Criss Crossly
by
De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)
4033 words
© 2015 by Glen Ten-Eyck
All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions are actively encouraged.
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We were sitting out on the ledge in front of my cave. Coalsmoke was cheerfully peeking over my invisible shoulder at the page that we were reading. The Litch King, who lets his very few friends call him Clarence, was sitting over to one side, the bare bones of his ribcage casting bars of shadow over the pages. It was our usual happy Daring Do reading fest. We were re reading Daring Do and the Darkling's Tomb, to be precise.
The day was about as fine as one could get. That was soon taken care of. Toiling up the trail to my cave was none other than Doctor Crossly, head of the Ponyville Medical Society and general pain in the rear. An expert at the vital medical procedure of CASHECTOMY.
He was toiling up the trail because, besides being out of shape, he was limping on both hind legs. As he got closer, we could all see big running sores on them.
I couldn't resist it. We had to close the book anyway, so I glamored it to a big tome with ragged parchment pages. The cover said in letters of tarnished gold, “Vile Spells, Evil Enchantments and Other Amusements.”
Coalsmoke put a hoof to her mouth to suppress a giggle. She took the book of “EVIL LORE” from me and opened it. With a big, fake happy smile, she held the book where Doctor Crossly could see it and pointed a hoof at his sores. She said loudly and cheerfully, “Look, Grumpy! It worked on the first try! You guys are great teachers!”
Doctor Crossly stopped cold, just short of my ledge. He looked ready to rend us all with bare fangs, if he'd had anything but pony style choppers, that is. Perhaps the day might be more fun than his presence usually suggested, after all.
The so-called good doctor snarled at Coalsmoke, “Make fun all that you wish! We all know that the Evil Goat's bogus magics are all psychosomatic! The victim has to believe in the curse for it to work at all!”
Coalsmoke, smiled, her perfect teeth standing out clearly against the pure black of her whole body, except for her cutie mark. “Really, Doctor Crossly? Is that why, in open court, in front of Judge Coldheart, you could not tell Grumpy's illusions and glamors from real afflictions? Is that why you are here, to see the Witch Doctor?”
Doctor Crossly effectively enriched every dentist in Ponyville, he was grinding his teeth so hard. Watching him, I made a mental note for future suffering, per Sweet Berry's contract. (For details, please read, UNLIVING PROOF.)
Doctor Crossly demanded crossly, “I am here to demand that Grumpy not try to take credit for these sores. They are perfectly natural in origin! I have seen the registered contract between The Goat and Sweet Berry. There is no connection between the two!”
I serenely pointed out, “Then you have wasted your trip and brought yourself unnecessary pain. I NEVER take credit for the outcomes of my contracts. The ways in which my particular form of Non Equine magic work out always appear to be from natural origins. Taking credit for some of them would, in fact, be confessing to murder.
“No, I would never dream of taking credit. If I did, you could sue me. As it stands, the contract with Sweet Berry, and most of my other contracts, are simply in the form of closely hedged bets. You are safe from my braggadocio. You may leave.”
Clarence said softly but with such finality that it could not be contested, “Go. You have no welcome here. This place is for Grumpy and his friends.”
As he was turning to leave, the Doctor snarled, “You have not heard the last of this!”
I called after him, “I do hope not!”
He paused and called over his shoulder, “And why not?”
“Because Clown Acts are such fun to watch!”
Even going down the trail, he limped on both hind legs.
Coalsmoke, who detests Doctor Crossly, asked eagerly, “Was he serious? Why would a nice farmer like Sweet Berry take out a contract on Doctor Crossly?”
Clarence replied, “What is the ownership of Stronghoof and Strangle, the commercial Realtors?”
Without hesitation, Coalsmoke replied, “Fifty five percent is owned by Doctor Crossly and the remaining forty five percent is owned by the Ponyville Medical Association.
“Oh my! What did they do to her?”
