoofed a signature on a delivery receipt.

I did overhear the previous conversation with the Doctor so I decided to yank his chain. Being rude to Coalsmoke is a sure way to get to me. She is one of the few real friends that I have.

I looked back into the cave to be sure that Clarence was there. The Litch King only lets his friends call him that. Clarence is not really his name but it lets us be informal.

He was. He had a book in hoof. He gave me the high-sign. He had heard the insult to Coalsmoke too. Like me, for some reason, the Lord of the Dead has very few friends. She is one.

I turned to her and said, “Sweet Incarnation of the Queen of the Damned, you requested Audience with the Litch King. I have raised him for you.”

Coalsmoke gave me a formal nod and replied, “Very good. Has he the Appointments?”

Back in the cave, Clarence gave a grin and hoof-up! He glamored the book in his hoof to a large, crumbling tome. The bare boned Alicorn skeleton that was the Litch King’s real form, paced solemnly out into full view. He held forth the tome opened to a place.

Coalsmoke looked at it, running a delicate hoof down the page. She nodded, “Thank you, Lord of the Dead. I have one other that I should like to see.”

She leafed back earlier in the ancient leather covered book. Finding a page, she began to run her delicate hoof down it. Muttering to herself, but loudly enough to be heard, “Crossit, Crossly, Cross ~ ~ ~ Here it is!”

The clatter of fleeing hooves accompanied Doctor Crossly’s exit from my ledge.

We were laughing so hard that we had to lean on each other to keep from rolling on the ground!

Clarence dropped the glamor on the book and let Coalsmoke have Daring Do, number 12, the Gryphon’s Quest. She happily shelved it and we all sat out in the now very nice day while I read to us all out of Daring Do and the Werehound.

Besides letting us call him Clarence, the Litch King has a weakness of sorts. He loves to be read to and is especially delighted by the Daring Do series of books.

We came to the chapter’s end in plenty of time for me to take a few contracts and my Intent to Sue down to the Hall of Records in the Ponyville Town Hall.

Coalsmoke came with me. She needed to go home to her mansion. Mansion? Yep. Twenty two rooms. Hundred acre estate and all the trimmings. Her chosen way of life has left her very rich indeed.

Place like that needs a lot of looking after and she is a wise manager of her resources.

So, why spend time up on my mountain with Clarence and I? Friendship. The same reason that she spends her free coin at Caramel Treat’s Sweets. Caramel, Fangrin her mate and I were the first real friends that she had. She came to us, beautiful and abused. Battered actually. She had some serious spine hidden in there. (for details, read Coalsmoke’s Cutie Mark.)

Now she is one of Ponyville’s richest ponies. Her company is sought out by the social elite for their parties and charity things. She is unfailingly generous. Some have accused her, like Doctor Crossly, of murder. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Knowing the Litch King and I, she has an inside track on how long a prospective husband is likely to live. Our little charade for Doctor Crossly had a grain of truth. She is actually the very best possible wife for each one. She simply takes ones that will not live long. She has even loved most of them. And been VERY practical about their passing. Hence, her wealth.

We got into town in plenty of time. We stopped by the Town Hall and registered my Intent to Sue and contracts. I also set up an appointment with Judge Coldheart. The subject was to obtain a Writ of Collection by Seizure against the Medical Society for past due judgments and the witnessed statement that they were not going to pay them. Coalsmoke signed a witness affidavit for that.

We cheerfully retired to Caramel Treat’s Sweets for a bite of dinner before we parted ways. Caramel is always delighted to see us. That feeling is mutual.

Due to her and her mate Fangrin being werewolf ponies, she is sensitive to the whole issue of discrimination and does not allow it in her place of business, or her home either.

As we walked into the outdoor dining plaza, another diner threw down his napkin and stamped over to say, “You should be ashamed of yourself, Madam! How dare you bring a GOAT into a respectable dining establishment!”

The waitress, a sweet palomino mare named Peanut Brittle, intercepted him. “Doctor Bale, please resume your seat. What you have just said is a violation of our protocols here at Caramel Treat’s. Both Coalsmoke and Grumpy are regulars here. If you do not like sharing an outdoors plaza with them, please pay your tab and leave.” She pointed to a well famed sign.

It said, “If you have a problem with any customer of mine, due to species, race or kind at all, please leave. If you try to cause any difficulty, WE BITE – HARD!” The words were flanked by a very well done portrait of Caramel on one side and Fangrin, her mate, on the other. In Wolf Form.

With bad grace, the Doctor returned to his table. He ostentatiously picked up his three copper bit tip.

Peanut smiled at that cheap show of stupid disapproval. She showed us to our favorite table. The Celestian Church, (denounced by Celestia as a worthless cult) was having a unicorn superiority rally in the park. (for details and a bit of fun, read IVY COVERED HALLS and Immortality?)

I commented cheerfully, “It must be Autumn already! The Nuts have fallen from the trees!”

Coalsmoke giggled and dropped one of those comments that accidentally lead to great things. “Too bad that your Friday the 13th spell only works on individuals. What fun it would be to watch things going wrong for that whole bunch at once!”

I was laughing at the thought when it hit me that maybe it could happen. I am a professional at Non-Equine Magic, after all. The best (and only) licensed practitioner of Non-Equine magic in all of Ponyville and surrounding areas.

It was her suggestion and Doctor Bale’s rudeness combined that led down the path of Doctor – Contagion – Non-Equine Magic’s contagion spells + Friday the 13th = Eureka! I pulled a sheet of paper and my writing kit out my saddlebag. I was happily scribbling the connective spells when Peanut brought our dinners out.

