Flight of the Magpie

Chapters

Act 2: Color
Act 3: Clarity
Act 1: Cut

Act 2: Color

Springsteel, a handsome young unicorn in a crisp blue uniform, ducked under the yellow warning tape—taking care not to catch his horn on it—and walked past the grim and watchful eyes of two royal guards. The ranks used by the Canterlot police department bore no resemblance to those used by the royal guards, but even as a sergeant, Springsteel was several pay-grades below a royal corporal.

The darkened hallways of the inner palace had been empty since yesterday when the other police officers had finished their investigation of the area. If there was anything left to find, it was beyond their abilities to notice. He walked down the hall and around the corner, where a lone figure stared at a point on the wall. He approached the inspector and followed her gaze. As far as he could tell, there was nothing interesting about the wall.

"Spectacles?"

The red-headed chestnut mare startled at his voice, then straightened her glasses and shuffled her feet. "Sergeant."

"Not very clever of you," he said, "getting into a staring match with a wall. I did it once and they're absolutely brutal."

Spectacles snorted.

"Find anything?" he said.

"Not since the last time you asked," she said with a sigh.

"I've seen you like this before," he said, glancing around. "You think we missed something?"

"He was here. He was standing... right... here." Spectacles walked down the hall and looked back. "And I was over here, looking at him. He glanced at me. I ordered him to surrender. And then..."

Springsteel looked between his friend and the wall, expectant.

Spectacles walked back and continued to stare. "I swear he was right here."

"And then what? What happened?"

"I'm not sure. He went from here to the laundry room in an instant." She looked down the hall. "Do me a favor. Go to the chute in the laundry room. Count the paces."

Springsteel walked down the hall, through a door, and back through the long, spacious laundry room on the other side of the wall. He arrived at the chute in question and called out, "Thirty-six paces. And his stride is probably smaller than mine."

He heard Spectacles stamp her hoof against the other side of the wall. He walked back to the inspector.

"What's wrong? What are you thinking?"

Spectacles rolled her eyes, embarrassed. "I think he went through the wall."

"Ooh... so sinister!" Springsteel rolled his eyes. "Big deal. I know a few unicorns who can wink back and forth. I do it myself now and then."

"And how many earth ponies can wink?"

Springsteel froze. "The Magpie is an earth pony? How could he have done any of this!?"

"Never doubt earthy ingenuity," she said and tapped the side of her head. "We see everything differently. And besides, even if he was a unicorn he would only be able to wink somewhere he could see, or someplace he'd visited long enough to memorize."

"Visited before? Are you saying he could get in and out of the palace undetected?"

"The implications are staggering," she said. "It could have just been some new gadget or gewgaw of his. Some kind of translocation device."

"That's a bit much, don't you think?"

"Pegasi discover. Unicorns invent." Spectacles tapped the side of her head. "Earth ponies refine. If a magic spell can do something, there's always a chance that a device can be built to mimic the effects."

"Then why don't we have such a device already?" he said. "The technology would allow anypony to wink. It would be the breakthrough of the century!"

She shrugged. "Why bother? If we need something delivered instantly, we can just hire a unicorn to do it for us. It's cheaper. Easier. Reliable. The demand for teleportation as a service is already being met, so there's no incentive to come up with a different method."

"You really think he could create such a thing?"

"Probably not," she said with a sigh. "Winking is one of the most difficult types of pony magic. And in any case, he's never winked before."

"Maybe he was saving the best for last."

Spectacles said nothing as she looked down the hallway that led to the vault.

"Princess Celestia's very own crown jewels," growled Springsteel. "Over five hundred pieces. Spectacles, they aren't just a bunch of gems and accessories: they're regalia. They symbolize Celestia's right to rule."

"It's possible he was after something else," she said.

"But we searched him during the arrest. He didn't have anything on him."

"He probably stashed them somewhere in the palace. We can't even start searching for them until the royal guards give us the go-ahead, and they won't do anything until they're ready to make an official statement."

"I suppose a haphazard announcement would make them look incompetent." Springsteel smirked. "Or rather, more incompetent."

She shook her head. "This wasn't the guard's fault. They did their duty as well as could be expected."

Springsteel's ears flicked up. "Are you joking? They bungled the whole thing from start to finish."

"The guards are trained to deal with overt threats. Military threats. They failed to stop a single burglar because it's something they were never trained to do in the first place."

"Sympathy for the guards? From you? I was sure this fiasco would put a smirk on your face for days."

Spectacles turned away from the wall and walked back towards the warning tape. "When you plug a glow crystal into a lantern, you don't pound it in with a hammer. And if you do, you can't blame the hammer for what happens."

"Wrong tool for the wrong job, eh?" Springsteel followed beside her and glanced at the guards ahead of them. "Think you'll find anything here?"

"Maybe."

"Because you could just... oh, I dunno. Ask the Magpie. They have him down at the station. They could tie a bow on his head, if you like."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you honestly think he'll tell me the truth?"

"If you think you'll have better luck with the wall, you're welcome to stay here. But the palace staff can't go back to business until we clear the scene."

"Alright then. We may as well pay him a visit."

Spectacles and Springsteel walked back to the central courtroom of the palace and out through the grand hall. It wasn't truly the palace's 'main' entrance, because the palace was too large and convoluted to have an easily defined front or back. But the main courtyard was certainly the most famous entrance: it was a public garden decorated with fountains, gardens and menageries that anypony could visit. The path leading out of the palace cut through the middle of this courtyard and continued on to wind through the rest of Canterlot as a proper city street. This was where most royal processions and parades began, making it one of the most frequently crowded places in Equestria.

The current throng of ponies were nothing like the usual audience: Most were regular citizens hoping to catch a glimpse of the crime scene. News of the Magpie's capture had spread very quickly and by the time they'd marched the culprit out of the palace the street had been lined with reporters and sightseers. Even now, photographs of the event were being hawked from makeshift stands. Most amazing of all were the wealthy nobles, mingling freely with the common folk and eagerly telling stories of their near-brush with the legendary figure.

Spectacles moved down the main path as quickly as possible, but the crowd immediately took notice and began shouting questions for The Lens. The guards struggled to keep the road clear for her, and she and Springsteel came to a covered carriage and climbed in. Springsteel said something to the carriage drivers and they headed for the outer city district. Spectacles only relaxed once the cheering faded behind them.

They arrived at the front gate outside the central police station and encountered a completely different crowd. Spectacles pulled the curtain aside and peered out: A large group of ponies had gathered around the front gate, waving signs and chanting slogans. Pegasi flew about with banners and streamers. There were pictures of caged birds, and even an unflattering scarecrow that superficially resembled Spectacles herself.

She closed the curtain. "This can't be real."

"He's a famous figure. He was bound to have a few supporters."

"He's infamous," she said, "because he spent the last seven years stealing. He's a hardened criminal."

Springsteel threw his hooves up. "Don't look at me! He only stole from the rich and snobbish. In their minds, he's probably a hero."

"Heros have a cause. A goal. They have moral standards. The Magpie has none of those things."

Springsteel leaned back and crossed his forelegs. "You always told me—

"Not this again."

—That to catch a thief, you have to know how they think."

"Can we please, please just drop it? Forget I said anything."

"You insisted that knowing the perp's motives was more important than knowing their techniques. You said that every criminal has a reason."

"Yeah," she sighed. "Sure they do."

The carriage rolled through the walled gate around the police station and parked in the yard, right at the front door. They climbed out of the carriage and walked inside. The department was busy as ever, and officers scrambled back and forth with saddle-bags full of documents. Everypony nodded to Spectacles as she passed.

"Excuse me! The Lens?" A handsome, middle-aged stallion approached her with a courteous nod. He was wearing a fine business suit, and his collar was decorated with the gold chain of a city councillor. "You're The Lens, aren't you? A moment, please!"

Spectacles turned to him. "It's Inspector Spectacles, if you please. If you have a problem, you can take it up with the front office."

"I was hoping to speak with you, actually. I am—"

Spectacles squinted at him. "Pear Cut. Owner of the Pear-Tree jewelry franchise, and owner of the third largest private collection of gemstones."

"Ah, yes! I see my reputation has—"

"Four years ago, August sixteenth, six-thirty-two in the morning, the Magpie broke into your private residence and stole sixteen museum-quality pieces. This included the Sassafras Tiara, set with seven of the largest star-sapphires ever found in one dig site."

Pear Cut trotted in place. "Well, I can see you've—"

"You'd borrowed the Sassafras Tiara from the Manehattan Museum of Fine Art so your daughter, Diamond Dust, could wear it for her wedding to Sir Rosewood. The item was stolen from her at the wedding. She fled rather than risk being accused of stealing it herself. Sir Rosewood was left at the altar, heartbroken. We later confirmed the Magpie had disguised himself as a bridlesmaid, which cleared your daughter of all charges. By then Lady Diamond Dust and Sir Rosewood had already grown distant and their marriage was called off."

Pear Cut stood silent as the whole room looked on. He glanced about. "But that was years ago! How could you remember?"

"How could I have forgotten?" she scoffed. "In any case, I assume you wish to speak with me about the Magpie's recent incarceration."

"Indeed. You see, I represent some of the Magpie's prior victims. We all—"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you started a club."

"Not precisely, but we did get together several times to discuss our collective experiences. It helped us deal with the shock of having been burgled. We've kept in touch ever since."

"And what does this have to do with—" Spectacles' eyes widened. "Oh no. You wouldn't dare. Not even you!"

"We've decided to drop all charges for his crimes against us." Pear Cut held up an envelope. "We've all signed a petition and passed the hat around—as they say—to pay for his bail."

"Bail!?" Spectacles slapped the envelope out of his hoof. "Even if you had the authority to pardon such a crime, the Sassafras Tiara was never your property to begin with! He stole from a public institute of the crown! To say nothing of his attempt to steal from the Princess herself!"

"I know, I know. But we represent his most significant victims. If you discount his crimes against us—

"Which I most certainly do not," she growled.

—then his only serious offense is trespassing on royal property. He has never assaulted anypony, never caused significant property damage, and never conspired against the security of the crown or its citizens. Please, Inspector. Don't you think the poor colt deserves a second chance?"

Spectacles leaned close. "You aren't doing this out of the kindness of your heart. You're doing this because the Magpie was the best thing that ever happened to you! When news of the theft got out your franchise's profits exploded overnight, and you encouraged every moment of it! Every time he steals something the price of gemstones goes up by two percent across the board! Without his thefts, you and your friends would only be half as rich as you are today!"

Pear Cut began walking backwards. "Now, let's not be hasty."

Spectacles advanced on him. "And this... this mockery of clemency is even more craven! You only want to pardon him to make yourselves look better in the public eye! People are crying out for mercy, and you mean to profit from it every step of the way!"

Springsteel set a hoof on Spectacles' shoulder and pulled her back. "Specs old buddy, don't you think you're being a bit paranoid?"

"Paranoid?! He's—"

He cut her off with a harsh whisper. "He's here on behalf of the wealthiest, most powerful ponies in all of Equestria. You might want to compose yourself for this."

Spectacles sighed and turned back to the ruffled stallion. "Mister Cut. Please. The Magpie stole from you and ruined your daughter's marriage. Ruined her life! How can you possibly ask for a pardon?"

"I and my compatriots did not arrive at this decision out of knee-jerk reaction." He paused to adjust the collar of his jacket. "We know he has committed crimes, but he's not a bad pony. There is no such thing as a bad pony. He's only made some bad decisions."

Spectacles stared into his eyes, but could find no ulterior motives. The worst she could find was genuine naïveté.

Spectacles marched past him and towards the holding cells. "There is no bail."

"What? But surely—"

"The bail for grand larceny is based on the value of the stolen items. The Sassafras Tiara was priceless. As wealthy as you are, I doubt any of you can afford to place an infinite quantity of bits in escrow."

Pear Cut raised his nose. "I assure you, I will take this to a higher authority."

"You are welcome to take it to Celestia herself. But take it out of my precinct." She pointed back over her shoulder without turning around. "Door is to your left. Good day."

Spectacles sat in silence and peered through the one-way window to the interrogation room, watching a mare and a stallion currently seated at the table. The mare wore the smart suit of a professional governmentemployee, and the stallion was clad only in leg-irons: his brilliant white coat had a faint blue tint and his dark-striped mane flowed down in a neatly trimmed curtain. His tail was a short, bristly tuft.

Spectacles stared at that stallion. Stared into his brilliant blue eyes while he spoke with his visitor. He was leaning against the table, on the verge of tears.

The door to the observation room opened up and Springsteel walked next to her. He waved at a cloud of drifting bubbles. "Not in the precinct, Specs. You know the rules."

Spectacles exhaled through her pipe one last time and dumped the contents in a nearby waste bin. "Find anything interesting?"

"Interesting, but not useful." He held up a few form papers, all copies of the originals. "The royal census isn't happy. His cutie mark wasn't in the registry so it's impossible to identify him for certain. As far as they know, nopony in Equestria has ever had a cutie mark of a magpie in flight. Have you spoken with him yet?"

Spectacles shook her head. "The social advisor is almost done with him. Won't be long."

Springsteel nudged her shoulder. "You think he'll try to escape?"

"He certainly could. If he wanted to," she added with a snort.

"Are you saying he wants to be here? That he meant to be caught?"

"If he wanted to be caught he never would have let his true identity get out. That was his ace in the hole. He could establish a new identity but it wouldn't be legal. He'd be at risk whenever he used it."

"Unbelievable," he said with a shake of his head. I've never heard of anypony juggling so many disguises. Do we know how he did it?"

Spectacles rolled her eyes. "He went to the bank and opened a new account under a different name. Then he used the bank's reference to request an identity card from the royal census bureau. With that, he could register for medical insurance, passports, property rights... the whole deal."

"But how did he trick the bank in the first place?"

"He didn't. The bank doesn't require you to use a real name to open a private account. Celebrities use their stage names to keep their personal lives private, and merchants use the name of their businesses so multiple managers can share the same account." Spectacles set her pipe aside. "Somepony in the royal census forgot it was a convenience instead of a law, and issued a legitimate identity card for a nonexistent pony. Twelve of them, actually."

Sprignsteel let otu a low whistle. "That is pretty devious."

"No! No it's not," she snapped. "It's very obvious if you think about it. He took advantage of a system that was too lenient."

"Oh, come on. Nopony's ever done anything like this before!"

"And that is the only reason it worked at all. He's not a criminal mastermind. He's not a genius. He simply saw holes in the system and decided to take advantage of them. He did it right in front of everypony's noses, and they never even noticed. Because they weren't looking."

He set a hoof on her shoulder. "Whatever you think of the system, you can't deny that he's brilliant. Did you see the equipment he was using? The zip cord? The silenced horseshoes? The thing... that hang glider thing? He made everything himself, by hoof. He probably designed and invented them, too!"

"We have hang-gliders." she said through clenched jaws. "They already exist."

"He got an eight yard wingspan to unfurl from a pair of tiny saddlebags. Until then, they were perfectly concealed. We still haven't figure out how they work: they were destroyed in the crash landing, and the head of the tinker's guild is going crazy without a functioning model to study! You can say what you want, but the Magpie is a genius."

She sighed, exasperated. "Can we please stop calling him that? We can't keep indulging his ridiculous penchant for theatrics. He has a real name and when we go in there, we use it."

He nodded. "You're right. Sorry."

Spectacles watched as Mister Hearts'n'Arrows shook hooves with the visiting mare, his tearful eyes now full of relief. Spectacles went around the corner and into the room. When their eyes met, the advisor was the only pony still smiling.

"I'll be right out of your way," she said. "I think we've made excellent progress!"

Hearts' voice was frail, but hopeful. "Thank you so much. After all this time, I never thought anypony would care about me."

"Of course we care. You can keep those brochures, and I'll let you know as soon as I have a list of opportunities. I'm sure there are plenty of people who would love to make use of your talents. You'll have a regular job in no time at all!"

Hearts gave a nervous little chuckle. "After all this time on the run, I'm looking forward to settling down!"

The advisor left the room, still smiling. Spectacles sat across the table from the prisoner, and Springsteel stood by her side.

Hearts grinned at them. "Oh! A round of carrot-cop stick-cop? Who wants to go first?"

Spectacles sat in silence.

"The Lens, they call you. And I thought my alias was dumb." He crossed his front legs on the table. "They say you're the best there is."

She said nothing, and simply stared into his glittering, bright-blue eyes.

"I'm sure you're a very capable inspector. But I don't see how good you can be, considering how long it took you to—"

Spectacles clopped her hooves on the table and he jolted upright. She stood from her chair and slowly walked around the table, eyes hard as steel. She came to a halt beside him and leaned close to his face. He leaned away slightly.

Springsteel tensed. "Spectacles? What's this about?"

"I need you to hold perfectly still," she said to Hearts. "It won't hurt at all."

She reached for Hearts' face and gently opened his eyelids wide. She reached over with extreme care and removed a tinted, glassy dome from his eye. Underneath, the eye was pink: not a bright bubblegum color at all, but a bloody red pupil surrounded by a ghostly cornea.

Spectacles examined the tinted lense. "Your coat isn't white at all. You're a dapple grey. You look white because you suffer from congenital albinism."

"An albino?" Springsteel said and glanced between them. "What's the difference?"

"There are a number of breeds that result in a white coat, but none of them coincide with the genetic properties that cause true albinism. Thus, it is biologically impossible for white earth ponies to suffer from that particular condition." She grabbed his mane and swept the wig away. The real mane beneath was cropped short and ragged, and Spectacles parted it down the middle to reveal a small white disk in his forehead.

"The genetic traits that cause true albinism only occur in unicorns."

"He... he had his horn cut off?" Springsteel sputtered, "How could he do such a thing!?"