I said, as I reopened our Daring Do book, “It was even worse than a simple cashectomy. First S&S made her a really insultingly low offer for her whole farm. They were planning to resell it to the Royal Road Commission for a fortune. Sweet Berry turned them down flat.
“That was when Doctor Crossly 'found out that she had a nearly terminal cancer.' She was going to need multiple operations and treatments. Her insurance and farm together would not come close to covering it all. He was going to make a fortune, force her to sell her farm at a ruinous loss, and take even that last money from her. He was going to leave her destitute and take credit for saving her life all at once.
“She came to me for a quick and painless way out of the difficulty. We uncovered his plot and I gave her a bargain rate on a slightly different contract than the one that she came for.”
Nodding happily, Coalsmoke returned to looking over my shoulder at Daring Do and the Darkling's Tomb. She grinned delightedly at what she saw.
I'd left the interior wording alone but the glamor of a big tome of rough edged parchment pages was too much fun to undo just now. It looked like Clarence enjoyed it too. The Lord of the Dead has a mildly twisted sense of humor, along with both Coalsmoke and I. It is one reason that we all get along so well.
Reading resumed. Daring Do was in the dangerous defile leading to the ancient and cursed tomb of the Darkling.
As we put up the book to watch the truly lovely peach and purple clouds of Celestia's sunset, Coalsmoke asked, “Is it too nosy to ask how long Doctor Crossly will be afflicted with painful things?”
I scratched behind the ear that I don't actually have with a hoof that isn't really there either. “No, not at all. Our mutual friend Clarence long ago revealed to me that, if nothing interferes, Doctor Crossly will live a ridiculously long time.”
Clarence nodded agreement.
I went on, “What the contract calls for is simple physical misery, with randomly scattered sets of up to three days of feeling comfortable and well, so that he never becomes used to the assorted forms of ick that he is going to get!
“It can be sores, boils, rashes, simple itches, toothache, joint pains or any other thing that happens to occur to Clarence or I. The restriction being only that he NOT die from it. Life long misery is the goal.”
Coalsmoke clapped her hooves in delight. “It couldn't happen to a 'nicer' pony!”
We all adjourned into my cave for roasted clover top/nettle leaf loaf with honey sauce to top it. It was excellent. The real joy of it was watching Clarence eat his portion.
Not the chew and disappear bit, but the sheer enjoyment that he was showing at the discovery of a new texture and flavor. I was the one who introduced Clarence to real, solid food. Being technically dead myself, I don't need it either. I do enjoy it though. Both for the comfort of a lifelong habit, and savoring the flavors and textures.
For Clarence, it is all new. He is somewhere around 3-4 thousand years old and in all of that time, nopony ever befriended him or simply shared a plate of something. I have been fixing that. In spite of his making me into the technically dead being that I am, Clarence is my friend.
Seeing Coalsmoke home later that night, by the light of the ever burning candle that is nestled between the horns of my skull, was another simple pleasure.
Things only got better when a small group of Anti~Goat agitators started to follow me. My body, for Coalsmoke's comfort while in town, was glamored to be my handsome original self, except that I left the everburning candle between the horns. It wasn't just for light. It was a simple warning.
Some ponies are so blinded by prejudice that they don't see that far. Goat “in the wrong neighborhood” is all that they appear able to see. They followed me into the woods, just outside of town.
Appear suddenly became a problematic term. Glamors are easily cast and dispelled, if you know what you are doing. In this case, there were five of them. Two, while the others were not looking, suddenly appeared to be goats!
I appeared to be nothing at all, as in invisible. I did stay to watch the fun as the three ponies beat the crap out of their buddies. Once they were well and truly stomped, I let the glamors go and left aghast ponies staring at their hoofwork.
Wondering if they would have conscience enough to report the injured to the Ponyville authorities, I trotted up the trail to my place, stopping at the spring for a quick drink.