She considerately set mine to one side of my paper and lit the table’s candle in a bottle. She said, “Doc Bale always finds an excuse to 'take back his tip’ just like today.

“He went over to the Rally.”

Coalsmoke grinned. “Thanks for your always excellent service, Peanut. Here.” She gave Peanut a whole Silver Bit. Thinking a moment, she handed another to Peanut. “I will get this back from him later. He is onto something and I want to watch!”

I held up the paper and muttered, “Bungle!” at it. Some of the smallish diagrams began to glow. I followed that with, “Hortimer!” Then I stuck the paper into the candle flame.

It flared lightly, leaving no ash at all. A smoke curled up and the tip of it aimed like a hunting hound at the Celestian High Priest Hortimer. It shot across the street and into the park.

High Priest Hortimer is a pony that I have no liking for at all. Watching the Friday the 13th hit him was, as a result, a delight. He reared impressively and one hind hoof caught his fancy white and gold robe. He tripped and fell heavily onto the make-shift stage. Three of his toadies leaped at once to help their fallen leader!

I mentioned, make-shift? They all went through the deck of the stage, making a hole that Hortimer’s head dropped into. Another, trying to assist, accidentally dropped Hortimer’s whole forequarters into the hole.

There was Hortimer, head first in the hole, hind legs waving wildly in the air. That was when I noticed the reporter from the Ponyville Prancer. Romaine was getting some fine shots of the whole debacle.

Doctor Bale was standing at the edge of the crowd between the stage and us. He tried to set off an Anti-Goat mob by yelling, “Goat! Over there! He did this!”

It did not help that he was right! The mob turned as one. In the last coordinated movement of their day, they charged toward Caramel’s. Doctor Bale was in the way. The charge became a massive pony-pile on top of him!

Romaine’s camera got a workout! We got a huge giggle fit. Watching the disaster made the meal tastier, somehow.

I trotted happily up the mountain to my cave through a glorious sunset and falling dusk. The iron door to my cave opened for me. Clarence was waiting for me.

Made me feel sort of special. Not every pony or goat, for that matter, has the Litch King greet him at the door and be welcome! Most would, justifiably, panic if it happened to them!

Clarence was grinning. That really should be impossible with his face, and the rest of him for that matter, being bare bone. It wasn’t. He was grinning.

“I saw what you did, Grumpy! It was in the late Prancer. It was delightful. Doctor Bale was one of the ones who helped to make that advertisement that you disliked so. He went to the Horsepital Emergency Room shortly after all of those ponies trampled him.

“That was a merry scene! Stands got tripped over, and a syringe full of sleeping medicine stabbed his rear when he tripped on a blanket. That finally stopped him from moving and creating chaos! His bill is going to be huge!”

With that delightful news, I let the glamor on my body go and picked up my skull from its stand beside my easy chair. I sat and sorted my day’s mail. The late edition Prancer was included. It had been opened by Clarence. Coalsmoke sent a note with it. “Dear Grumpy: They wasted no time getting this on the streets! I thought that you and Clarence would enjoy it. C~”

I looked up from the news paper. Alongside the huge lead article with many pictures of Hortimer’ embarrassing disaster, they had printed Celestia’s latest Denunciation of the So-Called Celestian Chuch. Romaine, the reporter, had column inches galore again.

She is paid by how many inches of of her work in the newspaper columns are published. That includes photos. She is presently the highest paid reporter on the paper’s staff.

Clarence likes her. He met her at a Nightmare Night party thrown by Caramel Treat and Fangrin. She has been VERY lucky about being in the right place at the right time ever since.

The next morning, she was up at the ledge in front of my cave. Along with her were ten ponies with clearcut medical conditions. One had a running sore up his left foreleg, another had the stiff and painful movement of severe arthritis, one was coughing heavily, one was being guided by another due to impaired vision. Then there was the boil infested pony, and the one that had ribs sticking out from his sides like he was starved. The others were all of the same cut.

Romaine, being a good reporter, was staying out of the story, off to one side, taking notes and photos.

I started off by asking, “OK, you ponies are all clearly outside of my legal practice in Non-Equine magic. You should be seeing your regular doctors. What brings the lot of you here?”

The arthritic pony said, “I was sent here by my doctor. He said that you would give me a potion or some such that would fix this right up.”

“I am afraid that your doctor lied. That would be treating a medical condition. If I wanted to and could do it that way, I still would not. It happens to be against the law.”

The blind one asked plaintively, “What about my eyesight? Doc Bale said that you could, like dance around a diagram, what he call it, penta sometheing. Wave wands or rattles and shit to call the spirits to fix my eyes.”

Almost sadly I replied, “Same story. I can not do it that way at all. It would have the side effect of killing you outright. It would also be an illegal treatment of your medical condition.

“Doctor Bale sent you?” A suspicion was rising like a deadly serpent preparing to strike in my mind.

I asked, “Each of you, one at a time, who was the doctor that sent you to me?”

Instead of replying Coughing Pony asked, “You mean that you can’t help us at all? My doc said that I am terrible contagious.”

“I did not say that I can’t help you. I said that I can’t do it the way that your lying doctors said. They had me in court and lost on these very issues.

“Now. Your Doctor’s name.”

“Um, Crossly.”

The list grew. They were all sent by either Doctor Crossly, the head of the Ponyville Medical Society, or Doctor Bale who was his second in command. Definitely a set up.