Spectacles peered at the stump on Hearts' forehead. "Judging from the striation pattern? With a jeweller's saw. The angle of incline suggests he did it to himself while looking in a mirror. He probably couldn't risk another pony gossiping about such a dramatic procedure."

There was a gurgling sound followed by a small splash. When Springsteel lifted his head from under the table, there was a greenish tint to his cheeks.

"You're awfully quiet," she said to Hearts. "Nothing to say for yourself?"

He stared at the table, expressionless.

She turned back to Springsteel. "Have the royal arcane library send a specialist over. If we're to maintain the ridiculous pretense of restraining him, we need to know what sort of spells he's capable of."

Springsteel stared at their prisoner, aghast. "H-he cut off his own...?!"

Spectacles walked to the door without looking back. "Have him returned to his cell. I think we can forego the usual round of bargaining and intimidation... he knows exactly how serious his situation is."

Spectacles walked into her cramped office and sat behind her desk. She shuffled a few papers out of a nearby filing cabinet and set them down.

"Specs?"

She glanced up and saw Springsteel standing in the doorway. "Hm?"

"The chief said you'll be getting a raise. Probably a promotion to go with it, too. You'll have a week of paid vacation before you go back on the case."

"What case." Her tone made it sound more like an accusation than a question.

"Well, The Mag... Hearts. Hearts'n'Arrows."

"There is no case." She dabbed a rubber stamp onto an inkpad and pressed it onto the cover page of the sheaf of papers. "Criminal apprehended. Crown jewels secured. Case closed."

"You know that none of his other thefts have been recovered. There's over a hundred items that still need to be returned to their rightful owners."

"I don't find jewels. I find jewel thieves."

He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his front legs. "You know him better than anypony else in the world. You could talk to him. Figure out the truth. Maybe even convince him to hand over the prize, to lighten his sentence."

"Mister Arrows certainly doesn't need an inspector. He needs a lawyer." She tossed the papers back into the cabinet and muttered, "A criminal psychologist wouldn't hurt, either."

"You can't quit on us now!"

"Case. Closed." Spectacles traded her uniform vest for a casual jacket, and left the office. "You want to grab a drink before the bar rush? I haven't had a wheat-and-oats smoothie in years. My treat?"

Springsteel frowned as she walked past. "Spectacles. Please."

"I know a place that uses the whole wheat, too. Chaff and everything. It'll add half an inch to your coat."

Springsteel followed after her. "This isn't going to end well," he said.

They reached the end of the hall before one of the other officers called out, "Inspector! The chief wants to see you. Says it's urgent."

Spectacles rolled her eyes and pulled a hairpin turn. "Right away."

"Told you," Springsteel said.

"Oh, don't you start."

"Not used to other people being right now and then?"

"Sure I am. Just not so quickly."

They walked to the chief inspector's office and found Captain Ironsides waiting in a chair, wearing the royal guard's lighter dress uniform.

The chief nodded to each of them in turn. "Inspector. Sergeant."

"Chief," Spectacles said, returning the nod. "What's all this, then?"

The chief nodded to the Captain. "We need you on the case a little sooner than expected."

"All due respect, sir. I catch jewel thieves. Not jewels."

"Not for that. We need a report that lists all evidence relating to the Magpie's prior activities."

"My records are very thorough," she said. "It'll take no more than an hour. But why do you need it? And why right now?"

"It's for the crown, actually. We need to charge him with something soon, and the legal council isn't convinced we have enough evidence to keep him in custody without bail."

"Wh-what?" sputtered Spectacles. "What more evidence do they need?!"

"The throne has dropped all charges relating to the crown jewels," growled Ironsides. "We don't even know if they truly were his intended target."

Spectacles stared at him in shock. "How can you sit there and say that with a straight face?!"

"Princess Celestia confirmed that none of the crown jewels were stolen. She checked on them herself."

"But the Sassafrass Tiara! The Cherry-Cluster Rubies! The Peppermint Emerald! The Constellation of Peace!"

The Chief inspector cut her off with a wave. "We have no hard evidence that Mister Hearts'n'Arrows was responsible for those crimes. All we know is that he trespassed on palace grounds, attempted to evade arrest, and was dressed as the Magpie while he did so. Princess Celestia has granted him a pardon for each of these crimes."

"Why?!"

"They were royal crimes!" Ironsides answered. "The princess was fully within her rights to forgive them for any reason."

Spectacles' mane bristle. "Well then. What do you need me for?"

"We need you to review all evidence against the Magpie. Find proof—any proof—that links the Magpie's past activities to Hearts'n'Arrows. We can detain him for one week. If you haven't found anything by then, we're obligated to release him into the custody of the royal guards."

"We'll lock him up of course," Ironsides said, "but his prison sentence will be a matter of months instead of years: barely a slap on the wrist for everything he's done."

Spectacles marched out of the office and returned a minute later with a sheet of paper, which she threw on the chief's desk. "I resign."

The chief and the captain both shot up from their seats. "What?!"

"Later Springsteel," she said as she walked out the door. "Let me know if you're still up for that round of drinks."

The Chief Inspector chased her down the hallway. "Spectacles! Don't do this! You've been our best inspector for almost a decade! Don't throw this away!"

"Throw what away?" she said. "I could make better pay working at a fancy sandwich shop."

"And what about the Magpie? You won't let him walk right out the front door, will you? Look me in the face when you answer that!"

Spectacles turned to look back at him. "I brought him in to answer for his crimes. If the law decides he's innocent, then he's innocent. What more do you expect of me?"

"You know he's guilty, Inspector. You have a job to do."

"I just caught the only thief who would ever present the law with a serious challenge." She continued marching towards the front door, and as the entire department paused to watch her go. "I've already put myself out of a job."

Springsteel caught up with Spectacles a block away from her favorite bar and quietly walked alongside her.

"Hey." Spectacles said after a minute.

"Is for mares," he answered, "which is what I thought you were. Now, all of a sudden, you're acting like a foal."

She rolled her eyes. "And now my closest friends begin to turn on me."

"You can't just quit."

"Why not?" she said. "People do it all the time. It'll be a nice change of pace for me. Besides, The Lens is pretty famous right now. There should be plenty of work for a private investigator with my abilities."

Springsteel walked in front of her and locked eyes with her. "You think you're the only pony who had trouble with the system? It doesn't always work, but it's there for a reason."

"We both know perfectly well that Hearts'n'Arrows is guilty. If the system says otherwise, then the system is broken."

"What if he just happens to be innocent? What then? The Magpie managed to rack up a life sentence throughout his career. Don't you think Hearts deserves a fair trial like anypony else, whether he's innocent or not?"

"I brought him in. I presented him to the legal system. I've done everything a good inspector can do."

Springsteel arched his back and puffed his chest. "But what about being a good pony?"

"I've been following him for seven years," she said with a sigh. "Seven years of being woken in the middle of the night. Seven years of twelve hour train rides to distant crime scenes, having the royal guard breathing down my neck, and being unable to keep a colt-friend because I spend five days of every week abroad. Seven years of wealthy nobles packing my mailbox with my own weight in complaints. You don't get those complaints, Springsteel. I do! And you know what? I don't want those complaints anymore."

Springsteel settled. "You really want this, don't you?"

"I've had that resignation letter in my drawer for years now. I swore that once I caught him, I'd retire. Well it finally happened. I finally get to go out for a drink, get a job I actually enjoy, buy a house, find a stallion to settle down with, and be an old gray mare with hundreds of fat little foals for the rest of my natural life span."

"I can still visit, right? Hang out with you?"

Spectacles grinned. "What else am I going to do with my weekends?"

"We'll miss you at the station," he said. "All of us. You're the best there is."

"There's no reason you can't hire me as a private consultant."

"But won't that cost the station a fortune?"

There was a moment of quiet. Then, they both broke into grins.

"We'll only call you up if we really need you," he said. "Promise."

"Just don't call me for at least a week. This whole Magpie fiasco should simmer down by then. If I never see him again, it'll be too soon."

"Hello? Hello, excuse me?" They both turned to the new voice. A lime green stallion, bedecked in a particularly handsome suit, nervously followed after them. "I was at the garden party over yonder and I saw you from across the street. I'm sorry to intrude, but I simply had to ask: are you The Lens?"

She offered an exaggerated sigh. "Spectacles. And I'm not an inspector anymore."

"It really is you! For some reason, I thought you'd be older. I don't suppose... maybe..."

He held up a recently purchased copy of Equestria Daily. There, on the front page, was a headline in giant block letters: 'Lens catches Magpie.' There was a photograph of Spectacles looking particularly resolute.

She stared at the paper. "Where did they even get that picture?"

Springsteel leaned over her shoulder. "Oh, I remember that. Weren't you looking for a bathroom?"

The stallion held up a gold-trimmed fountain pen. "Would you? Please? I'm such a fan!"

"Springsteel. Could you give... us... a moment?"

He leaned close, whispering. "You said you were in the market for a stallion, didn't you? You could do worse."

"Just go."

Springsteel arched his eyebrows and left them alone. The stallion smiled at her, still starry eyed with awe. "He seems nice. Is he a friend of yours? A friend friend, I mean? Do you have a friend?"

Spectacles pointed a hoof at him. "That's not a suit. It is a costume. And the diamonds on those cufflinks are made of glass. You aren't wearing matching shoes, either. It is outrageous to assume that a genuine suit wouldn't come with formal shoes."

"Oh." His voice immediately lost its resonant, affluent accent. His crestfallen look was quickly replaced with a sly smile. "I suppose you really are as good as they say. I wasn't expecting such a challenge!"

"Good day." Spectacles continued on down the street.

He chased after her. "Wait-wait-wait! Hold up for a moment!"

"What is it now?"

"Those nice old gentlecolts dropped all charges against The Magpie, and the crown offered me a pardon for that baseless accusation about the crown jewels. And when they were all done, the Chief Inspector had someone go through all your notes."

"Hm. Don't say."

"It turns out that most of the evidence is now considered suspect. All they can charge me with is trespassing on royal property and impersonation of royal persons. They tallied everything up, and the judge says my minimum sentence is only six years."

"And why are you telling me this?"

"I heard somepony say that you spent seven years trying to capture me. So if I only go to prison for six years... does that mean I win?"

Spectacles stopped to look at him. He was tilting his head askance, with a huge smirk.

"You're trying to goad me. It won't work." She continued walking.

He caught up to her. "Don't you want to know how I got out of my cell?"

"You used a walk-through-walls spell to leave the building. You found a temporary outfit in the department store next door, and snuck into the theater across the street. You found a costume that fit your measurements and constructed a matching story afterwards. You probably used another spell to change the color of your coat, mane, tail and eyes."

"Ah, but how could I have cast a spell? I have no horn."

"Unicorn horns aren't like deer antlers. They don't fall off and grow back every season, and they aren't made of bone tissue. They're more like rhinoceros horns, made of keratin... the same material your mane is made of."

"Wow," he said, rolling his eyes. "Why would anypony ever need to know that?"

She frowned. "A unicorn's magic doesn't come from any single part of you. Magic runs deeper than that. The horn is only an antennae, used to project magic over a distance. You can still use magic without a horn, but only on yourself or on targets you can touch. And in the latter case, only so as long as you maintain contact."

"But the spell you described doesn't exist. There's no such thing as a walk-through-walls spell."

"It doesn't exist yet because no unicorn who could invent it would ever need it... they can simply wink. Except you can't wink. That would require your magic to work over a distance, which requires a horn. So you invented a spell that nopony else in the history of Equestria has ever needed. Which is exactly why nopony else developed appropriate countermeasures against it."

He stared at her, eyes wide. "I'm sorry. I think... I underestimated you."

She snorted. "How do you think I captured you in the first place?"

"No, I mean... I think we got off on the wrong hoof."

"I've studied your work. All you have are wrong hooves. Now if you'll excuse me, I've had a very long and very disappointing day. You need to get back to your cell before anypony realizes you've escaped."

"You know, I didn't use any magic. Not to get out of the cell. I did it all by myself. Don't you want to know how?"

"I can think of a dozen ways. Your techniques don't interest me in the slightest. Nor do your gadgets, your disguises, your plans. None of it."

Hearts clenched his jaw. "Well, then, do you care about why? Why I went to all this trouble?"

"Why?" She turned on him. "The why of this is completely irrelevant now! It might have helped me catch you sooner, but there's no need for that anymore. Everypony knows who you really are. Everyone knows who Hearts'n'Arrows is. Your career—if you can even call it that—is over."

"You don't really know who I am." He frowned at her. "I spent a third of my life doing this! Don't you even care why? Don't you wonder that maybe, just maybe, I had a good reason for everything?"

"There is no good reason for stealing Princess Celestia's Crown Jewels! There can be no excuse for that!" Spectacles' voice drew the attention of a few bystanders.

Hearts backed up a step and glanced about. "I never stole them! I never meant to, either! It was nothing like that!"

"You've already stolen from over three hundred people! There can be no excuse for anything you've ever done! You're just a bad pony!"

He set his jaw. "There's no need to be so rude."

"You are a bad pony!" Spectacle slammed a hoof against the sidewalk. "People say there are no bad ponies. Well, now we finally have one! Hearts'n'Arrows, you are a bad pony and I am through trying to deal with you!"

He made a little choking sound and ran off at a gallop. Spectacle watched him vanish into the crowd.A nervous tremble went up her legs. She turned and continued on her way. Nearby ponies frowned at her as she passed and lifted their noses in reproach.

Spectacles climbed out of the taxi carriage and paid the haulers up front. She went through the front gate of the mansion and saw Springsteel on the path ahead, speaking with a mare.

Springsteel turned to her with a smile. "Good to see you haven't gotten lazy, at least. We've had the entire estate closed off since last night."

Spectacles looked at the front of the mansion. "Any details?"

The mare raised her eyebrows. "You're The Lens?"

"Is that a problem, ma'am?"

"No, not at all. It's an honor to have your services. I thought you'd be older, is all."

"Just tell me what happened."

"Right this way." She led them inside.

Springsteel whispered to Spectacles as they walked. "The Chief is getting frustrated. He figured you'd come back by now."

"I can't imagine why."

"It's the Mag... Hearts. He refuses to speak to anypony at all."

"No surprise."

"Actually, it was rather abrupt. He was cordial with the officers. Very polite. He even showed off a few of his gadgets for us. He has this vest that—"

"What does any of this have to do with me?"

"Well, he's completely buttoned up since yesterday. Won't even say hello. He says he won't speak to anypony but you."

"I'm not playing any of his twisted little games. And nopony else should be indulging him either."

"I know you don't like it, but the fact of the matter is doubt exists. The legal system refuses to punish a pony for something they may not have done."

"Will it allow a guilty pony to go unpunished?"

"That's—"

"Don't even answer. Of course it will."

"We need you. Spectacles, you're the only one who knows anything about him."

She clenched her teeth. "Spring, I have a job to dohere!"

They reached the front door of the mansion before Springsteel could respond. The grand foyer was two stories tall, with curved stairways and crystal chandeliers. The entire staff was gathered together, standing in neat little rows. Maids, butlers, cleaners, cooks, gardeners, messengers: all were in uniform.

The mare nodded to her guests. "This is everypony on the payroll. The guards did an excellent job of keeping anypony from escaping the premises. I'm sure you'll find the culprit in no time."

Spectacles glanced about the room. "Ma'am, your report mentioned that the missing item was a diamond brooch."

"Yes. It was a gift from my late husband for our sixth anniversary. He had it custom made, with only the finest..."

Spectacles' mind wandered as the mare prattled on. Her eyes cast about the crowd of laborers and then the room itself, but found nothing of interest. Her ear pricked as a faint sound echoed from a nearby hallway: hooves against a marble floor. Judging by the pitch, it was someone small and light.

"Ma'am. Do you have any family?"

The mare blinked when she interrupted her ongoing story. "Yes. We... that is, I have a daughter. At the moment."

"I'll need to speak with her. She may have seen something important."

"Ah. Of course. Her room is right this way."

"I'll have to speak with her alone. You can explain the situation to the Sergeant here."

"But she's already—"

"Now now, Sergeant. No shirking."

Spectacles went to a side hall and followed the sound of errant hoofbeats. She rounded a corner just in time to see the rear half of a very young filly struggling to climb out a window. Spectacles marched past and caught her by the tail, pulling her along with a panicked squeak. She dragged her to a side room and slammed the door behind them.

The filly stared up at the powerfully built mare. "Wha—?!"

Spectacles pointed a hoof at her. "Your mother is going to marry Sir Inkwell no matter what you do. She was going to give him your father's brooch as a gesture of love, and stealing it will not prevent their marriage."

The filly's eyes welled up with tears. Her bottom lip quivered. "But... I dun wanna!"

"You miss your father. And your mother misses him too. But she wants to be happy again, and she wants you to have a family. You need to let go of him. And Sir Inkwell certainly isn't trying to replace your father. He can never do that. But he will still love and care for you in his own way."

The filly burst into tears. She ran over and clamped onto Spectacles' front leg, pressing her sopping wet face against her knee.

Spectacles rolled her eyes. "There. See? That's a perfect example."

She looked up at her. "Wh-wh-what?"

"You made a decision that you believed was for the best. You were scared and desperate, and you felt you needed to help your mother. You chose a terrible way to go about it, but it was all you could think of at the time."

"I did?"

"Of course you did!" Spectacles began pacing back and forth in the tiny storeroom. "Most crimes aren't cunning plans, thought out weeks in advance. They're crimes of passion. They're spur of the moment. They're driven by feelings and impulse. Not reason and logic. Ponies commit crimes because they feel helpless."

Her bottom lip quivered. "I'm a crimimal?"

"That's 'criminal.' With an 'n'. And no, you aren't. You're a good pony."

"But how do I help my momma?"

