Art Class

The description of the cart's trip had given Phillip an area of Ponyville to work with. He started at the crash site, which was a hill in the Whitetail Woods. Looking down over the edge, he saw the wreckage of the cart, a tangled mass of wood scraps. The cart wasn't painted or decorated in anyway; no convenient logo to trace.

Following the directions that they'd given him, Phillip started to work backwards, tracing the path they'd taken. He crossed a bridge, took a few turns. He found himself heading into a patch of farmland south of Ponyville. The wind carried a variety of scents to his nostrils as his ears were filled with the sound of brush and leaves.

Turning this way and that, Phillip relied on his near eidetic recall of Ponyville's layout. He passed fields of wheat, fields of barley, corn, tomatoes, oranges...

Olives.

The cart had smelled of olives.

But as he looked around, Phillip realized that there were actually three olive plantations nearby. I have to narrow it down. Come on, Phil, you see everything that goes on around here.

He thought back to his memories of the markets. He knew all of the stands there, knew the families that owned and operated them.

Yes...he narrowed it down to one suspect. A strong, well-built, bald, dark browned, red-tailed stallion pulling an unmarked cart with a hole on one side. And he knew where to go.

The Laurel Brothers Plantation was a small olive farm, located in a small forest that separated it from other nearby farms. Everything about the place was plain and unattractive, from the brown picket fence to the weedy dirt path that led up to the white, undecorated two-story house that the brothers shared. While not decidedly dissuasive, it wasn't very attractive to the eye.

He headed up the pathway towards the cottage, turning an eye towards the fields of olives, which were just bearing ripe fruit. He spotted a figure amongst the leaves and approached.

It was the large stallion, the one from the park. Phillip noted his cutie mark, an olive press, and the solid gold watch on his foreleg that definitely wasn't a family heirloom and was way too expensive for an olive farmer. The stallion glared at him in suspicion and hostility as Phillip approached.

"G'day," Phillip said. "I have some business for you..."

"Treadmill," the stallion said. "What can we get ya?"

"Not buying. Selling." Phillip glanced around as if making sure that nopony was nearby, then stepped a little closer. "I'm a friend of Cloudtrotter, and he told me about the lost shipment. I know where it is, and how to get it."

Treadmill's eyes widened. Phillip could see his inherent greed taking over. "Follow me," Treadmill said, heading towards the house. Phillip followed behind.

Treadmill opened the front door and brought Phillip into the foyer. "Thales!" Treadmill shouted. Another pony came down the stairs. This pony was well-toned with a tan coat. His mane, tail and eyes were olive green and he had an olive branch and a goblet for a cutie mark. Phillip could immediately tell that this one was in charge.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Thales demanded.

"I'm a friend of Cloudtrotter--" Phillip started. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a pistol was shoved into his face.

"So how come he's never told us about you?" Thales snarled. "How did you find us?"

Phillip found it somewhat amusing that he was being threatened with a gun. A relatively new and little used technology outside of the Royal Guard, but honestly, fairly easy to deal with. Feigning nervousness at the threat, he raised his hoof towards his hat. "W-Well, y'see..."

With a sudden movement, he flicked his hat at Thales' face, momentarily blinding him. Slapping the gun aside, Phillip bucked Treadmill in the jaw with both hooves before he had a chance to react, sending him flying back and knocking him out. Turning back to Thales, he stepped to the outside of his gun leg, brought him to the floor with a straight leg bar, and knocked him out with a strike to the temple.

"Wankers," he muttered, retrieving his trilby and dusting it off.

He had just finished tying them up when there was a knock at the door. He opened it to find Pinkie Pie smiling up at him.

"How do you always know where to find me?"

"Silly, it's impossible for me to always know where you are!" Pinkie replied.

"Then--" Phillip suddenly remembered who he was talking to. "Never mind. Pinkie, I've found the simpletons that hurt the sheilas. I need you to head down to the hospital and bring a doctor and an ambulance up here."

Pinkie gasped. "Are you hurt?"

"No, no, it's not for me, it's for them. They're a little banged up; tripped and fell down the stairs."

"Okay! I'll be back here in two shakes of a cotton tail! Wait, cotton tail? Cotton doesn't have tails!" Giggling and snorting at her own silliness, Pinkie turned to head out.

"Actually, Pinkie, take your time," Phillip called after her, shutting the door.

As Pinkie trotted off, humming a little tune, she heard some sounds coming from the cottage.

Specifically, she heard what sounded like two ponies being knocked down the stairs and painfully crashing into furniture.

Later, Thales and Treadmill were loaded into the ambulance on stretchers, wrapped head to tail in bandages and casts and groaning in pain.

"And how many times did they trip and fall down the stairs?" Nurse Redheart asked Phillip.

Phillip shrugged in response. "Wasn't counting."