I told them all, “Wait here a bit. Non-Equine magic does follow certain rules. There are laws to check as well. I am going to be a little time looking things up.

“If I am right, I may be able to help you without breaking any law or rule.”

I popped back into my cave and hit the book shelf. Between what I had done to the Unicorn Superiority rally and Coughing Pony mentioning contagious, I had a perfectly evil idea. I dug through my real magic shelf like a hungry cat after a mouse! Being me, if I could do it, I was going to. It looked almost too good, in a wonderfully cruel way!

I grabbed one of my contracts, some extra paper and a pen. I wrote with feverish swiftness.

I came out in a few more moments. I had paper, a pen a candle, and one of my contracts, ready to sign.

Cheerfully, I asked, “Who wants to save a whole lot of gold bits?”

They all affirmed variations of “Sure do!”

I smiled at them all in a very predatory way. “I charge for my services. 100 golden bits is my lowest normal base charge. I do not need to be a genius to see that you are all pretty poor.

“I have to be paid. That is a condition of how the magic works. What I will do to save your pocket books is simply this. We will make it one contract, split ten ways. That reduces your charge to only ten apiece.

“If it does not work the way that the contract says, you all get eleven gold bits back. Fair enough?”

The pony with the running sore on his leg squinted his eyes and demanded, “What does it cost besides the gold? Do we lose our souls or worse?”

“Nope. This contract is with me and me alone. I have exactly zero use for your soul if, indeed, you have one. I would not know. Not my business in any case.

“You put up ten golden bits. You sign the contract. That is it. The front page was drawn up by a lawyer pony and is standard on all of my contracts. All that it does is specify the amount to be paid, the terms for fulfillment and refund if the contract is not fulfilled.

“The second page is, in this case, a simple statement that each of the undersigned, which will be you all, are afflicted with a medical condition.

“It further states that you will do a simple task that I will give to each of you. After that, sometime inside of six hours after you physically touch or are touched by your doctor, you will no longer be afflicted by your condition.

“Finally, it clearly states that you understand that you have received no form of treatment for your affliction. The fact that your affliction is not afflicting YOU in no way means that the affliction has abated or been treated.”

The Boils Pony asked in a very puzzled tone, brows drawn down in vee as he tried to work it out, “How can it not afflict us if it ain’t treated or abated?”

I grinned hugely. “The short answer is Non-Equine magic! The longer one is my actual business. If I do not come through with the RESULTS promised, I owe you money. More than you paid. I am allergic to giving out refunds.

“I did once. (for details, read Turnabout, a Grumpy Goat *tail*) The spell did work. Client claimed his refund because I had nothing to do with how it worked out, in spite of the contract saying specifically that the money was mine if he got the RESULTS. He did get the results. He also claimed his refund. He has regretted that decision ever since.”

They thought it over and nodded. Each one hoofed his signature or mark on the contract and paid his ten golden bits.

Coughing Pony was the last. He looked up, “What now, Mister Goat?”

I set the two signed pages of the contract onto blank pages and pressed them together. I took off the top, original pages and folded them into an envelope marked “Registry.” I folded together paired copies and put them each into envelopes and gave each pony one. Smiling, I explained, “Making copies like this is technically called a contagion spell. Has nothing to do with being sick.”

I hoofed around slips of paper. “These are already set with the spell that you have all bought. You need only sign your name or mark to your slip and say your doctor’s name as you burn the paper in this candle flame.

“That will set the spell safely on you. There will be a small smoke from the paper that will go into you. It is harmless. It carries the spell that that will release you from your afflictions without breaking any laws or rules.”

It took almost no time at all for them to do it. Romaine did observe, “They are all still sick.”

I nodded, “Indeed they are. I did say that I cannot treat their afflictions because they are medical conditions. Follow them and see how it happens!”

Turning to the group, I suggested, “They sent you en massé. Demand to be seen the same way. Let them tell the whole group of you what a fraud I am for not healing you! Remember, each of you must touch or be touched by your doctor! Romaine’s camera will prove it.”

Romaine knew me well enough to say, “Come, gentle ponies, you have a Doctor’s appointment to keep!”

She gave me a questioning look when I glamored the appearance of a regular goat on my body and put my skull on the reading stand by my easy chair. I came out to join them, saying, “This should be too much fun to miss!”

Clarence stuck his bony head out the door and asked, “May I come too, Grumpy?”

“Sure! Just not like that! It could alarm some to see you that way!”

“Right,” said the Funeral Director looking pony who was standing where Clarence was only moments before. He tipped his tall black hat to Romaine and we all trooped down the mountain.

It was a merry little parade through Ponyville to the Medical Society office building. Literally the halt leading the blind. We were all met by Doctor Crossly. Doctor Bale was standing behind him, a triumphant grin on his face.

I was hanging back along with Clarence. Doctor Crossly, making a grand gesture, declared, “Just look at these poor ponies! Not a one helped in any way by that quack of a goat! It is clear that his claims of healing are totally false!”

Romaine stepped forward, “Sir, I am Romaine, of the Ponyville Prancer. May I quote you?”

“You may! This has proved for good and all that he can do no sort of actual magic of any sort. Only a true Unicorn or other honest pony has any magic!”

Romaine made notes as well as photos. Then she raised her hoof again. “Doctor, these ponies are all patients of yours or Doctor Bale’s. Considering that Mister Grumpy Goat has demonstrated a talent for illusion, should you not actually examine them before making any pronouncement?