"Hm? Oh. That. Well... let her know that you don't mind if she marries again. She hasn't forgotten her first husband. And you won't be punished if you don't love your new father. But someday, you may grow to love him. And if you do, that love will be genuine."

"Yay! Thankoo, thankoo!"

The filly hugged her leg. Spectacles tentatively patted her on the head.

A minute later, Spectacles returned to the front foyer. The filly followed alongside her with the diamond brooch proudly pinned to her mane. The mother gasped at the sight of her.

"Precious! Wh-what's going on?"

The filly smiled proudly. "She said I'm a good pony!"

"And indeed she is," Spectacles said. "I couldn't have found it without her."

"You mean... it was simply misplaced?!"

Spectacles chose her words with care. "A crime has not occurred, if that's what you mean. If you want to learn more, you will have to ask your daughter about it."

The lady rushed close and shook Spectacle's hoof, vigorously. "Thank you, Spectacles! Oh, thank you ever so much! I cannot even begin to express my gratitude!"

"Well, a cheque would be a nice start. And you might want to apologize to your staff. They were completely blameless."

The mare blushed, and glanced at the now frowning crowd. "Oh. Well, yes, of course. I'll be right back with my bankbook."

Springsteel watched as she ran off. "Didn't even take you ten minutes."

"I told you this would be like a vacation. Honestly, it feels good to be dealing with petty problems. Personal problems."

Springsteel eyed her askance. "Are you actually feeling cheerful? I've never seen it before, so I can't tell for certain."

"I wouldn't go quite so far. But I think I'm going to sleep well tonight."

Springsteel walked down the corridor of the apartment building where Spectacles lived. Dressed semi-formally, he didn't look much like an officer of the law. A young mare followed beside him in a lemon-yellow dress.

"No, really," Springsteel said, "she simply cannot stand that sobriquet. The newsies were the ones who came up with it."

"You think I could get away with asking for an autograph? I don't want to bother her, but my brother asked if I could at least try. He's a huge fan."

He shook his head. "Probably not a good idea. After the opera, maybe, if her mood has improved."

"Her mood?" she said. "I hear she's cool as a cucumber, even by police standards."

"When she's on a case, yes. She's mellowed out since. I think the whole private detective thing is really doing some good for..."

He trailed off as sounds of violence drifted over: the sound of something being pummeled at a ferocious rate. Springsteel held his date back, then rushed ahead. There was a blood-curdling roar, and one of the doors crashed open in a storm of splinters and plaster. A large punching bag slammed against the facing wall and spilled sand onto the floor.

He ran to the splintered door frame. "What the—?!"
Spectacles stood in the middle of her apartment, wearing cherry-red boxers and a pair of thickly padded horseshoes. She was drenched with sweat and breathing heavily.

The instant they made eye contact, her posture settled. "Oh. Hey."
"You were supposed to be dressed and ready to go by seven! The opera starts in twelve minutes, and it's an eight minute walk!"

She looked around her cramped, messy apartment. "Right. Sorry. I just... got a little..."

Springsteel's date peeked around the doorframe. "What's going on? Is everything—oh my goodness! You're the inspector?"

Spectacles threw her gloves on the couch and stormed off. Springsteel held his date's shoulder. "Just wait for us in the carriage. I'll be out in a minute or so."

"I thought she'd be older. And less... ah..." She looked at the torn punching bag.

He pushed her back down the hallway, then went inside. Spectacles was stripping tape off her hooves. Her bright orange hair was drenched and tattered.

Springsteel tilted his head. "So?"

"So what."

Springsteel looked about the room, then back at her. "Well that was sort of my question in its entirety."

Spectacles flopped on the couch with a huff. "He's a bad pony, Spring. I don't care what everypony thinks. He's a bad pony."

"He must have a reason."

"No! I followed him around for seven years trying to learn his motives, and I never learned anything for my troubles. You know what? There was no motive! He became Equestria's most notorious jewel thief for absolutely no reason at all!"

"Oh, don't give me that. You know there must be a reason! Everything has a reason!"

"I've thought of everything. Revenge. Greed. Mischief. Poverty. Pride. Peer pressure. Sick foal with a heap of hospital bills. He isn't even crazy! There's no sign of obsession or compulsion: He's perfectly sane!"

"I wouldn't go that far."

Spectacles looked up at him. "What?"

"Not since yesterday, at least. Psych evaluation points to sudden and extreme depression. Nopony can figure out why."

"Well maybe he deserves it. Maybe he's finally figured out what a bad pony he is."

Springsteel stamped a hoof. "Stop saying that! He's not a bad pony! That's the one thing we all agree on back at the station. He's been kind and polite with us ever since we brought him in."

"It's just an act! It's what he does!"

"Then that's what we need to know! Talk to him. Look him in the eye. Ask him some questions and tell us if he's lying."

The room was quiet. Springsteel nodded to the broken door frame. "I need to go. Date's waiting. You let me know when you're finished feeling sorry for yourself."

"Don't insult my intelligence."

"I'm not. I'm insulting your feelings. And you need to put them in order before it tears you apart."

"I said I'm fine. Everything's fine."

"He's been giving autographed newspapers to the ponies who visit his cell. He's sold the rights to his life story to a theater director for a hundred thousand bits. He's already gotten a patent on three of the gadgets he invented to steal the Clopman diamond... for goodness' sake, the service is thinking of buying some of his gadgets for police issue!"

"So what!"

"Since he was captured, he's gotten more famous. And you've been forgotten. You used to be Equestrias' greatest inspector, and now look at you! Look at this place!" He pointed at the apartment, filled with heaps of old magazines and filthy laundry. "What's next? Helping kittens out of trees? Returning foal's stolen lollipops?"

Spectacle sat on the couch, silent.

"You know what? Hearts wasn't the one who refused to take this seriously."

Spectacles remained inert as her friend left. She wiped her nose and took a deep breath.

Spectacles followed the officer to the station's cell block. There were only a dozen rooms here. Ponies were rarely arrested for anything more than disorderly conduct. When they came to Heart's room, he was lying on his cot. Everything about him was a shambles. His pink, ghostly eyes were bruised. His mane was as messy as a brush cut could possibly be. It was impossible to think of him as the dashing, beguiling stallion who had charmed his way in and out of countless homes, businesses and museums.

"Mister Arrows."

He flinched at the sound, and turned to her. He made a pitiful effort to set his appearance in order. "Inspector?"

"I'm not an inspector anymore. Just a visitor."

He tossed his head. "I should be glad you decided to visit at all. Came to say your farewells?"

Spectacles arched an eyebrow. Even now, in his dishevelled state, he had gained an air of elegance. His posture. His tone. For a moment, she thought she could see a bit of the Magpie in him. Not the criminal she'd chased for seven years, nor the genius she had failed to predict. This was the Magpie of stories and legends. From gossip and rumors. It was a glimpse of something that existed only in the public's imaginations. Perhaps that was the truest Magpie of all.

"Mister Arrows. I'm going to ask you a few questions. And I want you to answer truthfully."

He set his jaw. "Still trying to prove my guilt, are you?"

"I am beyond caring about your guilt. And apparently, so is everypony else. The public no longer cares about whether or not you actually did the things you are being accused of."

"It doesn't matter. I'm not... I'm not a bad pony."

"Don't even go there."

He lifted his head. "I'm not, I swear! You don't understand any of what I've been through! And you aren't even trying!"

"Whether or not you are a bad pony is completely irrelevant!"

"Spectacles. Should a good pony be sent to prison?"

"Guilty ponies are sent to prison."

"Is it possible to be both? Can a pony be good and guilty at the same time?"

Spectacles opened her mouth to speak. Something in his eyes interrupted her.

"I never stole the crown jewels," he said, "and I never meant to. I would never steal from the Princess."

"Then what were you doing in the inner sanctum of her palace? You were directly next to the central vault. A vault that only a few ponies even know exists!"

"I wasn't stealing. You have to believe me!"

"Oh, and is there anything else you haven't done?"

He lifted his nose. "I never stole the Clopman Diamond."

"Are you kidding?! You were photographed by the case, hanging from the ceiling by a series of cables."

"Well yeah, I was there. But I never stole it."

"You left a near-perfect forgery behind. And a little signed note with an arrow, and the word 'counterfeit.' It doesn't get any—"

Hearts cut her off with a harsh look. There was a quiet moment.

"But... you don't..." Spectacle's eyes widened. "That was the only time you've ever used a forgery as part of a plot. But why? And why only once?"

Hearts nodded, urging her on.

"The forgery wasn't yours to begin with." Spectacle's brow furrowed in concentration."You had nothing to do with it, did you? When you went to steal it, you noticed that it was already a forgery. Someone had stolen it first."

"At least a year before." He cast his eyes down. "I was just trying to be helpful. Figured somepony should know."

Spectacles stared at him through the bars for a full minute.

"That's the first thing I've ever learned about you. The first time you've told me the truth." She turned away away. "Excuse me. I have to speak with the chief."

He stood up and walked to the bars. "Why? What about?"

"I only have three more days to prove your complete innocence regarding the crown jewels."

"But I was cleared of that charge!"

"Not exactly. You were pardoned. Only guilty ponies are pardoned. If that pardon proves to have been unnecessary, the Princess may see fit to extend her grace to your past mischief instead."

"She'd do that?"

"She's the Princess. She can pardon any crime. But I imagine she would only do so if she believed you were not a bad pony."

Hearts'n'Arrows bit his lip. "Do you really think you can convince her?"

Spectacles set her pipe in her mouth. "Compared to proving your guilt? This should be a piece of cake."

Act 3: Clarity

Spectacles stared at the clear, glittering stone on display, resting on a satin pillow and sealed behind a glass case. She'd done her homework before visiting it in person: It was a whopping hundred and thirty six carats. The facets had been cut with remarkable precision for the time. It was clear and brilliant, with a hint of discoloration that was impossible to detect without special optic tools. Spectacles lifted her magnifying glass and drew closer.

"See anything interesting?"

Spectacles turned to the gallery custodian: an elegant filly wearing a sleek dress and a pair of bifocals. The antique glasses contrasted sharply against her youth.

Spectacles turned back to the display case. "Not really. I'm not an expert in precious stones. I know the basics, but nothing in-depth."

The gallery custodian perked a single, reserved eyebrow. "Haven't you spent your entire career chasing famous jewel thieves?"

"I only chase the thieves. And only one of them was ever famous."

"Odd that you should mention that... the Clopman itself was never particularly famous to begin with. It only gained notoriety after the Magpie pilfered it."

"The real Clopman diamond, you mean?"

"Mmm. Though to be honest, it hasn't negatively affected our patronage much at all." She nodded to the stone on display. "The counterfeit draws more of a crowd than the original ever did. There was even some dispute among the gallery's investors as to whether the counterfeit should be insured: The current owner, Mrs. Clopman's great-great-grandniece, finally acquiesced to their demands. If someone does manage to recover the original she hopes to set them both on display, side by side."

"Doesn't that seem a little absurd? Taking out an insurance policy for a fake?"

The custodian shrugged, utterly placid. "I don't see why it should be. It draws a crowd. It contributes to the gallery's income. Thus, it has some genuine value."

"But it's just a fake."

"Just?"The custodian turned to her, coolly. "Counterfeits can be of superior quality to the genuine article, if the craftspony wishes. Natural diamonds always suffer some degree of discoloration... usually brown or yellow. Artificial stones, on the other hoof, can be perfectly clear. They can possess superior fire and brilliance. They can be made in a variety of colors impossible to find in nature. Even their hardness exceeds that of the original's: a property that diamonds are renowned for. The engineering uses for synthetic diamond are only now being explored by the industry."

Spectacle sighed. "So you're saying a fake is better than the real thing?"

"Certainly not, miss. Natural diamonds are prized for their rarity. But it is a fallacy to think of 'betterness' as being an innate quality. It depends on whether you need to make a drill bit or an engagement ring. Far be it for us to pass judgement on what our patrons should wish to view."

Spectacles gazed at the stone, deep in thought.

The custodian walked away at a leisurely pace. "The counterfeit does have one significant benefit over the original."

"Oh?"

"Yes. The diamond acquired by Mrs. Clopman came with a terrible curse. One that harried her to the end of her life and continued to afflict her offspring for several years hence."

Spectacles turned to her, dismayed. "A curse? What kind of curse?"

"Mister Clopman. Of course."

Spectacles took a carriage back to the police station. In only four days, the crowd out front had tripled in size. They had been passionate before, but now things had grown ugly. A barricade had been set up to keep the road clear, dividing the crowd in half. Each faction shouted at the other, waving signs and banners, and officers had been deployed to keep the crowd from turning into a riot. Spectacles' carriage was rolling down the middle of that divide, on route to the station... being in the middle of it all put a sickening sensation in the pit of her stomach.

The carriage passed through the gates and into the station courtyard. Springsteel was waiting for her as she climbed out.

"Ponies don't need much of an excuse to protest, do they? Must be Canterlot's most violent pastime. After jousting and polo."

She shook her head. "They were content when the Magpie only stole from rich snobs... but the Princess? That crossed a hard line."

Springsteel followed her inside. "I suppose proving his guilt will be a snap, now."

She frowned at him. "It's fortunate a pony's guilt does not hinge on popular opinion."

"But you know he's guilty."

"Of course... but of what?" She nodded to the filly at the front desk. "I need to speak with the Chief Inspector."

The filly scrambled through a stack of paperwork. "You can go on in. He's expecting you, but there's been a..."

Spectacles nodded. "Won't be a minute."

She continued on, ignoring the desk officer's frantic waving. When they arrived at the Chief's office, there was already a unicorn with him: she was dressed in the immaculate uniform of a police pony and her long hair tied back in a ponytail. She was using her aura of sparkles to hold a beret by her side. The hat was specially tailored to admit a unicorn's horn. Their conversation halted when the door opened.

"Chief. You were expecting me?"

"Yes. Spectacles, this is..."

The mare straightened up and clacked her hoof on the floor. "Inspector Blue Flame."

Spectacles nodded. "I know who you are. If you don't mind, I need to speak with the chief in private."

Blue Flame fixed her with a cold look. "And I know who you are, citizen Spectacles."

The Chief cleared his throat. "I'll have you know this citizen was our finest inspector for seven years straight."

"It took her seven years to catch the only criminal she was specifically tasked with. And now that he's finally behind bars, she seems to have lost the nerve required to keep him there."

"I didn't resign out of protest. I resigned because I wanted to retire."

"And that is your decision. But somepony has to pick up the slack where you left off. And I intend to finish this."

"Finish what? The Magpie already faces a six year prison term!"

"Reduced from sixty years." Blue Flame stamped her foot. "He has been convicted of trespassing and impersonation, whereas his most serious crimes have all been pardoned. This is a mockery of the law, and I intend to see his original sentencing reinstated in full."

"Full...?" Spectacles said. "How... exactly... do you intend to countermand a royal pardon from the princess herself?"

"Mister Hearts'n'Arrows was only forgiven by the crown for the attempted heist at the palace. He has not yet been convicted of being the Magpie... a simple oversight that I intend to rectify within the week."

The Chief Inspector pointed at the straight-laced unicorn. "Inspector Flame has been reassigned to the Magpie case. After you resigned, we had no choice but to fill the position immediately."

Spectacles shook her head. "She can't do this."

Flame arched one eyebrow. "You think you're the only competent inspector?"

"I have no doubt in your abilities. But you can't understand the Magpie."

"I don't need to. This case requires a firm grasp of the facts. Nothing more."

Spectacles scrunched her eyes shut and poked the bridge of her nose. "This case is not as simple as you would like it to be."

"...How so?"

"The Magpie did not steal the crown jewels, and you can't prove he intended to. There is absolutely no motive."

"I do not need a motive!" she said and stamped her hoof. "The material evidence is overwhelming."

"We still have three days left to prove his innocence. I need to..."

"Innocence?! You were the one who accused him of conspiracy in the first place!"

"He should be considered innocent until proven guilty! The only reason anypony even considered the crown jewels was because I blurted it out during the arrest. I was the one who jumped to conclusions."

"You are a brilliant inspector. Were. But I never realized your resolve was so lacking." She tossed her mane and marched towards the door. "The arc of the moral universe is long indeed.... but it bends towards justice. And in three days time, Celestia's subjects will have their justice."

All three ponies flinched as she slammed the door.

"She got that out of a book, didn't she?"

The Chief Inspector's voice was tentative. "Inspector Flame's record of arrests is flawless."

"It's not her record I'm concerned about. She's too worried about the facts of the matter."

Springsteel blinked at her. "Aren't you always going on about the importance of facts?"

"There's a time and a place for everything. But this... this is different."

The Chief tidied up a few papers. "I'm sorry, Spectacles. Even if we did put you back into service, Blue Flame has already been assigned to the Magpie's case. We can't simply replace her. Not in three days, at least. And even if we hired you as a private contractor..."

"...I'd only end up taking orders from Blue Flame." Spectacles paused to consider. "I can still visit the prisoner, can't I?"

He nodded.

"Good. This may actually work out better."

Spectacles stepped into the evidence room, where half a dozen officers were interrogating the prisoner. The long tables were loaded with neatly arranged devices, each of them labelled with tags. The 'interrogation' was particularly lively... The Magpie was walking back and forth, cheerfully answering questions.

Springsteel leaned close and whispered to her. "We have the report on his spell casting abilities. Celestia's very own prize pupil came in as an expert witness, and performed the magical analysis herself... sorry you couldn't attend her presentation. Most of it was way over our heads anyway. She was so brilliant, she didn't make any sense at all."

"His magical powers don't concern me."

"Well, just in case..." He held out a sheaf of beautifully inlaid scrolls, covered with intricate writings and diagrams. "She made a dumbed-down summary for us. You can sneak a peek at my copy, if you like."

