Of Soldiers and Swindlers

"Do you know why we brought you here?"

"Could list a few reasons." The stallion crossed his hooves nervously, chains from his cuffs rattling, "Could list more than a few."

"Save those reasons for later, then," The uniformed mare took a seat across the table, "Your personal crimes will be discussed, but not now." She took a folder from her bag and slid it over to Eights, opening it to reveal five photos of different ponies.

"Do you know any of these ponies, Eightball?"

Eights visibly flinched, eyes locking dangerously even with his interrogator, "My name is Eights."

To the mare’s credit, she didn’t even flinch. Her own icy blue gaze was unyielding. "Very well. Do you know them, Eights."

Lowering his gaze, the skeletal stallion studied the photos, nodding softly to himself. "Don't know they's names. Seen them 'fore now though."

"Seen them where?"

"'Bout a week ago. Late at night, I don't know th' time- aint got a watch on me- saw them prancin' and hoppin' about. I told em' not to go back that alley. They did innyhow."

"An alley... And why shouldn't they have gone that way?"

"'Cos that there's BlackJack's territory. Aint nobody crossin' that line without his say-so. And them colts definitely aint got the say so."

"Who is Blackjack?" The way she said it, it seemed as though the large mare already knew quite a bit about the pony in question. It was clear that the question was more to the effect of, “who is he to you?”.

Eights narrowed his eyes, ears slowly falling flat. He chewed the matchstick in his mouth with the back of his teeth, grinding the end to a pulp.

"What happen to them colts that you guards gotta need me for."

His interrogator leaned back in her chair to remain upright, and crossed her hooves. "Those five ponies," she nodded to the picture, "were recruits of the Royal Guard. Promising young sorts, I might add, very keen. All five were found dead in an alley just half a block from where Private Nutcracker reported finding you."

Eights froze, his eyes betraying his shock. He dropped the matchstick from his mouth, "I aint been killin' nobody." He said quietly, "I know I done a lot of bad things but killin' aint one of em. I aint never done more than knock a boy out, and I aint never touch'a mare witout her-"

"Eights," the mare cut him off, setting an armour-clad hoof down sharply on the table. "No-one is accusing you of murder. I have met murderers, assassins, and worse kinds before. You are not one of them.”

She paused for a few moments, to let her assessment sink in, before fixing her intent gaze upon him once more. “I just need to know what you know about this BlackJack. Understood?"

Eights pressed his hooves together, His throat suddenly feeling parched. “I… I can’t.” He stammered, ears pinning, “If I told you, you guards’ll be pickin’ me up in a bag next. If you’d even bother.”

“Well, we could hardly just leave your body lying in the street, now could we?” the guardspony retorted. “Listen to yourself. This whole cycle of fear is something we’re going to destroy – but we can’t do that unless we know all that we can about this stain on society before we do something about him.”

The stallion let out a raspy sigh, fiddling slightly with the cuff around his pasterns. “Say I do give yous the information.” He bit down on the matchstick to snap it, hoping to get a splinter in his tongue, “And say I lead yer guards ta where he holes up. What’s in it fer me. I could die, y’know, but that’d leave yous with one less problem.”

“At the rate you’re currently going, you’re going to die anyway.” the mare replied. “So I don’t see what you’re so worried about there. You may as well go out on a high note.” she paused, then turned to one side on her chair. “Or, perhaps there’s an alternative to that. I’ve been informed by the medic who examined you earlier that you’re not yet so far gone that there’s no hope. Of course, you’re not going to have much of a life if you carry on the way you have until recently.”

“So what, if I help yous out, I get ta breathe a bit longer? Don’t see how good that’s gonna be.”

His interrogator turned back towards him, depositing another piece of paper on the table. “We were already aware when we brought you in that, if you were incarcerated, that could be rather… dangerous, to put it mildly. As you said, there’re other ponies that have been locked up that might be harbouring a few grudges.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, we came up with some alternatives.” The mare leaned forward again, her eyes locking with his once more. “Understand this, Eights. Justice will be served, one way or the other. The Equestrian High Court will see to it that no wrongdoing is left unpunished… however, they are not without mercy or compassion. If you comply with our request for information, I have it on good authority that your punishment will be lessened. As I mentioned previously, you are not a killer. A thug, perhaps, and certainly a philanderer and a rogue… but you’re not one to engage in murder. Which means that you can be offered the option of putting your skills to use for the good of the community.”

Eights looked over the document with narrowed eyes, squinting as if to decipher the meaning. He pushed it towards the mare and spat his matchstick out on the table beside him.

"An' this scrap says the same speech yous given me?"

The officer across the table nodded slowly, fully comprehending the new predicament.

“Yes. If you help us during this trial, and perhaps more, you will be considered cleared of all charges. Are you able to sign this document?”

Eightball looked off to the side with ears pinned, prompting a soft sigh and a nod from his interrogator.

“Very well. I will need to have a recording, then.” As she tapped a small device on her vest, the mare cleared her throat. “Repeat after me. I, Eightball, know and accept the terms of this contract, and pledge an allegiance to the Royal Guard and her Princess Celestia, under penalty of law.”

Eightball, easily akin to a deer in headlights at the moment, took a deep breath before stumbling over the phrase.

“I, Eights, know an’ accept the terms of this con… tract. An’ pledge a alliance t the Royal Guard an’ the princess Celestia, under pen...ally of th law.”

“Very good.” The mare sighed, tapping the recording device once more to save the statement. Gathering the file of papers between her hooves, she cleared her throat and stood to push in her chair. “After a wash, you will be brought to your cell by two guards. Any trouble, and you’ll be answering to me. Is that clear?”

“Wait--- Ya said cell? I thought I ain’t gonna be locked up!”

“What, you expected a luxury suite? You are still in police custody, Eights. However, your cell will be located in solitary confinement, well protected and far away from those who wish you harm. Now,” She waved in two guards, obscured by the mare’s three-layer mane, “I leave you in the capable hooves of Lieutenant Starlight and Private Nutcracker. I expect you to be brought in at 8 o’clock sharp tomorrow for questioning, so be prepared. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” Eights coughed, looking between the two guards, “Can I get somepony that ain’t Crackerjack, there?”

The mare only gave a grin in reply, and before he could call after her, she was gone, leaving a rather tense trio of ponies in her wake.