“I mean, what if he was attempting to trick you into looking foolish by illusions?”

Clarence was grinning ear to ear.

Doctor Bale stepped up and said, “We are prepared for that. We have here, High Priest of the True Church of Celestia, Hortimer! He will first dispel any illusion or trickery. Then we shall examine each of these ponies to prove the falseness of Non-Equine magic and expose the Goat, its bogus practitioner!”

Clarence was almost beside himself with giggles. I was truly tempted to cast another Friday the 13th on him but there was a better way. Fortunately, I was prepared. The small slip of paper had my name on it.

As Hortimer, in his full phony finery stepped forward, I muttered his name and the paper flamed away without any ash. The smoke almost invisibly hunted him down as he was casting his holy waters and ringing his bell at each verse of the HOLY TRUTH of CELESTIA.

I giggled too. I had last night’s late Extra of the Prancer with Celestia’s most recent denunciation of the Celestians as a worthless cult in my saddlebag. This was almost too good.

Hortimer stepped back, pronouncing, “They are dispelled of all evil influence, illusion or false seeming!”

The Doctors took each pony in turn to examine. The afflicted ponies were put in a line in front of the Medical Society, weeping sores, blindness and all.

Doctor Crossly yielded the podium to Hortimer, who pronounced with a grand gesture, “Not one of these ponies has been healed at all! This PROVES that the Vile Goat can not do do as he claims and cure anything whatsoever!”

Doctors Crossly and Bale were flanking Hortimer and nodding triumphantly. Romaine stepped forward and asked, “Romaine, of the Prancer, High Priest, Sir. May I quote you?”

Condescendingly he replied, “It is of little note, being self evident that the goat is not a unicorn, but yes, you may quote me.”

She pressed on, “Isn’t it true that the Medical Society made those claims and that they lost the case and a defamation counter suit brought by Grumpy Goat in the courts of Equestria, four months ago? It was proved then that he never made any such claim. Isn’t that true?”

Hortimer snapped, “The courts were led into error by the lying beast!”

He and Doctor Bale stopped, looking about in puzzlement. “What has happened to Celestia’s sweet light?”

Among the ponies lined up in front of them came an exclamation, “I can see again!”

Doctor Crossly’s foreleg began to show the stain of a weeping sore on a foreleg. He started to sit in puzzlement, to pull up the medical coat leg to see the sore. He discovered immediately that it is unwise to sit on multiple boils. Hortimer was making the same discovery and coughing too. Crossly joined him. A sore was weeping through the foreleg of his white and gold priestly robe. Hortimer’s ribs began to show as he became emaciated.

Bale’s ribs followed suit.

Each of them received the afflictions of his patients as the patients became affliction free. Hortimer got the entire lot. I have mentioned my dislike of that pony?

Romaine’s camera was getting the whole thing on film!

Just as the last of the afflicted ponies became free of problems, Doctors Crossly and Bale got another.

Constables showed up with building condemnation tape. One handed Doctor Crossly a writ from Judge Coldheart. He said, “Doctor Crossly, sir, as the representative of the Ponyville Medical Society, I must formally demand payment of the ten thousand golden bit Defamation Judgment to Grumpeter Goat immediately. Will the Medical Society pay the order of the court?”

He retorted, “No! Equestria does not allow debtor’s prison and you can hardly imprison the whole society in any case!

“That was the answer that we were instructed to expect, sir. We have no choice but to enforce the Writ.

“This entire building and all of its contents are seized on the debit. It will all be inventoried and auctioned off. If there is any balance after the debit and costs of court, inventory, and sale, that balance will be rendered to the Society. We are to allow the supervised removal of provable personal goods.”

The remaining two constables began to efficiently secure the condemnation tape, forbidding any further access to the structure.

It was sweet music to hear the whines and complaints of the recipients of the unhealed, untreated afflictions as they were led or helped away from the scene.

Romaine was near dancing with delight. She popped past us, exclaiming, “Column Inches! I never dreamed that I was going to get this big a story!”

Clarence stopped her with a courtly gesture. “Grumpy and I would be honored to treat you to an open menu at Caramel Treat’s when you have got your story filed.”

She exclaimed, “It’s a date, Clarence! This is going to take me about an hour to get into shape! I will be hungry by then, you may be sure!” She scampered off to the Prancer’s offices.

We were waiting for Romaine at Cramel’s place when Coalsmoke cantered up. “Grumpy! I just heard how you are going to get the Medical Society’s payment! Excellent. I will have to remember that method for some debits that I am owed.”

I replied, “Why thank you, Coalsmoke. We are waiting for Romaine to finish filing a delightful story in the Prancer. Would you please join us?”

As she sat, she said, “Thank you, Grumpy. I would be honored.”

When Romaine arrived, she had galley proofs of the whole story to share with us.

The excellent company and reading the proofs made it a meal to remember.

–THE END–

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Coalsmoke put a hoof to her mouth to suppress a giggle. She took the book of “EVIL LORE” from me and opened it. With a big, fake happy smile, she held the book where Doctor Crossly could see it and pointed a hoof at his sores. She said loudly and cheerfully, “Look, Grumpy! It worked on the first try! You guys are great teachers!”

Doctor Crossly stopped cold, just short of my ledge. He looked ready to rend us all with bare fangs, if he’d had anything but pony style choppers, that is. Perhaps the day might be more fun than his presence usually suggested, after all.

The so-called good doctor snarled at Coalsmoke, “Make fun all that you wish! We all know that the Evil Goat’s bogus magics are all psychosomatic! The victim has to believe in the curse for it to work at all!”

