Lightning struck, the tide growled, and a Unicorn's leg-mounted terminal issued a steady series of ticks. A crowd of five, four Equines and a Gryphon, dripped proportionally as much water as the curtain of clouds overhead.
A deluge formed around the base of a pink, translucent dome. Inside it towered a gaunt, ghoulish structure; trimmed with green copper bones, pockmarked with boarded-up sores, and infested with leprotic gargoyles. It's stone was bleached and withered like the flora crawling up its sides and planted like petrified tombstones within the dome. And the shield's base consisted of a short, cobblestone wall that rose into an arch at the entrance.
“Maybe we're too late,” said a tall, oafish Earth Pony in a rising tone.
“The time was made very clear,” said the young Unicorn, hardly old enough for her cutie-mark, as she checked the time on her PipBuck.
“Do not chicken out on us this time,” said an Earth Pony mare with a creased forehead. “We'll leave you.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” said the Gryphon as leaned against the short, cobblestone wall that served as the magical dome's base. “No need for that kind of talk. We're on the verge of fortune and fame.” He tapped the Zebra mare on the shoulder. “What'cha think? Have you ever seen a more intact building?
The Zebra stared through the stone arch that rose from the cobblestone to form an entrance. She kept a crooked brow and mouth as she shrugged.
“Exactly, not the East coast. There has to be enough of something in there to get us fat and happy.”
“To Tartarus with that,” said the older mare. “As long as we can control that shield, we'll have a security no one else can afford... nor breach.”
“It hasn't been open for exactly a hundred years. Don't worry so much.”
“I can name a couple things that live that long, and isolation isn't good for either–”
“Time,” said the Unicorn, and the shield between the arch went from pink to amber.
The Gryphon dashed through the arch without hesitation, but the Zebra stood her ground as the others walked by. She took a few steps towards the barrier and pushed her muzzle though it. The an elderly Unicorn collided with the Zebra, and they both tumbled through. The barrier became pink once again.
“I'm th– I'm through!” the stallion barked to the sky then hooted in laughter.
“Who are you?” asked the worried mare through gritted teeth, which were clamped onto the bit of an old revolver.
“Just call me Freight.” He held up two, submissive forehooves but his toothy grin remained. “And please don't shoot. I don't want anything but to see inside. My mother watched this place, and her mother, and now I'll finally see it.”
“He seems a little unhinged,” said the Unicorn.
“I-I'm unarmed.”
“We can get rid of him later if he starts trouble,” the mare said out of the side of her mouth.
“Thank you– Thank you. You won't regret it.”
* * *
Lightning struck just as the wagon passed through the gate, illuminating the manor before them. Stark, queer, and whimsical Timely Manor stood for an instant. Then faded back into a shadow upon the pale, full Moon. The roaring thunder died, and the chugging motor followed in both its wake and example.
“Geez, Pop, we're out of gas,” said the young Zebra behind the steering wheel.
“This a dark and stormy night, perfect time for a fright,” said a much older Zebra, stroking his goatee.
“Um, Pops–”
“I heard what you said before, we'll ask our host what gas she has stored.”
The two, striped Equines climbed out of their motorwagon and approached the manor's front door. It was a terribly ornate slab of wood and shaped in a large arch, like a stained glass window. They stood at the door and inspected its morbid engravings.
“Heya, Pop, it looks like we're the last ones here.” She pointed a hoof clear over her father's head at the other wagons and then rapped it against the door... “No answer.”
The old Zebra rolled his eyes. “If knocking didn't work so well, next you should try the bell.”
A length of rope hung just over the young mare's head, ending in a simple knot.
She stood on her hindlegs, bit down on the rope, and dropped onto her forehooves. The agonizing wail of someone being branded bellowed from behind the door.
“Pops, someone's getting tortured in there!”
“Save the breath in your lungs, that was the sound of the bell you rung,” the old Zebra said in a wry tone. “And don't be a dope, hang on to that rope.”
The ground fell away beneath her and left her hanging. She scrambled up the door, and the cobble stone square flipped back into position. The mare dropped back to the ground and, though it seemed solid enough, rushed to her father's side.
“W-w-What was that about?”
“It was a test, or a jest. Either way this Bronco Grimmane, be a very macabre dame.” He stroked his goatee. “But test was not for me; much to short to reach, you see.”
“All this for a glorified Nightmare Night party? The baroness must like it an awful lot.”
“Wrong, Song. Inspect the door and trap, my dear; these have been here for years.”
The young Zebra nodded. “Wow, I see. She must love Nightmare Night.”
“Please try to be keen of sight.” The old Zebra rubbed his temples. “I told you you are adopted, right?”
“Every day, Pops.”
The door flew open to reveal a pitch black room. An electronic voice growled, “May I get your coats?”
The voice was followed by the rough, grinding whine of a circular saw.
The young Zebra raised her brow and said, “But we aren't wearing any.”
* * *
The group of five stumbled into a dark, musty restroom designed much like a public one. Only the Zebra scanned the room with any sort of curiosity.
The Unicorn left sticky, red hoofprints in her wake and fought to escape them. She scurried from the tiles beneath her, to wall of a stall, and then to a dark corner beneath a sink. She wiped the blood on her coat and effused from both her eyes and mouth.