Up on my ledge, I found Clarence sitting out, giggling. “That was really mean, Grumpy! I liked it! Were you following Sweet Berry's contract or was that a coincidence?”
I sat and scratched at the side of the neck that I don't have with the left hind hoof that I also don't have, except when using a glamor. After thinking hard, I replied, “No clue what you are talking about, Clarence. Nut cases followed me and wanted to beat something up. I just gave them handy targets from among themselves, that's all.”
I was rewarded by Clarence's lovely baritone cuuckle. “The ones that got beat up are Doctor Crossly's office staff! Tomorrow, on top of the wasp stings that I am setting up for him, he will be short-hoofed at his clinic. Guaranteed to make him miserable.”
We sat in the cool and admired the lights of Ponyville spread out below us for a bit and went inside.
The next morning, I was awakened by the sound of official hooves pounding uselessly on my Military Siege Fortress rated iron sheeted front door. Technically, I don't need to sleep, since I died. I do it anyway. It is a comfortable habit, like eating and drinking water.
I cracked the door open after setting the siege latches. It bounced hard against them but they held. They should. They are designed to take a standard Equestrian Military Battering Ram. The officers outside were in the uniform of the Ponyville police force.
“Let us in, Goat! We are the police!”
“No. If you had legal grounds to be here you would either have courtesy or a warrant. You have neither. You also have no legal jurisdiction. Only the Equestrian Military Police or the Royal Road District Police have any lawful jurisdiction here.
“That was formally Proclaimed as Law of the Land by the Princesses jointly after examining the past history of local (that means you guys) police misconduct here.”
“We are investigating the beatings of two ponies down in the woods between here and Ponyville! Deny it if you can!”
“Deny what? That two ponies got beaten up by three others? Absolutely nonsense to deny it. They did get beaten and I saw it happen.”
“So! You did beat them up!”
“What part of NO is unclear? The N or the O? I did NOT beat them up. I SAW it happen. After seeing Coalsmoke back to her estate's gate, I returned home. On the way, a group of five, catcalling illegal anti goat slogans and the like, as well as personal insults, started to follow me.
“Shortly after we entered the woods, in what appeared to be a setup, three of them attacked the other two. When the beating was done I left and came home. That is the total of what I saw.”
“Why didn't you report the crime?”
“What part of SETUP did you miss, officer? Didn't you get your morning apple fritter and coffee?
“I was not even sure that the beating was real. It could have been meant to lure me out of hiding.”
“Have you actually seen the injuries or did you take somepony's word for them? If they are in Ponyville General, they will receive regular dressing changes. You can easily obtain a warrant for the observation of the dressing change and ascertain the exact nature of the injuries.”
I held up a glamored goat hoof where they could see it. “Goat hooves are little and in two parts, like this one. I presume that I do not have to show you what a pony hooves are like. Big solid oval clodhoppers, like the ones you are standing on.”
I slid out a small tray. “Now put my five bit consultation fee in the tray and I will give you a receipt.”
“Why should we?”
“Two reasons, actually. First, if you have come to consult on a difficult and puzzling case, your visit is perfectly legal and proper.
“Second, if you don't you can be on the receiving end of a formal complaint from a Royally Chartered business. One of only four in all of the whole Ponyville district. That could be inconvenient when you are being considered for raises in pay.”
The musical tinkle of coins was my only answer. I counted them and wrote them a receipt. I did not even need to ask their names. I read their uniform tags through the barely opened door.
After they were gone, I contemplated what I had just learned from them. That they were Doctor Crossly's office staff I was already informed by Clarence. The fact that they were in the group following me and that I was blamed for the beatings sight unseen is what really interested me.
If Doctor Crossly was keeping tabs on my movements, that had all manner of amusing possibilities. Illusions and glamors are such fun when creatively used! Like last night.
I do not have to be paid to do them, unlike my regular defensive spells like Tanglefoot and Friday the 13th. Those, and some others are permitted for defensive use by a paid contract of long standing.