Coalsmoke, smiled, her perfect teeth standing out clearly against the pure black of her whole body, except for her cutie mark. “Really, Doctor Crossly? Is that why, in open court, in front of Judge Coldheart, you could not tell Grumpy’s illusions and glamors from real afflictions? Is that why you are here, to see the Witch Doctor?”

Doctor Crossly was grinding his teeth so hard that he was effectively enriching every dentist in Ponyville. Watching him, I made a mental note for future suffering, per Sweet Berry’s contract. (For details, please read, UNLIVING PROOF.)

Doctor Crossly demanded crossly, “I am here to demand that Grumpy not try to take credit for these sores. They are perfectly natural in origin! I have seen the registered contract between The Goat and Sweet Berry. There is no connection between the two!”

I serenely pointed out, “Then you have wasted your trip and brought yourself unnecessary pain. I NEVER take credit for the outcomes of my contracts. The ways in which my particular form of Non Equine magic work out always appear to be from natural origins. Taking credit for some of them would, in fact, be confessing to murder.

“No, I would never dream of taking credit. If I did, you could sue me. As it stands, the contract with Sweet Berry, and most of my other contracts, are simply in the form of closely hedged bets. You are safe from my braggadocio. You may leave.”

Clarence said softly but with such finality that it could not be contested, “Go. You have no welcome here. This place is for Grumpy and his friends.”

As he was turning to leave, the Doctor snarled, “You have not heard the last of this!”

I called after him, “I do hope not!”

He paused and called over his shoulder, “And why not?”

“Because Clown Acts are such fun to watch!”

Even going down the trail, he limped on both hind legs.

Coalsmoke, who detests Doctor Crossly, asked eagerly, “Was he serious? Why would a nice farmer like Sweet Berry take out a contract on Doctor Crossly?”

Clarence replied, “What is the ownership of Stronghoof and Strangle, the commercial Realtors?”

Without hesitation, Coalsmoke replied, “Fifty five percent is owned by Doctor Crossly and the remaining forty five percent is owned by the Ponyville Medical Association.

“Oh my! What did they do to her?”

I said, as I reopened our Daring Do book, “It was even worse than a simple cashectomy. First S&S made her a really insultingly low offer for her whole farm. They were planning to resell it to the Royal Road Commission for a fortune. Sweet Berry turned them down flat.

“That was when Doctor Crossly ‘found out that she had a nearly terminal cancer.’ She was going to need multiple operations and treatments. Her insurance and farm together would not come close to covering it all. He was going to make a fortune, force her to sell her farm at a ruinous loss, and take even that last money from her. He was going to leave her destitute and take credit for saving her life all at once.

“She came to me for a quick and painless way out of the difficulty. We uncovered his plot and I gave her a bargain rate on a slightly different contract than the one that she came for.”

Nodding happily, Coalsmoke returned to looking over my shoulder at Daring Do and the Darkling’s Tomb. She grinned delightedly at what she saw.

I’d left the interior wording alone but the glamor of a big tome of rough edged parchment pages was too much fun to undo just now. It looked like Clarence enjoyed it too. The Lord of the Dead has a mildly twisted sense of humor, along with both Coalsmoke and I. It is one reason that we all get along so well.

Reading resumed. Daring Do was in the dangerous defile leading to the ancient and cursed tomb of the Darkling.

As we put up the book to watch the truly lovely peach and purple clouds of Celestia’s sunset, Coalsmoke asked, “Is it too nosy to ask how long Doctor Crossly will be afflicted with painful things?”

I scratched behind the ear that I don’t actually have with a hoof that isn’t really there either. “No, not at all. Our mutual friend Clarence long ago revealed to me that, if nothing interferes, Doctor Crossly will live a ridiculously long time.”

Clarence nodded agreement.

I went on, “What the contract calls for is simple physical misery, with randomly scattered sets of up to three days of feeling comfortable and well, so that he never becomes used to the assorted forms of ick that he is going to get!

“It can be sores, boils, rashes, simple itches, toothache, joint pains or any other thing that happens to occur to Clarence or I. The restriction being only that he NOT die from it. Life long misery is the goal.”

Coalsmoke clapped her hooves in delight. “It couldn’t happen to a 'nicer’ pony!”

We all adjourned into my cave for roasted clover top/nettle leaf loaf with honey sauce to top it. It was excellent. The real joy of was watching Clarence eat his portion.

Not the chew and disappear bit, but the sheer enjoyment that he was showing at the discovery of a new texture and flavor. I was the one who introduced Clarence to real, solid food. Being technically dead myself, I don’t need it either. I do enjoy it though. Both for the comfort of a lifelong habit and the flavors and textures.

For Clarence, it is all new. He is somewhere around 3-4 thousand years old and in all of that time, nopony ever befriended him or simply shared a plate of something. I have been fixing that. In spite of his making me into the technically dead being that I am, Clarence is my friend.

Seeing Coalsmoke home later that night, by the light of the ever burning candle that is nestled between the horns of my skull, was another simple pleasure.

Things only got better when a small group of Anti~Goat agitators started to follow me. My body, for Coalsmoke’s comfort while in town, was glamored to be my handsome original self, except that I left the everburning candle between the horns. It wasn’t just for light. It was a simple warning.

Some ponies are so blinded by prejudice that they don’t see that far. Goat “in the wrong neighborhood” is all that they appear able to see. They followed me into the woods, just outside of town.