The older, tired mare lifted her up against the wall and clouted her across the face. Then said, “Calm down.” She dumped the little Unicorn into the nearby sink and turned the facet. “See? Just clean yourself up.”
The tall stallion paced down the stalls and tripped over his own hooves with every other step. He reached the far wall, turned, and paced back with no more grace. “Why did we have to come here? Why?” He kicked open a stall, crumpled a manilla envelope, and reared back his forehoof. But a set of talons caught the hoof before it could go any further.
“How short of a memory do you have, Spruce?” asked the Gryphon as he snatched the manilla ball from atop the hoof and began unfurling it. “You want to end up like that Freight guy?”
“We have to get out of here,” said Spruce as he took back wrinkled, but rectangular, envelope.
“Yeah, well I plan on getting the front door open before some machine tries to force me through it.”
“Can we not talk about it!?” asked the Unicorn as she withdrew her face from hooful of water.
“Yes,” the mare answered, and then addressed the whole group. “Now come on. We have a dinner party to make and I don't want to see what that thing does to people on its bad side.”
The group shuffled out the door, and the Zebra made an non-committal grunt.
“She's right,” said the Gryphon. “This isn't the hallway we came from.”
* * *
Lightning struck, and a portly Unicorn glanced out the window at the flash; observing the appearance and disappearance of a tall, hedge wall. In contrast, the dining room was awash in orange light and its walls were littered with a little bit of everything garish. Centered on one wall, the portrait of a mare with a mustard coat and slate blue mane.
“Hmmpf, I hope this night doesn't end in something as uncouth or asinine as a scavenger hunt in that hedge maze,” said the Unicorn. His thick accent strained every other 'S' and replaced 'O's with 'OOO's.
“Well, I don't know how you celebrate in Prance but my uncle's mother always ran a hedge maze on Nightmare Night,” said an Earth Pony mare with a creased forehead and a voice like warm butter. “Oh, we had such fun times.” She sat adjacently from the Unicorn, conjuring fond memories.
“Hmm, seems rather bovine to me.”
“Mr. Mornen! I won't tolerate such comments. My first husband was a Bovine.”
A dapper Pegasus sat at the far end on the dining table, straightening the dish and cutlery before him. He looked up from his task and said, “Mrs. Marble, I'm sure he meant no offense.”
“Naturally, we're all friends here,” said the elegant, Earth Pony mare seated next to the Pegasus. Her blue dress had soiled fringes and her brown mane, which was in a bun, had a cobweb in it.
There was a pause. Time enough for the Unicorn's horn to glow blue; remove a handkerchief from his breast pocket; and dab the sweat below his slick, black toupee.
“I wouldn't doubt it,” croaked a Griffin in a worn, gray suit. “That he meant somethin' by it, I mean. And by somethin' I mean offense.”
“Oh, don't start,” said a Unicorn mare. Her somber gaze fell from the Baroness' obtrusively large, oil portrait to Griffin beside her. “Please?”
The Griffin sauntered to the dining table and blew out a flame from the burning candelabra centerpiece. “Don't start what? Who's starting anything? Any of you Ponies starting somethin'?”
A wail of agony and horror echoed through the house. The elegant mare jumped in her seat, and the Pegasus laid his hoof over hers. The other guests kept still but for furrowing brows, as one does in the wake of a joke that wasn't funny the first four times.
The snuffed candlewick released a coiling tail of smoke that drifted into the air. It was level with the wall-mounted heads of fierce beasts, one with roving eyes, when the wick sparked back aflame.
“Whoa, hold up!” said the Griffin before a set of talons disappeared under the gray suit jacket, through the break. “Did anyone else see that?”
“See what?” asked the Unicorn mare as she flipped he wavy, blonde mane.
“I'm not too sure.”
A door swung open, and a voice called out, “A dangerous game for any guest, but I see she invited only the best.”
The dapper couple rose to their hooves, and the tense creases in their faces were repurposed to lining bright eyes and large smiles.
“Is that the great Sidneigh Song?” asked the Pegasus.
The pair of Zebras walked into the dining room. “Flick and Flora, it's been too long. Meet my adoptive daughter, Song.”
Flick held out his hoof to the young Zebra, and made a poor attempt not to raise his brow. “Just... Song, is it?”
She snatched the hoof out of the air with her own and said, “Pops couldn't think of anything.”
The old Zebra shrugged.
The Pegasus shrugged back then leaned towards Song's hoof with his lips puckered. But she violently shook the hoof while gawking at the gaudy décor.
“Wow, this place sure is something.”
Flick tore his hoof free with a jerk. “Yes, indeed.”
“May I ask as a fellow guest,” asked Sidneigh, “how did you pass the door's test?”
“Oh, we didn't. Flora fell and slid to the,” he paused, “basement, I believe.”
“My darling Flick took to the air without me,” said Flora, pursing her lips.
“Well, no use us both falling to who knows where.”
Flora began fussing with her dress and mane. “Yes, of course. I was guided here later by that... butler.”
“Speaking of the butler made of tin, I nearly thought he wanted our skins,” said Sidneigh. He followed with a chuckle.