"Maybe later." She paused as an burst of air buffeted the room. One of the officers was wearing a vest that had inflated into a giant padded bubble: Her eyes widened as the inflatable cushion engulfed her completely. The other officers laughed while the Magpie explained how the vest could be deactivated.

Spectacles sighed. "He's back to his overly-casual self, I see. Who keeps giving him his wig back?"

"Well, we figured... you know. No need to be cruel."

Spectacles entered the evidence room. The Magpie froze as he caught sight of her. The officer's laughter died down a few seconds later.

He knelt down on one hoof, the very picture of courtesy. "Miss Spectacles."

She nodded. "Good afternoon, Hearts'n'Arrows."

He winced. "I'm still not used to that."

"heaign your real name, you mean? You might want to get used to it." She looked to the other officers. "Could you mares give us—"

There was a springing noise and a panicked squeal. When everypony turned to look, one of the officers was pinned to the wall by a spider web of elastic cables.

Another officer set down a large tube with a trigger grip. "Sorry."

"Could you mares give us a minute alone?"

The officers filed out. Springsteel was the last to go.

Hearts watched her, quietly. "Inspector?"

"It's just Miss Spectacles. The Chief is unable to return me to active service. At least, not quickly enough to make a difference. They've assigned somepony else to your case."

Hearts' eyes flicked back and forth. "Then why are you here?"

"I'm a visitor. I can visit, can't I?"

Hearts shrugged. "Certainly. What would you like to talk about?"

"I need to ask you a few questions. And this time, I do mean it: you need to tell me the truth."

"Ask away."

Spectacles nudged her glasses up. "Are you the Magpie?"

"I think that's already been proven."

"That's not an answer."

"But it doesn't matter what I say. My answer is irrelevant."

She clenched her jaw. "Are you the Magpie?"

He shrugged. "Are you the Lens?"

"The Lens is a nickname given to me by the press. I had nothing to do with it."

Hearts gave her a pointed look.

"Alright," she said, "point made. But were you responsible for the crimes attributed to the public figure known as the Magpie?"

"That handsome rapscallion? People attributed him with hundreds of crimes. Some of them were proven to be the work of other ponies, and others never happened at all. They were just stories."

"I mean the crimes attributed by the police! Did you commit those crimes?"

He shrugged. "Police officers are ponies. They are as fallible as anypony else. They are just as vulnerable to gossip and rumours. Certain kinds, at least."

"Did you intend to steal the crown jewels?"

Hearts'n'Arrows gave an exaggerated sigh. "Firstly: The jewels have not been stolen. Secondly: I did what I intendedto do. Ergo, we can surmise that I did not intend to steal the Jewels. If I had, I assure you they would probably be stolen."

Spectacles opened her mouth to speak, but froze for a moment.

"...What did you say?"

"I did what I intended to do," he said as he casually examined a gadget on the table. "You never really stopped me. And if I am not answering your questions, it is because you are not asking the correct ones."

Spectacles took a breath and regained her composure. "Well, then... what is the right question?"

"I can't tell you," Hearts said. "Nopony can. That's the whole purpose of a question: It comes from within. You ask because you want an answer, and the harder you want it—the more time and effort you spend searching for it—the better the answer is when you get it."

Spectacles turned and left the room in a trance. Springsteel was waiting in the corridor just beyond, and fell in beside her.

"Did you get any answers out of him?"

"No. Nothing." Spectacles frowned. "He doesn't... have any answers."

"I find that hard to believe."

Spectacles stood quietly, mind racing. "Springsteel. I need a little favour from you."

"What kind of favour?"

The next day, Springsteel led a pair of ponies—a mare and a stallion, both elderly—into the interviewing room. "If you'll both have a seat, please. The inspector will be right with you."

The stallion adjusted his monocle. "I assure you, we'll do everything in our power to assist with the investigation."

"Appreciated, Mr. Cane."

"Am I to understand you have him here? In custody?"

"I'm sorry, I can't discuss that at this time."

The stallion frowned. "How soon can we visit him?"

"In due time, Mr. Cane. If you'll excuse me."

Springsteel left them alone and stood outside the door. A minute later, precisely on the clock, Blue Flame showed up with a clipboard.

"Are they ready?"

"Sorry, Ma'am. They haven't showed up yet."

She looked up, displeased. She obviously hadn't expected any answer other than 'yes.'

"They sent a note ahead that their flight was delayed slightly. They'll be here in fifteen minutes. No later."

"You would think they'd take this a little more seriously. Let me know the instant they arrive."

"Yes'm."

She marched off. Springsteel waited for her to go around a corner. He then knocked on the door of a nearby broom closet. "Fifteen minutes... no more."

Spectacles entered the interrogation room holding a cup of iced tea and a folded up newspaper. She glanced about the bare room, currently furnished with nothing but a table and a set of chairs. There were two elderly ponies seated there: A stallion and a mare.

"Mister Sugar Cane. Missus Candy Cane."

Mr. Cane nodded. "You're the inspector, then?"

"I am involved in the case, if that's what you mean." Spectacles sat across from them. "I imagine the announcement must have been quite a shock to you."

"Not nearly as much as you might think. He was always a shiftless colt. Lazy... no direction in life."

Spectacles arched an eyebrow. "Lazy?"

"I was beginning to think he would never amount to anything. But this... it doesn't surprise me in the slightest." The stallion slammed a hoof on the table. "I never once gave the colt a whipping. Maybe if I had, this never would have happened."

"I... doubt that. Ponies of his background rarely fall to crime out of mere desperation. I believe this was a conscious choice of his. A person doesn't acquire his level of ability without extreme dedication and focus."

The father stood up from his chair, furious. "Where is he, then? He'll beg for the safety of a prison cell before I get my hooves on him! That colt needs a little less sugar and a little more cane!"

The mare touched his arm, very gently. "Dear, please!"

He slapped her hoof aside. "Don't you give me that clop-trap! This is entirely your fault! You've coddled him since he was a foal, and look what's finally become of it!"

Spectacles stood up. "Mister Cane, please. Be seated."

He did so, still fuming.

"Mister Cane... could you give me a moment to speak with your wife? Alone?"

"We took a six hour flight for this? Harrumph!" He stood and left the room.

Spectacles watched the mare. She returned the look for only a moment, then turned away.

Spectacles' voice was soft. "How long have you known?"

"Oh, a mother knows..." The elderly mare sniffled, her eyes glistening. "Please... don't be too harsh to him. I never knew it was this bad!"

"You never knew that your son was the Magpie. But you knew he was doing something."

She nodded. "I'm so... sorry... about...! I never meant for this to...!"

She broke into tears. Spectacles glanced at the clock, counting the seconds.

"Candy Cane. I believe your son is innocent."

"He... he is?"

"Perhaps that is an exaggeration. He's almost certainly responsible for over three hundred counts of grand larceny. But I believe he had no intention of stealing the crown jewels."

She sat upright. "How do you know?"

"Well... for one, the jewels are not missing. It is very possible that he could have stolen them, if he so desired. And yet the princess herself confirmed their security."

"What do you need me for? Is there anything at all I can do?"

"I know a great deal about the Magpie. Now, I need to know about your son."

Her tears trickled to an end. "He was always unfocused. Even as a foal, we could never get him to concentrate on anything. His schoolwork, his chores, his part time jobs... even his friends. But he was such a bright pony... always so well behaved!"

Spectacles nodded. "But he never applied himself to anything?"

"I suppose he never had to. Our family was very well off by the time he was born."

"I am aware of your family's history. Your husband-to-be inherited a parcel of land and a hereditary title from his parents, but he couldn't afford to cultivate that land. You, on teh other hoof, were a merchant's daughter... heiress to a successful chain of confectionary shops. The marriage was very profitable for both of you. Your financial support, combined with his land title, allowed you both to start a very profitable chain of candy and pastry shops."

"It wasn't just a business arrangement," said Mrs Cane. "I really do love him, you know. He's just... well, he can be a little strict sometimes."

"And you never told him about your son's activities?"

"Heavens, no. He would have been furious!"

"Don't you think it would have been best to tell somepony sooner rather than later? It was going to get out eventually."

Candy Cane looked away.

Spectacles cleared her throat and set the newspaper between them. The pages were old and yellowed. "Eight years ago, you gave your son ownership of a small sugar plantation. It was, at the time, on the outskirts of Equestria's civic border. Practically in the wild lands."

"It was his idea, actually..." She turned the paper around, gazing at the black and white photograph of her son and husband. They were shaking hooves, each with a smile. "It was the first time he'd ever shown interest in anything. And he was so good at it... his plantation is still one of our most profitable estates."

"But he was still... lazy."

"Yes, despite the excellent profits. I thought he might be involved in something shady—smuggling goods or laundering money, perhaps—but his father was too proud to notice. I looked into it a few times, but never found anything... but I never expected this. It just doesn't make any sense."

Spectacles paced back and forth. "You're right. He didn't need to smuggle or launder anything. None of the Magpie's thefts were ever sold or moved across borders. Not that we know of."

"You do the best you can... you know?"

Spectacles looked at her. Candy Cane was focused on the newspaper.

"You raise them up. You love them. You try to teach them. And then you have to let them go... let them fly out into the world. There's some things they just have to learn on their own."

"Ma'am—"

She looked up at Spectacles. "Did I do this? Is this all my fault?"

"Missus Cane, your son made his own decisions. You can't be held responsible for that."

"Have you spoken with the poor colt yet? He's never made a real decision in his whole life. We've always been there for him when he needed us... and now..."

The door opened. Blue Flame and Sugar Cane stood in the open archway, clearly displeased.

Spectacles nudged her glasses up "Goodness. Am I in the wrong room?"

Springsteel led Spectacles into a holding cell and locked the door behind her. Hearts watched from the facing cell, bemused.

Springsteel tugged the padlock. "Sorry, Specs. See you tomorrow."

They watched as the officer left. They were alone in the cell block.

"Spectacles? You've been arrested?"

She removed her jacket and hung it from the corner of the upper bunk bed. "A light warning, this time."

Hearts' left ear flipped up. "Whatever would cause such a promising young filly to debase herself with a criminal offence?"

"Not much. I went into the wrong room, and accidentally interfered with an interview. Big misunderstanding."

"Miss Spectacles. Impersonating an officer of the law... is wrong."

"I know, right? Big misunderstanding."

Spectacles sat on her cot and stared at the wall. Hearts watched her for awhile: she was frowning, and her eyes twitched every so often. She looked to him several times, but never actually said anything. After half an hour of this she began pacing back and forth in her cell.

"Spectacles...?" Hearts said.

"Some kind of... maybe... no, couldn't be..."

Hearts watched her mutter to herself.

"Spectacles."

"Stop distracting me," she snapped.

"What... exactly... are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?If I can figure out your motives, I'll be one step closer to solving the case."

"I'm right here, you know. You could just ask me about it."

She glared at him. "Every time I do that, you refuse to answer my question directly."

"You know, I'm not doing it just to bother you. There's a very good reason for—"

Spectacles rolled her eyes with a sigh. "You refuse to answer my questions because you don't have an answer for me. There's something about this situation that even you don't understand and you want me to figure it out for you."

"Wow," he said. "You are good."

She glared at him. "Unfortunately, it's starting to look like you became the Magpie for no reason whatsoever, and now you want me to come up with a convincing excuse."

"I had a reason."

"Then what? what was that reason? Why'd you do it?"

Hearts lay back on his cot, staring at the ceiling for some time. "Why'd you do it?" he said at last.

"Do what?"

"Why'd you spend all those years chasing after me?"

"Because you were breaking the law. Somepony had to stop you. It just happened to be me."

"But why you? Why not let somepony else stop me?"

"Because it's the law! I can't just sit and do nothing when I could be doing something! What other reason do I need?"

Hearts shrugged. "There are certainly other criminals. Why waste your time and talents on me?"

"Because... just because."

Hearts tilted his head, expectantly.

She spoke through clenched teeth. "Because I was the only one who could stop you."

"That's a load of garbage, and you know it. You started this case years ago—

"Seven years."

—And what were you like back then? Were you a brilliant detective? Were you a world-famous sleuth?"

"It's not about the fame! That's the very last thing I care about!"

Hearts tapped the side of his head. "Think. Seven years ago, you were nothing but an inexperienced novice. You never could have caught me."

"I think we both know exactly how far I've come since."

Hearts arched an eyebrow. "Yes. But I'm the only one of us who realizes how or why you came so far."

Spectacles stared at him with a mixture of anger and confusion.

He went on, casual. "You only became famous because you were chasing me. You followed my trail, studied my methods, and honed your skills for seven years. All because of me."

Her eye twitched. "Are you saying you created me?"

"You created yourself. Nopony can take that away from you." He arched an eyebrow. "But I was certainly a fine motivator, wasn't I?"

She slumped on her cot.

They spent the next hour in silence, napping on their respective cots. The more Spectacles thought about the puzzle at hand, the more restless she became. She finally stood up and began pacing.

Hearts watched her for a while.

"What were you like?"

"Hm?"

Hearts stood up and walked to the bars. "Seven years ago, I mean. All I know about you is what the newsies say. And they only report on your career."

She sighed, exasperated. "I was excited. Eager. I wanted to be helpful. To make Equestria a better place."

"How refreshingly... naive. Is that why you became a police officer?"

"That was the last thing on my mind at the time. As a foal, I was a royal page. And later, as a yearling, I was a squire to a knight."

Hearts' ears pricked up. "You're of the nobility?"

"Not even close. This was back when knights were starting to accept commoners as squires." She leaned back and thumped her head against the wall. "I can't believe I'm telling you this."

"So, you lived in the palace?"

"Yeah, with all the other pages. My parents visited me all the time, but I spent my whole childhood there. Hard work, no pay... but a fine education, and the opportunity to join the royal guard. Maybe even become a knight in my own right." She stared off, dreamily. "A knighthood... can you imagine?"

"An impressive goal, to be sure. But why didn't you keep after it?"

"My cutie mark." She stood up and presented him with a profile view. There on her flank were a pair of magnifying glasses, handles crossed. "I had a talent for deduction. Intuition. Logical thinking. And the royal guards didn't really need any of that. They would have let me stay on, if I really wanted, but they encouraged me to look elsewhere... they said I should find a better use of my talents."

"So you joined the police force instead."

"The police service. But yes... that about sums it up."

"Why?"

She frowned at him. "What do you mean, why? It's what I'm good at."

Hearts shrugged. "That doesn't mean you have to do it."

A metal clink interrupted her train of thought. Springsteel walked over and jingled a key ring. "Chief says you get out early for good behaviour. Just don't do it again."

Hearts stood up and set a hoof over his heart. "You have my utmost—"

"Nice try, doofus." Springsteel said with a smirk. He unlocked the door to Spectacle's cell. "But the chief is serious. This doesn't happen again."

"Yes... of course." She put her jacket on and watched Hearts. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get some fresh air. I'm expecting to meet with somepony."

Spectacles left through the station's side exit and walked down the road. She stopped at a tiny, old-fashioned storefront and purchased a small bottle of liquid soap. She continued down the street and came to a fancy restaurant.

A waiter came to her without delay. "Mademoiselle?"

"Table for two, please. I'm expecting to meet with somepony."

"Right this way."

"Could I have an outdoor table?"

"But of course."

The waiter led her upstairs and onto the open balcony. She sat down and laid some papers on the table. Within a minute, someone approached her table: A dashing stallion with a luxurious sky-blue coat. He wore a fine dress shirt, and his windswept mane glittered in the sun. A set of tennis rackets poked out of the back of his saddle bags. A number of fillies giggled as he passed.

"Ah! Hope I'm not late!" His resonant voice bore a cultured Canterlonian accent. "I should hate to keep such a lovely filly waiting alone."

"Just sit down, already. And drop the act."

He sat down, accent gone. "I actually know how to play tennis, if you can believe it. But in any case. You were expecting me, I assume?"

Spectacles stared into his eyes. She could see the slight, glistening edge of his coloured contact lenses.

"Hearts... please. Did you have a good reason?"

He straightened up. "Yes. It absolutely had to be done."

"You were... trying to prove something. Trying to point out a flaw in the security system?"

"Security is an illusion. Safety mechanisms can be improved. Countermeasures can be invented. But no system can ever be completely secure. It is simply the way of things."

Spectacles frowned. "Security is not an illusion. The police are living proof of this."

"Bah. The police are no different than firefighters and doctors. They can try to minimize the problem, and will mend it as best they can after something bad happens, but they can't really prevent crime. Sometimes they get lucky... but they can't depend on that."

Spectacles leaned forward, looking stern. "You can't just look at the police on an individual basis. By punishing criminals, they discourage others from doing the same. They work to improve society as a whole."

"Oh they do, do they? And what is society?" He clopped a hoof against the table. "Cultural mores are nothing but a popularity contest... they change all the time. A bunch of civilized ponies get together and decide what's right and what's wrong. Society's views of right and wrong are no different than their views of what makes for good art, or good cuisine."

"Alright, you can't... you can't just..." Spectacles leaned against the table. "There are two sides to this. The police have a responsibility to enforce the laws of the society it protects. Their duty is to maintain order... not improve it. That's the responsibility of the legislative branch of the legal system. They create and modify the laws that improve society. The police then enforce those laws."

Hearts leaned forward as well. "You can't force society to improve. It has to want to improve. You don't improve the world by becoming a lawyer or a police officer or a politician... those people are meant to be servants of the public. You need to inspire ponies! If you truly wanted to improve Equestria, you'd have been a teacher."

"A what?"

"A school teacher. That's where it all starts... a bunch of unique little foals, bright-eyed and eager to explore the world! It's an irrefutable statistic that as the quality of standardized education increases, criminal activity decreases. You want to stop ponies from becoming criminals in the first place? Become a teacher."