Appear suddenly became a problematic term. Glamors are easily cast and dispelled, if you know what you are doing. In this case, there were five of them. Two, while the others were not looking, suddenly appeared to be goats!

I appeared to be nothing at all, as in invisible. I did stay to watch the fun as the three ponies beat the crap out of their buddies. Once they were well and truly stomped, I let the glamors go and left aghast ponies staring at their hoofwork.

Wondering if they would have conscience enough to report the injured to the Ponyville authorities, I trotted up the trail to my place, stopping at the spring for a quick drink.

Up on my ledge, I found Clarence sitting out, giggling. “That was really mean, Grumpy! I liked it! Were you following Sweet Berry’s contract or was that a coincidence?”

I sat and scratched at the side of the neck that I don’t have with the left hind hoof that I also don’t have, except when using a glamor. After thinking hard, I replied, “No clue what you are talking about, Clarence. Nut cases followed me and wanted to beat something up. I just gave them handy targets from among themselves, that’s all.”

I was rewarded by Clarence’s lovely baritone cuuckle. “The ones that got beat up are Doctor Crossly’s office staff! Tomorrow, on top of the wasp stings that I am setting up for him, he will be short-hoofed at his clinic. Guaranteed to make him miserable.”

We sat in the cool and admired the lights of Ponyville spread out below us for a bit and went inside.

The next morning, I was awakened by the sound of official hooves pounding uselessly on my Military Siege Fortress rated iron sheeted front door. Technically, I don’t need to sleep, since I died. I do it anyway. It is a comfortable habit, like eating and drinking water.

I cracked the door open after setting the siege latches. It bounced hard against them but they held. They should. They are designed to take a standard Equestrian Military Battering Ram. The officers outside were in the uniform of the Ponyville police force.

“Let us in, Goat! We are the police!”

“No. If you had legal grounds to be here you would either have courtesy or a warrant. You have neither. You also have no legal jurisdiction. Only the Equestrian Military Police or the Royal Road District Police have any lawful jurisdiction here.

“That was formally Proclaimed as Law of the Land by the Princesses jointly after examining the past history of local (that means you guys) police misconduct here.”

“We are investigating the beatings of two ponies down in the woods between here and Ponyville! Deny it if you can!”

“Deny what? That two ponies got beaten up by three others? Absolutely nonsense to deny it. They did get beaten and I saw it happen.”

“So! You did beat them up!”

“What part of NO is unclear? The N or the O? I did NOT beat them up. I SAW it happen. After seeing Coalsmoke back to her estate’s gate, I returned home. On the way, a group of five, catcalling illegal anti goat slogans and the like, as well as personal insults, started to follow me.

“Shortly after we entered the woods, in what appeared to be a setup, three of them attacked the other two. When the beating was done I left and came home. That is the total of what I saw.”

“Why didn’t you report the crime?”

“What part of SETUP did you miss, officer? Didn’t you get your morning apple fritter and coffee?

“I was not even sure that the beating was real. It could have been meant to lure me out of hiding.”

“Have you actually seen the injuries or did you take somepony’s word for them? If they are in Ponyville General, they will receive regular dressing changes. You can easily obtain a warrant for the observation of the dressing change and ascertain the exact nature of the injuries.”

I held up a glamored goat hoof where they could see it. “Goat hooves are little and in two parts, like this one. I presume that I do not have to show you what a pony hooves are like. Big solid oval clodhoppers, like the ones you are standing on.”

I slid out a small tray. “Now put my five bit consultation fee in the tray and I will give you a receipt.”

“Why should we?”

“Two reasons, actually. First, if you have come to consult on a difficult and puzzling case, your visit is perfectly legal and proper.

“Second, if you don’t you can be on the receiving end of a formal complaint from a Royally Chartered business. One of only four in all of the whole Ponyville district. That could be inconvenient when you are being considered for raises in pay.”

The musical tinkle of coins was my only answer. I counted them and wrote them a receipt. I did not even need to ask their names. I read their uniform tags through the barely opened door.

After they were gone, I contemplated what I had just learned from them. That they were Doctor Crossly’s office staff I was already informed by Clarence. The fact that they were in the group following me and that I was blamed for the beatings sight unseen is what really interested me.

If Doctor Crossly was keeping tabs on my movements, that had all manner of amusing possibilities. Illusions and glamors are such fun when creatively used! Like last night.

I do not have to be paid to do them, unlike my regular defensive spells like Tanglefoot and Friday the 13th. Those, and some others are permitted for defensive use by a paid contract of long standing.

In a much better frame of mind, with a fried fescue omelet and several mugs of Rom Black tea, I began to trot down the trail toward Ponyville. I was glamored as my handsome gray, white and brown patched self, before I died. Well, technically, I was killed but the mistake was mine, after all. The blame is sort of a wash. Besides, my nifty, near immortal spirit body is one result. My friendship with Clarence, the Litch King is another. Really, it was a pretty good deal.

Some unicorns really do never learn. He was hiding behind a big rock, his magic ready to cast. He was ALMOST totally out of sight. The tip of his horn and the glow of his yellow magic stood out like a sore trotter. Seeing no point in defending myself AFTER his planned nastiness, I cheerfully whispered, “Blooper!”

That is the one word trigger on a Friday the 13th spell. The result was delightful. A small stone up the hillside slipped. The rattle of it startled him.