“Yes, I believe his wording was intentional,” said Flick. “All in the spirit of the season, I suppose.” With a purposeful smirk, he beckoned the Zebras towards the dining table. “Everyone, allow me to introduce Sidneigh Song; the genius who unraveled the mystery of the Crochet Museum Strangler.”
“Sacré Bleu,” said the portly Unicorn, “she was on that case as well. Bleu spoke very highly of you, Mr Song.” He stood as his glowing handkerchief stuffed itself into his breast pocket; it was a tight fit. His whole suit strained, taut where it didn't outright crinkle, as he moved. “I am Inspector Mornen.”
“Ah, Inspector, I have heard of you,” said Sidneigh. “You were pivotal in the case of the Body Snatching Goo.”
“Please, do not remind me.” His eyes drifted to the table. “That was the most stressful month of my career.”
“Hello, Mr. Song,” said the gray and graying mare. “I'm Mrs. Marble Pie of Saint Steed. Oh, soon to be Dame Marble– so exciting.” She giggled. “Please, just call Mrs. Marble; everyone back home does.”
“Yes, Princess Luna will be recognizing Mrs. Marble's achievements in a fortnight,” said Flick. “Most notably, reeling in that dastardly Red Herring.”
“Mr. Flick, I couldn't have done it without you and Mrs. Flora's help.”
“We played a minor role, dear,” said Flora. “We just happened to remember a brand of brandy.”
“Yeah, I'm sure her sister didn't have anything to do with it,” spat the Griffin. And the room was silent.
Flick cleared his throat and said, “This gentle fellow has yet to intro–”
“Let me cut you short right there. Not to ruffle your feathers, bluejay. But I don't like being spoken for unless I'm spoken for and the one I'm spoken for is the one doing the speaking, savvy?”
“Actually, I not–”
“Good. And you better be listening cuz I'm only saying this once, probably.” The Griffin rubbed the red, velvet tablecloth between two talons. “The name's Sample Diamond, and the only reason I'm introducing myself now is that I know we're all here and I don't like to mince words.”
“That's a strange name for a Griffin,” said Mrs. Marble.
“That's cuz I was adopted... by a cheap jewelry salespony.” Sample's eyes met each Pony. “I'm not the sister of a Ministry Mare, Dame. Or the latest in a pedigree, Inspector. Or some trust fund couple with a hobby.” The talons flicked away the pinch of tablecloth like one might a booger. “I'm a local private investigator. And I've working Baltimare's dingy streets for nearly twenty years, clawing my way to the top. And that's just what I am; the number one P.I. in this city.
The somber mare cleared her throat.
“And this is Tessera, my associate.”
“A pleasure,” she said, and summoned the energy to mock a smile.
“Hmmpf,” said the portly Inspector. “It is nice to finally meet you both.”
* * *
“Where are we?” ask the Gryphon. “And what're we gonna do?”
“Find a way out,” said the mare with the creased forehead. “Simple as that.”
The Zebra glanced at the surrounding walls with wide eyes, and then tapped the Gryphon on the shoulder with her forehoof.
The Gryphon brushed off the hoof and asked to the tired mare, “How can you be so calm?”
“One of us has to be.”
He sneered. “Spruce just lost his damn head!”
The Zebra ambled to the mare's side and shook her shoulder with both forehooves.
The mare pushed the Zebra's forelegs aside as she responded to the Gryphon. “And you're about to lose yours if you don't calm down.”
“What was even the point of that?” asked the Unicorn. Her eyes were puffy and red. “I always thought those secret passages were supposed to be fun. But now Spruce is gone... and it's all my fault.”
“It's not your fault–”
“Oh, it isn't!?” The Unicorn spoke through grit teeth and jabbed a hoof at her own chest. “I'm the one who figured out we had to sit in those chairs. I'm the one who asked him to trust me. I'M the one who led us into this death-trap!”
“You couldn't have known any of this. The passage was obviously meant for someone much shorter than Spruce.” The mare continued in a hushed voice. “It wasn't some nefarious contraption. It wasn't anyone's fault. It was an accident. A miscalculation at most.”
“Miscalculation,” said the Gryphon, scoffing after the notion.
“I wish I could be as selective with–” started the Unicorn before the Zebra bit down her jumpsuit.
The Zebra throttled the little Unicorn into a stupor.
“What in Tartarus is it, Stilte!?” the three of them, sans the Zebra, called out in unison.
The Zebra released the Unicorn and pointed her forehooves in every direction. The group looked about the walls with wide eyes and quivering lips. A grand gallery of paintings surrounded them, each with a pair of eyes trained on the groups every movement.
* * *
Lightning struck; thunder roared; and every flame from the candelabra to the twin, crystal chandeliers went out. A mechanical whine followed in the wake of thunder, and then the pop of a gear. The scent of smoke and oil wafted from the dining table, and every candlewick burst aflame.
“Greetings,” said the mare seated at the head of the table. Her mane had a score more gray streaks than the mare in the portrait; her body, a score more pounds. And her words had a way of starting in her nasal cavity. “I'm the Baroness Bronco Grimmane; yes, Bronco is a unisex name; and welcome to my ghastly home, the Timely Manor.” She shuffled in her seat. “So glad everyone made it to the party.”