Spectacles sat bolt upright, eyes wide. "You hated your childhood!"

Hearts flinched at the sudden shift in topic. "What?!"

"The sugarcane plantation your parents gave you! You made a fortune off it when you were little, but you hated it! You only did it to make your parents happy and you were absolutely miserable the whole time!"

"Of all the...!" Hearts sputtered: an odd mannerism to see on a young adult. "I didn't do this for my parents! And certainly not for my father!"

"No-no-no, it makes perfect sense... you've spent your entire life haunted by a question you can't answer! Well this was what happened when you tried to ignore it. You tried to live an ordinary life, and everypony thought you were a grand success."

"I was a failure!!" Hearts shot up from his seat and slammed his front hooves against the table. "I tried to make something of myself... something good and proper and decent... and I was still an abysmal failure!"

Spectacles ignored the attention they'd garnered. "Please, sit down. We need to talk about this. We need to figure out why you went on to become Equestria's most famous jewel thief. You don't just fall into that sort of thing for no reason at all!"

"Haven't you figured it out by now?! I thought of all the ponies in the world, you'd be the first to get it!"

"Get what? There's no—"

Spectacles froze as a flash of insight seized her. Hearts'n'Arrows looked into her eyes, and flinched at what he saw. He rushed away from the table and into the restaurant.

"Hearts, wait! We can still...!"

She chased after him, but stopped at the door that separated the balcony from the interior. Her eyes searched the restaurant, scanning the patrons at each of the tables. There was no evidence of where he had gone or who he had become.

Spectacles paced back and forth in her cramped nd cluttered apartment.

"He's certain. He's absolutely certain he had a good reason for what he did. Which means he had a purpose. He went about it in the worst possible way, but it was the only thing he could think of."

Spectacles stopped pacing and glanced out the window. The panes of glass were stained with a greasy film of iridescent soap-scum.

"No... that isn't right. The Magpies' crimes weren't the result of sudden, overriding passion. They weren't driven by a sense of urgency. They were patient... methodical."

She resumed her pacing. "That's not right either. He's very passionate about certain things. And yet his individual crimes were methodical... which means he's passionate about his career as a whole."

She went to a wastebasket and dumped the contents of her pipe. "It's supposed to be the other way around. Crimes are spur of the moment. But how could a seven year burglary spree possibly be spur of the moment?"

She took out a bottle of soap, already half empty, and refilled her pipe.

"Alright. The palace. He said he'd already achieved his original goal. And yet, he hasn't once behaved as if he's accomplished anything. Which means that either his goals have changed, or the result wasn't as satisfying as he'd wished."

She puffed on her pipe and sent a stream of bubbles dancing through the air.

"His mother said he was unfocused as a child. Not unusual. Then, all of a sudden, he gained focus. He dedicated himself to something. Also a common occurrence, when someone first gains their cutie mark... but this would have been seven years ago. He would have already discovered his mark."

She lowered her pipe, resolute.

It's the only possible conclusion. Nothing else fits.

She snatched her coat and opened the door, nodding to the coat rack she'd been talking to.

"S'cuse me. I need to..." She paused to look back at the inanimate piece of furniture. "To... get out more. Probably."

Spectacles burst through the front doors of the police station and ran past the front office, through the main hall and past a crowd of busy officers.

"S'cuse me. I need to speak with the—"

"You!" Blue Flame shouted as she marched over. "Who let you in? This is government property!"

"I'm here to visit a prisoner. It's very urgent."

"You can wait till tomorrow's visiting hours, just like everypony else."

"He'll be in court tomorrow. I need to speak with him now! I only have one question for him, and the entire case hinges on it!"

"Miss Spectacles. The only way you're getting into that cell block is in chains."

Spectacles clenched her jaw. She reached up, slow and deliberate, and flicked Blue Flame's beret. The hat was specially fitted with a hole for a unicorn's horn: it spun around her horn several times and came to rest over the front of her face.

"Miss Spectacles." Blue Flame calmly turned her beret around, revealing a cold fury in her eyes. "This ludicrous attempt to goad me will accomplish nothing. Kindly leave the premises before I have you escorted out by force."

Spectacles stamped a hoof. "Hearts'n'Arrows is innocent! This precinct is about to send an innocent stallion to prison! I refuse to let that stand!"

"The law is very clear on the subject."

"The law is wrong!"

Blue Flame recoiled, eyes wide.

Spectacles took a breath, and continued. "The law is flexible. The law changes and adapts all the time. The purpose of the law is not to punish crimes, but to protect society! Imprisonment is merely one tool of many, and you've forgotten that!"

"If you believe the law is in error," she said, "I will be more than happy to examine your proof."

"It's not about proof! It's not about guilty or innocent... it's about right or wrong!"

"Sergeant. Escort miss Spectacles and her childishly naive sentiments off the premises."

Springsteel glanced between them. "Ma'am. Shouldn't we at least—"

"That is an order sergeant!"

Springsteel straightened up. "Yes ma'am!"

Springsteel led his old friend outside. "Sorry about this, Specs."

"It's not your fault," she said. "And you're not the only pony who isn't at fault."

"We're not going to go through this again, are we?"

"He's scared. I could see it in his eyes."

"He should be. Six years is a long time."

"Not that..." She removed her glasses and massaged her nose. "It's something else... something much bigger than just him. He did what he had to do. He felt he had no other choice."

"That's not exactly something we can prove."

"Spring, I think I know what's going on. I think I see it now. I just need one more piece of the puzzle... just one more answer. That's all I need."

"Look, Inspector Flame is already on a rampage. You've been pushing things to the limit! If you keep this up, you could be arrested for real."

Spectacles turned back, looking at the mark on her flank.

"They're unique, aren't they?"

"Completely. That's why we use them for identification."

"How do we get them?"

"What?"

"Why do they appear? Who decides?"

"Well... no-pony does. They just appear."

"But it's not random, is it? There's reason behind it... a sort of destiny."

"Whoa there, Nellie. That's way out of my league. There's nopony in Equestria who truly understands how they work."

Spectacles cast her gaze out over the rooftops of Canterlot, to the uppermost spires of the palace.

Sedate, classical music drifted through the air of one o upper-canterlot's finer gardens, situated behind the privately owned mansion of one of its wealthiest citizens. Ponies of all sorts, all dressed extravagantly, mingled about and discussed the higher points of fine culture. One pony in particular, a middle aged mare, walked amongst the partygoers as she led her most important guest about: the majestic Princess Celestia herself.

"...So then, I said: 'know her? Why, she's coming to my garden party this very afternoon!' I can tell you, the look on her face was absolutely priceless. And of course, she asked for an invite. By then, though, the invitations were already accounted for."

A small clique of ponies obediently chuckled at the anecdote. Princess Celestia managed a half-hearted smile, but said nothing.

The elegantly dressed mare nodded up at the Princess. "Oh, but we do so very much appreciate you coming all the way out here."

Celestia smiled as she spoke, with a voice like a chorus of silver bells. "It was my pleasure! Your daughter's rose gardens are by far the most beautiful I've seen this season. I simply couldn't pass up an opportunity to enjoy them in full bloom."

"Yes, yes... they're really quite superb, aren't they?"

"Do you think you could introduce me to her? I'm very curious about the methods she used to raise them, and I haven't seen her at the party yet."

"What? Oh, she isn't actually here. She's back at the country estate, rummaging about in her greenhouse. Nothing very exciting, I assure you. All very technical."

"Oh... I'm sorry to hear."

"Really, she doesn't much care for these sophisticated little events. Ah, but I'm sure you didn't come here to talk about dirtytools and potting soil!"

The princess looked away, a tad forlorn. "I suppose not."

"But enough of all that! How many fresh bouquets will the city need for its beautification effort? We sell them by the pound, you know. And I'm sure we can double our output for next year's—"

"Excuse me. Lady Fussbudget?"

The crowd's subservient chuckling abruptly ceased and everypony turned to the newcomer: a chestnut mare with a short, fiery red mane. She was dressed in a poorly fitted tuxedo with a rental tag still hanging off the collar.

"I... say." The hostess lowered her opera glasses. "Were you invited?"

"Sorry. I need to borrow your princess for just a moment... it's very important."

"Oh, I don't think so." The lady raised a hoof and shooed her. "Do please be on your way."

"Princess, please. An innocent pony faces a significant prison sentence."

The hostess opened her mouth to speak, but celestia raised a hoof and cut her off. "Lady Fussbudget. I did promise to meet with each of your guests at least once. I'm sure you can allow me to spare a few moments of time."

"Oh... well yes, of course. Your Royal Highness."

Celestia followed after Spectacles, quiet and reserved, and Spectacle's own knees were wobbly every step of the way. They came to a quiet and out of the way corner of the garden.

"Princess. I'm very very sorry for interrupting the party like this..."

Celestia smiled. "There's no need to apologize. This is an informal event, after all. I may socialize with whomever I choose."

"Yes. Well... I have a... question."

"Go on, then."

"Are there... bad ponies?"

Celestia's eyebrow lifted a few degrees. "Would you care to elaborate?"

"I think... somepony... might be..." She removed her glasses and wiped them against her shirt. "Or rather, it's possible... that..."

Spectacles stared up at the princess. Stared into those serene, royal purple eyes.

"Princess. Where do cutie marks come from?"

"They come from within," she said, "as all good things do."

"No, I mean..." Spectacles scrunched her eyes shut. "Do we make them appear? Is it something we do? Or is it something that happens to us?"

"My, yes!" she said with an encouraging smile. "Just so!"

"No, I mean... Argh!"

Celestia watched as Spectacles walked in little circles. She flopped on the ground, dejected.

"Sorry I wasted your time."

She flinched as Celestia nudged aside a lock of her unruly mane. "I don't mean to discourage you, but this is a weighty question indeed. A straightforward answer simply isn't possible. Such questions require a great deal of inner contemplation."

"But you could just tell me! You know everything about... everything! You probably know whether Hearts wanted to steal your jewels!"

Celestia smiled. "I would not have pardoned him otherwise."

Spectacles took a deep breath. "Do you know where cutie marks come from? I don't want to know... I just want to know if you know."

Celestia's face turned solemn. "I do know the truth. This enlightenment is a part of what makes me a princess. A small part."

"But what if somepony... got... a bad cutie mark?"

"Miss Spectacles. If you learn one thing from our conversation, let it be this... there are no bad marks. Nor good marks. A mark is just a mark. What matters is what we choose do with it."

"But what about a mark that made somepony do bad things? Would it really be their fault?"

"That, my child, is an excellent question." Celestia turned away, her mane rippling in the ebb and flow of some invisible, cosmic wind. "I look forward to hearing your answer tomorrow."

The next day, a herd of ponies trotted into the grand courtroom in an orderly fashion. There were ponies of all ages, from all walks of life. The jury had been chosen with great care, in a reliably random fashion. Spectators waited patiently in the gallery section, and Celestia herself sat with these spectators while an elderly mare in a black gown ascended the central podium. The princess was the ultimate authority of Equestria, and she could veto any law—forgive any crime—but she left the creation and interpretation of most laws to her citizens. It was a gesture of faith and confidence: one that her subjects took very seriously.

The judge clapped her wooden mallet against the gavel. The crowd settled down and the bailiff unfurled a scroll.

"The Honourable Judge Clink Scales presides, at the pleasure of her Excellency Princess Celestia. We are assembled here to determine the guilt or innocence of Mister Hearts'n'Arrows for the attempted crown jewel heist, committed on the evening of—"

"I object!"

The crowd gasped as Spectacles marched in from the front hall and approached the throne. The judge hammered the armrest until the murmuring died down.

The judge peered down at her. "Miss Spectacles, I assume. If you wish to object to the court proceedings, you will have to wait until after the reading of the accusations."

She paused. "...When is that?"

The bailiff shuffled his papers. "I was just about to start."

"Ah. Well... alright then."

The bailiff cleared his throat. "The accused, Mister Hearts'n'Arrows, now stands on trial to answer for the attempted crown jewel heist, committed on the evening of August sixteenth. If there are any objections to the—"

"I object!"

The crowd gasped, again. Another round of hammering brought the murmuring to an end. The bailiff sighed, and nodded to Spectacles.

"Yes, yes. On what grounds?"

"Well, because... ah..." Spectacles took a small booklet from her coat pocket and began flipping through it. "I object to the impending case on the grounds of Peremptory Plea of Autrefois Convict."

The Bailiff glanced at the judge, who shrugged. He turned back to Spectacles. "Are you saying that Mister Hearts'n'Arrows was previously convicted of this crime, and therefore cannot be tried for it a second time?"

Spectacles blinked at him for a moment. She shuffled through her notebook, glancing up now and then. "Sorry, your.... honour. It's in here... somewh... Ahh! Here we go." She cleared her throat. "I hereby object to the impending case on the grounds of Diminished Responsibility."

The Bailiff sighed. "You've never done this before, have you?"

Spectacles shuffled her hooves. "I figured now would be a very good time to start."

There was a smattering of laughter from the audience in the gallery, which the judge quelled with a look.

"Miss Spectacles. Diminished Responsibility is a defence... not an objection. You cannot suggest a defence for the accused unless you are the defending attorney."

Spectacles glanced about the room. "Who's the defending attorney?"

"Mister Hearts'n'Arrows has chosen to represent himself. Against the recommendation of the court."

"Could I...? Do you think...? For just a...?" Spectacles rushed over to where Hearts was sitting, completely alone at his table. "Hearts. Ask me to represent you in court. It's the only way."

He glared at her. "Have you actually passed the Canterlot bar? Have you even been in a courtroom before?"

"Never mind that. Hearts, please... I'm the only person in this hall who truly believes you to be innocent!"

Hearts' pale pink eyes glanced about the room.

Spectacles drew close. "I know you are innocent. Even if you don't think so."

He swallowed. "Your honour? Do you think it would be alright if Spectacles was my attorney?"

The judge waved, impatiently. "She is not a certified member of the Canterlot bar, and thus cannot accept payment for her services... but yes. She can represent you. Against the recommendation of the court, I must add."

"Thank you, your honour."

"Don't thank me," said the judge. "It's a terrible decision that will no doubt end in ruin and tears. But regardless... the defence may present it's case."

Spectacles stood up, with the booklet still in her hoof. "Your honour... I wish to present the defence of Diminished Responsibility."

"You do realize that this requires you to submit a guilty plea?"

"Yes. Because he is guilty."

There was a swell of murmuring from the jury.

Hearts straightened up in his chair. "Whose side are you on?!"

"Would you let me work, here?" She turned to the judge. "The legal defence of Diminished Responsibility states that, although the accused is guilty of the crimes presented, he should not be..." Spectacles squinted at a page in her booklet. "...The defendant should not be held criminally liable for his or her actions, due to an impairment in mental faculty."

"Miss Spectacles. That defence is normally reserved for crimes caused by an irresistible impulse. Usually a powerful, overriding emotion."

"Yes, I'm aware."

"The Magpie's crimes span a significant period of time. It is unlikely that the accused suffered from a sudden burst of emotional stress for seven consecutive years."

"That is true, your honour. But although the Magpie executed his crimes in a very logical and premeditated manner, the initial decision to become the Magpie was made during a period of extreme emotional stress."

"Hm... very well. You may proceed with your defence."

Spectacles blinked. "That was my defence... wasn't it?"

The Bailiff nodded to the stand. "Your defence is accepted, but the judge has not chosen to throw the case out of court. You will be required to uphold your defence with proof or argument."

"Right. Well. Allow me a moment to speak with my... ah... with Mister Hearts'n'Arrows."

Spectacles went to the defendant's table and sat beside him. She began flipping through her notebook. Hearts glowered at her all throughout.

"My gods. You never have been in a courtroom before, have you? I was just being sarcastic."

She looked up from her notebook. "If you have a better idea..."

"Look, we only have thirty seconds before the judge loses patience with us." Hearts grabbed her notebook and sketched a simple diagram on the inside of the cover. "Listen. This is a trial court, and I am the defendant on trial. In this case, the Judge is only the Finder of Law: The jury, as the Finders of Fact, must determine my guilt or innocence. The court's jurisdiction is original rather than appellate, which means this is the first time the case has been..."

Spectacles stood up and cleared her throat. "Right then. Your Honour. I would like to... that is, the defence would like to call Twilight Sparkle to the stand. As an expert witness. Please."

The judge nodded. The crowd watched as the light, greyish-purple unicorn entered the royal court from a side door and sat at the witness stand. The bailiff led her through the appropriate oaths, then waved for Spectacles to approach the stand.

"Miss Sparkle. Would you please describe your experience with the defendant?"

She nodded. "Certainly. The Canterlot Police Department sent me a letter, requesting my help with an investigation. They had recently caught The Magpie and needed somepony to study his magical capabilities. It's important to know what spells a unicorn can use, to prevent them from escaping."

"And how knowledgeable are you about..." Spectacles paused and turned around. Hearts was coughing and waving frantically. Spectacles turned to the judge. "Your honour. May I have a moment to confer with the defendant?"

"He's supposed to confer with you... but yes. Briefly."

Spectacles went to the table, whispered with hearts, then returned. "Your honour, I would like to have that statement overruled. There is no concrete evidence that the defendant, Mister Hearts'n'Arrows, is actually the Magpie."

"Overruled."

"Thanks. Now, Miss Twilight... how knowledgeable are you in the field of Pony Magic?"

Twilight answered with a slight blush. "I suppose I am the foremost authority on the topic. It's the subject of my current research project for the Princess."

"Could you describe the defendant's magical abilities?"

"Well, it's a relatively complex subject, but Hearts'n'Arrows' magical powers are parochial and habituated, without being completely formulaic. His thaumaturgical development is also unusually hermeneutic... for a Unicorn, at least."

