Dead Souls Never Die

The moment Rapier stepped through the apartment door, he knew that he wasn’t alone. The key beneath the mat outside was undisturbed, but a familiar feeling prickled at the back of his mind. Small things jumped out like blaring warning signs to his trained eye: a vase, moved approximately one centimeter to the left. The dust covering the table in the foyer was slightly disturbed, with the slight smudge of a hoof wiping across it. Nevertheless, he forced himself to close the door silently, staying calm, or at least on the surface.

A lifetime of lies taught one well how to deal with suspicion, and open confrontation would be foolish. He would do well instead to discover first who had entered without his knowledge, and why they might be here. Revealing himself would be quite, quite unproductive. A thin stream of smoke rose from the cigarette in his mouth as he tentatively reached his hoof up toward a painting on the wall.

“Your gun isn’t there.”

Rapier spun around to face the source of the voice. His eyes went wide, but he immediately crushed any sense of surprise that may have otherwise shown on his face. “You.”

Cradling a teacup in her place on the sitting room’s love seat, Crimson Rose offered Rapier a single elegantly raised eyebrow. “Yes. I suppose it is me.”

Thoughts spun through Rapier’s mind as he quietly stepped into the room, keeping one eye on Crimson at all times. She had always been matronly; the steely gray of her mane, tied up in a bun behind her horn, gave her the image of a stern grandmother. Yet the gleam in her eyes told him something entirely different. “What have you done with my weapon?”

Crimson took a small sip of tea; Rapier noted somewhere in the back of his mind that it was his favorite cup, and more than likely his favorite blend as well. The aroma of sharp mint wafted through his nostrils.

The corners of Crimson’s mouth turned upwards ever so slightly. “Oh, my dear Spy. I do know how defensive you can get. I wanted to take all necessary...precautions before speaking with you.”

“My name is Rapier,” he said automatically as his vision drifted over to the mantlepiece, vainly searching for what he knew wouldn’t be there.

“Your roommate’s bushwacka and kukri have been removed from the premises as well.” Crimson took another sip of tea, her nose wrinkling. “Barbaric weapons. Effective, though; certainly.” She blew out softly, holding the cup up to her lips. “Again, all reasonable precautions. You understand, of course.”

Rapier offered a quiet chuckle, one that even he knew sounded obviously fake. “Of course, Madame Announcer. Where are my manners? A treasured guest should never have to worry about the dangers of ornamental weaponry.”

Crimson sniffed. “Ornamental. Yes, of course. Although you and I both know that you are more than capable of wielding them.” She gave the painting to Rapier’s side a small nod. “Up to old tricks again?”

“It was an acquisition.”

“Legally?”

The corner of Rapier’s mouth twitched. “Old habits die hard.”

“Indeed they do.” Crimson blew a strand of her mane out of her face, her expression as neutral as ever. “I remember the first time I saw you. You had been arrested trying to steal a valuable artifact from the Hoofson family in Canterlot.” She put a hoof to her chin. “It was near priceless, as I recall.”

Rapier shook his head, biting down on his cigarette. “I was young, and foolish.”

“And where are you now?”

Rapier’s grin was toothier than he felt it had any right to be. “Slightly older.”

Crimson slowly leaned back into her seat. “Older, indeed.” She prodded her chin with a hoof. “And now Manehattan. An interesting location.”

“How did you find me?”

Crimson merely sat on the loveseat, a mysterious spark playing across her features.

The smile faded from Rapier’s face, and his eyes hardened. “Why are you here?”

“Oh?” Crimson’s face was open; curious, even. “Can a mare not simply catch up with an old friend?”

Rapier snorted. “We were many things, Crimson, but we were never friends.” He gave a humorless grin. “Members of the same team? Perhaps. Certainly our treasured Madame Announcer was never far from the group, always directing us where we needed to go. I remember those days well.”

“You were one of the best.”

“I’m retired.”

Crimson gave him a skeptical look. “A true spy never retires. He is merely quieted, waiting in the shadows until he may emerge once again.”

“I am retired, Madame,” Rapier repeated. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled slowly, the smoke coiling out of his lungs in a serpentine pattern. “And I will thank you to remember it.” His mouth was a thin line. “Now, why are you here?”

The room was quiet for a moment. Rapier tried to force himself to keep his silence, but one glance at Crimson proved defeating. That mare had always been able to get under his skin.

“Mon dieu, mare—what is it that you want from me?” Rapier bared his teeth, glaring at her. “I left RED ten years ago. Never did I expect you people to come racing after me, even after all this time. Now, enough with the games: what do you want?”

“The Soldier is dead.”

The cigarette dropped to the floor.

Rapier felt his heart threatening to break out of his chest. “What did you just say?” he whispered.

Crimson put one leg over the other, reclining back in the love seat. One of her forehooves was steepled against the other. “We found his body nearly forty-eight hours ago. He’s gone, Spy.”

“Rapier,” he said again, his voice empty and shaking. Rapier fought to control himself. He was better than this. He had no right to be this affected by a mere few words. “The poor stallion. A heart attack, undoubtedly.”

“There were bullet wounds.”

“A gang.”

“Military caliber.”

Rapier grit his teeth. “A weaponry malfunction.”

“You and I both know that’s impossible.”

Rapier felt his throat clenching. Each breath seemed to come harder than the last. “But...why?” he choked out. “How?”

Crimson’s expression was unreadable. “We don’t know.”

Taking a deep breath, Rapier crushed his emotion pitilessly and forced himself to calm down. “I still do not understand how any of this is relevant to me.”

“You were one of the best,” Crimson repeated. “But then again, so was he.” Her gaze was steely and sharp, aimed like daggers straight at his heart.

“Nopony would have—”

“RED had powerful enemies.”

Rapier licked his lips. “All of which were put down, and which have stayed so for the better part of a decade.”

“And what if they’re back?” Crimson’s vision bored a hole straight through Rapier’s chest. “What if what happened to Soldier was no accident?” The more he looked into her eyes the more he noticed something strange; something almost...pleading. Could it be that Crimson was actually concerned?

There was a long, tense silence before Rapier sighed and slowly shook his head.

Crimson’s mouth formed a thin line across her face. “I see.” She stood up from the love seat, brushing herself off as the teacup, surrounded by an aura of light pink, set itself down on the coffee table. “It is your decision, of course.”

Rapier said nothing.

“Should you wish to contact me, however, I will leave you with my card.” A small, rectangular piece of paper fluttered to the ground by Rapier’s feet. “My number and any other requisite contact information is on there. Do feel free to use it.”

She turned to go, trotting toward the door. Rapier made no move to stop her.

Crimson was reaching for the door when she paused. “Your revolver is in the second drawer to the right of the dishwasher, by the way. The knives should be in a small crate in a corner of the basement.” She gave him a slight nod. “A good day to you, my good Spy.”

The door shut behind her.

Rapier spent a long moment staring at the foyer behind her, and then down at the card. The words and numbers reflected off of his eyes, unseen; doubtlessly, he’d memorized them all years prior.

He stood there for a minute more.

Brushing the card aside, he went into his study and dialed a number.