Inspector Mornen's handkerchief returned to his damp forehead, and he said, “I am glad you are glad, but I doubt anyone came for the festivities.”
“Oh,” the corners of her mouth curled up, “pray tell, what brought you here?”
“Morbid curiosity.” He stuffed his sweat rag back in its pocket and drew a folded piece of manila. “What is the meaning of this invitation?”
“Exactly what it says: You have been invited to dinner and a murder.” She looked up at a chandelier, and her gray eyes disappeared behind her glasses. “Someone at this table will be murdered at midnight, someone else will be the culprit, and there will be a semi-gourmet continental dinner.”
“But why?” asked Mrs. Marble.
“Well, it's quite difficult to get catering way out here–”
“Not the food, broad,” said Sample. “Why the murder? Did you figure we didn't have anything better to do tonight?”
Grimmane's eyes snapped to the Griffin. “Why? To prove once and for all what I've known for so long. We have at this table Equestria's greatest detectives. The greatest being... ME.”
Murmurs and disdain rose in the guest's throats. The loudest was Flick, “Excuse me?”
“I've read over all your cases, and countless others you've never heard of, and I've always managed to solve the case within ten minutes. I have constructed the perfect crime– one only a detective of my caliber can solve. Which, by my calculations, is no one on this planet.”
“Hmmpf,” said the Inspector. “You have already admitted to to orchestrating the crime.”
“Did I?” She laughed. “I already have you eating out my hoof. But just to sweeten the pot, there's one million bits in it for the whoever can prove me wrong.”
Flick stood tall and said, “And what if we don't care to play your game, Baroness?”
“Just to put a lid on the pot,” Grimmane stomped on a pedal hidden at the foot of her dining chair, “nobody is leaving until sunrise.” Heavy, metal bars skid over windows and outer doors.
“You're mad, Grimmane!”
Talons disappeared in a suit jacket again and withdrew with a revolver. “What if I put one between your eyes right now?” asked Sample. “Mystery solved.”
She laughed then said, “And miss your chance to show up these pompous, world-renowned sleuths. I don't think so.” She laughed harder.
The candles snuffed themselves again, and the guests were left in the dark with the sound of machinery and laughter. When the candles reignited, Grimmane was nowhere to be seen.
“Wow,” said a slack jawed Song, “this party is going to be fun!”
“Please ignore my daughter tonight,” said Sidneigh. “She is very oblivious and not very bright.”
“You were quiet, Sid,” said Flora as a paper fan floated out of her satchel. “Were you thinking?”
“Very astute, Flora; I was listening for clues.” He sighed. “I heard nothing worth mentioning to you.” A twitch passed through both his brows. “Except that the murder schedule is tight. Grimmane said it would happen at midnight.”
“Good ear!” Flora sighed and began fanning a loose lock of bangs. The worry lined across her forehead lightened with each beat of her fan. “Tell us what you remember. Don't write anything off yet.”
“Or touch anything,” said Flick. “Who knows what contraptions she has built into this room.”
“Or go anywhere,” said Sample. “Don't go anywhere, I mean. Nobody leaves this room.”
“That's actually a good plan,” said Tessera. “So long as we stay within sight of each other, none of us can be murdered without us all knowing about it.” She walked to the dining table and took a seat. “In fact, I say we take it a step further and take our seats.”
Sample followed suit and sat next to Tessera. “Yeah, this way everyone can see everyone.”
Flick and Flora sat back down, and the Song's sat adjacent to them.
“Very well,” said a heated Mornen as he continued to fume and sweat. “Let's just sit here then.” He stared at his plate. “Hmm, when is this dinner?”
“After the murder,” said a muffled, nasally voice. “No use serving a corpse. And don't want everyone to avoid the catering because they think it's poisoned or something.”
“Where did that come from? Everyone, try to uncover her location.”
“What?” asked Song. She shifted from side to side in ever more violent motions. “I wasn't listening. Too busy trying to figure out how this manticore head is watching me.”
A thick-maned, feline head was mounted on the wall, and its gray eyes followed Song in disbelief.
“I would prepare myself, detectives,” said Grimmane. “You only have... several hours until sunrise.”
* * *
“We deserve this,” said the young Unicorn.
“Shut up,” said the Earth Pony mare.
“We should've listened to her sooner.”
“It wouldn't have made a difference.”
“She's right,” said the Gryphon. “Stilte would never have made that last jump. Not with her legs the way they've been.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” said the Unicorn, “but I'm ready for the inevitable.”
The mare smacked the little Unicorn across the muzzle and shouted, “How many times will I have to slug you tonight? I'm ready to snap, but I can't– we can't.” She grabbed a stack of books off the table and threw them at the Unicorn's feet. “If you feel that responsible, stop sulking and start helping.”
The Gryphon shushed the mare and whispered, “Wait, I think I heard something.” He drew up and looked over the library shelves, and then recoiled to the ground. “Yeah, that's something.”
* * *
Lightning struck.
“That is getting very old,” said Mrs. Marble. “But not farther or closer. And I don't recall any seeing any clouds on my way here.”