Being all set to fire off his ambush and hurl me or somepony off the trail, he let drive, smashing out the safety rail ~ Again. Cursing, he burst forth from his ambush onto the trail, trying to see what happened to his intended target. One forehoof slipped on a smooth rock and he face planted. On rock. The snapping of his teeth slamming together was music to my ears. He went out like a snuffed candle. Good thing too.

Any further struggles on his part would likely have made him Clarence’s meat. As in dead from going over the side of the trail. There was guard rail there for a reason, after all.

His life was saved by the same contract that let me use defensive spells. The contract specified NON LETHAL defense.

The same two Ponyville Officers from earlier in the morning came picking their way up the trail, just then. This time, they actually showed some good sense.

“Morning, Mister Goat. What’s happened here?”

I pointed at the unconscious form of the yellow eyed blue coated unicorn. “This moron tried to murder me. He hid behind that rock outcrop over there. Forgot that I could see the tip of his horn sticking up all surrounded by the glow of his magic, all gathered for use.

“He jumped the starting flag, as they say at the races, and let drive across the trail. Missed me but took out the railing. I guess he leaped out of hiding to see why he missed. Slipped and knocked himself cold.

“If you good ponies could horn cap him and manacle him I would appreciate it.”

Nodding, they did secure him quite efficiently. One then said, “We come to thank you, Mister Goat.

“We did what you said. Got a warrant to see the dressing change. Both of them had a mix of pony hoof marks and a lot that looked like goat marks. Problem was, all the goat marks was left hoof, which was mighty suspicious.

“We got statements. They backed up what you said about being attacked by the other three. We got warrants for them and caught one trying to burn a wood carved fake left goat hoof. Saved the evidence.

“The Ponyville District Attorney confronted them. They was represented by Mortimer Mollycoddle, the lawpony. With the evidence that we had, he advised them to cut a deal. They did.

“Turns out, they was hired by Doctor Crossly to beat them two, who worked for him as office staff. We went to get him. He tried to sneak out the back way from his clinic.

“We caught him because of the commotion when he disturbed a hornet nest near the back door.

“They are still trying to figure out WHY he had his own office staff beat up, but WE got credit for breaking the case! We could get promotions from it!”

I was listening in sheer amazement. And the cog wheels of my mind were clicking about in fascination. Too many coincidences, including this attempt at murder.

I stirred the fallen pony with a hoof. “Check this one out. Is he connected to Doctor Crossly in any way?”

The pony was slowly stirring. “I saw him for a vile itch. He told me that you cursed me and I had to kill you to break the curse!”

I crouched down beside him and said, “As far as I know, I have no contract concerning you at all.

“Where is this itch?”

He snarled, “Right there on my right foreleg!”

“I see it! Let me smell it please. I do think that I can tell you how to clear it up. It is no curse of mine, sadly.”

One of the police ponies asked, “Can you prove that Doctor Crossly told you to kill mister Goat?”

He curled a lip and said, “If they will talk. Both of his office staff come in as he was telling me to do it. They both heard it.”

I looked up. “I think that you have your motive, officers. This fellow should receive a seriously reduced charge.

“This smells like a skin irritant potion very useful in some cases. Can’t leave it on too long though. It will cause blistering like he has. Check with a herbalist to be sure though. If it is what I think it is, the potion can be stopped by washing it once or twice in tomato juice.”

I knew that a certain skeletal Alicorn of my acquaintance had a hoof in the developments. Romaine, the Ponyville Prancer’s roving reporter, was a little way down trail, getting photos.

I told the unicorn, “Sir, you were tricked into doing a serious crime. I have made my recommendation to the officers who have you in custody. I know them for good police.

“Take a deal if one is offered. Mortimer Mollycoddle is the best, most honest lawyer I know of. If he can do it, have him represent you. That is all that I can do for you.”

The officers led him away, down the trail to Ponyville and jail. I never even learned his name.

Romaine came up and joined me in gazing out at the view that might have been my last, if I was alive, that is. She got some excellent shots of the wrecked safety rail. Some of the deadly drop too.

“Why did he do this, Grumpy? I heard that there was a beating in the woods down there, on the path to your place. I got some shots of the victims in Ponyville Horspital.

I heard from one of them that three other ponies beat them up but they did not know why. They both work for Doctor Crossly in his office. I went to ask him about the situation and caught the mess as he was arrested!

“I came up here because I know that you registered a contract with Sweet Berry about him. What is going on? Do you know?”

“I know some and guess more, Romaine. Doctor Crossly appears to have masterminded both the beating of his own office staff and this little attempt to murder me.”

“Why? The Sweet Berry contract?”

I took the time to gaze out across Ponyville and the Everfree beyond it. “Only marginally, Romaine. I cut him out of a really unethical scheme to get very rich.”

I told her about the land deal and the phony cancer diagnosis that Doctor Crossly had tried to use to impoverish Sweet Berry and enrich himself. (For details please read, Unliving Proof)

“What really set him off, apparently, was not the contract. It was the money that did not fall into his saddlebag.

“According to the pony that was just arrested, Doctor Crossly applied a lotion that seems to have caused itching and blistering. He then told the poor fellow that it was a curse I put on him and could only be broken by killing me.

“Doctor Crossly’s assistants walked in during the instructions and overheard them. The Doctor hired three thugs to do a set up beating of them to silence them. They were supposed to use carved goat hoofs to do it but bungled the job. One phony hoof was recovered when they were arrested. The other was lost, or never got made, apparently.”

She took careful notes. Looking up happily, Romaine said, “This story is going to need careful handling. I will have to clear parts with the DA to be sure that the Prancer doesn’t mess up his case!”