In a much better frame of mind, with a fried fescue omelet and several mugs of Rom Black tea, I began to trot down the trail toward Ponyville. I was glamored as my handsome gray, white and brown patched self, before I died. Well, technically, I was killed but the mistake was mine, after all. The blame is sort of a wash. Besides, my nifty, near immortal spirit body is one result. My friendship with Clarence, the Litch King is another. Really, it was a pretty good deal.
Some unicorns really do never learn. He was hiding behind a big rock, his magic ready to cast. He was ALMOST totally out of sight. The tip of his horn and the glow of his yellow magic stood out like a sore trotter. Seeing no point in defending myself AFTER his planned nastiness, I cheerfully whispered, “Bungle!”
That is the one word trigger on a Friday the 13th spell. The result was delightful. A small stone up the hillside slipped. The rattle of it startled him.
Being all set to fire off his ambush and hurl me or somepony off the trail, he let drive, smashing out the safety rail ~ Again. Cursing, he burst forth from his ambush onto the trail, trying to see what happened to his intended target. One forehoof slipped on a smooth rock and he face planted. On rock. The snapping of his teeth slamming together was music to my ears. He went out like a snuffed candle. Good thing too.
Any further struggles on his part would likely have made him Clarence's meat. As in dead from going over the side of the trail. There was guard rail there for a reason, after all.
His life was saved by the same contract that let me use defensive spells. The contract specified NON LETHAL defense.
The same two Ponyville Officers from earlier in the morning came picking their way up the trail, just then. This time, they actually showed some good sense.
“Morning, Mister Goat. What's happened here?”
I pointed at the unconscious form of the yellow eyed blue coated unicorn. “This moron tried to murder me. He hid behind that rock outcrop over there. Forgot that I could see the tip of his horn sticking up all surrounded by the glow of his magic, all gathered for use.
“He jumped the starting flag, as they say at the races, and let drive across the trail. Missed me but took out the railing. I guess he leaped out of hiding to see why he missed. Slipped and knocked himself cold.
“If you good ponies could horn cap him and manacle him I would appreciate it.”
Nodding, they did secure him quite efficiently. One then said, “We come to thank you, Mister Goat.
“We did what you said. Got a warrant to see the dressing change. Both of them had a mix of pony hoof marks and a lot that looked like goat marks. Problem was, all the goat marks was left hoof, which was mighty suspicious.
“We got statements. They backed up what you said about being attacked by the other three. We got warrants for them and caught one trying to burn a wood carved fake left goat hoof. Saved the evidence.
“The Ponyville District Attorney confronted them. They was represented by Mortimer Mollycoddle, the lawpony. With the evidence that we had, he advised them to cut a deal. They did.
“Turns out, they was hired by Doctor Crossly to beat them two, who worked for him as office staff. We went to get him. He tried to sneak out the back way from his clinic.
“We caught him because of the commotion when he disturbed a hornet nest near the back door.
“They are still trying to figure out WHY he had his own office staff beat up, but WE got credit for breaking the case! We could get promotions from it!”
I was listening in sheer amazement. And the cog wheels of my mind were clicking about in fascination. Too many coincidences, including this attempt at murder.
I stirred the fallen pony with a hoof. “Check this one out. Is he connected to Doctor Crossly in any way?”
The pony was slowly stirring. “I saw him for a vile itch. He told me that you cursed me and I had to kill you to break the curse!”
I crouched down beside him and said, “As far as I know, I have no contract concerning you at all.
“Where is this itch?”
He snarled, “Right there on my right foreleg!”
“I see it! Let me smell it please. I do think that I can tell you how to clear it up. It is no curse of mine, sadly.”
One of the police ponies asked, “Can you prove that Doctor Crossly told you to kill mister Goat?”
He curled a lip and said, “If they will talk. Both of his office staff come in as he was telling me to do it. They both heard it.”