“Are you suggesting she catered the weather too?” asked Flora.
“Back home, there is a Pegasus named Gale. During Summer, she would fly over the lake and fill sails for tips.”
“I suppose that's more likely than lightning striking in the same place twice... or four times.”
“Alright, it's time,” said Tessera as she nodded at the clock.
The guests sat and stared at the ornate hand ticked around the clock, becoming petrified by it. The hand ticked past ten, and the room was silent but for shallow breaths. The hand ticked past eleven, and even the air in their lungs stilled. The hands aligned, and then the seconds ticked on.
“Well,” said Flick, “there we have it. Midnight and we're all still–”
The door to the hallway swung open, and Grimmane staggered into the room. She collapsed to her knees then crumpled to one side, right overtop a chalk outline that everyone had failed to notice. From beneath her head, a dark red stain began to spread across the carpet.
Flora and Sidneigh rushed to Grimmane's side.
Inspector Mornen lurched to his hooves and said, “No one panic.”
“Who's panicking?” asked Sample. “Most of us are professionals here.”
“She's far gone,” said Flora as she put on her reading glasses. “She has a cracked skull; murder weapon was around seven pounds with a blunt, circular edge. Maybe a candlestick.”
“That's the obvious answer, but I can see signs of strangulation from here.”
“Good eye, Sam.” Flora's horn glowed, and Grimmane's head tilted back a fraction. “Abrasions on her neck suggest a simple, three-strand twisted.”
“The kind you'd find on any dock in Baltimare.”
“So there was a struggle,” said Mrs. Marble. “I'm not sure what that implies, but I don't like it.”
Sidneigh nodded and said, “I too see something with the worst implications. Flora, do you see the... contusion on her neck.”
“Of course,” said Flora. “She must have suffered it–” her eyes widened, “couldn't have suffered it in the time since we last spoke to her. This must be weeks old.”
“She did use a lot of make-up,” said Mrs. Marble.
“It's not just that, it's the pattern.”
“That of the deadly barbed sea clam,” said Flick.
“But that doesn't make any sense,” said Song. Everyone turned to face her. “Well, that poison is only harvested by medical personnel and shipped to the West Coast for study. It also kills by causing respiratory failure, which makes strangling kinda redundant. And who in this house is too weak to strangle a Pony suffering from terminal respiratory problems, but strong enough to bash her head in with a blunt object?”
“She makes a good point,” said Tessera. “What do you think we should do, Song?”
Song scratched the behind an ear. “Um, geez.” She shrugged. “Look for motives?”
“She's on a roll, isn't she?” Tessera glanced at Sample and nodded.
“Yeah, she is.” said Sample. “There's just one one problem: We were all in this room when whoever poisoned, strangled, or clouted her... went and poisoned, strangled, or clouted her.”
“If that's the case, as it seems,” said Flick, “then there's a murderer somewhere in this manor.”
“Then there is only one thing left to do,” said Sidneigh, “we must split up and look for clues.”
“Oh, geez,” said Song as she inspected the body. “Everyone, I think the Baroness is actually dead!”
* * *
“Are you sure about this?” asked the Gryphon as he climbed a large, stone statue of a manticore.
The Unicorn flipped through a series of documents held within a journal, and said, “Sort of. Just don't go too high.”
“Well do you want this crystal or not?” He gestured at jewel in the stone manticore's mouth, which was hardly distinguishable from the stone itself.
“Yes.” She turned and addressed the mare standing by an ivy-coated door. “Ready?”
“As ever,” the mare answered. She glanced warily at the surrounding hedges with growing concern. “Let's hurry up. I'm sure I saw something move earlier.”
“Alright. As soon as he has it, get that door open.” She looked over the documents again, and then called to the Gryphon, “Galeun, take it and run.”
The Gryphon grasped the dull jewel and, with a twist, wrenched it from the statue's maw. He coughed on the loose dust just as there was a flash of light and a low roar.
* * *
A sweaty Inspector Mornen and Mrs. Marble fought, tooth and nail, to be the first through the door. They both tumbled onto the dining room floor.
A gunshot rang through the manor before Sample and Tessera entered the dining room, from the hallway and kitchen respectively. They made an awkward exchange of raised brows, cocked heads, and shrugs.
Flick strolled in from the courtyard an absolute mess; his smart suit effused smoke. Flora followed soon after with her mane down and full of leaves.
A short bench set against the wall upturned, and the Songs climbed out of a trap door hidden beneath it. Sidneigh held his back and grit his teeth.
“So, who wants to go first?” asked Tessera.
“Don't go into the the library!” said Mornen and Marble in unison.
“In my expertly skeptical opinion,” said the Inspector between heavy breaths, “both the library and the den are haunted by malicious spirits.”
“Also, the library has a unique system of organization,” said Mrs. Marble. “I found a journal, but it is written in a short hand I've yet to decipher.”
“Alright, we chased down the butler and asked him what we could,” said Tessera. “Said he was programmed to be incapable of dropping hints.”
“And the ball of tin meant it too,” said Sample. “I even threatened to put a bullet in that flashlight he calls an eye if he didn't tell us we wanted to know.”