Romaine took the time to enjoy the view herself before asking, “Grumpy, would you like to dine at Caramel Treat’s? On me, this time.”

“I would be honored, Roamaine. Shall we go?”

We were almost out of the woods, literally. “Look, Grumpy! Is that what I think it is?” Romaine’s camera was out and snapping away. She was getting fine pictures of the missing carved goat hoof. She documented it carefully because it was close to the plainly visible torn up ground where the beating happened.

We practically ran to Caramel Treat’s so that she could call it all in.

Caramel, in her pony form joined us at our table. Romaine was busy calling in her story and giving the Ponyville police the tip about the wooden hoof.

Caramel smiled as she commented, “You know, Grumpy, being in jail for as long as Doctor Crossly is likely to be will be a real misery for him.”

“I know, Caramel. I know,” I said with a happy smile, “Clarence and I will see to it. We do have a contract to fulfill!”

–THE END–

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“Necromacy is very specific. It is only concerned with raising the dead or the spirits of the dead.  That is forbidden.  Pretty much anything else, if my contract breaks no law, is legal.  If we are to do any business, it will be done to the terms of a carefully drawn and prepaid contract that is publicly registered in the Ponyville Town Hall’s, Hall of Records.

She looked down at my carpet. “I see.  So you do not kill Coalsmoke’s husbands?”

I scratched at my glamor body’s neck with an equally false hoof.  I stared at her for a deliberately uncomfortable interval.  “No, not exactly.  Coalsmoke is very prudent in the selection of her husbands.  They will die soon, in any case.  A few years at most.  Coalsmoke is the best wife that she can be to each of them.  And she is VERY careful with insurances, wills, trusts, properties and the like.

“When her husbands enter their terminal stage of illness, she brings them here.  Together, we decide the best and most comfortable way for them to pass and they themselves make the contract that spares a prolonged and expensive demise.

“The Ponyville Medical society hates me for that and some other things that have cost them dear.”

The orange mare put a hoof to her mouth to suppress a giggle.  “I read the Ponyville Prancer and I have heard about some of those things!” (for details please read Physician Heal …)

“Thank you.  Now, I remain curious as to why you are here at all.  You have inquired about some things that only make sense in the context of of getting permanently rid of some pony or other.  With VERY FEW exceptions, such things bother me not at all.  Please state clearly what it is that you need.”

All of her lights went out at once.

“I need to die, reasonably soon.  I want it quick and painless.”  She stared at me with bleak, empty eyes.  I let her stare until it became uncomfortable for HER. Turning her eyes away, she went on, “I don’t look or feel ill, yet. Doctor Crossly says that is going to change.  I appear to have a severe cancer that is going to need operations and other treatments. All that I have is a small farm raising several sorts of berries, carrots and potatoes.  I can’t afford the treatment and I don’t want to die in pain.”

I held up a hoof.  “Please stop right there.  I thought that I recognized you.  Sweet Berry of Sweet Berry Farms, correct?”

Sadly she nodded.  “So, you won’t help me?  I was afraid of that.”  She was starting to rise.

Held up my hoof again.  “Not what I said at all.  I not only can but have done contracts like what you are asking about.  That does not bother me at all.  It is Doctor Crossly in the works that makes me question things.  The head of the Ponyville Medical Society has never in my experience been after less than a major Cashectomy of the Purse.

“Tell me, has anyone made you any offers to buy the land that your farm is on?”

Perplexed, she returned to the cushion and replied, “I had an offer from Stronghoof and Strangle, Commercial Realtors, but it was far too small for what even my bare land would be worth.  I dismissed it out of hoof.  Why?”

My glamored bare skull got a grim smile on it.  Bare bone should not show expressions.  It can, if the glamor spell is done well.  Mine is.  I reached up to my book shelves, conveniently close to my easy chair and pulled down Dunn & Wiedstreet, the Equestrian National Business Directory.

Leafing it open, I looked up an entry.  Without a word, I held out the book, pointing to an entry. Stronghoof and Strangle, Commercial Realty.  Owned jointly by the Ponyville Medical Society and Doctor Crossly individually.  There was more of course, but that was the damning bit.

Sweet Berry’s eyes snapped open, her pupils narrowing to mere pinpricks as she realized the implications.

I then pulled out a copy of the Ponyville Prancer from about a week ago.  I opened it to the business section.  Pointing to an article, I hoofed her the paper.

The Royal Road Commission was seeking land near to Ponyville for a rock and gravel grading and storage facility.  Stronghoof and Strangle had been engaged to acquire the property for the new facility which would provide many new well paying jobs for the Ponyville area.

The rage written across Sweet Berry’s face and in the set of her shoulders was lovely to see, since it was not directed at me.

I took back my book and newspaper.  I reshelved the book and hung the paper back in its rack.

Turning my attention back to the furious Sweet Berry, I serenely asked, “Would you STILL want to discuss a contract?  Perhaps with slightly different terms?”

Her return snarl would have done credit to an Everfree Ridgeback wolf as she growled, “Yes!  Does it need to be death or can it involve long painful suffering?”

Cheerfully starting to fill out the needful papers, I replied happily, “Long suffering it is!  I happen to know from another source that Doctor Crossly will live for many years to come, if nothing interferes.  Would you like the suffering that his available treatments cannot abate to go to the end of his natural life span?”

Sweet Berry, carefully reading over the contract, nodded.  “I like the way that you think, Grumpy.”

–THE END–

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