"Ah... right. Well. Could you clarify? For the jury, I mean?"

"Of course. 'Parochial means 'narrow' or 'specific.' That means his spells relate to a particular activity: most often a job or a hobby. It's actually misleading to call it 'narrow,' since this usually results in a wider variety of spells."

"And what is Hearts'n'Arrows' theme?"

"It's... well, it's burglary."

There was a murmur from the jury. Spectacles continued. "So, could the defendant cast a spell to disguise himself?"

"Yes. He knows several such spells. But he can only use them for burglary... he couldn't use them to create a costume for a play, or a fancy outfit for a party."

"And how powerful are these spells?"

"That depends on the pony who uses it. If two ponies use the exact same spell, the results can be different. It depends on your spirit... your dedication."

"And in the defendant's case?"

Twilight Sparkle shrugged. "I couldn't tell you, because I don't know what he's like as a person. Parochial spells are closely linked to one's personality. My report only included technical details."

Spectacles nudged her glasses up. "...Linked to one's personality, you say?"

"Oh, yes. Unicorns can invent new spells through study and research, but it doesn't have to be so methodical. Pegasus and Earth Ponies have their own kind of subtle magic, and they don't do any research at all. They hone their magic through practice, and it takes a tremendous amount of personal inspiration and sacrifice. Mister Hearts'n'Arrows appears to have used that method to develop his spells."

"So... the more powerful your personal experiences are, the more easily you can develop new spells?"

"Essentially, yes."

"Could you tell us if the defendant is... as we speak... disguising himself with a spell?"

The prosecuting attorney stood up. "Objection, your honour! This is a courtroom. Not a forensics laboratory."

The judge nodded to her. "Sustained. Miss Twilight, you will not answer that question."

Twilight nodded, but Spectacles was already heading back to the defendant's table. "No further questions, your honour."

The prosecutor gave Spectacles a suspicious look, but approached the witness stand. "Miss Twilight. Would you say that the defendant's magical talents would be useful for... burglary?"

"Well, yes. That's what I said."

There was an awkward silence.

"No further... questions. Your honour." The attorney returned to her seat.

"Your Honour. The defence would like to call Spring Fresh to the witness stand."

The judge nodded. The crowd watched as a light green unicorn with a rich viridian mane entered the royal court from a side door and sat at the witness stand. The bailiff led her through the appropriate oaths, then waved for Spectacles to approach the stand.

"Miss Fresh. Would you please describe your experience with the defendant?"

The mare frowned at the defendant. Her voice was cool. "I was assigned to Mister Hearts'n'Arrows as a caseworker. I met with him shortly after his arrest and discussed possible opportunities for employment."

"So it was your intention to rehabilitate the defendant?"

"I must stress that I am not a professional therapist or psychologist. I was only attempting to discuss how he might be reintegrated into society... how he could employ his talents for legal purposes. I gave him some brochures."

"How did he respond?"

"He was... most cooperative." Spring Fresh scowled. "At first."

"Can you explain?"

"I suspect he was trying to mislead me. I also suspect that he had no intention of finding a respectable job."

"Do you know why he felt this way?"

"I have no idea. I haven't interviewed him in any great detail." She pouted. "The brochures usually work."

"Do you have any experience with other criminals?"

"Oh, yes. I've helped many ponies achieve a better station in life. Although, none of their criminal activities were quite so... extensive."

"I see. Miss Fresh... if you had to guess, what possible reasons could Hearts have had for becoming a jewel thief?"

"Well, the money. Firstly."

"Are you aware that Mister Hearts'n'Arrows is the owner and proprietor of a very successful sugar cane plantation? A significant source of legitimate income?"

"No. I did not."

"If we ignore the profit motive, what other reasons might he have had for becoming a jewel thief?"

"Well... none that I can think of. Perhaps there was some emotional pressure from his peers. His friends or family. But that's rather unlikely."

"How much do you know about social pressure?"

"It's a very important concern for me. I have several degrees in social sciences, and I study their interaction with the field of economics."

"I would like to ask you a hypothetical question. When you're looking for a job, a really good one, what's the most important thing of all?"

She smiled. "You need to love your job! If you're truly passionate about what you do, you'll jump out of bed every morning full of energy!"

"Is there any social pressure regarding this idea?"

"Oh, yes. Ponies should always be encouraged to do what they love. To follow their dreams, and achieve their goals. Everypony has a certain special something that makes them unique. Pursue it with your every breath, and you can accomplish anything!"

"Anything?"

Spring Fresh smiled. "Oh, yes!"

"Such as stealing the Crown Jewels of Princess Celestia?"

Her smile vanished abruptly. "...Wha?"

"In your opinion, did the Magpie love his job?"

"Well... I don't... really... know him."

"Miss Fresh, you are a rehabilitation councillor. You know when a pony is dedicated to their work. Was the Magpie dedicated to his work, wholeheartedly and without hesitation?"

"Well... I suppose..." She looked at the defendant. "Yes. Yes he was. The things he accomplished were incredible, and surely the result of a rare and unique talent."

"I see. Now... is there a social pressure for ponies to obey the law?"

"Certainly. It's everypony's duty."

"What would happen if these two pressures came into conflict? What if a pony found they had a natural, inborn talent for a criminal activity? How would it affect them?"

Spring Fresh looked horrified. "It would be an emotional catastrophe! The victim would become isolated... paranoid. But that would never... I mean, it couldn't really... this is just a hypothetical question, isn't it?"

Spectacles nodded to the judge. "No further questions, your honour."

The prosecuting attorney stood up. "No questions. Your honour." She sat down, disappointed.

"Your Honour. The defence calls Mister Hearts'n'Arrows to the stand."

The judge nodded. The crowd watched as the pale white unicorn stepped from behind the defendant's table and sat at the witness stand. The bailiff led him through the appropriate oaths, then waved for Spectacles to approach the stand.

"Mister Hearts'n'Arrows. You are the owner and manager of a sugar cane plantation, are you not? A financially successful one?"

"That is correct."

"But that wasn't enough for you, was it?"

He shook his head once, briskly. "It was never about the money."

"What about the fame? Is that why you decided to pursue a career as a famous jewel thief?"

Hearts frowned. "It was never about the fame, either. I could care less what people think of me."

"So you don't care if people think you're a criminal? A criminal and bad pony?"

"That's different!"

"Mister Arrows, you had a perfectly successful... and perfectly respectable job. Could you explain to myself and the jury why anypony would throw that away?"

The prosecuting attorney stood up. "Objection your honour! Argumentative!"

The judge gave a bemused shrug. "She's badgering her own witness."

Spectacles glared at Hearts. "Answer the question. Why did you quit your job?"

"I didn't need a reason, did I? People quit their jobs all the time."

"Except that your job was an extremely desirable one. Excellent pay, no hard work, very respectable. It was the opportunity of a lifetime and yet you threw it all away to become a hardened criminal. That's an impressive judgment call."

Hearts spoke through clenched teeth. "I wasn't happy. Alright?"

"And you thought you'd be happier stealing? That seems awfully selfish of you."

Hearts shot to his feet. "I was miserable, okay?! I tried to make everypony happy! I spent an entire year trying to... to change..."

Hearts sat back down with a sniffle, eyes scrunched tight.

"I only have one more question, your honour. Mister Hearts'n'Arrows... would you show the jury your cutie mark? Your real cutie mark?"

There was another murmur. Hearts glanced at the judge, then at the jury. He stood up, and a ripple of magical light passed over him. His cutie mark, once the outline of a bird in flight, was now a diamond with a pair of wings.

"Hearts. Do you know what your cutie mark represents? That unique talent that makes you special?"

"I... was a... jewel thief."

"Could you elaborate?"

Hearts took a breath. "That's it. That's all there is to it. I was born to do this. Some ponies cook. Others sing. I... steal."

"You spent a year managing your estate... trying to lead a normal life. How did you feel about this, at the time?"

"How do you think I felt? I was miserable! I was the only pony I'd ever heard of that turned his back on his calling! That... that tried to... change his mark. Ponies always say you should be proud of yourself. That you should believe in yourself. That you should follow your cutie mark no matter where it leads you. I tried to change who I was, and it worked. It worked for everypony in the world. Except... except for..."

Spectacles watched as the stallion collapsed in his chair, tearful. There was a choking sob from the audience gallery as Miss Cane clutched her husband's shoulder. Mister Cane was still and silent, even as he consoled her.

"Your honour," Spectacles said, "as Miss Sparkle explained, the invention of new spells requires great personal sacrifice and inspiration. Mister Arrows spent a year of his life lying to his friends and family. Lying to himself. It can come as no great surprise that he, without any formal training or professional assistance, developed an arsenal of magical illusions and technological countermeasures designed to deceive others. It also explains his natural talent for disguises and impersonations, and his ability to assume the persona of any pony he meets."

She turned to Hearts'n'Arrows. "There is a saying: when you follow your cutie mark with your heart and your mind, nothing is impossible. And you had to know for sure. You had to attempt the impossible. You weren't trying to make a point or prove your skills: You just needed to know the truth for yourself. You figured that if you could steal the crown jewels, there was nothing you couldn't steal. You'd have done the impossible. And you'd finally know, once and for all, whether or not it was your destiny."

Hearts remained silent.

Spectacles turned to the judge. "Your honour. Hearts'n'Arrows is the first pony in recorded history to possess a criminal cutie mark. He believed that he was destined not for fame, but for infamy. He felt that the only way to be sure was to pursue this calling and see it through to the very end. In spite of all his fears, he couldn't give it anything less than his most sincere effort... because a cutie mark demands nothing less from us all."

She turned to the jury. "This leaves us with a dilemma. We must decide if the law is willing to punish a pony not for what he did, or for what he wanted, but because of what he is. He was terrified that if he turned himself in he would be arrested for something completely beyond his control. No different that being arrested because of his gender, his race, or even the color of his mane. He had to know the truth. He may have gone about it in the worst possible way... but he believed he had no other choice."

Spectacles watched the jury for a moment before walking back to the table.

"The defence rests."

"Has the jury reached a verdict?"

"Yes your honour." The hall fell silent as one of the jurors stood. "For the crime of conspiracy to steal the crown jewels of Equestria, we find the defendant innocent. His arrest for this crime is to be purged from his criminal record, and the royal pardon is deemed unnecessary. For the crimes of trespassing on private property, impersonating an agent of the crown or a member of the nobility, providing dishonest information to the royal licence and registration department, we find the defendant guilty. Because of the..."

The audience exploded in a conflicting wave of shouts. It was impossible to tell how many of them were applauding, and how many were protesting.

The judge clapped her mallet several times. "The jury will continue with the verdict."

The juror nodded. "Because of the extreme emotional duress the defendant was subjected to, the jury fully supports the claim of diminished responsibility. We hereby sentence Mister Hearts'n'Arrows to seven hundred and twenty hours of community service, and forty eight hours of emotional therapy."

"Upheld." The judge banged her mallet one final time.

"Not bad for your first day in court."

Spectacles turned to Hearts as he approached. His casual smile belied the tremble in his knees.

"You were found guilty, you know."

"Innocence, in the original definition, refers to purity of intent. It is more than mere blamelessness. In any case, the Princess had a few quick words with me... said she had some ideas for how I might work off my community service."

Spectacles looked back, catching a brief glimpse of a flowing, pastel mane moving through the crowded hall. "All throughout, she didn't say a thing. Do you think she knew the truth all along?"

Hearts shrugged. "I like to think so."

"Then why didn't she speak out? She could have ended this whole thing with a wave and a word."

"Maybe she knew you'd be up to the task."

Spectacles nudged her glasses up. "Are you kidding? Even I wasn't sure of that."

"I imagine that's why she's the princess," he said with a smile. "It's more than just having wings and a horn." He nodded back to the throne room. "You know, she's right over there. You could go and ask her."

"And be seen questioning her in public? I don't think so. Besides... you could have asked her about your cutie mark years ago. You could have asked her whether or not you were destined to become a criminal."

"I thought about that, but... I was worried she might say yes. I think if I'd heard it from her, I would have... I don't know what I would have done. Can you imagine what it would feel like?"

"That is pretty frightening." She furrowed her brow. "So. Why did you break into the palace?"

Hearts rolled his eyes, as if distracted.

Spectacles pursed her lips like a displeased parent. "Could you really have stolen the crown jewels if you wanted to?"

"Hypothetically? Probably, yes. But as I said, we'll never know for sure."

"But you never actually explained what you were doing in the inner palace."

"Mm-hm. I noticed you never asked me that while I was under oath."

"I came close," she said, "but it would have been self serving of me."

Hearts smirked. "A filly never asks, and a gentle-colt never tells."

"Yeah. Sure. So what were you doing in the palace?"

Hearts gazed off into the distance, at nothing in particular. A faint smile grew on his face, barely noticeable at first.

"Spectacles... I might be able to help you recover the Magpie's stolen goods."

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Well I should hope so. You were the one who stole them in the first place."

"Ut-ut-ut! I never said I stole anything. Merely that I might have a few hints about where they are."

Spectacles shoved his shoulder. His resonant laugh carried through the royal hall. Spectacles merely smirked.

"I must say, that was rather more refreshing than I'd expected."

Celestia smiled. "I'm glad you approve. And I'm very relieved that it went as well as it did. She's a clever pony."

"Undoubtedly," her companion said, with a smirk, "but Equestria has no shortage of clever ponies."

"Yes, but they usually allow the facts to rule them. It was good to see a heart and mind working in symphony. Always a thing of beauty."

"Appreciated. But there's one thing I don't understand."

"Hmm?"

"Celestia... you're the wisest pony in Equestria. You could have settled the entire dispute with a wave and a word."

Celestia raised her head, solemnly. "I cannot make this decision for them."

"Oh, don't be coy with me. You knew the answer from the very beginning."

"No, truly!" Celestia shook her head. "The answer was irrelevant. It was the decision that mattered, and the courage to make it. The worst possible outcome would have been no decision at all... if they'd relied upon me to make their decisions for them."

"Isn't that what royal fiat is for? Hurling down inviolable laws?"

"There are plenty of decisions my little ponies are not yet prepared to face, and I am happy to settle such disputes myself... for now. But every once in awhile, I like to give them a little something new to think about. Civilization is slow to accept change."

She peered up at her. "You're really taking this seriously, aren't you? This whole social engineering experiment."

"I work for the betterment of all ponies. But if I always define the meaning of right and wrong for them, I deprive them of the chance to grow in spirit. They must decide for themselves."

"Then what are you willing to do? Where do you lay the line?"

"I do what any good leader does. I raise them up. I love them. I try to teach them. And then..." Celestia lifted her head with a smile. "I let them fly."

She blew a delicate, ladylike raspberry at her. They both laughed.

"I'm glad everything resolved. But why are we here?"

Celestia nodded, just as they arrived at a massive vault door. There was no handle. No keyhole. No combination entry. Only a smooth, metal slab. Celestia's horn glowed a deep emerald green, and a mechanical sound came from within the metal... the twisting gears and clicking switches of a sealed mechanism. The door opened, revealing a barren, unfurnished metal room filled with rows and columns of small podiums.

"Yes, alright. Very pretty. But why..." The guest fell quiet as she entered the hall and walked amongst the collection of Celestia's Crown Jewels. In each sealed case rested a unique piece of magnificent golden jewellery. She peered closer, bemused. Nothing had been taken. Nothing had been added. Every single item was lovingly arranged in it's holding stand. Upside-down.

She looked back with a bemused frown.

Celestia smiled. "I told you he had a sense of humour."

"It's an impressive piece of work, certainly. But what does this have to do with me?"

"I know you've been thinking about taking on a royal agent. A spy, if you will. And he does owe the crown a considerable amount of community service..."

"I do not require a spy. Things aren't quite so desperate as that. Not yet, at least." Princess Luna turned back to her sister with a mischievous smirk. "But I do like his resume."

Act 1: Cut

The inspector marched through the grand corridor of the royal palace, her chestnut coat and short orange mane glowing in the amber light of evening. She had a tough, stocky build, and her grey eyes were hard as steel behind her circular spectacles. She was dressed in the formal tuxedo of a wealthy noble, but the decorative front-shields of her horseshoes bore the navy-blue emblem of a radiant sun: an officer of the law.

Her eyes flicked back and forth as she passed through the corridor. The steep light of sunset shone in through a row of stained glass windows, tinting the dust in the air with faint bands of color. A pair of guards stood by every door and archway, clad in golden plate armor. These guards could not be shaken from their duties... could not be bribed or intimidated.

A sergeant of the royal guard followed after the inspector, speaking rapidly. “...And we’ve placed a pair of guards on each door. The entire wing is under surveillance as per your advice.”

“Advice?” said the mare. “My advice was to hold the event in the central hall of the main palace. If your captain intends to blame me for any potential disasters, he could have at least followed my advice properly.”

“Pardon, Ma’am, but the Seneschal insisted.”

“Seneschal Silvy’s job is to organize social events for the palace,” said the inspector. “How much are you paying her as a security consultant?”

“You’ll have to take that up with the Captain.”

“I intend to. We can’t—” She paused to look at the nearest stained glass window. “This window is new. They’re all new, aren’t they?”

The young sergeant nodded. “We just had them installed last month.”

“What are they made of?” said the inspector.

“Carved gemstone, actually. A wide variety of types. They’re stronger than coloured glass, and they give off a much brighter color. The court had them installed as a birthday gift for the Princess herself. She was quite touched.”

The inspector snorted and turned away.

“Is there a problem, Ma’am?”

She shook her head and continued on to the end of the hall. The two guards clicked their hooves and straightened their backs. “Inspector. The Captain is—”

Their acknowledgment went ignored. She marched on through the doors, and her lone escort nodded to them as they passed. One of the door guards tapped the side of his helmet and whispered to nopony in particular.