“Threatened? You did just that. You shot the poor thing.”
“Sample Diamond doesn't make idle threats.”
“He's blinded!”
“Let's get to the important part. So after that I head to the can. And after I finished my business I walk out and I'm on the second floor.”
Tessera shivered. “I heard another shot upstairs. What happened?”
“On my way back here, I could'a swore I saw a Pony in strange clothes; I mean, these rags looked fifty years old. I took a pot shot at it, but there was no one there when I checked. Just this.” The Griffin fished out a circular, arcano-tech device and twirled it on a talon. “I've haven't seen anything like it. Couldn't tell you if it goes in a motorwagon or tells time. Either way, I'm keeping it.”
“Well,” said Flick as he brushed off his suit, for his own comfort more than utility, “there is no flying over the courtyard.”
“And there is something in the hedges,” said Flora. Dried, navy blue tears ran tracks down her cheeks. “My dear husband simply left me to it.”
“Of course, no use us both being captured by some unseeable threat. And we discovered my hypothesis was correct; that ambient lightning has an ulterior purpose.”
Flora pursed her lips. “There are also walls hidden in the hedges and not enough space to hide in.”
“Oh, our turn,” said Song. “So we found out there is a candlestick missing from a guest room but–”
“When we attempted to descend the spiral staircase,” said Sidneigh as he wrenched a series of rapid snaps from his spine, “it became a slide to the manor's base. I wasn't able to look for clues long, because I was busy looking for Song.” He flipped the bench upright and laid down.
“Wow, is it easy to get separated down there, and there is so much crazy stuff.” She sat on her haunches. “There was a room full of robot parts; there was a skeleton; a door that led here through the hallway– remember, I waved to everyone; and this trap door.”
“Whoa, there,” said Sample. “ Let's back this up. There are two doors that lead here from the basement, but only one of them's that trap door.”
“Uh huh.”
“And we're supposed to remember somethin' too. What?”
“I walked in here and everyone was standing around, and I waved, and then I heard Pops call. So I left.”
There was a knock at the hallway door. It opened, and Song stuck her cobweb-littered head through the door. She waved and said, “Heya.” She turned around at the distant sound of Sidneigh's voice. “Pops, you gotta come see this.” And the door shut.
With each step towards the door, Sample's feet fumbled over each other and played at a saunter. The Griffin reached out a set of talons, turned the handle, and opened the door. Nothing but an empty hallway.
“You said that was how long ago?” asked Sample.
“About ten minutes–” started the Song that had entered through the trap door. “Oh, now I get it. Timely Manor.” Song chuckled.
“That explains how I ended up upstairs. Grimmane must have some kind of device that can make each of these doors a portal through time and space.”
“That's impossible!” said Tessera.
“Not without the right resources and disregard for safety, both of which Grimmane seemed to have plenty,” said Mrs. Marble.
“You know what this means, right? It means any one of us could have gone back in time and committed the murder.”
“Hmm,” said the Inspector as he wiped more sweat off his brow, “not necessarily. As far as we know, they can only go forward in time.”
“If you take another look at the evidence.” Sidneigh said, and raised a forehoof to eye-level. “there is one thing to which your theory is negligent.”
“And what's that?”
“It's the stupidest thing I have ever heard! Who builds a time machine that only goes forward?”
“If you know so much about time traveling devices then please explain how this one is controlled. If none of us know how to control the time it sends us, they may all be hard wired to certain times.”
“More likely, if that is the case, certain intervals,” said Flick.
“But I already went back in time,” said Song. “When I stepped back through the door just a minute ago.”
“Everybody shut up, except me,” said Sample. “Now let's talk about Grimmane. She knew she would be murdered and even gave the time, so she must have taken a few things into account. However the doors work, she planned on us finding out and one of us using them to commit the murder. She also counted on any of us being able to do so and having motive to do it, but only one us pulling it off.
There was a dramatic pause.
“The only thing that makes sense is that one of us was already planning to snuff her out, she caught wind of it, and invited us to this party knowing it would sound like the perfect opportunity.”
“And yet, only one person could have discovered the doors before the murder,” said the Inspector. “Flora was the only one to fall into the trap at the front door. A rather novice move that even Song managed to avoid.”
Song's muzzle scrunched, and her eyes shifted right then left. She began to lift her forehoof but her father restrained it with his own.
“What are you suggesting, Mornen?” asked Flora. “That I fell on purpose?”
“Exactly. And that gave you time enough to find a door. A door you were informed of by your architect acquaintance, who you had a private lunch with yesterday. You took the door to the future and committed the murder. All in accordance with what you overheard through that door during Grimmane's speech.”
Flora pursed her lips. “And for what possible motive?”
“The same motive for all your crime-solving, Flora. For the excitement.” The Inspector's eyes narrowed. “ Many have referred to you and your husband as the Bunny and Clydesdale of law, but they don't know how close to the truth they are. You only opted to become a detective due to your husband's profession. According to the records, you have quite the list of misdemeanors to your name.”
“That's a misappropriation of resources, Inspector.”
“Not quite. I only partially prescribe to Sample's theory. There was someone planning to murder Grimmane tonight, and that person was your husband.
