Celestia sighed. She was going to have to go to the restricted pre-unification wing of the archives. The wizened librarian that kept the records was suspicious of everypony—even Celestia. She had given the unicorn the job as an honorary retirement—since she seemed loath to accept any kind of pension—and instead of sleeping at her desk, as anypony else would have done, she ran the archives with a frightening presence, with no respect for authority whatsoever. There were whispered bets among the palace guards that she would eventually be found slumped over her desk, but Celestia doubted it—that mare would never do something as disorderly as die at her post. 