“Captain. ‘The Lens’ has arrived.”

The main ballroom was crowded near to bursting with Equestria’s upper crust, and noble families and wealthy citizens mingled freely. The inspector passed through the crowd unnoticed, glancing briefly at the magnificent array of accessories being worn: Rings and bracelets, pendants and necklaces, tiaras and cufflinks. There were monocles and opera glasses with lenses made from the cross-sections of whole diamonds. Everywhere, jewelry: rubies, emeralds, amethysts. The guests ambled about the room and formed small cliques as they engaged in a quiet game of conversation.

She focused her thoughts and held her eyes straight ahead. She came to a trio of guards speaking quietly amongst themselves. The largest and eldest of them nodded to her as she approached.

“Inspector.”

“Captain Ironsides,” she said with a curt nod. “Where is lady Silvy?”

“She’s in the gallery hall, managing the final preparations for the exhibition.”

The inspector marched past him, heading for a discreet side door.

Ironsides followed after her. “Ma’am, Lady Silvy left us with strict instructions not to interrupt the event. Princess Celestia herself will be in attendance.”

She rolled her eyes. “The potential for catastrophe will be no worse if her Excellency is here to witness it herself.”

“Catastrophe?” Ironsides raised his head a few degrees. “I think you underestimate our control over the situation.”

“Let us be clear on one thing, Captain: I overestimate every threat I encounter. I have yet to be disappointed.”

“Very well,” he said with a curt nod. “The gallery is this way.”

One of the guards touched the side of his helmet. “Seneschal Silvy: The Lens is on route to—”

The Inspector slapped the guard’s shoulder. “Put your hoof down! Are you trying to telegraph the new equipment?”

Ironsides cleared his throat. “Ma’am. Please. You were brought on as a consultant and nothing more. Do please refrain from ordering my forces about.”

“Clearly you must be mistaken,” said the inspector. “A consultant is hired well ahead of time. I, on the other hoof, was given a mere three days to compile a list of security suggestions. Thus far, half of them appear to have been ignored.”

“We work with what we are given. This was the most secure location we could agree on.”

The inspector snorted. “Show me the gallery hall.”

Ironsides led her through the ballroom and into the west wing of the gallery, where a variety of historical treasures were on display: Paintings and drawings hung from the high walls and priceless antiques and archeological treasures sat within sealed cases. For the moment, only the royal guards and palace staff were permitted here.

The inspector stood in the center of the hall and gazed at her surroundings. The balcony and windows? No, too obvious. The second-story rafters, maybe?

“Ahh, Inspector! So glad you could—”

She raised a hoof and shushed. Lady Silvy and the guards froze in place. The inspector’s eyes flicked about the room: The chandeliers, the hanging tapestries, the string quartet stage. The skylights, positioned to allow sunlight to enter without subjecting the paintings to permanent fading.

He loves skylights. Remember how much he loves skylights?

Lady Silvy cleared her throat softly. “Is something wrong?”

“This will be a disaster,” said the inspector. She went to the nearest painting and searched the underside of its frame. “Move the event to the main hall of the palace as I originally suggested. It’s our only hope.”

“The exhibition is set to open in an hour,” said Silvy. “We could never rearrange everything in time!”

The inspector went to the wall and searched the panel seams for airflow. “Then cancel the exhibition.”

“Absolutely out of the question!” said Silvy. “Celestia herself will be in attendance for the viewing of her gift. She would be most disappointed with a delay.”

“Will she be more or less disappointed if the exhibition ends in disaster?”

“Now now. Ironsides assures me that his guards have the area well under control.”

“The Inspector and I have been over this several times already,” Ironsides said. “She seems to doubt that Celestia’s personal honor guard are capable of defending her very own palace.”

The inspector walked past them with her neck tilted back, staring at the ceiling. “The palace is defensible, but that does not make it secure.”

“The room is as secure as it can possibly be. We have a pair of guards covering every entrance: a unicorn for magical support, and a pegasus for mobility.”

The inspector stared out the window and watched the impending sunset. “He makes his own entrances.”

Captain Ironsides and Seneschal Silvy shared a glance. The inspector went to the main stage and pointed at the only thing on display there: A large marble stand with a glass case, almost completely obscured by a silk cloth.

“I need to see the objective.”

“Oh, no-no-no!” exclaimed Silvy. “Nopony outside of the archeological expedition has laid eyes upon it! We want to reveal it to the court at just the right moment.”

“You ask me to guard something, and you won’t even let me see it?” The Inspector clopped her hoof on the marble floor. “For all we know the objective has already been stolen.”

“Don’t be silly. The case has been in the vault all night and day, and only the royal guards were permitted to move it.”

“Was it covered with a cloth for the entire duration?”

“Well, yes. As I said, we want the unveiling to be a surprise for the entire court.”

“Then how do you know the objective was ever in the case to begin with?”

“The handlers did say it was rather heavy. They would have noticed if it was empty.”

The inspector pursed her lips. “Did it occur to you that they might have been carrying a stone of equal weight?”

“But... how could he...!” Silvy looked at the case. “So devious!”

“It is the very core of his modus operandi,” said the inspector. “He takes careful note of his victim’s mistakes and oversights, no matter how slight. In all likelihood, he’s studied this part of the palace in detail. Probably for weeks in advance.”

“How is that even possible? The court only received news of the item three days ago!”

The inspector climbed onto the stage and glowered at the covered case. “Captain. Seneschal. I can guarantee you without the slightest hesitation that The Magpie knows more about this treasure than the three of us combined.”

Ironsides and Silvy shared a frustrated look.

“There’s not time to waste,” said the inspector. “Either we take a look, or I go home right now and get an early sleep. It’s your decision.”

“Not much of a decision, is it?” said Ironsides. “Go on, Silvy. I suppose I can always order the royal guards to act surprised.”

Lady Silvy led them up onto the stage and swept the silk cover aside. The armored glass case contained a large silver statue depicting a life-sized trio of ponies, rearing up to support a crystal globe with their knees. There was one of each race, graceful and slender.

“Breathtaking!” said Ironsides.

“It must be over a thousand years old!” whispered Lady Silvy.

Ironsides and Silvy noticed the inspector’s silence, and turned to watch her.
She leaned close and held up a magnifying glass. “This is all wrong.”

“A forgery, do you think?” said Silvy.

“No,” said the inspector. “It’s probably genuine. Just... wrong. It’s a silver statue with a crystal globe. No jewels or gemstones anywhere, unless something is hidden in the baseplate.”

“It’s still priceless, don’t you think?”

“The Magpie doesn’t care about price. Even so, there’s no way he could sell such a recognizable object. And melting it down for silver wouldn’t be worth the effort.”

Ironsides raised his head. “It’s certainly a famous item. All of Canterlot has been chomping at the bit to lay eyes upon it.”

“The Magpie doesn’t care about fame, either.”

“Well he is awfully famous,” said Silvy.

“An incidental effect I assure you,” said the inspector. “He has other motives.”

“Then why? Why would he want this?”

The inspector ground her teeth as she stared at the silver statue.

“Captain. How many guards have you deployed to the gallery wing?”

“Celestia’s entire personal honor guard stands at the ready,” said ironsides. “Over three hundred strong.”

The inspector turned to him. “We’re guarding the wrong treasure.”

The inspector galloped alongside Ironsides as he bellowed for his lieutenants to assemble: Royal guards rushed back to their traditional posts and messengers scattered in all directions to deliver orders, all in blatant disregard of the palace’s no-flying policy. At the moment, the rest of the palace was being guarded by a minimal crew of conventional cavalry.

“Captain!” the Inspector shouted, “concentrate your forces on the vault and the treasury! Send a guard to any room with a jewel in it, no matter how insignificant!”

“I’ll see to it immediately!” said Ironsides. The inspector’s lack of military rank had been forgotten in the furor.

She turned to the palace matron: the mare in charge of the maids. “Close all the servant’s passages, and keep them closed.”

“But the servants need those passages!” said the matron. “How will they move about without being seen by the guests?”

“They won’t,” said the inspector. “Anypony who tries to use them is to be brought in for questioning, and anypony who refuses is to be arrested immediately.”

“Do you think he’s tricked one of the butlers?” The matron gasped. “Oh my! Do you think he might have dressed up as a butler?!”

The inspector rolled her eyes. “Ma’am. Have you hired any staff within the last three weeks?”

“Well, of course. We hire new ponies all the time.”

“In all likelihood, the Magpie could actually be one of your servants. You could have hired him yourself.”

“So crafty!”

One of Ironside’s Lieutenants landed nearby and offered the inspector a brief salute. “The captain recalled my squadron from the main courtyard! Where do you need us?”

“Guard Celestia’s private living chambers,” said the inspector. “And for goodness sake, don’t just stand outside the doors: put a pony inside every room and watch for intruders.”

“But Ma’am, those are Celestia’s private rooms! Surely nopony would be so bold as to—”

“This is the Magpie we’re dealing with. Better to err on the side of caution.”

“Stealing from the Princess herself?” the lieutenant said through clenched teeth, “the foul rogue!”

“He’s stolen from almost every noble family in Equestria by now,” said the inspector. “It was only a matter of time before he raised his sights.”

She followed the lieutenant into the adjoining hallway, but tensed as she saw one of the guards speaking with a guest: a handsome stallion in a well trimmed suit.

“You! What is he doing here?”

“Sir? Ma’am!” The guard straightened up. “He was asking about the exhibition.”

She pointed at the stallion. “Return to the main hall at once.”

The stallion lifted his nose with a sniff. “Well I never!”

“And you never will.” She pointed at the guard. “Keep the guests in the ballroom. We can afford no distractions.”

“But ma’am. He was only—”

“Put a bridle on it! Our suspect has a substantial history of charming his way in and out of all manner of places. Subtlety is his greatest tool.”

The handsome guest’s eyes widened. “The suspect? You mean the Magpie?!”

“Sir, please.”

He cantered in place. “Do you think he’ll make an appearance? I’ve only heard stories about him!”

“This is a seasoned criminal we’re dealing with! Not a celebrity guest!”

“But he’s ever so exciting!” the stallion said. “I’ve heard he can turn into mist and seep into—”

The inspector stamped her hoof. “Hall. Now.”

The Inspector paced back and forth in the palace’s main entryway: A massive hall that led straight to the public throne room. The chaos had died down somewhat and the crowd was mostly dispersed. All twelve of the court’s administrators were assembled, along with six of the princess’s personal aides. All of them watched as she talked to herself.

“The basement levels? The old sewer tunnels, maybe? No, not reliable enough. The main wall, perhaps? He’s scaled sheer walls before. He’s probably posing as a servant... or possibly a guest.”

“What does he look like?”

The inspector paused to look at the distinguished butler. “What?”

“Well,” said the butler, “perhaps if we knew what the Magpie looked like it would be easier to apprehend him.”

“His appearance is irrelevant,” said the inspector. “We need to watch for suspicious behavior.”

One of the maids spoke up. “I hear he can change his appearance however he wishes!”

“We don’t know anything about his appearance for certain,” said the inspector. “He has disguised himself in the past, so we can’t be sure if he’s an earth pony. Or even a stallion, for that matter.”

“So sneaky!”

“I hear he can change into a pegasus or a unicorn!” one of the other maids said.

“I heard he can even change his cutie mark!”

“Oh yeah? Well, I heard he doesn’t even have a cutie mark!”

The inspector waved at the group before the conversation went any further. “Quiet, everypony. Quiet! He is clever and extremely capable, but he’s still just a pony. Rumor-mongering will get us nowhere. We must rely on facts, and facts alone.”

“Well what do you know for certain?” said one of the butlers. “You know all about him, don’t you?”

“What little there is to know, yes,” said the inspector. “He only steals gems and jewelry, he prefers to target famous stones, and he’s defeated some of the most elaborate security systems in all of Equestria.”

One of the kitchen staff brightened up. “Remember when he stole the Beige Diamond from the Institute of Historical Research?”

“I saw that happen!” said a laundry maid. “You could see the fireworks all the way from the palace wall!”

The crowd of palace staff ooh’d in chorus. The Inspector’s clenched teeth were starting to give her a headache.

“Excuse me, Inspector.” Everyone looked to the approaching royal guard. “The guests are moving into the exhibition room now, and the Seneschal plans to unveil the artifact at sunset.”

“A fine distraction, to be sure. Everypony stay with a guard and watch for any suspicious behavior, no matter how insignificant it may seem.”

Everyone left the main hall. The messenger stayed behind, watching the inspector pace.

“Inspector Lens?”

“Spectacles,” she said.

“Pardon, Ma’am?”

“My name is Spectacles,” she said. “Inspector Spectacles, if you really must.”

“Yes ma’am,” said the messenger. “But then why do newspapers always call you The Lens?”

“Ask the papers,” said Spectacles. “They’re the ones who came up with it in the first place. I always thought it was a little pretentious.”

“Of course, Ma’am. So... do you really think he’ll show?”

“I have no doubt,” Spectacles said as she reached into one of her pockets. Her tuxedo was rumpled from running back and forth and her styled mane was reverting to its usual tousled mess. “Based on evidence from his most recent heist, he plans to strike somewhere within the palace itself.”

There was a pause.

“I hear he can—”

“Don’t. Just please, don’t.”

“Sorry, Ma’am. But do you think you’ll catch him this time? I mean, you’ve been chasing him for... well, for years.”

“Seven.” She pulled a pipe from her pocket and stuck it in her mouth. “Seven years.”

“He certainly is Equestria’s most notorious jewel thief.”

“Pfeh... he’s Equestria’s only jewel thief.”

“Only because you keep putting the others away,” the messenger said. “You’ve caught dozens of thieves, haven’t you?”

“Just petty crooks and burglars.” Spectacles took a small bottle of liquid soap and held it over the bowl of her pipe. “The Magpie was the first of them all, and the only significant one since.”

The messenger pointed at the pipe. “Ma’am? That’s not allowed in the palace.”

Spectacles stared at him for a moment.

“I’ll be in the courtyard. Let me know if anything happens.”

Spectacles stood in the inner garden, surrounded by rich light and long shadows. A tiny stream of bubbles trailed from the end of her pipe and danced through the air.

What am I missing? There’s always something.

She thought back to every other crime scene the Magpie had left behind. There had been plenty of evidence, but none of it had been useful. He had no connections with other criminals, and he’d never been photographed without his costume or a convincing disguise. His diverse array of skills suggested that he was part of a tightly knit gang, and yet he was never seen working with anypony... no teammates, and no accomplices. The jewelry he stole never appeared on the black market or in private collections. They just vanished. Spectacles had spent the last seven years chasing a ghost. She knew so much about his methods, but so little about his motives.

The motive is all that matters. Learn the motive, and the game is over.

She held her pipe out and spilled the last of the soap onto the manicured lawn. As she did, a fleeting motion in the sky caught her eye: Something slipped over the inner wall and flew towards the palace proper. She ran further along the garden, just in time to see a fourth story window slide shut.

She galloped back into the palace and waved at the nearest guard. “You there: follow me closely!”

“Sir?” the guard straightened up and rushed to her side. “Ma’am! How can I be of assistance?”

“I need to check something out, and I need a royal escort. You never know.”

Spectacles and the guard ran through the palace and came to the fourth story of the guest quarters, glancing into each of the rooms they passed.

“What are we looking for, exactly?” asked the guard. “Did you see something suspicious?”

“All I saw was a blur. I could swear it had wings, but it was much too big to be a bird.”

“Didn’t you say the Magpie was an earth pony?”

“The evidence for it is overwhelming, but I’ve been wrong before.” She opened another door and, after a brief glance, rushed inside. “The window!”

He walked in after her. “So? It’s closed.”

“This is the only room we’ve seen where the curtains are open. Perhaps...” She went to the window and checked the sill. “Ah, look at this faint scrape! He must have slid something through and lifted the latch.”

The guard stepped in after her, glancing about the room. “He can do that? So sinister!”

“It’s the least of what he can do,” she said. “He’s never broken a window or shattered a lock. For that matter, I don’t think he’s ever once damaged anything.”

The guard went to at the window and looked at the walled courtyard far below. “If we’re dealing with a pegasus half our security measures will be worthless.”

She gave a slight shrug. “I wouldn’t rule it out, but it’s still unlikely.”

“What if he hired a pegasus?”

“Even less likely,” Spectacles said. “The Magpie works alone.”

“But how could an earth pony reach the window? It’s forty yards to the wall and twenty to the ground!”

Spectacles turned back to the guard and shook her head. “A gap that large is nothing new to him. Never underestimate earth pony ingenuity. Tell everypony to—” she stopped and glanced at the side of the bed. Leaning against the bookstand was a set of grey, unmarked saddlebags.

The door opened behind them, and they turned to see a maid wearing the iconic black-and-white uniform.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but this suite is reserved for Lady Primrose. I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Let me handle this.” The guard turned to the maid. “We have reason to believe a burglar may have used this room. We need to perform a thorough search.”

“Well, how long will you need it for?”

He fixed her with a stern look. “Miss. We’ll be done when we’re done.”

The maid pursed her lips. “Very well. I’ll simply have to arrange alternate accommodations.” She left, closing the door behind her.

“Honestly, the servants here act like they run the place.” The guard rolled his eyes as he turned back to Spectacles. “You were saying?”

She leaned close. “I need you to listen to me carefully and do as I say. It’s very important.”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Tell Captain Ironsides to close off this entire floor and be quiet about it. I think I know where the Magpie is.”

“You do? Where, then?”

“Just do as I’ve said and, no matter what happens, be subtle about it!”

“Yes, Ma’am. But where—” The guard’s eyes widened. “T-the maid? She... he!?”