Eyes turned to Flick, but he said nothing.
“You see. I first met Flick and Grimmane at a seedy, high-class vice club where everyone wore masks– which I was undercover at, which was why Grimmane's blackmail attempts were futile. But I suspect she attempted, much more successfully, to blackmail Flick. Forcing him to resort to murder. But Flora discovered this plot, likely in the same fashion that Grimmane discovered Flick's identity: he talks in his sleep.”
Eyes fell once again on Flick, who cleared his throat and said, “I was undercover as well, really.”
Flora rolled her eyes and asked, “For two years, dear?”
“But she was never mad about that, were you Flora?” asked Mornen. “No, the real insult was that you were never invited. You have been in your husband's shadow your whole career. And though you could not prove a better detective, Grimmane provided the chance to prove yourself the better criminal.”
Flick's forehooves fell on the table with just enough weight to rattle the dish between them. He said, “I find it very suspicious, Inspector, that you've omitted how Grimmane uncovered your identity and the case you were supposedly working on.”
“I–”
“Don't need to say because I already know. For I was on the same case for Mrs. Marble.” Flick pointed a forehoof at the mare in question, and eyes followed. “It's no secret that such establishments are the most valuable customers of a certain mare's products. A large portion of the Ministry of Morale's funding is provided by such chemicals, and they require many Zebra goods to create.”
“Yes, that's true,” said Mrs. Marble in a softer than usual voice. “Organizations on both sides are circumventing trade laws, and their enforcement, to meet the demand. And Grimmane's shipping business is at the center of it. I needed someone on the inside since her legitimate employees refused to cooperate. They wouldn't even meet with me.”
“No one? Why not?.”
“You can ask one yourself.” Mrs. Marble looked to Sidneigh, and other eyes followed. “Though we never met personally, my people found him uncompromising.”
Flora's brows and the corners of her mouth sagged as she asked, “Sidneigh, you are a Grimmane employee?”
“Former employee, and my reasons you will see,” said Sidneigh. “I oversaw Grimmane's Shipping longer than any other. Grimmane was more than an employer, she was my adoptive mother.”
“Wait, I have a granny?” asked Song like a giddy child. Then her ears drooped, along with her spirits. “And she just died?”
“She was happy to trade with the Zebras' home, but when the war started... she refused to raise one.” Sidneigh sighed. “So I changed my name, embraced a heritage I never knew, and became what she hated most.”
“So that's why you're a walking stereotype!”
Sidneigh's eyes rose to the ceiling and then ran left along the rims of his eyes until they fell on Song. “Yes. And before anyone else mentions it, it's a motive. But one of us doesn't have any clear connection to Grimmane, and that's Diamond.”
Eyes snapped to the Gryphon, and the Inspector rubbed his neck.
“I see, and that makes me a likely suspect some how some way?” Sample asked.
“It does... if you were hired,” said Flick. “Whether by Grimmane herself or a third party. That does make you the odd one out.”
Sidneigh rose a forehoof to whoa him and said, “I only said Sample's connection to Grimmane was not clear. Not that he was a third party here.” He paused to roll back his shoulders, and his back cracked. “What many don't know about my adoptive mother, is the sheer amount of her disgruntled lovers.”
“Lover!?” Sample screeched. Six talons tore through the table cloth as they balled up into tight fists. “We were engaged!”
“No,” Flora said, and covered her mouth.
“Fine.” Sample's feathers splayed. “Let's take a walk down memory lane and make sure we tip over all the trash cans. The trash cans are a metaphor.” The Gryphon inhaled as if about to cough something up. “Grimmane knew how to take care of people. She was intuitive, witty, and loaded with bits. But not very observant. She threw me away like last weeks trash the second she realized I wasn't her type.
The group glanced at each other in silence.
“I'm a gal– can't you tell?” Sample said in a huff, and with a puff of her plumes.
“Of course,” Flick said, and then nodded to the others.
He was answered with plenty of nods and utterances of agreeance.
“We are world-class detectives after all,” said Flora.
“And I'm some kind of crime or mystery or something?” asked Sample. “Is that what you're saying?”
“N-No, of course not.” Flora hid behind her fan. “It's just that– I'll be silent now.”
“Whatever. One of us hasn't been implicated yet, so I guess it's up to me to do the implicating. And it's this pompous, flabby Inspector over here.”
Mornen's features scrunched and twisted, favouring the center of his face, as he said, “Excuse you. You do not even know me, Diamond.”
“I know you're wearing a suit two sizes too small for you. So you're either too prideful to admit you're gaining weight, or too dumb to notice. It sure as Tartarus isn't that you can't afford new clothes, right?”
Beads of sweat were forming anew on the inspector's forehead. “What are you implying?”
“Also, you're from Prance.”
“Is there a point to this?” Mornen's brow furrowed as his handkerchief dabbed the sweat off of it. “Or do you simply wish to try and insult me?”
“Well, I don't think I need to tell anybody your story stinks. You never mentioned the end result of your investigation, who you were working for, or how Grimmane discovered your identity.”
“That is... is not something I can disclose.”