I looked up. “I think that you have your motive, officers. This fellow should receive a seriously reduced charge.
“This smells like a skin irritant potion very useful in some cases. Can't leave it on too long though. It will cause blistering like he has. Check with a herbalist to be sure though. If it is what I think it is, the potion can be stopped by washing it once or twice in tomato juice.”
I knew that a certain skeletal Alicorn of my acquaintance had a hoof in the developments. Romaine, the Ponyville Prancer's roving reporter, was a little way down trail, getting photos.
I told the unicorn, “Sir, you were tricked into doing a serious crime. I have made my recommendation to the officers who have you in custody. I know them for good police.
“Take a deal if one is offered. Mortimer Mollycoddle is the best, most honest lawyer I know of. If he can do it, have him represent you. That is all that I can do for you.”
The officers led him away, down the trail to Ponyville and jail. I never even learned his name.
Romaine came up and joined me in gazing out at the view that might have been my last, if I was alive, that is. She got some excellent shots of the wrecked safety rail. Some of the deadly drop too.
“Why did he do this, Grumpy? I heard that there was a beating in the woods down there, on the path to your place. I got some shots of the victims in Ponyville Horspital.
I heard from one of them that three other ponies beat them up but they did not know why. They both work for Doctor Crossly in his office. I went to ask him about the situation and caught the mess as he was arrested!
“I came up here because I know that you registered a contract with Sweet Berry about him. What is going on? Do you know?”
“I know some and guess more, Romaine. Doctor Crossly appears to have masterminded both the beating of his own office staff and this little attempt to murder me.”
“Why? The Sweet Berry contract?”
I took the time to gaze out across Ponyville and the Everfree beyond it. “Only marginally, Romaine. I cut him out of a really unethical scheme to get very rich.”
I told her about the land deal and the phony cancer diagnosis that Doctor Crossly had tried to use to impoverish Sweet Berry and enrich himself. (For details, please read, UNLIVING PROOF.)
“What really set him off, apparently, was not the contract. It was the money that did not fall into his saddlebag.
“According to the pony that was just arrested, Doctor Crossly applied a lotion that seems to have caused itching and blistering. He then told the poor fellow that it was a curse I put on him and could only be broken by killing me.
“Doctor Crossly's assistants walked in during the instructions and overheard them. The Doctor hired three thugs to do a set up beating of them to silence them. They were supposed to use carved goat hoofs to do it but bungled the job. One phony hoof was recovered when they were arrested. The other was lost, or never got made, apparently.”
She took careful notes. Looking up happily, Romaine said, “This story is going to need careful handling. I will have to clear parts with the DA to be sure that the Prancer doesn't mess up his case!”
Romaine took the time to enjoy the view herself before asking, “Grumpy, would you like to dine at Caramel Treat's? On me, this time.”
“I would be honored, Roamaine. Shall we go?”
We were almost out of the woods, literally. “Look, Grumpy! Is that what I think it is?” Romaine's camera was out and snapping away. She was getting fine pictures of the missing carved goat hoof. She documented it carefully because it was close to the plainly visible torn up ground where the beating happened.
We practically ran to Caramel Treat's so that she could call it all in.
Caramel, in her pony form joined us at our table. Romaine was busy calling in her story and giving the Ponyville police the tip about the wooden hoof.
Caramel smiled as she commented, “You know, Grumpy, being in jail for as long as Doctor Crossly is likely to be will be a real misery for him.”
“I know, Caramel. I know,” I said with a happy smile, “Clarence and I will see to it. We do have a contract to fulfill!”
--THE END--
Author's Note
EVERY society has an underside. Those on the bottom rungs of the social ladder. Not even MLP is free of it, though the show is careful not to display it.
My stories are built around that premise and are the View From the BOTTOM. We see the discriminated against, the nut cases and general lower class things.
OR you can regard my stories as Alternate Universe tales. EITHER ONE WORKS.