“Hush! We need to stay—”

The guard leapt across the room and barged out the door with a commanding roar. “Stop, you blackhearted thief! Stop in the name of the princess!”

“No, you fool!” Spectacles cried out and sprinted after him. There were sounds of a heavy scuffle, and something muffled the guard’s bellowing voice. When Spectacles reached the hallway, the guard was trussed and gagged with his own chains. The maid was sprinting down the hallway and soon vanished around a corner: The hoof-beats were utterly silent on the hard marble floor.

Spectacles rushed to the thrashing guard, snatched his tiny clip-on earring and put it on her own ear. She sprinted off, leaving the guard behind.

“Ironsides! I can confirm the suspect is in the palace!”

“I hear you, Inspector. Report to the exhibition hall at once to oversee the unveiling.”

“Absolutely not!” said Spectacles. “I can’t lose track of him now!”

“That was an order, Inspector. If the Magpie is already on the grounds, your precautions have already failed. This is now a matter for the royal cavalry! Inspector? Answer me, Inspector!”

Spectacles discarded the earring and ran down the hallway, and Ironside’s voice was faded and tinny in the distance.

Why do they ask for my advice if they ignore it every time? The royal guards might as well throw my consultation fee in a hole in the ground and bury it. Save us all a headache.

Spectacles galloped through the innermost halls of the palace at a breakneck pace. Her powerful muscles churned with effort, and her fine tuxedo was soon completely rumpled. She could have no hope of catching up to him: Seven years of following in his wake had earned her no success, so her only hope now was to predict his next move.

There’s only one place he could be headed. Nothing else makes any sense. It’s the only thing left for him to steal. If I’m wrong, he’ll make me look like a fool. But on the off-chance I’m right...

The palace wasn’t merely one large structure. It was the size of a city, and its halls and corridors were a confusing labyrinth to all but the most familiar residents. This was partly intentional, since a maze-like layout made the palace easier to defend against hostile forces. At the moment, though, it was a liability.

She charged down one final hallway and reached the innermost chambers, a place few ponies knew about and fewer still had ever visited. Spectacles wondered if Ironsides had ordered his guards to apprehend herself as well as the Magpie. She had certainly disobeyed a direct order, which technically meant that she was trespassing.

She skidded around a corner and came to a pair of reinforced double-doors, both wide open. The guards on each side gave her no trouble as she passed: they were trussed up and gagged with their helmets turned backwards, and a quick glance revealed that one of them was missing a set of keys. Spectacles snatched the remaining set and pressed on.

The corridors here were darker than usual and the wall lanterns cast sharp pools of light at regular intervals. Spectacles poked the side of her circular, frameless glasses, and their lenses flipped in place. The corridor ahead came alive with a spectrum of color: The warm light of the lanterns were now yellow and orange pools set against the purple and blue of the stone-cold walls. There was nopony else in sight.

Alright. You’ve studied his techniques your entire career. He’s just a pony.

A shape flitted across the hallway ahead. It’s body was a spectrum of reds and yellows, but the silhouette was instantly recognizable: A thin and graceful pony with an androgynous build, but a stance and posture that suggested a stallion. He stopped to glance about the hall and froze as their eyes locked. Spectacles flipped the lenses of her glasses and saw exactly what she expected: the maid’s uniform was gone, and he now wore a charcoal-grey bodysuit covered with buckles and pockets. A short cloak covered his neck and shoulders and a sleek, stylish hat served to hold a veil over his head. She could barely make out the shape of his face... a shadowy outline behind the gauzy black cloth.

Spectacles gave him a mildly disappointed frown. “You get one chance to surrender.”

The stallion bolted. She charged after, but slid to a halt. He hadn’t gone around a corner or ran down the hallway: He’d run into the wall. Straight into it. She rushed over and searched for seams, knobs or levers. She’d never been in this part of the palace before, and hadn’t thought there might be servant’s passages here. A quick search revealed no such hidden opening.

This couldn’t have been a magic spell. His hat was too low to conceal a horn... he can’t possibly be a unicorn.

She heard a faint scraping sound and pressed her ear against the wall: there was a distinct noise on the other side, like a giant zipper being drawn. The noise shot upward and faded into the distance. She ran through the nearest door and into a large laundry room. There, by the spot in the wall, was the cabinet door for a heavy-duty laundry chute. Spectacles’ eye twitched when she saw the heraldic emblem emblazoned on the hatch: a glittering, golden sun.

Spectacles rushed back, took the clip-on earring from one of the restrained guards and set it to her own ear. “Captain! I have encountered the suspect in the lower chambers of the inner palace! He used a zip-cable to climb a laundry chute, and should arrive in the Princess Celestia’s private quarters any second now!”

The captain’s voice came back, faint and scratchy.

Spectacles tapped the earring. “Captain? Captain, repeat!”

“...Equip... failure... type of... interf...”

She clenched her jaw. “Captain! I need to reach the upper levels!”

“...Side entr... shipping do... have a cha... wait... for...”

She sprinted down the halls, retracing her steps by memory. After a two minute sprint she shoved open a pair of large doors and stepped outside, wincing at a blast of frigid mountain wind. She’d come to an array of docks built into the side of the mountain, below the palace: a series of heavily reinforced suspension bridges that reached out and hung in the air. Her tousled mane whipped in the wind and a cloudy mist filled her mouth and nostrils.

She caught sight of a two-pegasus chariot coming in for a landing, and ran out onto the middle dock to meet it halfway. She leapt into the vehicle before it came to a complete stop and shouted at the lead pilot. “Take me to whichever building Ironsides is in, and tell him to meet me on the roof!”

The chariot skidded to a halt on the roof of the central gallery hall. Ironsides was already there with an entire squadron of pegasus. “Inspector, this situation is an absolute disaster!”

“At last, we agree,” Spectacles said as she disembarked the chariot. “What did you find in the royal quarters?”

“The interloper was nowhere to be found,” he said. “There was some sort of hooked cable attached to the inside of the laundry chute. We found no less than six guards tied up with their own restraints, and their key rings and ear-pieces were missing.”

“We can assume the new communication earrings are compromised. If the Magpie is wearing one, he can hear everything we say.”

One of the other guards gasped. “So insidious!”

“It’s fairly routine by his standards,” said Spectacles. “Have you lost track of any other guards?”

“Not so far. We have everypony on high alert.”

“What kind of alert were they on before?” She snorted and looked down from the edge of the rooftop. By now, the palace was shrouded by dusk. “He has what he came for. Celestia have mercy on us if we allow him to escape.”

“Where... where is he? How do we...”

Spectacles glowered at the captain, but her expression softened as she saw a touch of helplessness in his grizzled old face. She looked out over the rooftops again, and the nearby guards held their breath as they waited for her to speak.

“Captain.”

“Yes, Inspector?”

Spectacles’ eyes flitted about the neighboring rooftops. She spoke slowly, working her jaw back and forth. “Where is the guest wing?”

Ironsides pointed to a long, wide building with a flat roof.

“I stumbled across a suspicious set of saddlebags in one of the guest rooms. They may have belonged to the Magpie. If he attempts to recover them, we may yet intercept him.”

“His saddlebags?” Ironsides said, “why would he risk retrieving something so trivial?”

Spectacles knew that the Magpie relied on some of the most ingenious gadgets known. Perhaps the bags contained vital tools for his escape. Perhaps he didn’t want anyone to reverse-engineer them, or perhaps the bags contained some minor clue to his true identity. There were a dozen possible reasons and she had no time to explain her train of thought. No time to share the details she had gleaned over seven years of hunting one lone thief. But neither did she explain her doubts: If the saddlebags belonged to the Magpie, and if he had not already recovered them, and if he still had need of their contents... so many unknowns.

Spectacles said nothing as she ran to the nearest chariot. The captain followed after her, barking orders for the pegasi to prepare for takeoff. The brief flight to the nearby rooftop felt like an eternity, and they landed near one of the smaller observation towers and rushed down a service stairwell. Spectacles and Ironsides arrived at the fourth story hallway just in time to see a dozen guards charging after a lone, shadowy figure.

The Magpie fled into a dead-end corridor, jumped up, and kicked off against the facing wall. He ran along the ceiling for a moment and sailed over the pursuing crowd. The guard’s rugged, outdoor horseshoes skidded against the smooth marble floor and the whole gang plowed against the wall in a tangled heap. Two other guards with chains bolted out from either side of a crosswise corridor, attempting to tackle him from both sides. He vaulted between them with a kick and a flip, and they crashed against each other as he fled. When they tried to stand, they collapsed: their own manacles had been clamped around their legs. A third guard, with the grey coat of a unicorn, suspended the trespasser in the air with an aura of magical light. A tiny puff of brown smoke splashed against his face and he went into a violent sneezing fit. The grasping field of sparkles vanished and the Magpie darted past.

Spectacles and Ironsides rounded the corner and saw three more pairs of guards, all chained together with their own manacles.

Ironsides stared, aghast. “This... this stripling of a colt is single-hoofedly making a mockery of my troops!”

“Honestly, I don’t think your troops need the help. This way, quickly.”

They ran up a stairwell and out onto the roof, where a massive cloud of sparkling brown powder had filled the air. The pegasi were flying well above it, and the ground forces were scrambling for nearby exits. Wails of terror mingled with coughing fits.

“Poison dust?!” said Ironsides. “The vile monster!”

Spectacles charged into the cloud without hesitation. She’d seen this before: crystallized cinnamon-sugar powder bombs designed to obscure all scent and vision. It was completely harmless, but even the hint of poison had sent the seasoned guards scrambling for cover. Spectacles knew they weren’t cowards: they simply hadn’t been prepared for this.

She tapped her glasses, spinning the lenses once more. The glittering brown powder vanished, replaced by the yellow-orange silhouettes of ponies. Only one of them wasn’t running around or rolling on the floor: one figure stood in the middle of the roof, calm and still. He shook his shoulders and took a deep breath.

No... he couldn’t be!

Spectacles galloped towards the figure even as her mind reeled with doubt. The lithe stallion ran directly towards the edge of the roof, with a rare determination in his posture. Her muscles burned as she galloped, desperate to intercept the thief before he could leap from the roof.

He can’t be a pegasus! After all these years, it flies in the face of everything I know about him!

She lost track of her surroundings entirely as her vision focused, trancelike, on the perpetrator ahead of her. He was all that mattered now. She wondered if he saw her, or whether he could see anything through his own sickly-sweet smokescreen. She had never been so close to catching him. She felt a moment of deep, inner stillness as the distance between them closed.

At the last moment his grey saddlebags burst open with a symphony of springs and gears, and a great fan of metal knives spread to either side of him. They were cold blue to her enhanced vision, yet they flexed and moved like living things. She collided with him just at the edge of the roof and they careened off the sixth story building together. Even now, in a whirling panic, she struggled to put her surroundings in order. Everything was lost in a blur, and the only sensation was that of intense vertigo.

“The reports from the archeological expedition leave no room for doubt. This artifact is the only item recovered from the twelfth dynasty in such pristine condition. The report goes on to describe the historical significance of the item, and the remarkable insight it gives us into the artistry of the period. Even more importantly, it serves as a symbol of lasting peace and unity... a peace that may have been realized far earlier than any historian thought possible! And who better to receive such a priceless treasure than the greatest proponent of love and unity our civilization has ever known: our own beloved monarch, Her Royal Majesty, Princess Celestia!”

A great chorus of applause thundered as the courtly guests stamped their hooves against the marble floor. Celestia glanced about the room, resplendent, yet humbled by the outpouring of attention.

The speaker, clad in the formal uniform of a royal courier, bowed to the crowd. He stepped aside just as Lady Silvy stepped on-stage to take his place.

“Thank you!” Silvy said, “thank you very much for speaking on behalf of the expedition team responsible for this remarkable find. We regret they were unable to present this artifact in person, and our thoughts and well-wishes go out to them.” She turned back to the crowd with a warm smile. “But, as their reports clearly indicate, this may only be the tip of the iceberg. The archaeologist's hard work and perseverance continues even now, and I have every faith that they will soon return with even greater discoveries: treasures from the past that could enrich our lives with beauty and wonder!”

There was another thundering round of applause. Princess Celestia opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. Nopony noticed as she looked up at the roof.

“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!”

Somethign heavy slammed against the roof and everypony flinched and looked up. There was a moment of silence, followed by a slow, heavy creak. Heavy metal cables squealed and snapped and one of the giant skylight windows came loose. The entire framework collapsed and the square window frame, six yards on a side, fell onto the stage with a deafening crash. The display case shattered into knobby little chunks of safety glass, and the silver statue toppled from the stage. The crystal ball, delicate and perfect, fell to the floor with a dull clunk. It left a spiderweb of cracks in the marble floor and rolled away without the slightest scratch or chip.

The crowd stared at the demolished stage. A groan came from the window frame, and a slender young stallion stood up from the wreckage. His knees wobbled, and he slid down to the floor. The guests backed away at first, then circled around.

A second figure burst up from the wreckage, stalwart and unshaken. The crowd gasped as she tossed her fiery mane and glared down at the stallion.

“It’s The Lens!”

“It’s really her?! Unbelievable!”

“What’s she doing here?”

“I thought she’d be older!”

Spectacles ignored the cries from the crowd and marched to the dazed stallion, who was looking at the surrounding crowd with a wobbly smile. He wasn’t wearing his grey burglar’s costume, and his hat and cloak were gone. Instead, he was dressed in a formal suit that had been torn to shreds during the chase. His saddlebags were a tattered mess and his clockwork wings disintegrated into wreckage as he stood.

“Hey everypony!” he said in a calm, resonant voice. “Did I miss the party?”

Spectacles called out in a booming voice. “Hearts.”

The dashing young stallion turned to her, suddenly sober. “What did you call me?”

Spectacles’ tone captured the crowd’s full and undivided attention. “Mister Hearts’n’Arrows. You are hereby under arrest for two hundred and twelve counts of trespassing on private property. Forty-three counts of trespassing on royal property. Seventy eight counts of impersonating an agent of the crown or a member of the nobility. Ninety counts of identity theft. Twelve counts of providing dishonest information to the royal licence and registration department. Three hundred and sixteen counts of grand larceny... and for conspiracy to steal the crown jewels of her royal highness, Princess Celestia.”

The crowd gasped in astonishment, and Celestia herself looked on with worry. The royal courier and Lady Silvy floated beside their beloved princess, surrounded by a nimbus of golden light. They each opened one eye and stared at the demolished stage where they’d been standing mere seconds ago.

The Magpie shook his mane and spoke out. “I resent that last accusation!”

Spectacles arched an eyebrow. “What possible defense could you have against such a charge?”

He lifted his nose. “A ‘conspiracy’ involves more than one pony. I don’t need any help.”

One of the guests called out in shock, “That’s the Magpie! It’s really him!” and the crowd broke into a cacophony of gasps and shouts.

The royal guards began filing in through the main entrance. Captain Ironsides marched at the front of the group, carrying a pair of heavy leg-irons.

“The Magpie. You are hereby under arrest for the—”

“Yeah, we went through all that.” The stallion nodded to Spectacles. “The flat-hoof over there beat you to it.”

Ironsides lifted the chains. “Sir. You’ll have to come with us.”

The Magpie turned to them with a glowing smile. Before he could say anything, an elderly mare burst out of the crowd and grabbed the captain’s leg, pleading tearfully.

“Please, I beg of you! He’s innocent! He must be! My sweet little colt would never do such a horrid thing! He-he just can’t be the Magpie! It just isn’t possible!”

“Ma’am. If you please.” Spectacles marched over and grabbed the Magpie’s long, flowing mane. The elaborate wig pulled away, revealing a cyan-and-navy buzz-cut.

The tearful mother recoiled with a gasp. “You’re not Swift Wind!”

Spectacles scrutinized the wig for a moment before stuffing it into an evidence bag. “Ma’am, I assure you your real son is perfectly safe. Wherever he is.”

“Poor Swifty can’t stand going to court functions,” The Magpie said with a sheepish smile. “I offered to switch places with him, and gave him a ticket to the dance party on twenty-third street.”

Spectacles frowned at him. “Ninety-one counts of identity theft.”

“That you know of,” he said with a smirk.

Ironsides clapped one of the manacles around his leg. “Son, I don’t think you understand the seriousness of your situation.”

“You don’t-hey!” He hopped in place on his free legs. “What are you doing? Get that away from me!”

“What do you think we’re doing?” said Ironsides. “We’re placing you under arrest.”

Hearts’n’Arrows shoved against him with a flurry of harmless slaps. They wrestled for a moment and when they finished the manacles were clapped around Ironside’s own legs.

“I can walk out of here by myself, thank you very much. There’s no need to be crude about it.”

“Nooo!” Another pony burst out of the wall of amazed onlookers: A tiny filly dressed in a ballgown that probably weighed as much as she did. “Fly away, Magpie! They’ll lock you up if you don’t! Fly away!”

A few other voices called out from the crowd, cheering him on. A chorus swelled, calling for the Magpie to ‘fly away.’ The guards could do nothing to quell the outpouring of sympathy. The crowd didn’t care that the Magpie was a hardened criminal, or that he might be dangerous. Spectacles merely stared at the stallion of the hour. He seemed bashful.

He called out a few times and the crowd finally fell quiet.

“Sorry, folks, but it’s over. She knows my name.” Hearts’n’Arrows looked to Spectacles. “Though I don’t know how she knew.”

“There were only so many people you could have been,” she said. “I’ve been carrying a shortlist of potential suspects for three years now. I’m sure that everypony else on that list will be relieved to learn that they are not you.”

Hearts’n’Arrows stared into her eyes with a faint smile. “Would you care to escort me to the holding carriage, mi’lady? You went through an awful lot of trouble, after all.”

Spectacles frowned at him and walked away. “Ironsides? He’s all yours.”