“Cute, but here's what I think. I think you told her who you are, and I think you did it a long time ago.” Sample turned her beak at Tessera but kept an eye trained on Mornen. “Roughly how long ago, Tess?”
“One year, nine months, and eleven days ago,” the somber mare said.
“The same day both Grimmane and yourself bought a fortune in war bonds. Grimmane never struck me as the patriotic type, but she certainly wanted to be seen that way. You and Grimmane made quite the profit selling those bonds after the situation at Shattered Hoof. You two have been matching sales and investments every month since.” Sample's piercing eyes never left the investigator's, who dripped sweat faster than he could dab. “On everything from oranges, to circuits, to monorails, to fishing boats.”
“That is not true,” Mornen said between wheezes.
Sample nodded and smiled. “That's right. You two went out of sync a few months ago. You lost a serious chunk of change on some energy drink while the Baroness continued to make steady profits. What gives? Somebody leave you out of the loop?”
“I– You can't–” Mornen's eyes flinched at the influx of saltwater trickling over his brow. And his throat made a sound like an accordion with every, laborious breath. “It– It was...”
Inspector Mornen tugged at his collar, which sent a rogue button rattling in the dish before him, and fell to the ground.
Flora trotted to the inspector's side and put on her glasses. She put a hoof to his neck and said, “I don't feel a pulse, and he looks like he's a deeper shade of blue.” She brushed her hoof against the inside of his collar and, after glancing at his neck, pulled the inspector's shirt open. “Contusion on the neck. It fits the same pattern as Grimmane's.”
The kitchen door flung open, and the butler hovered into the room. It's single, robotic eye sparked in short bursts as it teetered back in forth. It raised eight dishes, two in each pincer, and said, “Please stay seated. I know at least one guest has a severe peanut allergy.”
“Okay,” said Sample. “Maybe I spoke too soon.”
* * *
Lightning struck against the door, and a Gryphon tightened their grip around the lever. He screeched and spasmed as his other set of talons dug into the door frame. The electric discharge crackled then pounded against the door, and the smell of burning flesh lingered in the air.
“I can't keep this up!” said the Gryphon with tears rolling down his face.
“Yes you can, or you're dead,” said an Earth Pony mare
“I can't. I can't. I ca–” Another static knock, and the Galeun hissed into a weak growl. “I can't feel my talons anymore.”
“Have you figured anything out yet?” the mare asked a young Unicorn.
The Unicorn flipped over a pile of documents, picked up cassette, kicked a glass orb, and threw down the aforementioned cassette. She sat, clenching her temples, and said, “Plenty– Too much even. But it's all about the guests, what happened the night of, and nothing that could possibly help us.”
“Except where they kept that key, right?”
“Yes. Yeah. Where they kept the key. I have it marked on my PipBuck.”
“Then we just have to go for it.” The mare turned toward Galeun. “Open the door.”
The Gryphon's shoulders slumped and his knees buckled as he peeled his talons off the door lever. He fell limp beside the door just as it was torn off its top hinge. It rattled against the outer wall. The squall swallowed the dry air, as well as a dozen loose documents, and spat out a hot mist.
The Unicorn pounced on the remaining documents and yelled, “Get down!”
The squall threatened to devour the Unicorn's papers and bangs alike while the mare took cover behind a overturned desk. Her forehead made heavy creases as she stole glances at Galeun, who was motionless by the door.
Lightning struck, cast from the squall to the dull jewel lodged in an exposed circuit. The smell of ozone choked the Ponies as the laboratory hummed to life. A doorframe enveloped in light that then stretched across its center. The squall ripped the jewel from its lodging by some unseen force, and fled.
The Unicorn slipped a device over her PipBuck and ran for the doorway of light. Her legs faded from the ground up as she passed through and disappeared completely. The lights dimmed, the machines went silent, and the Unicorn came barreling from the thin air between the doorway. She tumbled to the floor and writhed. Blood pooled beneath her hindleg.
“I didn't get it,” she said as tears streamed from the corners of her eyes and into her ears. “I mean, I got it but I didn't get it.”
“Calm down, Cheat Sheet” said the mare through quivering lips. “Put pressure on that wound while I tend to Galeun. Okay?”
“Okay.”
The mare trotted to the limp Gryphon. She placed a hoof on his shoulder and gently rolled him her way. “Galeun?” She recoiled immediately and turned away. The floodgates broke, and her tears ran unabated as she trotted back to Cheat Sheet. “H-He's dead. Galeun's dead. It's just us.”
“I think,” the pale, little Unicorn paused for a few breaths. “I think you mean it's just you.”
“NO.”
“I'm sorry, Flinty.”
“We'll go back to that upper hallway... and we'll take that door. We'll just jump.”
Cheat Sheet's eyelids fluttered. “You'll break your legs. And it won't get you out of the barrier.”
“It's better than waiting in here!” The mare lifted the Unicorn onto her back and started walking. “Come on. We're gonna get outside and–”
“And what?”
“And dig. We'll try digging under it.”
Cheat Sheet smiled. “Okay, Flinty, that's a plan.”
Flinty stopped in her tracks and jostled her passenger. They both stared down the dark corridor at the gaunt, equine figure standing at the end. And lightning struck.
